"provision" poems
*be ever gentle to thy words
treat them, your tools, well,
cleansing and protecting,
wrapping them in cloths of chamois and moleskin
that they may be well conditioned and
pour forth with a temperament clear and viscous,
reflecting their high honors and a noble lineage,
they are well-intentioned to exist far longer
than your meager temporal life,
upon this ever hasty, ever perpetual, orbit
give them all respect, their fair due,
they are treasure immeasurable,
for which you have been granted guardianship,
custody received from others to be gifted onwards,
yours, but for the duration
so oft we trifle words,
expel them from the country of our body,
without passport and earnestness,
as if they were the cheapest of footnote filler,
day tourists, to be treated as leavings,
refuse for daily discardation,
barely noting their fast comings and faster disappearance,
but leaving not, a mark of distinction
more truffle than trifle,
find them in the dark forest of your life,
use them sparingly, just for soaring,
take them from the roots of your trees,
shave them with a paring knife,
counts them in bites and measure them in grams,
even in grains,
for words are the seasoning of our lives,
agent provacateurs that can modify the moment,
bringing out to the fore
the flavor of the underlying
speak them slow and distinct,
for they arrive slow to you,
a trickling of refugees for your sheltering,
harbor them as full companions,
protected by natural law,
provision them well,
prepared and ever ready for a quick departure,
moor them at the embarcadero,
for the next restless leg of endlessness,
which they themselves will inform you
will last longer than eternity,
long after there are no humans to speak them*
Oct 10, 2015
Oct 10, 2015 at 6:01 PM UTC
*let the sun beat down upon my face, stars to fill my dream
i am a traveler of both time and space, to be where I have been
to sit with elders of the gentle race, this world has seldom seen
they talk of days for which they sit and wait and all will be revealed
talk and song from tongues of lilting grace, whose sounds caress my ear
but not a word I heard could I relate, the story was quite clear
all I see turns to brown, as the sun burns the ground
and my eyes fill with sand, as I scan this wasted land
trying to find where I've been
pilot of the storm who leaves no trace, like thoughts inside a dream
heed the path that led me to that place, yellow desert stream
my Shangri-La beneath the summer moon, I will return again
sure as the dust that floats high in June, when moving through Kashmir
oh, father of the four winds, fill my sails, across the sea of years
With no provision but an open face, along the straits of fear
let me take you there*
Dec 12, 2014
Dec 12, 2014 at 2:19 PM UTC
You're giving me love
When I feel unlove
You're giving me peace
When I'm in chaos
You're giving me joy
When I'm unhappy
You're giving me comfort
When I'm in pain
You're giving me provision
When I have nothing
You're giving me strength
When I feel weak
How grateful I am
Having someone to lean on
Hoping that You'll see me
Having a grateful heart.
Jun 23, 2015
Jun 23, 2015 at 6:02 AM UTC
And I said to the man who stood at the gate of the year:
“Give me a light that I may tread safely into the unknown.”
And he replied:
“Go out into the darkness and put your hand into the Hand of God.
That shall be to you better than light and safer than a known way.”
So I went forth, and finding the Hand of God, trod gladly into the night.
And He led me towards the hills and the breaking of day in the lone East.
So heart be still:
What need our little life
Our human life to know,
If God hath comprehension?
In all the dizzy strife
Of things both high and low,
God hideth His intention.
God knows. His will
Is best. The stretch of years
Which wind ahead, so dim
To our imperfect vision,
Are clear to God. Our fears
Are premature; In Him,
All time hath full provision.
Then rest: until
God moves to lift the veil
From our impatient eyes,
When, as the sweeter features
Of Life’s stern face we hail,
Fair beyond all surmise
God’s thought around His creatures
Our mind shall fill.
Dec 31, 2016
Dec 31, 2016 at 7:33 AM UTC
Ah, the season of gifting.
Antagonist of year-long thrifting.
Tradition sadistic,
Materialistic,
Four quarters in pockets worth sifting.
This year I hereby proclaim
I shan’t be consumed by the game.
Cycle of curse
Purpose perverse
The namesake, an oversight became.
Christ’s birth did in fact begin,
Holiday distracted by sin.
Misguided it be
To forget idly
The sacrifice He made for all men.
We naively regard generosity
As holiday’s behavioral piosity.
But if dollars and cents
Are the tools of offense
Over shadow favor luminosity.
Water in Africa is *****
American child in poverty.
Politics aside,
Convenient homicide,
To enable the ills of society.
In the global economy we flaunt
Wealth by comparison, bitter taunt.
First world problems abound
Pass the turkey around
Central heating and air, what a jaunt!
What if this season we decide
To extend two palms open wide?
Sacrificing ourselves
Rather than stocking our shelves
Dying whispers echo true: “we tried.”
Don’t spend your money on me this year.
Not iPhones, not tickets, not Blu-ray or beer.
Instead know you can
Distribute more than
A snort, a lie, and a tear.
(optional conclusion to assist interpretation of last line)
Snort of derision,
Lies of provision,
Tears, even true,
Hardly subdue
Anguish deprived of tradition’s revision.
Dec 26, 2012
Dec 26, 2012 at 5:25 PM UTC
He had drifted in among us as a straw drifts with the tide,
He was just a wand'ring mongrel from the weary world outside;
He was not aristocratic, being mostly ribs and hair,
With a hint of spaniel parents and a touch of native bear
He was very poor and humble and content with what he got,
So we fed him bones and biscuits, till he heartened up a lot;
Then he growled and grew aggressive, treating orders with disdain,
Till at last he bit the butcher, which would argue want of brain.
Now the butcher, noble fellow, was a sport beyond belief,
And instead of bringing actions he brought half a shin of beef,
Which he handed on to Fido, who received it as a right
And removed it to the garden, where he buried it at night.
'Twas the means of his undoing, for my wife, who'd stood his friend,
To adopt a slang expression, "went in off the deepest end",
For among the pinks and pansies, the gloxinias and the gorse
He had made an excavation like a graveyard for a horse.
Then we held a consultation which decided on his fate:
'Twas in anger more than sorrow that we led him to the gate,
And we handed him the beef-bone as provision for the day,
Then we opened wide the portal and we told him, "On your way."
8.4k
I have learned from father and brother-in-law,
How not to treat wives,
Provision is not a chore,
It is maintaining dear lives.
Oct 16, 2013
Oct 16, 2013 at 7:15 AM UTC
Wet season becomes dry
But dryness is not permanent;
It's a test.
And when one embrace the vision,
There will be a provision
Unto him, due to his higher calling.
There is a revival
An awakening of the soul
There, justice shall submerge
And it shall be a payback time.
For to where a revelation lies,
There will be power and inspiration
And the keys to the multitudes:
Faith, prayer and obedience.
Aug 19, 2014
Aug 19, 2014 at 4:36 AM UTC
a quote of Bernard-Henri Lévy
~~~
the divers’ recovery, diverse,
shipwrecked salvage from different locations,
auctioned to the highest bidder,
tho the excised excerpts are exceptional,
none come to do the bidding,
for the provenance of words
belongs to all, and to none
~~
“so oft we trifle words,
expel them from the country of our body,
without passport and earnestness,
as if they were the cheapest of footnote filler,
day tourists, to be treated as leavings,
refuse for daily discardation,
barely noting their fast comings and faster disappearance,
but leaving not, a mark of distinction”
“the addicted pleasure words granted to we privileged few,
like every enslaved soul to the mind, which I am, I am,
evening dreams, midnight thinkings, sunrise seeings,
how can I infect and thus protect the young to the liberty
to love the crafted content of our human essence to better
comprehend that a moment caught on tape of our shared
words is a holiday, a celebration for the ages...and every molecule,
becomes a human tuning fork in concert, in pitch identical, in blood tainted with the simplicity of we are all the same, only words, this will transmit”
“murmur me, with soft downy charms,
these words discovered
recoursed and intended well to
pointedly offset and contradict
their very own tumultuous discovery uncovering,
tear tongue me
with calming, lapping word wages,
hymns harmonious and fine homilies,
a call, a request,
a bequest
to sedate my shrill life
“some cells, microscopic, preserved digitally,
aged to imperfection, thrash my eyes,
making me speak in tongues I do not recognize,
but fluently possess, no wonder there,
the memory place fairly empty,
room aplenty for passerby's and the imagery
of the vaguest of dearly departed
skin is not the only mot shed,
sloughing of woeful words”
“speak them slow and distinct,
for they arrive slow to you,
a trickling of refugees for your sheltering,
harbor them as full companions,
protected by natural law,
provision them well,
prepared and ever ready for a quick departure,
moor these words at the embarcadero,
for the next restless leg of endlessness,
which they themselves will inform you
will last longer than eternity,
long after there are no humans to speak them”
Mar 27, 2019
Mar 27, 2019 at 4:55 AM UTC
I watched the water rise. Creeping down the muddy street. As if a divine force was attempting a stealthy act of insurrection. I didn't have the heart to fight it. Had I only known.
I watched Hell's Half Acre silently succumb to the whimsical (however so pleasantly devastating) path of Gaea. Through this empowering incident I felt redemption like I never had before.
I jumped down from the platform of the livestock pen to personally welcome the satisfying force of nature's purification. The water lashed out and grabbed my leg. At that moment my jubilate spirit spoiled to uncontaminated terror. It was not a redemptive Spirit winding its way through the rail tracks but the serpent Lucifer. Had I only known.
And so in the West Bottoms Tavern I found myself under the ***** shoe of The Machine. A wayward phantom rising from our precarious Kansas River. It drifts through the sweet Midwest like the coal black locomotive smoke that paints a suffocating thick haze above the Stockyards.
A welcome slate of provision. A shelter covering us from the racial tension and poverty smothering the outside world. To those in the Bottoms with unruly desires, a saviour. To those at City Hall with loose morals, the messiah.
And it was at 1908, I nervously pulled the covers over my vulnerable body and sealed Satan's foul kiss with a diabolical red scrawl. We skipped hand in hand through the freshly paved streets of our "wide open" town. I always tried my best to look the other way but I knew full well that I travelled with a gang of thieves.
Nonetheless, everyone votes in our town. A brutal party whip keeps the Jackson County Democrats in line and "Charlie the *** prevents any Rabbits from multiplying.
But I've been working from within the belly of a "whale" for years and I fear we've now run out of ocean. Our arranged marriage has robbed my capacity for faithful navigation. I'm seeking a radical divorce from The Beast, the cost has become inconsequential to me.
So I found genuine redemption. Finally. I closed the driver side door to my sedan and walked out to the edge of the bridge. The water below seemed whimsical (and so pleasantly devastating) in nature, much the same as it had 36 years ago. I pinned this note to the window, and with a Ready-Mixed Concrete block tied around my waist I watched the water rise.
Oct 25, 2018
Oct 25, 2018 at 9:47 PM UTC
You are an angel sent from heaven to us
You are a gift for which we are grateful and by which we're blessed
There is a purpose a plan a place just for you
The world had a need and from the beginning God knew
The perfect time the perfect family to raise you as their own
To look back ta amazing to see how much you've grown
From the little baby girl to the young woman you are today
For all the missions throughout time and for you I dare to pray
That you would know God's providence and provision
The Lord provided us with you and now to the world given
By your love and your light to you they shall be drawn
Hold them close and take them in let them hear your heartsong
You are a gift from heaven sent down upon the earth
To show every man woman and child what a human life is worth
For this and many other reasons I think of you at night
And ask the Lord to hold you close and keep you always in his sight.
Feb 6, 2016
Feb 6, 2016 at 1:39 AM UTC
May the words of my mouth
and the meditation of my heart
be pleasing in your sight, LORD,
my Rock and my Redeemer.
Good Morning Beloved
It is good to be among you this morning.
Let us pray….
Gracious Lord
As we sojourn the pathways of life
You have brought us to the places
Of ecstatic splendorous peaks
You have blessed us with resounding joys
You have filled us with good things
The grace of your unconditional love
Is made manifest in the abundant life
you have promised to all your children
We bless you Lord for your provision
And your unfailing unrequited love
You have also humbled us Lord
With times of perplexing trial,
deep sorrows and pointed loss
Our earthly journey
has led us to places
of dread, devastation
sickness and pending death
Our plans and aspirations
Have turned to dust
Our eyes fill with tears
Our crestfallen hearts
have hardened
We fail to receive the
balm of love
We have been routed
We have lost the battle
We have been conquered
by separation, sin and despair
The spirit of life
Has evaporated
From our bodies
All that remains
Are dry bones
Scattered in the
valley of death
hidden by the shadows
In the nadir of our lives
Yet your abiding love
remains the
strong Present Helper
calling us to your light
May we rise from our
Afflictions as Lazarus
did when called by his
beloved friend Jesus
May your grace anoint
Our ears with the sound of
The Great Resurrectors voice
May you stir our hearts
With the wisdom of your will
May you bless our lips
With the grace of prophecy
That we may
Prophesy to the broken
And brittle bones of our lives
Prophecy to the bones
so they may be joined
With sinew and flesh again
May your words
Become flesh
May we walk again
In the land of the living
And rejoin the beloved
At the table of
Your abundant grace
In The Good Deliver's Name
We pray...
Selah
Music:
Eric Dolphy, Come Sunday
Readings,
Ezekiel 37 The Valley of Dry Bones,
John 11, The Death of Lazarus
Prayer of the Dry Bones
Faith Lutheran Church
Lavallette NJ
4th Sunday in Lent
4/2/17
Apr 6, 2017
Apr 6, 2017 at 12:07 PM UTC
The world is filled with division
Resulting in endless collision
Because we fail to envision.
We only use literal vision
Without a second of indecision
We jump to rash decision
And attempt to imprison
Those who caused the division
Without giving revision
To our lack of precision.
resulting in misprision
Which only adds to collision
And the terrible decision
To access our nuclear provision
Jan 25, 2015
Jan 25, 2015 at 1:48 AM UTC
*je pense bien à toi
(i think well of you)
Have not chatted in awhile,
me rutted in NYC,
a city of constant tear down
and sometimes flashy urban human
renewal...
While you,
you getting on with life,
growing up, growing down,
buying clothes for a new school season,
or growing children,
or boxing up now grandchildren memories of memories...
falling in love, writing poetry all about it...
You,
in Nepal, Malaysia, India,
Seattle, Portland, and the Florida's panhandle,
the US Midwest sainted hinterlands,
the South, that makes one love water,
water that has travelled from the faraway,
island continent of professorial Australia,
Did I forget the Philippines?
worse sin committed,
is that in
your poetry
I have not toe dipped,
quite the long erstwhile,
after loving it with
obsession devotion...
so just a Saturday afternoon
note penned just to you
and you alone...
je pense bien à toi
(i think well of you)
So by way of apology,
craft a poem for you exclusive,
more than each word, letter,
every syllable, tongue tasted
for conjuctivity,
breadth and thus discovered
notes of red soil, raspberry, lemon,
even a hint of sweet masquerading as a
salty kindness in our veins,
our unique vintage of connectivity
Your hand to my lips raised,
grasped twice, by mine both,
slow lifting with stature, affection and respect,
kiss it and whisper just enough for
we two to hear...
je pense bien à toi
(i think well of you)
even this seems weakly insufficient,
but care taken nowadays,
a new economy of words,
write less, think more, and
give up the truly deserved words only
as a mark of my fondness and respect
these come on no schedule,
often months in the making,
so forgive-me-not my unsweetened silences,
accept them with easy knowing that
je pense bien à toi
(i think well of you)
the summer man wintered in discontent,
his journey now disrupted by forces exogenous,
stealing his vision, jailing him in between
walls of indecision, knocking down
his own twin towers,
but carelessly not making provision
to tell you well and often enough
je pense bien à toi
(i think well of you)*
Sept. 13, 2014
Sep 13, 2014
Sep 13, 2014 at 3:10 PM UTC
Collaboration with Alyssa Underwood!
*I'm not getting much from life,
it makes me want to scream!
Won't achieve my smallest goal...
let alone my dreams!*.
**Your life's hidden in Christ's hands
and your competence comes from Him.
His Spirit's working His purpose in you...
despite how things may seem.**.
*I'm frail and I'm weak,
I'm sorry. I'm not strong.
You say I can handle this test...
You couldn't be more wrong!*.
**Frailty's the best start
for watching our egos flee.
Once we know WE can't do it...
we begin to get set free.**.
*I am sick and tired
of the daily drudge!
And fellow believers?
All they do is JUDGE!*.
**So lay it all down.
Jesus died to bear
the indomitable weight...
of every burden you wear.**.
*Does God answer prayers?
I wonder if HE DOES!
If you go and backslide
He seems to hold a grudge!*.
**I find He answers differently
than what I might seek first,
for what's pleasant now...
May not fill my deepest thirst.**.
*Alright. He makes us patient.
But I can believe the lies!
He has no provision
to make me savvy... WISE!*.
**If wisdom like the world
is what the soul most craves,
where's the contentment...
in those who are its slaves?**
*The believer is the candle
Jesus is the flame.
Thank you sister for your help...
I'm calling on His Name!
I will heed your sayings.
I have been absurd!
He's good to all His promises...
They're written in HIS WORD.*.
**It's not absurd to question
or probe into our doubts.
HIS WORD can stand resistance...
through every skeptic's shouts.
We're here to help each other
find truth along the way.
JESUS IS THE WAY AND TRUTH
AND LIFE WE LIVE EACH DAY!
Alyssa Underwood (the voice of Truth)**.
SoulSurvivor (the doubtful believer)
Jan 5, 2016
Jan 5, 2016 at 7:59 PM UTC
The power of resources beyond lack
Filling up every vacuum of want
What could we ever ask?
When there’s provision for what we need not yet
In Heaven’s Economy
Peace that passes understanding
Erasing the fear of depression
With enough confidence to face tomorrow
Provided through the network of faith
Heavens' Economy
Where the existence of famine is not recognized
Even the least budget is well organized
Its treasures are incorruptible
And only by faith is it accessible
Reserved for the people in His kingdom
Managed by His wisdom
Heaven’s economy, powered by God.
Apr 9, 2016
Apr 9, 2016 at 1:12 AM UTC
Oh, sweet disposition
We seem to have opposing opinions
On most of your past decisions
Back when we played different positions
In all of our parallel missions
We're trapped within mental prisons
Stuck keeping each other closer than a distance
Oh, sweetest disposition
You have the most striking persistence
Wouldn't count on you a single provision
No need for alcohol, drunk off you in any instance
And your silhouette blurs my vision
When you go missin'
You know who I'm missin'
My bittersweet disposition
May 7, 2013
May 7, 2013 at 5:06 PM UTC
These words that I am speaking are not my own.
No, they come from the Heavenly Father seated on His Heavenly throne.
Hallowed be Your name, Father!
Hallowed be Your name.
Father, grace.
Father, spirit.
Father, power.
Father, peace.
This is what the Father says,
"Be still, child.
Be still.
You can feel the undertow tugging and pulling
not knowing
which way the
water will go and
there is a wave coming
a towering wave
a rushing wave
a crashing wave
a tidal wave but
do not be afraid.
The water's safe.
Come walk on it.
For this wave is not what it seems.
No,
this is a wave of blessing and people and provision coming your way
this is a wave of overcoming and
victory and answered prayers
this is a wave that will sweep you off your feet,
toss you around in its waters
leaving you breathless and gasping at My faithfulness and love everlasting
So you'd better be ready and brace yourselves,
this wave is coming.
Be ready.
Leave your doors wide open
and your doorstep clean for
I am sending you prodigal sons
the lost, the broken ones.
I am leading them back to Me.
For I am Love and this, this is love:
That I have loved and traded My kingdom for your sins
and My wealth for your filth.
Because I am Love and My love never runs out.
Be ready for the return of your
brothers and your sisters,
be ready with open doors and open arms,
be ready for a wave of those who need patching up.
Be ready for them.
Do you hear the rain?
Smell it.
Taste it.
Feel it.
Like the rain that pours without end, I will open the floodgates of heaven
and pour out so much blessing
your storehouses will overflow and
your hands won't be ready to catch the next one so
never worry about what you will eat
or drink
or wear
For I am Jehovah Jireh and
I am more
than enough.
Be ready for downpour.
Rise, youth.
Your time is now.
Don't tell Me you are too young
too inexperienced
too busy
or too scared.
I will take your weaknesses and make my strength perfect in them,
I will give you the wisdom and faith you need,
I will make you into the leaders I've called you to be.
Don't worry about what you will say to them,
for I will put the words in your mouth,
and the seeds in their hearts.
My plans never fail, child, so enough with the doubts,
enough with the fears,
your time is now.
Be ready for the youth.
A wave of breakthrough
is coming straight at you and
don't you for one second
cringe in fear.
Don't you be afraid of the wave coming,
Don't you whimper when I lead you
to walk upon deeper waters,
just
listen to my still, small voice, child, and
follow it.
Don't you for one second
let your faith falter
just trust in your Father and
you'd better get ready and
brace yourselves because
this wave is going to
blow
you
away."
Jun 16, 2013
Jun 16, 2013 at 7:48 AM UTC
give us this day our daily bread
and lead us not into the toilet
for carbs are calories
and so is time
this is my body (said bread) broken for you
take, eat, and remember
i take, eat, and regurgitate
i purge your purging of my sins
for bread is not safe
but are you?
Sep 7, 2025
Sep 7, 2025 at 12:16 PM UTC
Autism prays for...
Chuck E. Cheese
Maya and Miguel
Huey, Dewey, and Louie
Mom and Dad
Pizza rolls
Subway sandwiches
Grannie
Greeney phantom
dogs,
the Brady Bunch
His greatness
His provision
and comedy cartoons
to watch all day.
Amen
May 31, 2014
May 31, 2014 at 8:18 PM UTC
my glasses have been coloured with hedonistic hue,
through this new vision,
i enjoy the inner view.
lust is a must,
for which i have made some provision,
helps me attain pleasure,
of his feminine creation.
the ******* train,
hitting my brain,
taking away the societal pain,
i have no pants,
i have no shame.
i invite you all to my heathen mansion,
to taste the roasted swine,
i may not be there,
as i plan on enjoying my women and wine.
Jan 25, 2015
Jan 25, 2015 at 5:09 AM UTC
~
*prelude.
did you know that English stands alone as a written language requiring the capitalization of the word "I"... yet makes no similar provision for “we” or “us; a sad statement of self inflation. it was after learning this that i abandoned the rule in my own poetry.*
~
my i’s averted,
lowered, diverted,
reduced in size,
an exercise of
large proportions;
breaking down the me-isms,
finding room for we-isms,
to take the larger place;
create an i for seeing,
the case for simple,
smaller being;
no need to punctuate,
instead eliminate this
compulsion to inflate;
’tis my i-drop moment,
my i-reducing ointment,
these pupils are dilated,
deflating i and me,
enlarging we and thee;
finding that in i-reduction,
the eyes are widely opened,
thus to better see,
what i really need to be.
Oct 10, 2016
Oct 10, 2016 at 12:49 PM UTC
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Feb 23, 2012
Feb 23, 2012 at 1:04 AM UTC
Straight lines bound the edges,
while it became necessary to spend
the anchor of time lost in the twisting
patterns slowly darkening to supply
the molecules which provided scenery.
The character was divided
between a wolf and the hiker towering
at the pinnacle of the hill to gaze above
the head of the beast across to the vista
of the trail. Roses bloomed, and the ink
was done, to dry while color trickled
in a world comprised through streams
of shivering light reflected from
the mountain, a flower raised by
the frivolous event of cataclysmic times;
the hatchet carved its cliffs to make
a face of empty granite and the soul of
the rock. The delay created a great offer,
considered by erosion, but the hesitation
defied the smoothing influence of climates
and their ages. The rise killed the
enthusiasms of the hiking spirit,
reconstituting the problem, and
the messenger of hilarity was never less
welcome than when enthusiastic about the
confusion of lost victims. Always a few
of these were
in the scenes along the shimmering trails
with their names that changed at inconvenient
turning points until travelers were anxious
to go through the door into the chalet with its
green carpet of moss. The discount welcomed
them, inside, yet there was no great pile
of money and nothing was purchased. Instead,
after the warmth set in, showing determination,
the man with the pack returned to life on
the wild edge of the land. After a command to
the sharp creature that had been pacified by the
impressive displays of civilization, the walker
began to trek, and the wandering dog felt self
respect, the beginning of membership. So, they
belonged to the range, and the traders had plans
to provision them by means of a system of values
arrived to demonstrate available necessities and
equities conceived in the course of bargaining.
This general aspiration was accompanied by the
taciturn response thought to be more pleasant
than the argument and ill will. Prosperity had
been created by serving fate and nature rather
than by transferring property to a singular pit.
The result was an expectation of good deals and
reliable assistance.
Nov 5, 2013
Nov 5, 2013 at 6:37 PM UTC
Ibrahim looking at Dalila declares Kitab Allah wa sunnati Rasullah
Dalila looking at Ibrahim declares Kitab Allah wa sunnati Rasullah
Ibrahim says to Dalila You are my heaven tonight
Dalila smiles
Ibrahim thanks Allah before dawn for being given the best provision
Dalila sits behind him humbling herself before Allah and giving reverance to Allah for an uncalculated blessing
Ibrahim leads them in their daily prayers
Dalila carefully and gratefully follows
Ibrahim is just or fair with Dalila and the family
Dalila is just or fair with Ibrahim and the family
Ibrahim often cooks delicious dinners for the two of them
Dalila plays with Ibrahim's hair afterwards
Ibrahim reads Quran and lives it for Allah, Allah's beloved Prophet, himself, Dalila, and their kids
Dalila learns from Ibrahim every day and admires his efforts to do what is required of him as a man of faith, as a husband, and as a father
Ibrahim is honest with Dalila
Dalila is honest with Ibrahim
Ibrahim gives Dalila attention and listens to her when she needs to talk
Dalila dresses for Ibrahim like she doesn't dress for other men
Ibrahim loves the way she looks for him
Dalila lets Ibrahim know what he can do for her to please her
Ibrahim enjoys the challenge and likes being her hero
Dalila often has nights out on the town with Ibrahim she plans
Ibrahim surprises Dalila several times a year by taking her to unique places and sometimes to scenic, thrilling vacation spots
Dalila says to Ibrahim You've made me yours forever
Ibrahim replies I'm a fortunate man
Jul 28, 2019
Jul 28, 2019 at 4:57 PM UTC