Encouragement Post - Coronavirus Distancing Day 12 (Friday)

Encouragement Post #12: (Friday... at least for a few more minutes ;) ) It's late, and it has been a busy day. Work still has to happen, even in quarantine. So, I have been pretty hard at it for most of today. I was thinking about work and its meaning just the other day... have you ever wondered if the work you are doing really matters? I imagine if you're a teacher, doctor, nurse, firefighter, military, etc. you might not question that. But, what about other things like creating music, growing a garden, sewing your children's clothes, writing poetry, making food for a needy neighbor, taking care of an elderly parent, taking care of your grandchild(ren), teaching others "how to", praying for those you love, or even leaving an encouraging word on Facebook, etc. The list goes on and on.

Whatever the work might be, what you are doing right this minute, today, has purpose, value, and meaning. How can you be sure of this? This may sound like an oversimplification, but if that were not the case you would not be here. Until the Lord takes us home, He has a purpose for the work we do. So, during these days at home, when it seems like your days, hours, and minutes feel a bit purposeless at times, be assured they are not. You are God's poem... a unique, original, one-of-a-kind work of art. Ephesians 2:10 says, "For we are His workmanship, created in Christ Jesus for good works, which God prepared beforehand so that we would walk in them." Did you know that the Greek word for "workmanship" in this verse is *poeima* ...we are His poem, His masterpiece, His one of a kind work of art. Let that sink in...

The Poem of Your Life
by Michael Card

Life is a song we must sing with our days
A poem with meaning more than words can say
A painting with colors no rainbow can tell
A lyric that rhymes either Heaven or Hell

We are living letters that doubt desecrates
We're the notes of the song of the chorus of faith
God shapes every second of our little lives
And minds every minute as the universe waits by

CHORUS:
The pain and the longing
The joy and the moments of light
Are the rhythm and rhyme
The free verse of the poem of life

So look in the mirror and pray for the grace
To tear off the mask, see the art of your face
And open your ear lids to hear the sweet song
Of each moment that passes and pray to prolong

Your time in the ball of the dance of your days
Your canvas of colors of moments ablaze
With all that is holy
With the joy and the strife
With the rhythm and rhyme of the poem of your life
With the rhythm and rhyme of the poem of your life

Chorus

With 1 1/2 to go... some poetry for the season

I have nearly completed my commissioned pieces (14 1/2 down and 1 1/2 to go) and am looking forward to really catching up with some of you. I know there are wonderful Christmas posts I am missing right now, but I must press on to get the artwork done by promised deadlines.

In light of things I haven't accomplished this Christmas season... this morning I recalled a poem I wrote over ten years ago (I can hardly believe that, as I type the words.) December, for me, does not just contain Christmas, but three family birthdays and our wedding anniversary just five days before Christmas Day. The Christmas I wrote this was a Christmas when I felt particularly stressed, pulled in every direction, disorganized, and just generally had gotten things quite out of perspective. Sometimes when that happens, poetry just comes pouring out of me. This was one of those times.

I have revisited some of those feelings this year, as I am barreling down on deadlines... and my living room tree still stands there with lights but no ornaments... and my dining room table centerpiece still holds the Pilgrims from Thanksgiving... and I have baked not one single cookie or goodies, nor made my traditional red Christmas punch. How did it get to be the Sunday before the Sunday before Christmas? With all these things swirling about in my brain, I began to think that I really need to have an attitude check. What about you? Have you been able to reflect on the meaning of Christ's coming?



How Could He Come Here?

Think with me now on this great mystery....
Will you close your eyes and let your heart see?
Can you catch a whiff of the sweet smelling hay,
Or hear His soft breathing while donkeys bray?

Dim light peeking down through cracks in the roof,
From a star that would guide and give wise men proof
Of the Child that was born on a soft bed of earth.
No mere baby this One of heavenly birth!

How could He come to this place ... for what reason?
Was it just so that we could establish a "season"?
If He were to come into our midst today,
What would He think, and what would He say?

Would He understand all our hustle and hurry,
Our lives filled with "world-centered" Christmas time worry?
He'd surely cry, "No! This is not why I came."
We do all these things claiming they’re in His Name.

But, His heart's cry for us is to gaze upon Him,
Our energy spent just to worship the Lamb!
Oh, Lord, help us only to focus on You
With all of our hearts as You ask us to do.

copyright 1998
Christi Bunn


May God reveal Himself in new and fresh ways to each of us this season, so that we can reflect Him as He deserves.

Blessings,

Encouraging Mondays...

Light poetry by Robert Louis Stevenson, from a Child's Garden of Verses, to brighten your spirit and put that childlike gleam in your eye...

Hail, Guest, and Enter Freely...
by Robert Louis Stevenson

Hail, guest, and enter freely! All you see
Is, for your momentary visit, yours; and we
Who welcome you are but the guests of God,
And know not our departure.

The Sun's Travels
by Robert Louis Stevenson

The sun is not a-bed, when I
At night upon my pillow lie;
Still round the earth his way he takes,
And morning after morning makes.

While here at home, in shining day,
We round the sunny garden play,
Each little Indian sleepy-head
Is being kissed and put to bed.

And when at eve I rise from tea,
Day dawns beyond the Atlantic Sea;
And all the children in the west
Are getting up and being dressed.

Barter

Barter

by Sara Teasdale

Life has loveliness to sell,
All beautiful and splendid things,
Blue waves whitened on a cliff,
Soaring fire that sways and sings,
And children's faces looking up
Holding wonder like a cup.

Life has loveliness to sell,
Music like a curve of gold,
Scent of pine trees in the rain,
Eyes that love you, arms that hold,
And for your spirit's still delight,
Holy thoughts that star the night.

Spend all you have for loveliness,
Buy it and never count the cost;
For one white singing hour of peace
Count many a year of strife well lost,
And for a breath of ecstasy
Give all you have been, or could be.

Encouraging Mondays... Poetry

The Truth About Me

Wonderfully crafted by His design (Eph. 2:10)

Eternally grafted into the Vine (Rom. 11)

Firmly engraved in the palm of His hand (Isaiah 49:16)

Radically saved by the grace that He planned. (Eph. 5:8)

Lovingly sought by the One called I AM (Ex. 3:14)

Mercifully bought by the blood of the Lamb (1 Cor. 6:20)

Tenderly pruned by the hand of the Lord (John 15:2)

Deeply attuned that He is my reward. (Gen. 15:1)

Patiently showing me I am His own (Rom. 8:14-17)

Peacefully knowing this world’s not my home (John 17:14-16)

Undeniably saying He’s coming again (Rev. 22:7)

Faithfully displaying His love to the end (Matt. 28:20)

Just a little something I wrote on February 10, 1998, in response to a Bible Study I was doing at the time.

And now a wonderful YouTube video of the song lyrics I posted a few weeks ago... Michael Card and Phil Keaggy performing

The Poem of Your Life

Happy Red, White, and Blue Day!!

I Hear America Singing

I hear America singing, the varied carols I hear,

Those of mechanics, each one singing his

as it would be blithe and strong,

The carpenter singing his as he measures his plank or beam,

The mason singing his as he makes ready for work, or leaves off work,

The boatman singing what belongs to him in his boat,

the deckhand singing on the steamboat deck,

The shoemaker singing as he sits on his bench,

the hatter singing as he stands,

The woodcutter's song, the ploughboy's on his way in the morning,

or at noon intermission or at sundown,

The delicious singing of the mother, or of the young wife at work,

or of the girl sewing or washing,

Each singing what belongs to him or her and to none else,

The day what belongs to the day ---

at night the party of young fellows,robust, friendly,

Singing with open mouths their strong melodious songs.

-- Walt Whitman

The Poem of Your Life

I love the beauty of good poetry. It is a wonderful thing to experience the soothing lyricism that is played out when words are woven together in imaginative and expressive ways.



Have you ever considered that your life is a poem being written by your Creator? As with all poetry, there may be lines of sadness or joy, trials or victories, dark places or bright spots, loneliness or encouragement... the list goes on. There is a rise and fall, a rhythmic meter to life. Whether you are just now on the mountaintop and all seems downhill for you, or if you are walking through the valley ...even the valley of the shadow of death... you can know that there is a purpose in all that you are going through. Taken individually, these events can seem out of place, either too blissful or too painful. But seen as a whole, all of these combine to make a beautiful poem, lived out day in and day out, carefully and lovingly sifted through the gentle fingers of our Creator.

In Ephesians 2:10 we see this magnificent verse, "For we are his workmanship, created in Christ Jesus for good works, which God has prepared in advance that we should walk in them." This word "workmanship" is, in the Greek, poiema. Ahhh... what a lovely word. We are His poiema... "that which has been made, a work, of the works of God as creator."

Consider the words from this song...

The Poem of Your Life

by Michael Card

Life is a song we must sing with our days
A poem with meaning more than words can say
A painting with colors no rainbow can tell
A lyric that rhymes either heaven or hell

We are living letters that doubt desecrates
We're the notes of the song of the chorus of faith
God shapes every second of our little lives
And minds every minute as the universe waits by

The pain and the longing
The joy and the moments of light
Are the rhythm and rhyme
The free verse of the poem of life

So look in the mirror and pray for the grace
To tear off the mask, see the art of your face
Open your ear lids to hear the sweet song
Of each moment that passes and pray to prolong

Your time in the ball of the dance of your days
Your canvas of colors of moments ablaze
With all that is holy
With the joy and the strife
With the rhythm and rhyme of the poem of your life
With the rhythm and rhyme of the poem of your life

The pain and the longing
The joy and the moments of light
Are the rhythm and rhyme
The free verse of the poem of life

Be encouraged today that God has not yet finished writing the poem of your life, and believe with all your heart that He has a wonderful purpose just for you and that He loves you more than you will ever know.

Along the Garden Path...

The Road Less Traveled

by Robert Frost

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,

And sorry I could not travel both

And be one traveler, long I stood

And looked down one as far as I could

To where it bent in the undergrowth.

Then took the other, as just as fair,

And having perhaps the better claim,

Because it was grassy and wanted wear;

Though as for that the passing there

Had worn them really about the same.

And both that morning equally lay

In leaves no step had trodden black.

Oh, I kept the first for another day!

Yet knowing how way leads on to way,

I doubted if I should ever come back.

I shall be telling this with a sigh

Somewhere ages and ages hence:

Two roads diverged in a wood, and I--

I took the one less traveled by,

And that has made all the difference.