When I have finished climbing up the ridge
to some secluded green and leafy knoll
where the view is often grand and splendid
then I can say, it's well, within my soul.
When I have reached the summit of success
and realized the elusive, treasured goal
then I'll bask in joy and satisfaction
for it's well, so very well, within my soul.
When I ask myself, the silent question,
for whom and what the bell does softly toll
I think of the captain of my salvation
and it's well, so very well, within my soul.
When I know, that without Him, I am lost
when I know, it's Him, that makes me whole
then there's peace, that passes understanding
and it is well, so well, within my soul.
When I see waves that kiss the distant shore
the white-tipped water on its constant roll
then I have a view of heaven's glory
then all is well, so well, within my soul.

Stuff I don't know  names of
pass by my line of sight;
as opposed to concrete thoughts
that I know as black and white.

But the land still has its charm
as I walk along the trail;
and gaze out on the plains
where much beauty still prevails.

It's not just what you know that counts
but how you view your world;
how you count your blessings
as it all unfurls.

A walk is just the thing
that your mind can savor;
when life is passing by
without much taste or flavor.

So, the stuff that I don't know
in the end, it does not matter;
it's lost upon the wind,
like empty, useless chatter.

Rivers of living waters,
flow through these aging bones;
refreshing vital fluids,
how pleasant are their tones.

Babbling brooks of life,
filtered by green-filled fields;
the substance of our being,
how sweet the bounty yields.

Fountains of clear, clean truth,
that give to you, your measure;
filling your cup, to its brim,
with God-given bits of treasure.

He who drinks of these waters,
shall never thirst again;
gone is the carnal man,
that relishes in sin.

Rivers of living waters,
comfort this soul of mine;
content in a new creation,
content to let time unwind.

Father, I know them not
whose feet are quick to run
to plot heir evil deeds
such people are to shun.
Those who break God's law
as if it was not there
those who follow others
like them, they do not care.
Father, I know them not
that speak of hate and anger
curse the color of one's skin
they only harbor danger.
They want to shout and yell
to harm the peaceful soul
they never stop to think
what really makes them whole.
Father, I know them not
they scoff at God and love
laugh at law and order
and warnings from above.

Are You running with me, Jesus?
through the tunnel we call life;
through the many slings and arrows,
of the ugly thing called strife?
Until the race is finished Lord,
we run with great conviction;
being honest with each person,
offering only peace, not friction.
Are You running with me, Jesus?
in this world that says You're dead:
in this world that chooses money,
and just gives You up instead.
They overfeed their bellies.
like their politics and greed;
they're chasing false beliefs,
they know not what they need.
Are You running with me, Jesus?
in the heartache of the night;
in the weary daytime hours,
we must go on with the fight.

114 degrees in the valley
glad I moved up north
away from killer heat
in numbers, I was fourth.

My folks moved here first
then my brother and sister
I finally made it up  here
(slowed by a heat blister)

The summer days in Phoenix
go on for way too long
even in the fall
there's no September song.

Triple digits make their mark
from April through October
relentless, oven-baked days
before the season's over.

It's a dry heat, so they say
but when you're hot, you're hot
when you're a 100 miles northwest
it's a much more pleasant spot

Walking in the pouring rain, I'm soaked
in the middle of a empty desert plain
pelted hard with big , wet, chilly drops
that sting and  make me flinch in pain.

My ballcap provides a little shelter
but it isn't long before it's soggy too
I search the skies for decent weather
but there only patches that are blue.

I resign myself and say it could be worse
instead of only rain, it could be hail
and improbably it could be snow
that would be covering up the trail.

August rain, from monsoon season
is unpredictable and often rude
coming fast, without much warning
it fouls and blemishes my cheery mood.

But being the long-lived desert rat I am
I take it with just a grain of precious salt
walking in the open spaces with no shelter
forgetting my umbrella's my **** fault.