I love the taste of T-bone steak,
Delicious every bite,
But there's nothing like the Word of God,
For my spiritual appetite.
The Word of God has milk and meat,
And even ice cream and cake.
Take a slice of the Bread of Life,
And coffee to keep us awake.
Open your Bible and turn to Psalms,
For David's famous buffet.
You can drink all the wine of the word you want,
And still feel fine the next day.
There's enough of the Word for everyone,
And no one has to cheat.
The Word of God is a smorgasbord,
So take all you are able to eat.
Let's have a little long suffering,
Job gives the recipe.
Patience is the main ingredient,
Self denial is the fee.
Wrap that up in temperance,
It may not make much sense,
Cover that with contentment,
Then add some joy for strength.
Let's have love for dessert,
Jesus made this dish,
Cream of joy and peace together,
Sift out all selfishness.
Add some deeds of righteousness,
Enough to make it sweet.
Humility is the frosting,
That makes the dish complete.
Or are you on a diet,
Cause the race seems hard to run.
For a weight losing menu,
Try Hebrews 12 and 1.
Are you suffering from malnutrition,
And don't know what to do?
Your spiritual growth! seems hindered,
Try I Peter 2 and 2.
If when every time you battle,
the enemy always wins,
Try some Holy Ghost Protein,
And spiritual vitamins.
God's Word can feed millions,
And still have plenty left.
Because the Word of God is Soul Food,
Sent from the World's Greatest CHEF.
Source: Email from God's Minute
Well I certainly like that poem and I enjoyed the flow of the words!
Leave it with Him
I need oil," said an ancient monk; so he planted an olive sapling.
"Lord," he prayed, "it needs rain that its tender roots may drink and swell. Send gentle showers." And the Lord sent gentle showers.
"Lord," prayed the monk, "my tree needs sun. Send sun, I pray Thee." And the sun shone, gilding the dripping clouds.
"Now frost, my Lord, to brace its tissues," cried the monk. And behold, the little tree stood sparkling with frost, but at evening it died.
Then the monk sought the cell of a brother monk, and told his strange experience.
"I, too, planted a little tree," he said, "and see! it thrives well.
But I entrust my tree to its God.
He who made it knows better what it needs than a man like me.
I laid no condition.
I fixed not ways or means.
'Lord, send what it needs,' I prayed, 'storm or sunshine, wind, rain, or frost. Thou hast made it and Thou dost know.'"
Yes, leave it with Him,
The lilies all do, And they grow--
They grow in the rain,
And they grow in the, dew--
Yes, they grow:
They grow in the darkness, all hid in the night--
They grow in the sunshine, revealed by the light--
Still they grow.
Yes, leave it with Him
'Tis more dear to His heart,
You will know,
Than the lilies that bloom,
Or the flowers that start
'Neath the snow:
Whatever you need, if you seek it in prayer,
You can leave it with Him--for you are His care.
You, you know.
Lord, help me to keep my eyes on what is important and lasting.
"Consider the lilies, how they grow." – Matthew 6:28
THE "W" IN CHRISTMAS
Each December, I vowed to make Christmas a calm and peaceful
experience. I had cut back on nonessential obligations - extensive card writing, endless baking, decorating, and even overspending. Yet still, I found myself exhausted, unable to appreciate the precious family moments, and of course, the true meaning of Christmas.
My son, Nicholas, was in kindergarten that year. It was an exciting season for a six year old. For weeks, he'd been memorizing songs for his school's "Winter Pageant." I didn't have the heart to tell him I'd be working the night of the production. Unwilling to miss his shining moment, I spoke with his teacher. She assured me there'd be a dress rehearsal the morning of the presentation. All parents unable to attend that evening were welcome to come then. Fortunately, Nicholas seemed happy with the compromise.
So, the morning of the dress rehearsal, I filed in ten minutes early, found a spot on the cafeteria floor and sat down. Around the room, I saw several other parents quietly scampering to their seats. As I waited, the students were led into the room. Each class, accompanied by their teacher, sat cross-legged on the floor. Then, each group, one by one, rose to perform their song.
Because the public school system had long stopped referring to the holiday as "Christmas," I didn't expect anything other than fun, commercial entertainment - songs of reindeer, Santa Claus, snowflakes and good cheer. So, when my son's class rose to sing, "Christmas Love," I was slightly taken aback by it's bold title.
Nicholas was aglow, as were all of his classmates, adorned in fuzzy mittens, red sweaters, and bright snow caps upon their heads. Those in the front row- center stage - held up large letters, one by one, to spell out the title of the song. As the class would sing "C is for Christmas," a child would hold up the letter C. Then, "H is for Happy," and on and on, until each child holding up his portion had presented the complete message, "Christmas Love."
The performance was going smoothly, until suddenly, we noticed her; a small, quiet, girl in the front row holding the letter "M" upside down - totally unaware her letter "M" appeared as a "W". The audience of 1st through 6th graders snickered at this little one's mistake. But she had no idea they were laughing at her, so she stood tall, proudly holding her "W".
Although many teachers tried to shush the children, the laughter continued until the last letter was raised, and we all saw it together. A hush came over the audience and eyes began to widen. In that instant, we understood the reason we were there, why we celebrated the holiday in the first place, why even in the chaos, there was a purpose for our festivities. For when the last letter was held high, the message read loud and clear: "CHRISTWAS LOVE" And, I believe, He still is.
<snipped - no promotional links to your Hubs in the Forums>
HE GIVETH MORE GRACE
He giveth more grace when the burdens grow greater,
He sendeth more strength when the labors increase;
To added affliction He addeth His mercy,
To multiplied trials, His multiplied peace.
When we have exhausted our store of endurance,
When our strength has failed ere the day is half done,
When we reach the end of our hoarded resources,
Our Father's full giving is only begun.
His love has no limit, His grace has no measure;
His power no boundary known unto men;
For out of His infinite riches in Jesus
He giveth and giveth and giveth again.
By Annie Johnson Flint
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