I've never believed.
I mean truly believed.
Not even
when you and I
sat through Sunday school,
but I'll admit
that there are worse things
then the possibility
of getting to see you again.
I'll see you there
if I get to go

In Florida sometimes it rains so hard
that you believe that it can't possibly stop,
that it will just rain and rain forever.

Sometimes I'd wake to a storm late at night,
and I'd sit out on the porch.

You could smell the lightning, and the coolness of the storm would
make your hair stand;
I'd feel so alive.

Some nights I'd go out, and my father
would be sitting on the porch already.
Lost in the storm
or maybe
called to it.
We wouldn't talk,
but we'd be lost together
in the rain and thunder.

Sometimes I wonder what of him
is left in me.
I am not sure
if I am more afraid of there being
very little
or of there being a great deal,
but when it rains
I think about him on that porch;

I stand on the promises made
To sin no longer am its slave
For me His all is all He gave

"In this I have to thank My Savior"

For me is why He came to die
For me is why He sacrificed
For a lowly sinner such as I

"So in this I have to thank My Savior"

As He hung upon that tree
All the while with thoughts of me
Him being my greatest need

"For in this I have to thank My Savior"

On the third day He arose
Drawing deaths sting to a close
All in Heaven rejoice for they know

"Why in this I have to thank My Savior"

In Him I fully put my trust
To follow no matter what the cost
For He has found what once was lost

"And in this I have to thank My Savior"

When the dusts settle from the last wheel
and the sickle moon stoops on the bamboo grove
the dead rise in the whispers of the southern breeze.

You may hear them splashing the canal's water
beneath the hazed halo of one quarter
by nocturne music of barn owl and crickets
in lights of glowworms from darkest thickets.

If you stop on the Rotwood Bridge
can hear them sing in gay abandon
though we're now all dead old spirits
the night can't make us anymore forlorn.

The twin moon may from the ripples broken
beckon you and if your spirit awakens
take a plunge for a joyous down go
amid cheers from the watery hollow.

A cool cloudburst from up high will cleanse this *****
metropolis ..Overfilling the gutters and storm sewers , the viaducts
and retaining ponds , filthy black tar streets , sidewalks crying for
upkeep ..
Rid this unkempt town of dreaded pollen and factory dust ,
stagnant pools of non-potable creek water , scrub the tarmac
at the city airport ..
Wash the 'Big rigs' , the trailers , the railheads , buses and the commuter locations . Shine her tall skyscrapers , her radio towers and her subway stations ..
Polish the walkways , the store fronts and the precious , park greenery ..
Refill the birdbaths , the fishing ponds and the vibrant lakeland scenery ..

The one that He loves
The one that He cares
The hopelessly lost
Not finding hope anywhere

The one who's unsatisfied
With life's turn of events
Who's been trying to hide
From that life ever since

The Cross Of Christ Is For...

The fatherless child
On the empty door step
The last lonely mile
Of the dead mans last breath

The kings and the queens
In their palace of pearl
The truth is so clear
It's for all of the world

The Cross Of Christ Is For...

Those dying of thirst
In the desert of life
Those on the high raging sea
With no land in sight

In the joy of the day
In the sadness of night
The Cross of Christ is for
All that is needed in life

What is this, Lord Jesus, that Thou shouldst make an end
Of all that I possess, and give Thyself to me?
So that there is nothing now to call my own
Save Thee; Thyself alone my treasure.
Taking all, Thou givest full measure of Thyself
With all things else eternal—
Things unlike the mouldly pelf by earth possessed.
But as to life and godliness, all things are mine
And in God's garments dressed I am;
With Thee, an heir to riches in the spheres divine.
Strange, I say, that suffering loss
I have so gained everything in getting
Me a friend who bore a cross.

                                         ~ Jim Elliot (1927-1956)