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Goodwill to all Mankind. Really?

(Aleppo’s Children)
As people tear open their presents on the morning of December twenty-fifth, chortle over their loot, the things they didn’t really need, or complain they didn’t get what they wanted, or they spent much more money on their family, than their family did on them, and an argument breaks out, or they take another pill for their hangover, or shout at their children to shut up, I wonder how many will stop to count their blessings, stop complaining, and think for a moment about the children in Aleppo. Think for a moment that they will not be waking up to presents, toys, stockings stuffed, stockings flowing over, and spilling candy on the floor. No, these innocent little ones will be waking up to rifles crashing. They will be waking up to bombs falling. They will be waking up to death.

As people sit around the family holiday table, a table groaning, a table threatening to collapse under the weight of gravy bowls slopping brown turkey gravy over the sides every time they are moved, bowls of mashed potatoes and mashed yams glistening from melting butter, bowls of steaming vegetable, other bowls heaped with three kinds of stuffing, pineapple glazed ham, waiting for the turkey , a twenty-five pound monster to be carved, will anyone stop to think for a moment about Aleppo’s Children. Will anyone care that they are not sitting around a table groaning from the weight of food piled on top. Will you, or you, or you, or will you just say, pass the turkey please, and begin stuffing your face with a turkey that was stuffed only a few hours ago, cooked to a golden brown for your pleasure. As you heap your plate again and again, as you stuff your face and your stomach until it hurts to move, will one thought, will just one stray thought be for Aleppo’s children.

Oh how they weep,
as bombs
fall on the street.
How deep they cry,
as they watch
their family die.

They cower.
They shiver.
They weep.
They cry,
and then
they too die.

Who will
weep for them?
Who will weep
for Aleppo’s children?


The Songs our Fathers Sang

In Montgomery Alabama
a brave woman took a stand,
a young black preacher took our white hand
and tried to lead us to the Promised Land.
Instead we went off to the bloody fields of Vietnam
With all our guns a blazing
while he preached that equality
and justice belong to everyone
no matter the color of their skin.

Prophets sprouting up on street corners, shouted out
unless you change your ways, the end is going to come.
Salvation Army women sang, “When the Saints go marching in,”
to the music of the cymbals and the drum.
Politicians told people to throw away their Bibles, pick up the gun
because war is a just and noble calling.

In the streets of San Francisco
pretty girls wore red flowers in their hair.
Their songs of hope and freedom filled up the morning air.
It was for peace not war their hearts were yearning.
Young men roasted marshmallows over the coals
of the draft cards that they were burning,
and joined in the songs the girls were singing.

The world has turned around many times
since the flower children sang their songs,
and people marched in protest
against all the senseless killing,
but boys still play at being soldiers,
politicians still send them off to war,
and prophets still say the end will soon be coming.

Fog and dew drops melt in the light of day.
Old broken soldiers just simply fade away,
and young men die on the killing fields again.
Will we ever learn to pray for peace instead of war,
or will we just go on destroying life as we did before?

Pete Seeger’s and Woody Guthrie’s words of love
have fallen on deaf ears.
Bob Dylan’s songs of freedom
have been scattered on the wind.
Even though the times have changed,
life is still as precious as it was before.
It’s time to put away our tools of war,
and sing the songs of peace our fathers sang.

Engrave these words deep into your heart and mind, deep in the garden of your soul. Pride begets jealousy, jealousy begets anger, anger begets hate, hate begets greed, war, death and pestilence, but on the other side of the coin, and there is always another side, hope, faith and love beget humility, humility begets kindness, kindness begets mercy, and mercy begets peace, but of all these things love is the greatest, because in its pure form it pierces the darkest night, and destroys all evil.

Please spread the love and share this poem.

A House Divided

A cold wind is blowing, blowing over towering snow topped mountains, across the breadth and depth of the prairie lands, sweeping through the eastern seaboard, chilling everything in its path, from the Canadian border, to the Gulf of Mexico, stealing away hope, peace, common sense, kindness, love of neighbor, reason, with every puff of its bitter breath, and leaving hate, despair, anger and rage in its wake.

It seems as if a great evil sword, wielded by some giant maniacal hand or a scythe held fast by the grim reaper has divided America in two, split the peoples of the land into left and right, without hope of any common ground. The great experiment in a republic, in a democratic way of life has become a house divided. Not since the civil war has there been so much bitterness, so much vitriolic rhetoric hurled at one and another.

To my mind, a politician is supposed to bridge the abyss, reach out across great chasms, unite, not divide, bring together not separate, but in this election year, the two candidates warring for control of the White House have done the opposite. Instead of discussing the issues of the day, instead of coming up with a workable plan to deal with climate change, unemployment, with the fading middle class, they seem more at ease in telling everyone why they shouldn’t vote for their opponent, instead of giving anyone a reason to vote for them.

The one thing that worries me, is if America falls from its place in the world, falls from grace, the rest of the countries will go down the drain with it.

A house divided
cannot stand,
for it is like
it was not
built upon a rock,
but instead
placed on a tiny
spit of sand.

When the storm
gathers it’s might,
and great waves
come crashing,
come roaring in
upon the shore,
the house divided,
will be
a house no more.

There Always is Tomorrow

Little waves dancing inward across English Bay, driven by a westerly wind slowly fading into another night, or perhaps by an incoming tide, lap at the toes of my scuffed running shoes, seep in through cracks and crevices of the rubber fringe meant to keep my feet dry. In reality, wet feet are not such a bad thing, after all, they and my socks are in desperate need of a good washing. If I only had little soap, I could do a proper job.

Eyes, eyes weary from too many sleepless nights, scan the glinting water that stretches out from the sandy beach where I stand, out, out, out towards the far horizon, and for a moment my imagination travels thousands of miles across the rolling Pacific, past Hawaii, past the Marshall Islands, past Japan, to the mysterious shores of China. I think, no, I hope, that an oriental beauty, with seductive eyes, and a voice that angels might envy stands on the opposite shore, calling out to me. But the hope fades, and the taste of sea air on my tongue, the tangy odor of salt in my nose drags me back to the reality of the day.

My gaze settles onto a little red boat skipping across the sea. Blue sails puffing out with every breath of wind, tug the craft, and the intrepid captain towards home port. The cry of gulls tilts my head upwards, and I watch the grey, the white birds wheel, dart, and dive amidst the darkening sky.

At last, at long, long last the moment I have been waiting for, the moment I wait for almost every evening arrives. I hold my breath as the edge of the sun touches the surface of the sea, setting the far horizon on fire. Purple, pink, mauve, and shades of red that only a painter can imagine streak through the gathering clouds. But the moment fades as quick as it began, until only a few dying embers glow upon the waves.

It will be night soon. I do not wish to leave this magic, enchanting place, but the dark clouds piling up like mountains promise a storm, and before it begins, I wish to be safe under my bower. A stately Douglas Fir, green, and rich, with a fresh clean scent. A tree that dug its roots deep into the bones of the earth a long time before I was born, perhaps hundreds of years before white man marred these shore with their footprints, reaches towards the sun, the moon, and the stars, with bows thicker than my waist. It is my friend, my father confessor, my home away from home, and this night like many other nights it will keep me dry.

I hurry along the path that wanders past Lost Lagoon. Any other time I would sit on the pale green bench, wait until the moon filled the world with a soft silvery brilliance, wait until scintillating stars covered the heavens with their glory, wait until swans and geese glided past my resting place on calm waters, scarcely leaving a ripple behind. But not tonight, for there is a storm coming.

Another day has receded into my memory, but no matter how dark the night, no matter how wild and cold the howling wind may grow, like all other things these too shall pass, and even though the light has faded, hope, strong and resilient fills my heart, because I know there always is tomorrow.

My footsteps quicken as my home comes into sight, and like a flash of lightning a poem floods my mind.

Do not fear the gathering storm,
or this dark and wild night,
for another day shall soon dawn,
filled with many promises bright.

Do not let hope be chased away
by the might of a growling wind,
your future will not be engraved in stone,
until your last day has come to its end.

So do not weep this night through.
Do not give into bitter sorrow.
Let your heart be filled with joy,
because for now there is tomorrow.

The Silly Season

You never need a reason to look for the silly season. Here in the north we have four distinct seasons, and I am not talking about the hotel chain. We have, now hold onto your hat. We have spring. What a bouncy time of year it is. Some even call it the trampoline season.

Then there is summer, and as you might guess, when it comes to people in the summer, some are here, and some are there.

And then there is my most favorite season of all, Fall. Now I know it hurts when you fall, or if you fall too often, or if you happen to fall on your nose, well that is another matter, which I have no intention of getting into. But if you happen to fall on the part of your anatomy that is padded, well, until you catch your breath, you can sit and admire the beautiful colors of the leaves falling all around you.

We must not forget winter. All I can say about winter, is that it is cold. Oh it does make pretty frost feathers on window-panes.

Ah ha, I bet you thought I had forgot about the strangest season of all. Well you may ask, what is so strange about the silly season. It is odd to say the least. It can occur anytime of the year, and more than once. It never takes place between any of the other seasons, but in the midst of them. It can start at the end of spring, bounce right through summer, fall over autumn, and snow on winter. And the best part of the silly season, it can occur whenever you want it to.

So the next time you feel like singing the blues, spare the neighbors, take the hat of your cat, put it on your head, and call yourself Fred. Dance a jig, oink like a pig. Cluck like a hen. Sit in a play pen. Wiggle your toes, put a carrot on your nose.

We sin and fall far short of the Glory of the Lord

We whom have become born again Christians are Holy in the sight of our God, and must abstain from committing sin, because we not only once again fall short of His Glory, but we bring shame and dishonor to Him. We heap indignity upon indignity on Him, and delight His enemy. We insult Him, and count the gift of HIS holy Son, our precious redeemer as if it were nothing. We throw His favour, His Grace, His unfailing love back in His face. We spit upon His Glory.

I believe that all who consider themselves Christians Sin every week, and consider themselves blameless in the sight of most Holy God. Sins of omission, sins of ignorance are still sins, because if you are true children of God, you should know of His laws and obey them.

No doubt, by now, you who are saved, are becoming upset with me, or at the very least think that I should be locked up in a padded room and never see the light of day again. No doubt you are asking yourself, “What is this nut talking about, I don’t sin. I read my Bible. I obey the Ten Commandments. I go to Church every Sunday to worship and praise my Heavenly Father.”

No doubt in your mind, you are a righteous and upstanding Christian, who cringes at the very thought of committing a sin. I feel that I am obliged to tell you, that you and millions like you break the fourth commandment every week. (For those of you who don’t know or have forgotten, the fourth commandment is, “Remember the Sabbath day, and keep it Holy.”

You may believe that you do keep the Sabbath Holy by attending Church every Sunday, by tithing and by prayer. I am sorry to have to rain on your righteous parade, but__Sunday isn’t the Sabbath, never has been, never will be. I am not asking you to take my statement as gospel, but I do expect you to do the research yourself, and not stick your heads into the sand up to the soles of your feet.

God didn’t change the Sabbath to Sunday, man did, and if you think it is alright for mankind to change God’s Holy laws and commandments to suit themselves, then you better read your Bible, because Jesus said, “I did not come to do away with the law, but I came to fulfil it.

Do not believe anyone that tells you any different. God gave us His Laws for a reason. He gave them for our instruction, and benefit, and we have no right to question them, but if we want to honor our creator, honor our Glorious, loving, merciful Heavenly Father, we are under an obligation to obey Him.

You have a choice before you, learn and do that which is right and just in the sight of Most Holy God, or choose to do that which you think is right and just, but ask yourself if you knowingly sin week after week, can you truly be saved.

Here is a link for your education. http://www.logosapostolic.org/bible_study/RP208-5SabbathtoSunday.htm?gclid=CjkKEQjwnqucBRDZvf_rk-fEj7wBEiQA8HDLEv8eK3aDC_RLIilwOPZhnNat52q1a6XjKY5WHfceGb_w_wcB

May you go with God, and may His countenance shine upon you, in your going out and coming in.

We have sinned

We have sinned mightily
in the eyes of our loving God,
and fallen far short of His Glory.

We have sold ourselves,
sold our children
sold our children’s children
into the hands of God’s enemy.

We have betrayed our creator.
we have despised Him,
despised the King of Glory.

We have taken up with his enemy
we have bowed down,
we have worshiped,
the one who would take us to hell.

Though we are not worthy,
though we can never be worthy
of his mercy, of his forgiveness,
He has purchased our freedom,
freedom from sin, freedom from death,
and calls upon us to be His children.

Oh you who disbelieve, open your eyes,
and look around at the works of His hands.
Look at the flowers that grow.
Look at the majestic beauty of mountains.
Look at the power of the roaring seas.

Man with all his pride cannot make a tree.
Man with all his false wisdom,
cannot make a blade of grass,
or know how to make an ant.

Oh, you who disbelieve, open your heart,
and know of His unending love.
Oh, you who disbelieve, open your mind,
and learn of His wisdom.

We have sinned mightily
in the eyes of our loving God,
and fallen far short of His Glory.

Thoughts about God’s Holy Word

I believe that in some ways the Bible can be compared to an endless field of wheat, because if you pass the wheat by, and don’t take the time to harvest the grain, you will go empty and hungry. It is the same way with God’s Holy Word. If you don’t take time out of your busy life to look within its pages you will experience a spiritual hunger and emptiness that no amount of money or fame can ever fill.

However if you take the time to glean through the wheat of life, you will not only be filled with wisdom and understanding, but your spirit will be renewed, and you will also have a pure heart and mind.

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    Full of fear and excitement Keeper of the Sword (The Sword of Kings) Josh notched an arrow to the bow string, pulled it back to his ear, took careful aim and released the shaft of death, and before it reached its target, a second bolt sliced through the dark. (To find out more, just follow the link.)
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