"TEARS IN A BOTTLE"

As an old woman who has wept through the years, was told of a story about "Bottled Up Tears"... She laughs at the thought! How can this be? For a river...no, ocean of tears have been shed just by me. "Oh, but it's true..." pleaded the man who just told her the tale. God's word says He has a bottle; near His throne, past the veil. And at certain times He remembers our tears and opens the jar... The smell is so fragrant; held by His hands with the scars. As He holds those tears close to his heart, Angels sing as the sweet fragrance departs and fills every corner of that Heavenly Room, saturating the place with the sweetest perfume: "Glory to God!" cry the Heavenly Host, "Sing Praise to the Father, the Son, Holy Ghost!" Heaven trembles with praise all 'round the throne, Thanks to God for answering all the prayers that were sown. "How glorious the thought!"...the old woman declares. "Are you sure that He's captured all of our prayers? Since a child I have cried, many tears fallen down... You say God remembers and keeps those tears around?" "OH YES,...It is written!... God bottles our tears. He's kept track of our sorrows and relieved every fear". A sweeter fragrance now fills the whole place at the thought of such love, such Amazing Grace! "He's recorded each tear in a book written there. A reminder to all that God still answers prayers". Then the man turned to smile at her when he walked toward the door; but he noticed one single tear slowly fall once more. She had left in her sleep, for death kissed her brow, Her head bowed in prayer, Christ's nail scared hands held her now. A more fragrant aroma now ascended the throne as the man heard the voice of her Master saying,"Child, Welcome Home!" ~~~ Res 8/25/24 10:40 pm

God Holds the Pen

God holds the pen because He holds my heart. 

The words that He writes are Master "Pieces of Art". 

He writes my story and as He writes along,.. 

God holds the pen and I sing along.

I sing of LOVE; created of old. 

Born in the heart of every soul. 

He writes forgiveness, He writes of grace, 

 In living colors, His love I can trace. 

With just a small word the heavens were born. 

One cold winters night: the angels adorned... 

A tiny babe with heralded song, 

"Sing Hallelujah!..The Savior is Born! 

He wrote our redemption on Calvary's brow. 

To those who receive it; who humbly bow. 

I can remember the day He wrote mine, 

 As I knelt at the altar, He changed my life. 

God holds the pen, because He holds my heart. 

For many years now, He has written my part. 

As I follow him daily; testifying that Jesus is Lord, 

God still writes the song as I obey His word. 

God holds the pen; one day our song will be sung. 

Our days will be over; our race will be run. 

He'll write the last chapter with love in His heart, 

And just beyond Jordan, our "new song" will start. 

Now friend are you needing redemption today? 

Just give Him your pen and his love will display. 

The colors of freedom from death, hell and the grave. 

You'll join in the singing with those who are saved.

12/3/23

8:00 pm

Res

"I Cried"

I reached to touch the hem of your garment; to find healing in your wings.

I cried aloud, "Son of David! Have mercy upon me." 

I waded through deep waters of torment in the night, scraping sores from my rotting body with no help in sight.

I went down into the river obeying your command. 

I walked through desert places: darkness was my closest friend. 

My blinded eyes begged open, "I need to see the Son!" 

My broken limbs would not carry me, to the Holy One. 

I cried out in the darkness, I cried out from the streets.

I cried out from the Temple, I cried for sweet release. 

I cried out from the multitude, my voice whispered in the wind. 

I cried out from the deep only to be broken once again. 

I cried, I cried, 

I cried out, I cried...

I cried and I cried but each time I woke I felt a little more of me had died. 

When at last, I lay there weeping upon my tear stained bed... 

Hopelessness surrounded me as pain tore at my head. 

A sweet fragrance gently filled the room and drove the war away.

A tender voice, a familiar song... as He began to say

Arise up my beloved ! Your cries have reached my throne. 

Take up your bed and walk on now, for I have made you whole.

The issues now are settled, the debt for sin was paid. 

No longer will you lay here; groaning life away.

I've walked through all these places that have tormented day and night. 

I walked up a rugged hill and gave for you my life. 

No more shall you be weary, from a life of pain and woe. 

No longer will you stand weeping, for I have made you whole. 

"You are whole!

"How Long O' Lord?"

 

With tear filled eyes I write this. How long O' Lord? How long? Before you come...

Have there not been enough signs of your return? Of earthquakes and famine of floods and pestilence and men's hearts waxing cold and compassionless; full of murderous greed and thirst for power? 

So much sorrow in the land! Weeping and mourning, wailing and crying out for help, for hope for comfort... to understand...

I bleed. I cry. I wake repeatedly to the pain-filled aches that no one but you alone can deliver from.

Economy has tanked and a day's wage is not able to sustain just one, much less a family. 

If it wasn't for the kindness of a few... If it wasn't for a measure of hope; a flickering, smoldering wick of hope...      Oh Lord you won't despise.    

But I weep this morning I weep for the redemption of the body and soul that you will not leave in hell. You paid it all so we might gain Eternal rest with you. 

As long as the world turns; seasons come and go,              and so too seasons of hardship, trials and tears; of loss and sufferings, of birth and death; of unanswered questions and prayers... 

A soul crying out why? How long Oh Lord will you tarry? How long? 

Your word says that "hope deferred maketh the heart sick but desire fulfilled is a tree of life"

 Oh, how I long for life the life that lies Beyond the Veil of this Earthly one.

I hear the cries of your people. They are despaired and I'm without any more words.            I just touch a hand or give a hug and weep along with them. They need a deliverer and I am silent... waiting, hoping and praying that the Comforter will soon come and hold them close and heal their brokenness.

Come close now, Oh Lord.    Heal mine also...                        for with these tear-filled eyes.    I write this.. 

9 /17/22

10 a.m.

You Are The Inspiration

 

You are the inspiration, Oh Lord. 

You are the music. You are the song. You are the melody and harmony. 

You are the symphony.

You are the breath. You are the wind that directs the course... 

the ins and outs of life... 

You set the sails. You steer the ship. You are the one.

You bring the tears. You bring the joys. You bring the memories. 

You bring the ideas. You bring the hope. You bring the new. 

You bring the comfort. You bring the strength. 

You hold us close. You let us go. You correct and you love. 

You are love,  

You are Love.

You write the stories; ...the testaments of lives, lived in you. You took the hand.. you warmed the heart. You held the broken. You laughed with joy. You... did! 

You were the inspiration. 

To live again...

To try once more...

To take up... and walk.

You!

There is no "good song" without your heartbeat in it_ and when the beat comes into the hearer's ears, "New Life" springs forth.

You steady us. 

You help us rise and take hold of Hope... 

and give us joy in the journey; expectation in the knowledge... 

that no matter the situation_ 

or circumstance You, can bring us a song.

No matter how dark the night of the soul, 

You will bring light. No matter...

For, there's nothing that can contain, confine or imprison such love!_ 

It trickles, then flows, then floods... 

And there is no place; no crack or crevice that will not be washed in the flow. 

Inspire us, Oh God_ 

For YOU  are the Inspiration!

 

7/26/22 

9:00 a.m. 

res

"THESE HANDS"

 

I beheld her hands as she lay there nearly lifeless. A dear and precious part of my life..as she breathes out what would be the last few hours of the breath of life that God, so many years ago, had breathed into her. 

My maternal grandmother, Ethel. Her frame... had now become so tiny it seemed,..  and these precious, tired, weathered old hands lay upon her, nearly lifeless body.

My mother stood there, gazing down upon her own dear mother's frame. The whole atmosphere in that Hospital room held that very moment of grief, of sorrow...and the process ticked by slow motion,... as that separation would soon come...and all, too soon. From where, had time so swiftly flown?

In that moment, I noticed my mother's hands. And I looked back and forth between hers and grandma's...and then I saw mine. Clearly, genetic markers were woven through DNA strands to weave out the resemblances of three generations of women whose lives were so different, yet similar.

This moment,... this moment,... brought all of us together in one time and one place for this last moment. The last time the three of us would share on this side of the veil.

I took Mom's soft, trembling hand in mine; gently laying it beside Grandma's and then I placed mine beside. "Look Mom! (I said)...Our hands look all the same!" God designed it so throughout these generations.

That was a precious, a sacred moment that has remained with me throughout these now many years. Grandmother passed away the following day. 

While my brother and I returned to TN, Grandma yielded up her last breath in IL, to the One who had given it.

Her funeral brought testimony of her precious witness and all the lives she had touched while she had journeyed here. My mother bore witness,...so many years ago.

Nearly nine years ago, I too, had to walk that shaded valley. As I watched my mother slowly and agonizingly slip away from this life,...These hands stood out. A reminder of that previous moment in time, years before.

Not long after Mom left for Heaven, one of her nurses presented me with a gift. A picture of my mother's hands. One she had taken when caring for her; of them laying upon her lap. She placed a lace border around it; along with a poem, "A Mother's Hands." That gift was one of the most precious to me.

Today, I am more observant of the hands of my children, grands, and greats,...of siblings and extended family members. I can see other resemblances, I hardly noticed before. As if somehow, these hands; awakened me to sight...to markers of God's intelligent design.

I see "These Hands" in my daughter. Though hers are so tiny, yet they are fashioned the same...as mine, Mom's and Grandma's. I'm getting a bit old now. If you look at my hands you would see the crepe-ing, wrinkled, slightly spotted, aging coming to pass. "These Hands"... like leaves that will soon fall from the tree when Autumn winds harshly blow and cool rains plunder down...

"These Hands"...

I see Grandmother, and Mother there. I see the hand of God; who in his infinite wisdom, designed it so.

"These Hands"... Rocked cradles, diapers bottoms, wiped sweaty brows, mended wounds, held loved ones, worked fields, planted seeds, hoed gardens, carried loads, prepared foods, laundered clothes, sewed buttons, picked flowers and washed fruit, nursed sick, stoked fires and put out emotional ones, welcomed guests, stroked pets, opened and locked doors, steered horses, climbed trees, played ball, wrote letters, filled hungry mouths, molded cookies and baked bread, wiped tears and held loved ones hands at death. 

"These Hands"... 

These hands were clasped in prayer to the unseen hands of God; who designed,,,

"These Hands."

I am so thankful...for "These Hands!"

Thorns

He warned me, but I  went on anyway. I heard his wise words and weighed them out... but what lay beyond those thorns... drew me like no other. Ih never hesitated in my steps; buthurried on, further still. At last I reached the thicket and I found a way into my desired lust. My journey in didn't seem all that bad. A few knicks and scrapes, but nothing that I couldn't withstand for the pleasures that lay just within my grasp. Oh, the enticement! ... and the warning. The guilt became faint as I pressed on. I was blind to what was truly happening to me. As I went on further, the thorns embedded themselves; first within my clothing and later...I felt the pricks within my flesh. No real harm was done, I thought. My selfish need for self- gratification outweighed those pricks. My head, my hands, my sides, my feet... They all took minor cuttings. But, the enticement and desire for the forbidden lay just beyond...just a little deeper... The closer I got to it, the more insatiable my thirst. Until at last I embraced the object of my affection...I withdrew of the succulents of sinful fruit and believe me; I drank it to the full! All too quickly, the deed was over. I saw the truth of my estate. .. The further I had pushed toward the "thing"... the more entangled I had become... and after partaking of pleasures brief season; the object of affection had left...no...cruelly abandoned me! And I was left with the reality of my demise. I lay there entangled with thorns great and small. Thorns that had seductively covered and clung to me with a gently grasping and pulling; while piercing me from head to toe... through my garments, into my flesh...into the depths of my soul. And with the piercing came the searing heat, cause by the induced poison by which each thorn emitted. I was cut to the very heart. No! Deeper still...the soul. As I lay in the tangled web of my own weaving...As I lay covered in blood and writhing in pain. ..my tears began to flow at the fierce and swift memory of, "His Warning." I cried! I cried out to the mocking, lingering, jeering shadows. I lay spoiled by my own choices and I wept a bitter weeping. Full of despair...my mind raced with scene after scene, carried out by my own evil heart and the end thereof. Somewhere, in the midst of my distress...I heard him. I thought at first, it was only the torment, the memory of his voice... but, no.... He was calling out to me. My own dear Savior had come to my rescue! He had heard my cries and was not ashamed to enter into the mess I had created, and rescue me. He had come to set the "captive free." I never realized the cost...the pain. I struggled against his freeing me.  I would twist and turn to resist.  The thorns that had bound me,  would be the ones to pierce his flesh and wound him. I saw him bleed! "See! From his head, his hands, his feet"...I heard him whince. I watched as tears flowed down his face... and in this moment, I realized that the consequences of my choice. .. my sin... had torn him. My own sin had far more effect than I could have ever known... The thorns that held me bound, would require the Savior's blood. He sacrificed himself willingly for someone unworthy; someone he had warned... and that someone, was me. He stood before me; covered in blood.  He had become my sacrificial lamb. I had been caught in the thicket of my own sins and yet, he willingly, lovingly, bore the full penalty to free me. Suddenly, I realized the glories of that freedom! For wherever his blood was shed; wherever he  had touched my flesh; those wounds were healed! Each  stripe, each cut, had been covered by his blood, by his love. I was made whole at last!

He place his right hand on my shoulder and kissed my brow. Then he laid one tiny thorn in my palm and said, 

"Enticements will surely come and strong though they may be, Remember this thorn, a gentle warning and submit yourself to me.

I paid full price, purchased by blood to set the captives free. This thorn is your reminder to obey and honor me."