I've been rather sickly for a number of years, but in the past few years, I've been unable to sleep. As a result I've spent some of my best times with Jesus in the wee hours of the morning. He is very near to my discomfort (Jesus said, "My strength is made perfect in weakness."). Many of the poems bearing my name (tracy) were written in the darkest hours of night.
I hope that you'll carefully consider the words of each poem.
A dear reader submitted this spiritual and thought-provoking poem. It makes me consider Jesus. It makes me consider what the blood has done to me physically and spiritually. My body is no more used to do evil. I am now able to think a good thought and do right works.We Are Healed By the blood stripes of Jesus we are healed By the blood stripes of Jesus you are healed From my right ear to my left ear I am healed By the Blood stripes of Jesus we are healed By the blood stripes of Jesus we are healed By the blood stripes of Jesus you are healed From my right eye to my left eye I am healed By the blood stripes of Jesus we are healed By the blood stripes of Jesus we are healed By the blood stripes of Jesus you are healed From my right shoulder to my left shoulder I am healed By the blood stripes of Jesus we are healed By the blood stripes of Jesus we are healed By the blood stripes of Jesus you are healed From my right side to my left side I am healed By the blood stripes of Jesus we are healed By the blood stripes of Jesus we are healed By the blood stripes of Jesus you are healed From my front side to my backside I am healed By the blood stripes of Jesus we are healed By the blood stripes of Jesus we are healed By the blood stripes of Jesus you are healed From my right foot to my left foot I am healed By the blood stripes of Jesus we are healed By the blood stripes of Jesus we are healed By the blood stripes of Jesus you are healed From the top of my head to the bottom of my feet I am healed Yes, by the blood stripes of Jesus we are completely healed --John C Young
It Was Only It was only a smile that met my eyes, As I groped through life to find my way. It was only a handclasp that gripped my life, As I staggered to gain my footing once more. It was only a word that reached my ear, As I listened for some hope out of my troubled thoughts. It was only a prayer that passed those lips That moved with compassion on behalf of some one in need. It was only -- but it meant so much to me. I saw Jesus today -- because you cared. D.N. Vannatto
A homeless man once recited this to me from memory and I was struck by its clear explanation of this thing called life (for the Christian). He later sent it to me on a card which sits taped on the front page of my memory book.
My life is but a weaving
Between my Lord and me.
I cannot choose the colors
He works so steadily.
Oft' times He weaves in sorrow
And I, in foolish pride,
Forget He sees the upper
And I, the underside.
The dark threads are as needed
In the Weaver's skillful hand,
As the threads of gold and silver
In the pattern He has planned.
Not till the loom is silent
And shuttles cease to fly,
Will God unroll the canvas
And explain the reason why.
When I read this poem, I think of Matthew 6:34, Take therefore no thought for the morrow: for the morrow shall take thought for the things of itself. Sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof. Saints, let us sanctify ourselves each day to God that our lives may be a sweet-smelling savour in His nostrils.
No matter what else you are doing
From cradle days through to the end,
You are writing your life's secret story--
Each day sees another page penned.
Each month ends a thirty-page chapter,
Each year means the end of a part--
And never an act is misstated
Or even one wish of the heart.
Each day when you wake, the book opens,
Revealing a page clean and white--
What thoughts and what words and what doings
Will cover its pages by night?
God leaves that to you--you're the writer--
And never a word shall grow dim,
Till the day you write the word Finish
And give your Life's Book back to Him.
God Sent Us a Savior
If our greatest need had been information,
God would have sent us an educator,
If our greatest need had been technology,
God would have sent us a scientist.
If our greatest need had been money,
God would have sent us an economist.
If our greatest need had been pleasure,
God would have sent us an entertainer.
But our greatest need was forgiveness,
So God sent us a Savior.
I got up early one morning and rushed right into the day;
I had so much to accomplish that I didn't take time to pray.
Problems just tumbled about me, and heavier came each task,
"Why doesn't God help me?" I wondered. He answered, "You didn't ask."
I wanted to see joy and beauty, but the day toiled on gray and bleak;
I wondered why God didn't show me--He said, "But you didn't seek,"
I tried to come into God's presence; I used all my keys at the lock,
God gently and lovingly chided, "My child, you didn't knock."
I woke up early this morning, and paused before entering the day;
I had so much to accomplish that I had to take time to pray.
When I wrote the following, I suppose that I reflected on the experiences that I've had with children over the years as I've worked with them. I've watched some mature in Christ and others fall by the wayside. I've had some come for one night, some for a week, others I've met in passing.
I identify with Paul when he said, "the more abundantly I love, the less I be loved" and sometimes it's a hard fact to face. It can be a thankless job, but I've come to the conclusion that no work done for God is ever in vain. I know that God has certainly blessed my life and that of my husband through our joint and individual ministries.
Battling for the minds of men
The world offers so many competing interests.
Lift weights, be strong,
Chase women, do wrong.
Go to college, get a degree,
The focus is always me, me, me.
God told me, "Teach them my statutes and commands,
Teach them of the holiness that I demand.
Teach them always, the way of life,
Which cometh through my Son, the Lord Jesus Christ."
Here am I, Lord, send me.
The Bible speaks much about the way of an adulterous woman. God compares His people who go a whoring after idols to such a woman. They are like a harlot, but unlike a harlot, they receive no hire (Ezekiel 16:31). Dear saints, let us not go a whoring after money, television, pleasure, etc.
The pale blue light from the full moon drifted
silently into the darkness.
She looked at the clock. It was 1:00 a.m.
A heaving, snoring person rested comfortably
next to her.
She shouldn't have fallen asleep.
She arose quickly, and absconded
She's not a streetwalker, but a harlot just the same.
Freely giving her body, it's there for the asking
to anyone that will pay her...
I grew up believing that somewhere along the line, people had been apes. Even as a child, it always seemed rather strange and scary that I could have been the product of millions of years of chance and happenstance. I'd look at the vivid color pictures in Time Books of gorillas in forests and captions of how they are our closest relatives. It was weird to me. Evolution is a lie that is perpetuated because God said He would send them "strong delusion that they should believe a lie". Look at Genesis for the real story on how we came to be.
I refuse to believe that I was ever a monkey
or primordial slime
My teachers can't train me and scientists
can't convince me.
My God created me in His own image.
My God gave me stewardship over His creation--
plant and animal.
My God made me tri-partite--
body, spirit, mind.
O' that the world would see what a marvelous
God is He!
I'm not an animal.
This poem is based on Proverbs 11:22, As a jewel of gold in a swine's snout, so is a fair woman which is without discretion.
A beautiful woman without discretion is like
a diamond in a pig's snout.
Alienated from God, she is worldly,
devoid of wisdom.
Her words divide and do not edify
Her actions are swift and thoughtless
She is self-assured...
This is a poem that I wrote recently, around Christmas time (1996). Someone said something that hurt me and the Holy Ghost revealed that my thoughts were not charitable. After prayer, I wrote this poem.
Why does charity run away from me?
And where are her companions
humbleness and meekness?
How long shall I desire until I have?
How long shall I thirst till I be filled?
Oft' times I think I've journeyed far
To find, through circumstance,
I'm not as far as believed.
O wretched man that I am
Who will save me from this
body of death?
Answer: my Deliverer, Jesus the Christ.
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