Showing posts from May, 2011

At His Feet

I cannot beat the trails,
Or trim the wind-taut sails,
Or pitch a camp beside the dusty road.
I cannot tame the crowd,
Or reprimand the proud,
Or offer strength to bear your heavy load.

I have a woman’s heart,
And play a woman’s part,
Attending to the tasks of house and fare.
I hunger for some way,
Some gesture just to say,
I love you Jesus, and I truly care.

You’ve shown us so much life
And spared us all your strife,
Retreating from our home to pour your heart
Out in the hills of prayer,
To meet your Father there,
To gain His strength before you must depart.

I grieved your love before,
When you had planned much more
Than simply curing Lazarus’ ill health.
I wept that you came late,
That you would hesitate,
But you were bringing resurrection wealth!

And here we are again
At table with you, friend,
And I can sense the heaviness of sin
Weighs doubly on you now,
As you reflect on how
The final ministry will soon begin.

The ointment in my hand,
A rare and precious brand,
Seems all I have right now of worth to share.
And …

With God

(Taken from the first chapter of F. B. Meyer's work on John's Gospel)

"He was with God." We may not at first perceive the significance of this clause, any more than the casual tourist sees the importance of an embrasure in the fortifications where sheep browse, and soldiers stand at ease. But if ever there should come again days of conflict, like those which swept across the early Church, in which men should assert that the Word was but a momentary and impersonal manifestation of God, we should instantly revert to this significant clause, and cry, It cannot be--The Word was WITH God. The same was in the beginning WITH God.

The preposition selected by the Evangelist is very significant. It means communion with and movement towards. It denotes the intimate fellowship subsisting between two, and well befits the intercourse of the distinct Persons of the one and ever-blessed God. "The face of the everlasting Word was ever directed towards the face of the everlasting F…

Almost Home

A Wednesday afternoon. Keith ran the stairs two at a time to the fourth floor. He knew the service door push-button combination. No time for the elevator. Stewart and Krista were already there and Nurse Katie, senior woman in George Cromarty's wing. There was evidence that the Doctor had just left.

"Hi guys, when did it happen?"

Stewart turned slowly from his uncle, "About 9:45. Katie was the first one to know."

The nurse put her hand on Keith's shoulder. "He had had a good breakfast. Shared some laughter with one of the newer residents. A volunteer wheeled him back and all seemed OK. I got a ring at the desk an hour later. He was all smiles. Told me that we hadn't had our mid-week "chin-wag". Told me a bit about what is going on at the Church, Keith.

Then he reached over to the side table for his Bible and handed it to me. Asked me to open it where the paper clip was, and to start reading at the 6th verse through the 19th. There, Stewart the…

His Beloved "Reb"

He told his wife and daughter to stay in the house. He loaded the shotgun and went outside to hide behind some garbage cans. He had robbed these men, men who knew him, to feed his desperate drug habit. They would be coming. They knew where he lived. He found himself praying, "Help me Jesus, help me Jesus. Save me Jesus." A pact was made that if he survived the night he would give his life to the Lord. What was there to give? Petty juvenile thief, turned armed robber, turned jailbird, turned neighbourhood drug king, turned desperate addict.

And the Lord showed mercy. Henry Covington survived the night. He told his wife of the strange pact. She joined with him in a struggle to withdraw from the life and the crack...

In later years author Mitch Albom would meet this man who was pastoring a dilapidated church in recession weary Detroit, offering food and shelter to the homeless and preaching on the wonder of second and third chances with Jesus.

Albom was investigating worthy causes…


Mother bird, oh red-wing,
Valiant is the sight,
Of your hot pursuing
Raiding crow in flight.

Skyward still dispatching
From your stream-side nest.
Careful of each hatchling,
Startled from its rest.

Swooping, pecking, diving,
Driving threat away.
Instinct for surviving
Rules the air today?

Mother heart, oh wonder!
Sad you didn’t know,
From the brush down under
Comes the second crow.

Saved By the Little Guy

Ecclesiastes 9:

14There was a little city, and few men within it; and there came a great king against it, and besieged it, and built great bulwarks against it:

15Now there was found in it a poor wise man, and he by his wisdom delivered the city; yet no man remembered that same poor man.

What did this man contribute? A word of insight directly from the Lord? An historic recollection of the weaknesses of the enemy? A keen awareness of human nature and a way to motivate fellow-citizens to best advantage? A gift of faith for miracles? We do not know, but we do know as did Solomon, that we are not inclined to laud the little guy. Rather we heap praises upon and give much credit to the one "who does well for himself".

Listen to the Psalmist in Psalm 49:

16Be not thou afraid when one is made rich, when the glory of his house is increased;

17For when he dieth he shall carry nothing away: his glory shall not descend after him.

18Though while he lived he blessed his soul: and men will pra…