My Jesus Was Always There

Sometimes it is hard to at all understand,

Just what in dark trial my Lord may have planned:

How could He allow all the suff’ring and pain?

Why did He not stop all the anguish that rained?

So often I’ve stared within death’s darkest face,

Not knowing if morning my breath would still trace;

And one could well wonder, “Was God really there?

Did He even help in the midst of despair?”

My friend let me tell you in tones full of trust,

That “Jesus was there despite rubble and dust-

When dark death was lurking midst pain none can rate,

The power of God I cannot estimate!”

For it was my Jesus Who always was there-

He salvaged my life from the depth of despair;

Had He not have been there all hope would have fled:

For I would have perished - been found only dead!

He tenderly held me within His embrace-

Though crushed, bruised and bleeding, He offered His grace;

Although when in anguish one can’t understand-

Assured we can be that God has each life planned.

Christ picked up the ruins of agony, dark-

In love’s tender care He preserved my torn bark;

The tatters of agony, mixed He with gold,

Producing a vessel to use and to hold.

I praise my dear Savior that He understands-

For using torn pieces in His divine plans-

For salvaging life midst the ruins of pain-

For using the anguish for infinite gain!

For pain I do thank Him, and praise Him anew

For each darkened trial that He’s called me through;

I thank Him for using abuse so untold

To teach me His love as His purpose unfolds!

-Keturah

God Cannot Be Boxed-Up

How can man attempt to put God in a box?

Restricting His work with some human-made locks,

Expect that He operate as they dictate,

But His thoughts and ways are beyond what they rate!

His almighty power cannot be suppressed,

And He disdains boxes that limit His best:

For He can work broader and deeper by far

Than all the expanse of the galaxy’s stars.

God’s thoughts, ways and plans are outside of the box

That mortal man makes with their primitive locks,

To limit His power – which no boundary knows

Reduces one’s faith to a pile of vain shows.

Our Lord has no limits and never does He

Stay inside a box as a mere man doth see,

His power is boundless, His foresight untold,

His Everywhere Presence no box can e’er hold!

For even His finger a box can’t contain:

One touch from the Master turns rubble to gain,

A word, and the crippled can run, walk and play –

His Presence alone bring the broken new day.

For each shattered life He can find every piece,

To deepest distress He can bring full relief,

For every abuse He is there to uphold

And turns bloody tatters to strands of pure gold.

God cannot be programmed as software, galore,

For that stuff is nothing where God opens doors;

His infinite plans have no limits or bounds

When He is restoring a life’s broken grounds!

Despite what man thinks it just never can be

That God can be boxed or receive dictates free;

He can’t be confined into man’s finite space,

But works beyond limits in measureless grace!

Riches Untold

I have an account in heavenly bank,

And for this I only have Jesus to thank:

For He paid the price for an open account,

And now I can cash in for any amount!

When I must repeatedly choose to forgive

The one who destroyed all the life that we live,

I go to God’s bank where there’s riches untold –

Withdraw on Christ’s love, that’s worth much more than gold!

And then a deposit I place in His hand

Of every attempt from the evil one’s band,

To sow seeds of bitterness, anger or fear:

For I before Jesus must have a path clear.

So often it seems that I withdraw on grace,

But yet there is always some more in its place;

The heavenly revenue never depletes,

But needs great or small it repeatedly meets!

And when there’s a load that’s too heavy to bear,

I go to the teller at windows of prayer;

Where Christ the Lord gives me a full cash advance

Of strength that’s sufficient my load to enhance.

He takes a deposit of pain so untold

By grace turns it all into nuggets of gold;

No pain’s ever wasted when placed in His hand:

For He makes investments to use as He’s planned.

Of all that I have Lord, I give You control,

And ask that You work for the best of my soul;

Invest in my life, Lord, as You best can see,

And fit me for life in Your eternity!

-Keturah

Flying With Eagles

When eaglets are falling, attempting to fly,

And plummet with speed from the heights of the sky,

With squawking and flapping they cry out in fear –

Alone and so helpless with no help that’s near.

With breath all abated and desperate eyes keen,

Now swooping beneath them a figure is seen:

The plumage of father they feel at their breast –

Their fall is now broken and comes to sweet rest.

With power and grace does the father bird soar,

Above all the obstacles on the earth’s floor;

On strong eagle wings he then bears them on high,

While calming their spirit and hushing their cry.

He knows the small eagles must learn how to fly:

For that is imperative, else they will die –

He then makes a dive giving them a new chance

To strengthen their wings, that their growth may advance.

Surrender and trust are the wings they must use

To persevere on, and to live they must choose:

Beneath the keen eye of their father in flight,

They exercise trust and press on to new heights.

Just so, does our Heavenly Father lead on,

  While guiding our flight toward hope’s healing dawn;

Each obstacle flees before His loving pow’r,

And He stays beside us each day and each hour!

We must trust our Father to bear us on high,

Surrendering all that restricts from the sky;

His power and love can transform all the pain,

 Creating a vessel of infinite gain!

- Keturah

Fellow Slodiers, Wounded

Life’s a battle, fierce and raging- Good and evil troops at war:

Gallant soldiers pressing forward, midst the warfare thick and sore.

Our Commander Chief is Jesus, to His voice we needs must hark,

If we want to claim the vict’ry- triumph at the finish mark!

Why do Christians shoot their wounded who are injured in life’s fray?

How can they say Christ is in them when they shoot and wound all day?

Why do they down-trod the smitten, strike and gash them o’er & o’er?

Their combatants, pained and damaged, stab & wound them yet some more?

Why are fellow-soldiers battered, judged and treated as the foe?

Why, though shell-shocked, does their squadron launch against them, strike a blow?

How can Christians toil as snipers with their cannons, bombs and dirks?

Shooting down fellow combatants - their Commander’s love they shirk.

For the battle’s not a warfare where with flesh and blood we fight,

But the force and prince of evil shall be conquered by God’s might!

Many soldiers are a-dying in the trenches all alone,

Who are broken, torn and bleeding - at death’s door so very prone.

We cannot afford to shoot them, just because they’re bleeding sore-

Though we know not what they’ve suffered, let us love them yet the more;

For our words are just like bullets when shot out with judgment’s fire

And cause wounds of mortal damage, though their situation’s dire.

Our Commander, what would He do, when a broken life He sees?

Would He kick them from the pathway or just walk away with ease?

When a fellow-soldier, wounded, on life’s battlefield we find-

Waste no time to solve pain’s prelude, but just live Christ’ love - be kind.

- Keturah