A poem – Christmas Mystery

Christmas Mystery

He who forged Earth’s iron core
And scattered stars to distant skies
Came shattered beauty to restore
And answer lost ones’ mournful cries.
A God who stands among the weak
To lift each burden that they face,
To lift away their bondage bleak
And give them strength in holy grace.

The star of hope for all the years,
Though spoken of through ages past,
Lies born in dust and blood and tears
Without His glorious trumpets’ blast.
Yet in His tiny hand He holds
The power that built the mountains high.
His glory shatters earthly molds
As angels’ voices split the sky.

The angel heralds call out clear
To tell us of the infant King
Who comes to crush the power of fear
And let the notes of justice ring.
Yet first He comes to serve and die,
Not yet to take His rightful place,
That those who chose to crucify
Their King might still receive His grace.

He calls us now with signs and stars
To find the Child born a King,
To give Him all that once was ours,
And songs of love and praise to sing.
So as we journey through the night
And seek our true Desire’s star
We find that Jesus, through His might
Has sought us from our exile far.

Christmas  Mystery was  written  by   Elizabeth  Sunshine   (yes, that’s her real name),  currently  a  senior  at  Brandeis University.


Dor de Tata

Photo credit Proconsul

A Short (Vintage) Tribute to Moms + 2 poems

Photo via www.centrmed.com

Somebody said that a child is carried in its mother’s womb for nine months.
that somebody does not know that a child is carried in its mother’s heart forever.

Somebody said it takes about six weeks to get back to normal after you’ve had a baby.
that somebody doesn’t know that once you’re a mother, normal is history.

Somebody said you learn how to be a mother by instinct.
that somebody never took a three-year-old shopping.

Somebody said being a mother is boring.
that somebody never rode in a car driven by a teenager with a driver’s permit.

Somebody said if you’re a „good” mother, your child will „turn out good.”
that somebody mistakenly thinks a child comes with directions and a guarantee.

Somebody said „good” mothers never raise their voices.
that somebody never came out the back door just in time to see her child hit a golf ball through the neighbor’s kitchen window.

Somebody said you don’t need an education to be a mother.
that somebody never helped a fourth grader with his math.

Somebody said you can’t love the fifth child as much as you love the first.
that somebody doesn’t have five children.

Somebody said a mother can find all the answers to her child-rearing questions in the books.
that somebody never had a child stuff beans up his nose.

Somebody said the hardest part of being a mother is labor and delivery.
that somebody never watched her „baby” get on the bus for the first day of kindergarten.

Somebody said a mother can do her job with her eyes closed and one hand tied behind her back.
that somebody never organized seven giggling Brownies to sell cookies.

Somebody said a mother can stop worrying after her child gets married.
that somebody doesn’t know that marriage adds a new son or daughter-in-law to a mother’s heartstrings.

Somebody said a mother’s job is done when her last child leaves home.
that somebody never had grandchildren.

Somebody said your mother knows you love her, so you don’t need to tell her.
that somebody isn’t a mother.

~Author Unknown~

VIDEO by Elizabeth McCann

and for those homes that are blessed with toddlers, here’s a poem shining the light on moms once again:

Toddler Rules

If it is on, I must turn it off.
If it is off, I must turn it on.
If it is folded, I must unfold it.
If it is a liquid, it must be shaken, then spilled.
If it a solid, it must be crumbled, chewed or smeared.
If it is high, it must be reached.
If it is shelved, it must be unshelved.
If it is pointed, it must be run with at top speed.
If it has leaves, they must be picked.
If it is plugged, it must be unplugged.
If it is not trash, it must be thrown away.
If it is in the trash, it must be removed, inspected, and thrown on the floor.
If it is closed, it must be opened.
If it does not open, it must be screamed at.
If it has drawers, they must be rifled.
If it is a pencil, it must write on the refrigerator, monitor, or table.
If it is full, it will be more interesting emptied.
If it is empty, it will be more interesting full.
If it is a pile of dirt, it must be laid upon.
If it is stroller, it must under no circumstances be ridden in without protest. It must be pushed by me instead.
If it has a flat surface, it must be banged upon.
If Mommy’s hands are full, I must be carried.
If Mommy is in a hurry and wants to carry me, I must walk alone.
If it is paper, it must be torn.
If it has buttons, they must be pressed.
If the volume is low, it must go high.
If it is toilet paper, it must be unrolled on the floor.
If it is a drawer, it must be pulled upon.
If it is a toothbrush, it must be inserted into my mouth.
If it has a faucet, it must be turned on at full force.
If it is a phone, I must talk to it.
If it is a bug, it must be swallowed.
If it doesn’t stay on my spoon, it must be dropped on the floor.
If it is not food, it must be tasted.
If it IS food, it must not be tasted.
If it is dry, it must be made wet with drool, milk, or toilet water.
If it is a car seat, it must be protested with arched back.

If it is Mommy, it must be hugged.

~Author Unknown~

Christmas: It’s about the cross

Photo credit relentlessworship.blogspot.com
with thanks to Manuela for the video (and for the lyrics).

It’s not just about the manger
Where the baby lay
It’s not all about the angels
Who sang for him that day

It’s not just about the shepherds
Or the bright and shining star
It’s not all about the wisemen
Who travelled from afar

It’s about the cross, it’s about my sin
It’s about how Jesus came to be born once
So that we could be born again!

It’s about the stone that was rolled away
So that you and I could have real life someday
It’s about the cross, it’s about the cross

It’s not just about the presents
Underneath the tree
It’s not all about the feeling
That the season brings to me

It’s not just about coming home
To be with those you love
It’s not all about the beauty
In the snow I’m dreaming of

The beginning of the story is wonderful and great
But it’s the ending that can save you
and that’s why we celebrate.

A Baby Is Coming! ..a video poem

Before Jesus was born, the world was stuck in darkness and sin. The Lord had gone quiet. The patriarchs were long dead. The law was failing. It was a silent night, but everything was about to change. VIDEO by IgniterMedia

Thomas Brooks (Puritan) – There is nothing that the great God hates– but sin…

Much of what is known about Puritan Thomas Brooks has been ascertained from his writings. Born, likely to well-to-do parents, in 1608, Brooks entered Emmanuel College, Cambridge in 1625, where he was preceded by such men as Thomas Hooker, John Cotton, and Thomas Shepard. He was licensed as a preacher of the Gospel by 1640. Before that date, he appears to have spent a number of years at sea, probably as a chaplain with the fleet.

After the conclusion of the First English Civil War, Thomas Brooks became minister at Thomas Apostle’s, London, and was sufficiently renowned to be chosen as preacher before the House of Commons on December 26, 1648. His sermon was afterwards published under the title, ‘God’s Delight in the Progress of the Upright’, the text being Psalm 44:18: ‘Our heart is not turned back, neither have our steps declined from Thy way’. Three or four years afterwards, he transferred to St. Margaret’s, Fish-street Hill, London.

In 1662, he fell victim to the notorious Act of Uniformity, but he appears to have remained in his parish and to have preached as opportunity arose. Treatises continued to flow from his pen. (Photo and biography via wikipedia)

Poem via reformation21.org

Oh that the Christian reader would seriously consider these twelve things:

There is nothing that the great God hates–but sin.
There is nothing that He has revealed His wrath from heaven against–but sin.
There is nothing that crucifies the Lord of glory afresh–but sin.
There is nothing that grieves the Spirit of grace–but sin.

There is nothing that wounds the conscience–but sin.
There is nothing that clouds the face of God–but sin.
There is nothing that hinders the return of prayer–but sin.
There is nothing that interrupts our communion with God–but sin.

There is nothing that embitters our mercies–but sin.
There is nothing that puts a sting into all our troubles and trials–but sin.
There is nothing that renders us unserviceable in our places, stations, and conditions–but sin.
There is nothing that makes death the king of terrors, and the terror of kings, to be so formidable and terrible to the sons of men, as sin.

And therefore under all your sorrows and sufferings, crosses and losses–
make it your great business . . .
to arm yourselves against sin,
and to pray against sin,
and to watch against sin,
and to turn from sin,
and to cease from sin,
and to get rid of sin,
and to stand forever in defiance of sin!

Thomas Brooks Works:

  • English: Traditional portait of Thomas Brooks,...

    English: Traditional portait of Thomas Brooks, puritan preacher. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

    Works of Thomas Brooks, Vol. 1, Nichol’s Series of Standard Divines, Puritan Period, with General Preface by John C. Miller, D.D.; Rev. Thomas Smith, General Editor, Edinburgh, James Nichol, 1866. Titles include: Grosart’s Memoir of Brooks; Precious Remedies Against Satan’s Devices; The Mute Christian Under The Smarting Rod; A String of Pearls

  • Works of Thomas Brooks, Vol. 2, Nichol’s Series of Standard Divines, Puritan Period, with General Preface by John C. Miller, D.D.; Rev. Thomas Smith, General Editor, Edinburgh, James Nichol, 1866. Titles include: An Ark for All God’s Noahs; The Privy Key of Heaven; Heaven On Earth
  • Works of Thomas Brooks, Vol. 3, Nichol’s Series of Standard Divines, Puritan Period, with General Preface by John C. Miller, D.D.; Rev. Thomas Smith, General Editor, Edinburgh, James Nichol, 1866. Titles include: The Unsearchable Riches of Christ; A Cabinet of Jewels
  • Works of Thomas Brooks, Vol. 4, Nichol’s Series of Standard Divines, Puritan Period, with General Preface by John C. Miller, D.D.; Rev. Thomas Smith, General Editor, Edinburgh, James Nichol, 1866. Titles include: The Crown and Glory of Christianity
  • Works of Thomas Brooks, Vol. 5, Nichol’s Series of Standard Divines, Puritan Period, with General Preface by John C. Miller, D.D.; Rev. Thomas Smith, General Editor, Edinburgh, James Nichol, 1866. Titles include: The Golden Key to Open Hidden Treasures
  • Works of Thomas Brooks, Vol. 6, Nichol’s Series of Standard Divines, Puritan Period, with General Preface by John C. Miller, D.D.; Rev. Thomas Smith, General Editor, Edinburgh, James Nichol, 1866. Titles include: London’s Lamentations; The Glorious Day of the Saints’ Appearance; God’s Delight in the Progress of the Upright; Hypocrites Detected; A Believer’s Last Day His Best Day; A Heavenly Cordial; The Legacy of a Dying Mother

Cantata de Paste – Biserica Penticostala #1 Cluj (Un poem frumos!)

Faceti-va timp de o ora sa-i ascultati pe acesti tineri!
Biserica Penticostala 1 Cluj

Naratiunea tanarului basist este exceptionala. Si Dumnezeu inzestreaza fiecare generatie cu mult, mult talent si dedicatie. Dumnezeu sa binecuvanteze Biserica aceasta si marturia ei in orasul Cluj!

2013.04.07 DD cantare cantata from Biserica Penticostala 1 Cluj on Vimeo.

Trust God or trust in man? The Cross, Evil, and Faith

photo via http://christianitymatters.files.wordpress.com/

In her book ‘Evil in Modern Thought’, Susan Neiman, a modern philosopher uses 2 events to kind of put place marks around the modern era. „The modern era began,” she said, „in 1755, in Lisbon, Portugal. On All Saints Day of that year, there was an earthquake. Some have put the estimate that it was about 9.0 on the Richter scale and it lasted for a full 10 minutes. It was followed by an enormous tsunami that essentially wiped out almost 80% of the buildings were destroyed, and it was followed by fire. The estimates put the death toll as high as 60,000. One of the reasons that the death toll was so high was because it was All Saints Day. And the Cathedrals that collapsed, collapsed on so many people who had gone to worship that day. And for so many intellectuals in Europe, who were already kind of grumpy against the idea of God, that was it. This was a time when God could either no longer be believed as either all powerful, or all good, and therefore He could not be trusted.

In fact, one of the great intellectuals of the day was Voltaire. And Voltaire actually wrote a poem on the Lisbon earthquake, and he talks about his concern. He writes,

” Are you then sure, the power which would create
The universe and fix the laws of fate,
Could not have found for man a proper place,
But earthquakes must destroy the human race?

Wherever you put the start of the modern era, we can say that it was a huge shift in human history, particularly the history of western civilization. Whereas, prior to modernism, most institutions, most cities, most countries’ laws understanding of the world were centered around a belief in God, quickly, the trust in God was replaced with a trust in man. And, of course, at this point, science and technology were booming, medicine  was booming, human understanding was booming, and the arrogance that came with the scientific knowledge was quite hard to resist.

But, there was another event, according to Susan Nieman, that puts the end of the modern era, an end to the trust in man, and that was Auschwitz. You see, the Lisbon event was an event of what we call natural evil. Who do you blame for natural disasters like earthquakes and tsunamis? You put that at the feet of God, and that’s what shifted the trust to man. But, Auschwitz is what we call moral evil. That’s the evil that people do to each other, against each other. See, there is this belief in modernism that the most scientifically enlightened we would become, the less evil we would become to each other. But, of course, the 20th century destroyed any notions of that sort of optimism.

So what are we left with? We gave up belief in God and trust in God. We gave up belief in man and trust in man. We’ve got two options.

  1. We can just give up hope altogether. And many in the post modern camp kind of live in this state of perpetual despair that the universe is so broken, that the best we can do is try to overcome structures of power, but realize that we’ll never be able to fix it. 
  2. The other option, of course, is to go back and reconsider God. But, let me make a suggestion: The God of christianity isn’t just a god who stands up in heaven, aloof from His creation, sending natural disasters and allowing people to commit acts of moral evil without caring. The God of christianity is a God on a cross. As Dorothy Sayers said once: The God who chose to get His hands dirty, and the despair of the human condition, and the depths of the depravity in this world and our own hearts.

And I think it’s precisely at that place that christianity leads those of us who suffer. Where do we turn when we’re deeply suffering, under the human condition? How about – the God who suffers? In fact, if you look through the trajectory of the Scriptures, we have a God who continues to come down and be with His people. Whether we’re talking about God coming to Adam and Eve, God coming and dealing with Cain, God coming and choosing Abraham, God coming in a body in the Temple, and of course,most of all- Emanuel, God coming to be with us. And not just be with us, but, to swap His nature for ours. To allow us to share in His perfection, taking on our sin, taking on our suffering and our grief. There’s a very powerful poem written about this, by a brit who saw the destruction of World War I. His name was Edward Shaleido. And he penned a poem called ‘Jesus of the Scars’.  A poem by Edward Shillito (1872-1948), a Free Church minister in England during World War I:

Jesus of the Scars

If we have never sought, we seek Thee now;
Thine eyes burn through the dark, our only stars;
We must have sight of thorn-pricks on Thy brow,
We must have Thee, O Jesus of the Scars.
The heavens frighten us; they are too calm;
In all the universe we have no place.
Our wounds are hurting us; where is the balm?
Lord Jesus, by Thy Scars, we claim Thy grace.
If, when the doors are shut, Thou drawest near,
Only reveal those hands, that side of Thine;
We know to-day what wounds are, have no fear,
Show us Thy Scars, we know the countersign.
The other gods were strong; but Thou wast weak;
They rode, but Thou didst stumble to a throne;
But to our wounds only God’s wounds can speak,
And not a god has wounds, but Thou alone.

Published on Mar 25, 2013 ColsonCenter When confronted with natural and moral evil, people lost hope in God and Man. John Stonestreet explains why people should reconsider hope in God.

Spoken Word Poem – Lost Sheep by Nick Vitellaro

See another Spoke Word poem here – An unusual poem by Jackie Hill – What has happened to us church?
The Good Shepherd

A poem written by Nick Vitellaro in which he illustrates that, although he grew up and attended church, when he was in the world and identified himself with the lost sheep, in reality he realized that he never was part of the flock and therefore not lost sheep, but the one who was responsible for Christ’s death on the cross and in need of full repentance and surrender to Christ, not just a lost sheep trying to find their way back home.

Nick’s poem contains a lot of anecdotes from the popular culture, in which I believe he is trying to show that even in the secular world, as broken as he felt, it seems he was always searching for something, and something turned out in the end to be God who saved Him. I tried to transcribe the words to the full poem, but was having a bit of a hardtime with some of them, so I gave up where my transcription ends.

I am a lost sheep
with no individual identification
when compared to those around me.
I am immersed in a sea of sheep
as far as the eye can see
and as far as I can see
I’m not even who I wanna be.

Even though I claimed I was just doin’ me
I was just another culture clone
Dousing myself in cologne
wearing all the coolest clothes
It’s amazing how you can be so grounded
and still feel alone.

I mean, I grew up okay
I had relatively nice things
And relatively cool friends,
even sometimes go to church on the weekends.
But, my weakness, my brokenness was so much more real to me
Than godly pastors claimed could set this sheep free.

Cause, where was the shepherd?
Where was His flock?
Why haven’t any of them tried to meet me
In the darkness, where I walked?

Destiny was not in my dictionary
value, not in my thesaurus
So, of course I got off course,
when the only source of my support
was coming from Jersey Shore.

I was the wandering one,
the prodigal son.
I wanted God,
but soaking in sins seemed more fun,
and I know it will leave me
dry as a sponge in the desert sun.

Church: It’s our time (Video poem)

lead beyond our walls our time church

from IgniterMedia This video is a plea to today’s Church to take its rightful place as the steward of the gospel. We can no longer be restrained by either our excuses or sins. It’s our time to rise up and serve a watching world.

We must rise up and no longer disparage
It’s our time church, to honor our heritage.
We have a Savior, He gave it all on the cross
We stand behind martyrs who counted nothing as loss.
They took God’s mysteries, opened them up for us
Stephen, John the Baptist, Bonhoffer, John Huss
Surrounded by a cloud of witnesses above
It’s now our turn to model His unending love.

Our mission is one we cannot confuse
Or muddy up with some trite excuse.
You say you’re not well versed, ready, or able
I think Moses even tried to use that fable.
The time we have is now more urgent
If we should hear, „Well done, faithful servant.”
Yeah Church, it’s our time.

It’s our time to confess the way we’re mangled
Our sins and selfishness that have us entangled.
Lust, greed, and pride, their path leads to the grave
Yet, we return to our sins as if we’re a slave.
Can we survive in this putrid dead sea?
I quote Paul, „May it never be?”

So, let’s cast aside our individual leprosy
And begin to leave a biblical legacy
There’s a glorious prize waiting to be won
And the way to win is to start to run.
Let’s lace them up and fight the good fight
By being to the world both salt and light.
Our life on earth is merely a vapor
Our chapter must move from pen to paper.

So church, let’s get to writing cause it’s our time
It’s our time church, we have what it takes
To help the church from its slumber awake.
To Jesus, we are His beautiful bride
Whom shall we fear with Him on our side.
We have each other, we are not alone
It’s iron to iron in the combat zone.
There’s a promise of life full of adventure
As long as we give both talents and treasure.

The workers are few, the harvest is plenty
There are so many lives running on empty.
Scores of people trying to cope
They’ve come to the end of their proverbial rope.
Young eyes are wondering, looking for direction
Let’s make sure we point them to His resurrection.
The clock’s ticking, we’re on our dime
Hey church: Rise up, it’s our time!

John Piper recites his poem: Pilgrim’s Conflict with Sloth (with subtitles)


A beautiful poem from one of the tireless workers of our times, on behalf of the kingdom of God, John Piper:

just a small bit of the poem, read the rest here- http://www.desiringgod.org

You cannot understand my aims.
I do not live for wealth or games.”

Sloth felt the sting and said, “I know
Your kind, a workaholic. O,
Sleep not, play not, throw to the wind
God’s gift of leisure days. Rescind
The work of Christ who bought your rest.
O, yes, I know your kind: invest,
Invest, invest. And never take
Your dividends on earth. You make
Your way to heaven by your work,
Your precious work. O, do not shirk
A moment from your service of
This holy god, your life, your love.”

…or watch John Piper recite it below. For those who do not know, John Piper has ‘retired’ from being Senior Pastor of Bethlehem Church in Minneapolis, but has in now way retired from doing the work in God’s kingdom of preaching, writing, mentoring and doing missions all over the globe.

Pilgrim’s Conflict with Sloth (with subtitles) from Desiring God on Vimeo.

John Piper website –

Poem – We Three Kings by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Star of Bethlehem, Magi - wise men or wise kin...

Star of Bethlehem, Magi – wise men or wise kings travel on camels with entourage across the deserts to find the savior, moon, desert, Holy Bible, Etching, 1885 (Photo credit: Wonderlane)

Three Kings came riding from far away,
Melchior and Gaspar and Baltasar;
Three Wise Men out of the East were they,
And they travelled by night and they slept by day,
For their guide was a beautiful, wonderful star.

The star was so beautiful, large and clear,
That all the other stars of the sky
Became a white mist in the atmosphere,
And by this they knew that the coming was near
Of the Prince foretold in the prophecy.

Three caskets they bore on their saddle-bows,
Three caskets of gold with golden keys;
Their robes were of crimson silk with rows
Of bells and pomegranates and furbelows,
Their turbans like blossoming almond-trees.

And so the Three Kings rode into the West,
Through the dusk of the night, over hill and dell,
And sometimes they nodded with beard on breast,
And sometimes talked, as they paused to rest,
With the people they met at some wayside well.

„Of the child that is born,” said Baltasar,
„Good people, I pray you, tell us the news;
For we in the East have seen his star,
And have ridden fast, and have ridden far,
To find and worship the King of the Jews.”

And the people answered, „You ask in vain;
We know of no King but Herod the Great!”
They thought the Wise Men were men insane,
As they spurred their horses across the plain,
Like riders in haste, who cannot wait.

And when they came to Jerusalem,
Herod the Great, who had heard this thing,
Sent for the Wise Men and questioned them;
And said, „Go down unto Bethlehem,
And bring me tidings of this new king.”

So they rode away; and the star stood still,
The only one in the grey of morn;
Yes, it stopped –it stood still of its own free will,
Right over Bethlehem on the hill,
The city of David, where Christ was born.

And the Three Kings rode through the gate and the guard,
Through the silent street, till their horses turned
And neighed as they entered the great inn-yard;
But the windows were closed, and the doors were barred,
And only a light in the stable burned.

And cradled there in the scented hay,
In the air made sweet by the breath of kine,
The little child in the manger lay,
The child, that would be king one day
Of a kingdom not human, but divine.

His mother Mary of Nazareth
Sat watching beside his place of rest,
Watching the even flow of his breath,
For the joy of life and the terror of death
Were mingled together in her breast.

They laid their offerings at his feet:
The gold was their tribute to a King,
The frankincense, with its odor sweet,
Was for the Priest, the Paraclete,
The myrrh for the body’s burying.

And the mother wondered and bowed her head,
And sat as still as a statue of stone,
Her heart was troubled yet comforted,
Remembering what the Angel had said
Of an endless reign and of David’s throne.

Then the Kings rode out of the city gate,
With a clatter of hoofs in proud array;
But they went not back to Herod the Great,
For they knew his malice and feared his hate,
And returned to their homes by another way.

Almost (saved) – a poem by Ezekiel Azonwu

photo via http://www.superiorsilkscreen.com

thanks to Gabi Bogdan for the link- originally published on A Twisted Crown of Thorns

One of the most dangerous terms in English diction
if it could be translated into audio it would sound like
pbb-bb-bb-bb from the saxophone of Lisa Simpson
two words designed and strategically combined
to form the biggest oxymoron in the history of mankind
But see, as far as the world’s concerned, you could live your life vile
and could almost get away with murder if you had a nice smile
you could almost meet folks just to almost sleep around
and stop at your local clinic while you almost had a child.
see, ‘almost’ is no stranger to Satan. Here’s proof:
he only tells lies when they’re almost the truth
and it’s amazing in our incompleteness we find complacence
but if almost is one of Lucifer’s many traits
then we are inadvertently good Satan impersonations
But on the contrary, Christ did his job fully
and he proved he was God when he died on the cross like it was his duty
and to pardon my iniquities that I commited rudely
he resurrected from the grave just to tell death to excuse me
but excuse me, this is your life and that’s something I can’t impose on
but your body is God’s home which was alone about to get forclosed on
See, an almost Christian looks right but lives wrong
Can’t stand the conviction in Romans so they sit down to be comforted in Psalms
Never understood worship but loved to sing songs like I surrender all. . .MOST
Cuz it’s far to expensive to spend your life on something that doesn’t appeal to your five senses
see, nowadays, Christianity is like a Louis rag–
no function or use but we just rock it cuz it’s stylish
not righteous, but right-ish
So now all God sees is a pile of ISHmael’s when he intended for Isaac’s
And we’re moved by how we feel so we’re saved when we feel like it
so technically we’ve never really been saved we merely tried it.
So no wonder why we’re never sold out when we return it after we buy it
Let me break it down because you need to beware
that your life could lack the very standards that need to be there
Cuz on that final day of judgment while God’s receiving his heir
will he say, Son, well done or [spits] medium rare!
Cuz even by earthly standards it would be highly insane
to start spending all of your money days before you almost get paid
like parents, you wouldn’t send your kids to a school that’s almost safe
and ladies, would you really date a man who claims he’s almost straight?
and this is the very thing about God that we all try to get around
but his standards are like between two mountains–no middle ground
so a halfway life is unprofitable to you
cuz after all the Sunday service, Bible studies, and prayer meetings
and everything that goes between, God will say I never knew you
But that’s not even the worst part of living your life as neutral
it’s that you were once arctic but it is your lukewarmness that is causing him to spew you
and this is the very thing that had me
I was bound and held down by the unforgiving gravity of my spiritual reality
I was a Christian, or at least I portrayed the fantasy
With a filthy personal life but a “God bless you brother, how you doin’ sister?” personality
I was a male enveloped by guilt because I was stamped a sinner
My message couldn’t be received because I didn’t represent the sender yet I was almost delivered
Till that one day when I totally, absolutely and completely surrendered
I took heed to a modern prophet who proclaimed it was time for change
now I’m no longer bound to sin point-blank off the chain
You can ask Umar Abdul Mutallab, he’ll tell you the same–
you don’t almost go to jail when you almost blow up a plane
like you don’t almost go to hell when you almost get saved
despised the cross that he was slain and thus the cause for which he came
but don’t worry i’m almost done, but before i leave this stage
we have all worked in sin and death was minimum wage
but if it wasn’t for Christ we would have almost got paid

Uploaded by  on Mar 22, 2010

P4CM’s Lyricist Lounge presents ALMOST (saved)
by Ezekiel Azonwu March 6, 2010

Happy Father’s Day 2012 – Songs, Poems, Messages Honoring Fathers

via Zondervan

Proverbs 23:24

 The father of the righteous will greatly rejoice;
he who fathers a wise son will be glad in him.

Malachi 4:6
He will turn the hearts of the fathers to their children, and the hearts of the children to their fathers

Proverbs 23:22
Listen to your father, who gave you life,

Proverbs 23:24
The father of a righteous man has great joy;
he who has a wise son delights in him

My Earthly Dad

With these three words,
„Dear Heavenly Father,”
I begin my every prayer,
But the man I see
While on bended knee
Is always my earthly dad.

He is the image
Of the Father divine
Reflecting the nature of God,
For his love and care
And strong faith laid bare
Pointed me to my Father above.

–Mary Fairchild


The King is Coming

sermon notes from David Platt’s present sermon series reads like a worshipful poem:


Matthew 21:1-22

Attributes of the King…

He is the divine King.
He is the prophesied King.
He is the righteous King.
He is the Savior King.
He is the gentle King.
He is the peaceful King.
He is the global King.
He is the Messianic King.
He is the compassionate King.
He is the prophetic King.
He is the holy King.
He is the authoritative King.

He has authority over the temple.
He has authority over disease.
He has authority over all people.
He has authority over all creation.

He is the coming King.

He came the first time humbly riding on a colt… To rescue sinners.

To be crucified as King.

He will come the second time sovereignly reigning on a horse…

To rule sinners.
To be crowned as King.

Application to our Lives…

Let us give him praise.
Gladly surrender to this King today.

Let us prioritize prayer.
Continually seek this King every day.

Let us bear fruit in our lives.
This King desires—and deserves—more than hollow worship and hypocritical religion.

Let us have faith as his church.
This King can—and will—do the impossible when we ask.

Poem: Graiul Martirilor – Martie 2012 la Biserica Elim Timisoara

Uploaded by on Mar 9, 2012 mai multe programe crestine pe http://alfaomega.tv/mediacenter

Christmas Mystery – a poem

Christmas Mystery

He who forged Earth’s iron core
And scattered stars to distant skies
Came shattered beauty to restore
And answer lost ones’ mournful cries.
A God who stands among the weak
To lift each burden that they face,
To lift away their bondage bleak
And give them strength in holy grace.

The star of hope for all the years,
Though spoken of through ages past,
Lies born in dust and blood and tears
Without His glorious trumpets’ blast.
Yet in His tiny hand He holds
The power that built the mountains high.
His glory shatters earthly molds
As angels’ voices split the sky.

The angel heralds call out clear
To tell us of the infant King
Who comes to crush the power of fear
And let the notes of justice ring.
Yet first He comes to serve and die,
Not yet to take His rightful place,
That those who chose to crucify
Their King might still receive His grace.

He calls us now with signs and stars
To find the Child born a King,
To give Him all that once was ours,
And songs of love and praise to sing.
So as we journey through the night
And seek our true Desire’s star
We find that Jesus, through His might
Has sought us from our exile far.

Christmas  Mystery was  written  by   Elizabeth  Sunshine  (via)

Joseph Hart – A Dialogue between a Believer and his Soul (a Poem & biography)

via Banner of Truth Trust UK
Joseph Hart (1712 – May 24, 1768) was an 18th-century minister in London. His works include „Hart’s Hymns”, a much-loved hymn book amongst evangelical Christians throughout its lifetime of over 200 years, which includes the well-known hymn, „Come ye sinners, poor and needy”.

One of Joseph Hart’s early publications was a tract denouncing Christianity (prior to his conversion) called The Unreasonableness of Religion, Being Remarks and Animadversions on the Rev. John Wesley’s Sermon on Romans 8:32. His other works include a short autobiography and a few poetical translations of ancient classics.

Joseph Hart preached at Jewin Street chapel in London, a building with multiple galleries, to a congregation of significant size.

Only one of Hart’s sermons remains discovered to us: that of Christmas 1767. Several of his hymns appear in the Sacred Harp.
Hart’s Conversion-
Hart later considered that there was a need both to do good works and to believe in God. But then came the uncertainty: Was he really and truly saved? He had no indication from God, no elaborate vision, telling him that he had been saved. This was a great worry to Joseph Hart. He began to pray to God that there would be some revelation granted him, or perhaps just a little sign. This tormented Hart for more than a year.

Then, the week before Easter of the year 1757 Hart „had such an amazing view of the agony of Christ in the garden [of gethsemane]” [2] showing to Hart that all Christ’s sufferings were for him (along with the rest of the church).

But soon after this, Hart again began to be afraid of the life to come- eternity, and feared exceedingly when reading about the condemned in passages in the Bible.

But It was on Whitsunday that Hart’s true conversion came. Hart was converted under the ministry of George Whitefield, and felt blessed in his soul.

After these times Hart still had sufferings and uncertainties as to his conversion, but he could always look back to his conversion, and believe that God saved his soul.

Hart’s motto after this time was: „Pharasaic zeel and Antinomian security are the two engines of Satan, with which he grinds the church in all ages, as betwixt [between] the upper and the nether [lower] millstone. The space between them is much narrower and harder to find than most men imagine. It is a path which the vulture’s eye hath not seen; and none can show it us but the Holy Ghost.”

Hart died on May 24, 1768, with a congregation estimated at tens of thousands around his graveside at Bunhill Fields. (via) Wikipedia

Come, my soul, and let us try,
For a little season,
Every burden to lay by;
Come, and let us reason.
What is this that casts thee down?
Who are those that grieve thee?
Speak, and let the worst be known;
Speaking may relieve thee.

O, I sink beneath the load
Of my nature’s evil!
Full of enmity to God;
Captived by the devil;
Restless as the troubled seas;
Feeble, faint, and fearful;
Plagued with every sore disease;
How can I be cheerful?

Think on what thy Saviour bore
In the gloomy garden.
Sweating blood at every pore,
To procure thy pardon!
See him stretched upon the wood,
Bleeding, grieving, crying,
Suffering all the wrath of God,
Groaning, gasping, dying!

This by faith I sometimes view,
And those views relieve me;
But my sins return anew;
These are they that grieve me.
O, I’m leprous, stinking, foul,
Quite throughout infected;
Have not I, if any soul,
Cause to be dejected?

Think how loud thy dying Lord
Cried out, ‘It is finished!’
Treasure up that sacred word,
Whole and undiminished;
Doubt not he will carry on,
To its full perfection,
That good work he has begun;
Why, then, this dejection?

Faith when void of works is dead;
This the Scriptures witness;
And what works have I to plead,
Who am all unfitness?
All my powers are depraved,
Blind, perverse, and filthy;
If from death I’m fully saved,
Why am I not healthy?

Pore not on thyself too long,
Lest it sink thee lower;
Look to Jesus, kind as strong
Mercy joined with power;
Every work that thou must do,
Will thy gracious Saviour
For thee work, and in thee too,
Of his special favour.

Jesus’ precious blood, once spilt,
I depend on solely,
To release and clear my guilt;
But I would be holy.

He that bought thee on the cross
Can control thy nature,
Fully purge away thy dross;
Make thee a new creature.

That he can I nothing doubt,
Be it but his pleasure.

Though it be not done throughout,
May it not in measure?

When that measure, far from great,
Still shall seem decreasing?

Faint not then, but pray and wait,
Never, never ceasing.

What when prayer meets no regard?

Still repeat it often.

But I feel myself so hard.

Jesus will thee soften.

But my enemies make head.

Let them closer drive thee.

But I’m cold, I’m dark, I’m dead.

Jesus will revive thee.

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