If Your Church Were . . .

If your church

 

                were a “Berry vine,”

 

Are you raspberry

 

                or sticker?

 

– eab, 4/29/10 

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CONFESS

All it takes is one wrong turn,

To cause you to loose your way.

And, it takes but one black sin,

To darken an entire day,

That is, unless you turn back,

The moment you see you’re lost,

That is, unless you confess,

Realizing Christ paid the cost.

He came to save from all sin.

To guide you on the right road.

He came to brighten every life-day,

To lift (as He can) the heavy load.      

                – eab, 4/7/07

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Israel Entered Promised Land – Apr. 30, B. C. 1451

On this date April 30 in 1451 B.C. (also a Friday)

 Joshua, God’s man who took Moses’ place led the

 Israelites through the Jordan River and up into the

 Promised Land.  – Bishop Ussher

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Your Church

If your church

 

                were a “Transmission,”

 

Are you a 1st, 2nd, drive

 

                or reverse gear?   

 

– eab, 4/28/10 

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POETIC ?

There’s something about being poetic,

That is more than perfect rhyming,

And it’s more than correct timing.

Poetry is more than marching words along a line,

It is more than some grocery jingle,

Or a climax that makes one tingle,

More than the dot and dash of accent, e’er so fine.

All the points attempted up above,

Could be used of human hate or love,

Could describe a soul in pity or “apine.”

All mankind’s thoughts of great importance,

Leave prose pages at least once,

To “suffer” a poet’s twist, twang, or entwine.

It’s not what you say but,

(Some would insist) how you say it,

Poetry’s the “limo” in which to convey it.

Be they grandiose words like yours,

Or simple ones like mine,

Old words, new words – imagination is the thing,     

Cranky words, kind words – make them stand up and sing,

Or make them whisper, wheeze, or simply whine.

Prose is permanent, it has won its place,

On continents old or new, among man’s rare race,

But Poetry – Ah Poetry, may it never decline.

                – eab, 4/09/08

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Stella Mae Scarbrough – birth, Apr. 29, 1922

LINES  OF  AGE

Be not angry with aging’s signs;

They’re but mile posts of life.

The fine, quaint lettering, interpret not with sting,
Nor quail from those neat lines

Etched by time’s trusty knife.

 

God in benevolent love,

Loving the yet unborn race,

(Imagine loving unknown, babies & adults full grown;

Only that God-like feeling from above

Enables man to care for an exposed face!)

 

God could love, lovingly He did,

What only God would do;

He made man so outward signs would show,

When life began to reach its “mid”

The Creator thus hinted what He knew.

 

He could’ve made man and his mate,

To stay life-long young,

To be in the prime all the time,

With no warnings of the date,

When death’s tolling had begun.

 

Instead, He planned that gradually

With force, man’s body would signal

An ultimate truth – the passing of youth,

Signs an individual would see,

Inward, outward, very hard to make null.

 

God knew we would rush madly apace,

Be engrossed in buying and selling,

Be coming and going, “to-ing and fro-ing”

So in wisdom, He planned the face,

As our clock for time-telling.

 

Be glad then for lines that planted

The crow’s feet and smile’s relief.

Your knowing brow signals the NOW,

Of life’s evening rays so well slated,

And knowing – there need not be grief. [1]

                – eab, Jul. ’80        

Stella Mae Scarbrough was born this date 4/29/1922, to Walter and Beulah Morgan in the great state of Tennessee.  In November of 1940 she married Carson Woodrow Scarbrough in Sweetwater, Tennessee.  She and “Woody” had three children, Martha Mae 1942, Woodie Carole 1945, Carson Lynn 1948.  I met her first around 1958 and in 1961 married her older daughter.  She became “Moma Stel” to me and has been a wonderful Mother-in-law.  Happy Birthday, Moma Stel!

---

^[1] Poem is associated with my mother-n-law, Stella Scarbrough.

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Veggie or Weedie?

If your church

 

                were a “Garden,”

 

Are you a vegetable

 

                or a weed?

 

– eab, 4/17/10

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THE BEING

There is only One – THE Being,

Forever in the sky,

Forever will He live,

Never will He die.

He’s made billions of beings,

Black and White and Brown;

Yet inside all are alike,

Needing a smile, not a frown.

                – eab, Apr. ‘09

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Vernon John Charlesworth – birth, Apr. 28, 1839

The Lord’s our Rock, in Him we hide,
A Shelter in the time of storm;
Secure whatever ill betide,
A Shelter in the time of storm.

Refrain

Oh, Jesus is a Rock in a weary land,
A weary land, a weary land;
Oh, Jesus is a Rock in a weary land,
A Shelter in the time of storm.

A shade by day, defense by night,
A Shelter in the time of storm;
No fears alarm, no foes afright,
A Shelter in the time of storm.

The raging storms may round us beat,
A Shelter in the time of storm
We’ll never leave our safe retreat,
A Shelter in the time of storm.

O Rock divine, O Refuge dear,
A Shelter in the time of storm;
Be Thou our Helper ever near,
A Shelter in the time of storm.

Vernon John Charlesworth was born this date 4/28/1839, at Barking, Es­sex, Eng­land. He was as co-pas­tor of Sur­rey Cha­pel, then head­mas­ter at Charles Spur­geon’s Stock­well Or­phan­age, also was a Min­is­ter­ing El­der of Spurg­eon’s Me­tro­pol­i­tan Ta­ber­na­cle. He is best remembered for penning the words to “A Shelter in the Time of Storm.”  Charlesworth died 1/5/1915 in Lon­don, Eng­land.

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The Highway of Holiness

It Exists,

It has an Entrance,

It requires Endurance,

It is Enjoyable,

It reaches on Eternally,

It has Exits,

-eab

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