Are you enough, like I'd need nothing more?
You say that you are, but maybe I'm not sure.
If all I had was You and I had nothing else,
Could I really say that I had true wealth?

Yet I trust Your Word and the truth it holds,
You are faithful to your promise, or so I'm told.
You commit to be sufficient, and that I've found true.
In loss and greatest pain, You've always come through.

Its not a resurrection, or a changing of fate,
Its not a different life but an ever present Grace.
A strength that comes from God to persevere through pain,
A wing from the Almighty to shelter from the rain.

Peace in a thunderstorm of wicked thoughts in flight,
A gentle voice that guides me, walking through the night.
A rod that pulls me closer, when I drift off the Way,
A Love that holds my heart and mind, I'll never walk away.

A strength in the battle, when I've got nothing more,
A friend by my side to help me in my war,
A Joy in the night, a victory song to sing.
A pressing through the pain knowing death has lost its sting.

The sufficiency of your power, has kept me through the tears,
And I know it will keep me through the coming years.
Completely all sufficient, I know You'll ever be.
And my hope will not be broken because I know Your love for me.

Life has moved on, yet it seems I am still here.
Holding on to memories and holding back tears.
Knowing you are gone now, but hoping still to hold,
My brother who I loved, you will never grow old.

Forever twenty one, a bright young age,
Wide eyed ambition, the world you stage.
Yet as the curtains drew and life began,
They closed o'er the life of this smart young man.

A hole is how I would describe the pain,
And every now and then it lets in rain.
I keep it around, and let it out pour,
Fill up with sadness and then some more.

I won't move on, not quickly or at all,
Those memories I will never, ever let fall.
My brother forever, my love is yours,
I know my hug waits on heav'ns far shores.

A musty old book is a treasure to me,
A whole different world of fantasy.
Written in times past in words of old,
Filled with great wit and literary gold.

Every yellow page has a particular musk,
Acquired by years of gathering dust.
And the leather bound cover is showing its age,
But still serves its duty protecting each page.
An old coffee stain mars page one and two,
The last remaining memory of a morning debut.

The book tells a story, but not just inside.
It tells of its history and of where it'd hide.
A library stamp tells of its time on the shelf,
A tear here and there tells of its diminishing health.

It was tarnished and worn when it was sent to it's rest,
In a bookshelf of a gentleman who lives out west.
There is a name on the page, Allen Cornell.
The last man to have read the story it would tell.

That is until I found it myself,
Dusty and hidden on an old antique shelf,
Let the adventures begin as I sit in my chair,
Pull out the book and read it with care.

Beaten, battered, bruised and torn,
Mocked and cursed, our object of scorn.
They led him through the streets of Jerusalem that day,
As he dragged a heavy cross on the way.
He was marred so bad that you could barely see man,
For from his brow crimson blood ran. Some jeering guards nearby did adorn,
His gentle brow with a crown made of thorns.
But while this cruelty went on in the streets,
It's outside the city that this story is complete.
As this man dragged his cross up the torturous hill,
He collapsesld out of exhaustion, not out of will.
So they passed off his Cross to a man standing by,
And prodded him on to lift him up high.
At the top of the hill he collapsed once more,
As if there was an unseen burden that He bore.
Then the soldiers without sense of pity or shame,
Stripped this man naked and fixed him a name.
"King of the Jews" declared the sign to the crowd,
Yet before this king not one man bowed.
Then they fastened with nails his hands to the wood,
Before lifting up the rugged Cross where it stood.
In the eyes of all, naked and bare,
not one person present could hold this man's stare.
For it wasn't with hate that he looked down on us all,
But with eyes full of mercy with which He did call.
He cried out in his agony for the forgiveness of man,
then suffered in silence till he cried out again.
He comitted His spirit on up to his Lord,
And then bowed his head and slumped 'gainst the board.
An ominous silence settled on all standing by,
As a blanket of black clouds rolled over the sky.
The ground started to shake and violently did fit,
As if the Earth below was it going to split.
A Roman guard standing by said it with his own lips,
"This man was Gods Son and we've marred Him with whips..."
We have pierced him through and spilled blood from on high,
Yet His only defense was those forgiving eyes.
We stand here condemned, Holy blood on our hands,
Murderers and liars, thieves and brigands.
What is to become of us for the wrong we have done?
Our sin has culminated in the death of God's Son!
The thought plagued me for nights, two days to be true,
Till news came from friends, once old now made new!
They told me the reason this man died on the cross,
To give up His life to seek out and save the lost.
He on the cross bore the wages of sin,
And descended to hell, my soul to win,
He has won victory over death and the grave,
So that all who believe in Him might be saved.
So be done with your guilt, let go of your shame, let condemnation fall to the ground.
For Christ has removed it for all who believe. Let the praise of his glory resound.
Where O death is your victory where O death is your sting?
For the power you held has now been expelled and crushed 'neath the foot of the king.
Thank you my lord for the mercy You gave when my life was near it's end. This privilege have I, has open my eyes, a God who calls me his friend.

A whisper in the wind,
Or a golden evening glow.
A sweet bright morning song,
Or a falcon flying low.
Creation speaks its beauty,
Invites the heart of man,
To join it in its duty,
Praise the great "I AM".

A whisper in the wind,
Or a tow'ring mountain's might.
A gently coursing river,
Or a brilliant starlit night.
God's glory will be sung,
For now and evermore,
So join the endless chorus,
"Holy is the LORD".

A whisper like the wind,
I hear it in my heart.
This is the beginning,
A merely humble start.
The verge of all forever,
When time no longer is,
Unimaginable splendor,
My mind grows faints at this.

A whisper in the Wind,
How it made my eyes to see,
The story of Creation,
The Makers majesty.
I now will seek to find,
The heart of God's great love.
For if by it was wonder,
Surely alone it's enough.

A million miles from house,
Still I am found at home.
For a place is merely space,
Where one can still be alone.
A home is something more,
Made with love and care not wood.
Based on faithfulness,
Designed by God as good.
I see in fleeting life,
An echo of my home.
A family called church,
Those whom are God's own.
And as great as this echo is,
Still more is left to see.
This family is great,
Full of saints of history.
They tell of righteous love,
Of joy forevermore,
I listen to their tale,
And hope for whats in store.
I hear from them its glorious,
Where worship will not cease,
Where sorrows are no more,
And there is endless peace.
Where the lion will lay with lamb,
Where every good things dwells,
And the source of all this good,
Overflows like a bursting well.
And as I set my heart,
On this land yet far away,
I feel my hope renewed,
That there I'll be someday.
But for now I will wait,
On this passing world I know,
For His coming is sure,
And with Him comes my home.

Standing tall, a million soldiers in a field.
Bowing in the breeze to which they yield.
Here one day and gone the next.
With each gust your stalks are flexed.
Growing proud, green, strong and spritely.
Dancing on the breeze ever so lightly.
Come then the drought, dry up the rain.
Green to brown, the first to fall is slain.
Felled by the wind, starved of supply,
Around him others fall, in the same way die.
Then passes months and spring rounds the bend.
Soon the summer rains will bring drought to an end.
As water falls on the soldiers again,
Only then life springs from lifeless pain.
Soon the secret soldiers break the ground, seen.
Still yet small but lively and green.
A perfect example of our lives that quickly pass,
Or maybe the story of the life of grass?