The Old Tin Box

When a rainy day made his old bones ache,

And life was dismal and hard to take,
And he couldn't go to the park and chat
With his cronies, over this and that.

That's when he'd ask for the small tin box
With its rusty hinges and ancient locks
And he wouldn't open it, not until
I'd left him alone to look his fill
At its precious contents and then he'd say
"Put it back child, for another day."

I used to wonder but didn't dare
Ask him what treasures he kept in there,
What were the mysteries he hid
Under its scarred and dented lid?
But I never looked and I never pried,
It was Grandfather's secret till he died.

He left me the box with a whispered word
That nobody else ever knew or heard
The he folded his hands on his tired breast
And closed his eyes for his last long rest.

I took the keys and opened the locks
And the hinges creaked on the ancient box
And I saw what it held was more precious than gold
The long ago things of the very old.

Some dried rose petals, a lock of hair
Wrapped in tissue with loving care,
A velvet ribbon of faded blue
A Valentine card and a baby's shoe
And grandmother's wedding ring worn thin
And old watch fob and a cameo pin.

And I thought as I put them all away,
How much they had meant on a rainy day
To a man whose life was ebbing fast
And loved to live in the golden past
Reliving the moments of days gone by
Perhaps with a tear or a gentle sigh ---

I was glad he had left me the small tin box
With its rusty hinges and ancient locks
And I'd keep its dear secrets safe under the lid
And treasure it always ---
like Grandfather did.

~ Alice E. Chase ~

Unfolding This Life of Mine

Pink Rose by Anna Scott

It is only a tiny rosebud
A flower of God's design;
But I cannot unfold the petals
With these clumsy hands of mine.

The secret of unfolding flowers
Is not known to such as I.
God opens the flower so sweetly,
Then, in my hands, they die.

If I cannot unfold a rosebud,
The flower of God's design,
Then how can I have the wisdom
To unfold this life of mine?

So, I'll trust in Him for leading
Each moment of my day,
I will look to Him for His guidance
Each step of the Pilgrim's way.

The pathway that lies before me
Only my Heavenly Father knows.
I'll trust Him to unfold the moments,
Just as He unfolds the rose.

~ Author Unknown ~

Mosaic of 3 Rose Photos by Anna Scott

This little poem was sent to me when I was in the hospital
waiting several months for my heart transplant.

It reminded me that each and every moment of my life
was completely in the Lord's hands,
and that gave me great comfort then, and does now too!

May you find comfort today resting in Him ...

Like an Old-Fashioned Piecework Quilt

Patchwork Quilt by Carolyn Watson

"What the new year will bring, we cannot know.

I think of the year that has been folded away in time.
There has been much good in it, although some sorrow.
But there are always in every year,
many lovely memories,
and I shall cherish them.

Life is not, for most of us, a pageant of splendor
but is made up of many small things,
rather like an old-fashioned piecework quilt.

No two people have the same, but we all have our own."

~ Gladys Taber, STILLMEADOW CALENDAR ~

The Old Quilt by Michael Humphries

As this brand-new year unfolds,
I pray that each of you
who know the Lord Jesus Christ as Saviour,
feel a keen sense of His presence and help,
no matter what transpires
in the coming days and months!

For everyone,
I pray that this year will bring
more wonderful moments than sorrowful ones,
and that you will enjoy a measure of good health
and happiness as you trod your own unique pathway . . .

Blessings,

Morning Will Come

*Clytie* by Frederic Leighton

Brokenhearted…

How can I bear the pain?
So many plans…permanently interrupted.
So many dreams…shattered.
Hopes…dashed.
All gone.
Why?
Why this?
Why us? Why me?
Helplessness…hopelessness…
Life will never be the same again.
Is it even worth living?
Where are you, God?

I’m right here beside you, my child.
Even though you may not feel my presence,
I’m holding you close under the shadow of my wings.
I will walk with you through this dark night.

Do not shrink from weeping.
I gave you tears for emotional release.
Don’t try to hide your grief.
Let it become for you a source of healing,
A process of restoration,
For I have planned it so.
Those who mourn shall be blessed.
I’ll be holding on to you,
Even when you feel you can’t hold on to me.

Seek my face, child of mine.
Receive my promise, impossible as it may seem now,
That joy will come in the morning.
It may take much time,
But I will heal your broken heart.
I know the night seems endless,
But MORNING WILL COME.
I have promised.

~ Author Unknown ~
From the Haven of Rest Newsletter

In Thy Hands

Graphic by Source of Joy/Snapshots of Joy

It comforts me, O blessed Lord, recalling
Thy gracious words: "My times are in thy hand!"
So often they have steadied me from falling,
So often in my journeying down the land
When briars clung and tough stones bruised my feet
I have found those dear words comforting and sweet.

"My times are in thy hand!" Help me remember
That nothing can separate me from my Lord;
It warms me like the glowing of an ember;
It strengthens me . . . I say it word by word,
Then face my day with courage and with hope
Enable thus to climb earth's steepest slope.

"My times are in thy hand!" Why should I fear
Or falter with thy presence, Lord, so near?

~ Grace Nowell Crowell - *Songs of Triumph*

As I read this poem the other evening, I thought of many people I know that are going through trials and difficulties at this moment and I wanted to share it with all of you.

For me, it's a gentle yet powerful reminder that because there was a time in my life when I trusted the Lord Jesus Christ as my personal Saviour, He has promised to be with me in every storm.

If He doesn't calm the storm, He will calm us, so that we are resting in Him.

Paid in Full

Graphic by R Johnson - All Posters

SCARRED

The shame He suffered left its brand,

In gaping wound in either hand;
Sin's penalty He deigned to meet
Has torn and scarred His blessed feet;
The condemnation by Him borne
Marred His brow with print of thorn.
Trespass and guilt for which He died
Have marked Him with a riven side.

Mine was the shame, the penalty;
The sin was mine; it was for me
He felt the nails, the thorns, the spear.
For love of me the scars appear
In hands and feet and side and brow.
Beholding them I can but bow
Myself a living sacrifice
To Him who paid so dear a price.

~ Bob Jones ~


I trust that each of you have had a good weekend :o)

May we all have a blessed Lord's Day
where we remember Him
and all that He has done for us
on the cross of Calvary!

Moonlight, Summer Moonlight

Summer Moonlight

'Tis moonlight, summer moonlight,

All soft and still and fair;
The solemn hour of midnight
Breathes sweet thoughts everywhere,

But most where trees are sending
Their breezy boughs on high,
Or stooping low are lending
A shelter from the sky.

And there in those wild bowers
A lovely form is laid;
Green grass and dew-steeped flowers
Wave gently round her head.

~ Emily Bronte ~
*Moonlight, Summer Moonlight*

Forsaken, For You

"My God, my God, why hast Thou forsake me?"
Cried Jesus, the three hours of darkness being spent.
He yielded up the ghost and the earth did quake,
When in twain, the veil of the temple was rent.
FOR YOU!

A man of sorrows and acquainted with grief
In His own body on the tree our sins He bare
'Though pure and undefiled, it pleased God to bruise Him
He hath pour out His soul unto death and paid the fare.
FOR YOU!

God was satisfied with the Saviour's finished work
And raised Him the third day to return to His glory above
For He has found a ransom -- the Lamb of God
Who, alone, suffered, bled and died out of love.
FOR YOU!

Return unto God who will abundantly pardon.
Call ye upon the Saviour while He is near;
Seek ye the Lord Jesus while He may be found,
And His perfect love will cast out every fear.
FOR YOU!

Behold, NOW is the day of salvation.
'Though it seems soon, tomorrow may be too late.
The Lord is NOW offering a full forgiveness.
Your decision to accept or reject might seal fate.
FOR YOU!

When you hear His voice, harden not your heart.
Admit you're a sinner deserving to perish;
Behold the Spotless Victim who died in your stead
And to His precious blood -- cling, trust and cherish!

~ Dallas, written about 1982 ~ very simplistic in style but awesome in truthful content :o)

Have a blessed Lord's Day!





*Credit for Graphic

Lean Hard

Graphics ~ Source of Joy

Child of My love, lean hard,
And let Me feel the pressure of thy care;
I know thy burden, child. I shaped it;
Poised it in Mine Own Hand; made no proportion
In its weight to thine unaided strength,
For even as I laid it on, I said,
"I shall be near, and while she leans on Me,
This burden shall be Mine, not hers;

So shall I keep My child within the circling arms
Of My Own love." Here lay it down, nor fear
To impose it on a shoulder which upholds
The government of worlds. Yet closer come:
Thou art not near enough. I would embrace thy care;
So I might feel My child reposing on My breast.
Thou lovest Me? I knew it. Doubt not then;
But loving Me, lean hard.

~ Author Unknown ~

This has been a favourite poem of mine for many years ... it's brought me comfort and strength through many a difficult and stressful situation and I wanted to share it, that it may be a blessing to someone else as well :o)

A Small House to Keep

God, give each true good woman

Her own small house to keep,
No heart should ache with longing,
No hurt should go too deep.....
Grant her age-old desire:
A house to love and sweep.

Give her a man beside her,
A kind man, and a true,
And let them work together
And love, a lifetime through,
And let her mother children
As gentle women do.

Give her a shelf for dishes,
And a shining box for bread,
A white cloth for her table,
And a white spread for her bed,
A shaded lamp at nightfall,
And a row of books much read.

God, let her work with laughter,
And let her rest with sleep.
No life can truly offer
A peace more sure and deep....
God, give each true woman
Her own small house to keep.

~ Grace Noll Crowell ~

This simple poem echoes the places of my heart all during these past 28 years as the Lord has done all this and more, in my life. We were fortunate enough to be able to build our own *small house* about 21 years ago.

I am blessed and forever grateful . . .

1-White Door Cottage - Dwayne Warwick
2-Garden of Eden - Briton Riviere
3-Magic Hour - Robert Duncan
4-Tea Time - Stephen Darbisher

The Coming of Day is Mysterious

Sunrise from Portland Head Light by William Neill

“And the coming of day is so mysterious.

The blackness seems suddenly to be tenuous, not thick and deep.
It is just as dark and yet the dark has no body to it, somehow.
Then along the horizon a faint pale band of pure color begins to glow,
first the color of the breast of a gull,
then a wash of rosy pearl,
and finally a deep apricot with lacings of fire.

By now the rest of the universe gives itself to light,
and the hills are distinct in the dove-colored day.
The hollows keep small cups of night for a little,
and then the whole sky and earth all at once
flash into the splendor of the new sun.”

~ Gladys Taber in STILLMEADOW SEASONS ~

He Knoweth

Bougainvilea Archway by Joyce Birkenstock

YOUR FATHER KNOWETH

He knoweth the need of my life
For shelter and raiment and food;
In each trifling care of the day
The word of His promise is good;
He knoweth my thought from afar,
The wish that I never have told,
And every unspoken desire
His wisdom doth grant or withhold.

He knoweth the way that I take;
Each step of that way He hath planned;
And, walking through sunshine or storm,
I walk in the shade of His hand.
In deserts untrodden and drear,
Where foes in the darkness may hide,
He leaveth me never alone;
He sendeth me light and a guide.

He knoweth the need of my soul ---
The trial that calls for His grace,
The weakness that leans on His strength,
The fear that looks up to His face.
He knoweth what sifting is best
To scatter the chaff from the wheat
And lay all my self-righteous pride
Low down in the dust at His feet.

~ Annie Johnson Flint ~

This poem speaks to my heart, encouraging me to rest in the Lord, who holds my very breath in in the palm of His hands.

What joy fills my heart as I ponder His daily care over me and His guidance as the years pass!

"I may not know the future
but I know Him
who holds the future
in His hands."

The Years of His Right Hand

Lilac Rose Bouquet

"I will remember the years of the right hand of the Most High." - Psa.77:10

I remember the years of His hand's deep shadow ---
The sun was darkened, the stars were veiled,
The glory of life was a fading flower,
And mirth was over and music failed;
But in that shade I was safely hidden,
From wind and tempest I knew release,
And for the old, new songs were given,
My heart learned patience, my soul found peace.

"I will uphold thee with the right hand of my righteousness" - Isa.41:10

I remember the years of His hand's upholding ---
Its help how mighty, its clasp how strong;
Almost I slipped when my feet were sliding,
Almost I fell when the way was long;
But never once did His strength forsake me,
And when I leaned on His wondrous might,
On wings I mounted, I ran unwearied,
I walked unfainting, by day or night.

"Thou shalt remember all the way which the Lord thy God led thee" - Deut.8:2

I remember the years of His hand's sure leading ---
How safe His guidance, His ways how wise;
Often my thoughts and my heart would wander,
My feet would follow my straying eyes;
But never once did His patience fail me,
And through it all did His love restrain,
And when I followed where He would lead me,
How all the way and the end grew plain.

"I have graven thee upon the palms of my hands" - Isa.49:16

I remember the years of His hand's safe keeping ---
When danger threatened or sin beset,
When, the rudder fallen from nerveless fingers,
My life-bark drifted where wild seas met;
But through it all did His power keep me,
And now I know, when my foes assail,
Strong to deliver, He waits to succor,
And prays for me lest my faith should fail.

"The Lord ... will hear ... from His holy heaven
with the saving strength of His right hand" - Psa.20:6

Oh, I know that my name on Thy palm is graven,
I remember the years of Thy hand, Most High!
How it has sheltered and held and guided
'Neath clouded heaven or open sky;
I lean on Thine arm and Thy hand upholds me,
Its power protects and its strength defends;
Still it shall hide me and keep and lead me
Till Home is reached and the journey ends.

~ Annie Johnson Flint ~

A couple of months ago, in a used book store, I found an old volume of poems written by Annie Johnson Flint and in browsing through it, this one struck a chord in my heart because of my personal experiences.

I have been saved just over 31 years, and I can joyfully say that the Lord has upheld me by His right hand, through every valley and over every mountain!

Praise His Precious Name! Selah.

Such Joy in Simple Things

Rose Room©2008 Susan Rios

I HAVE FOUND SUCH JOY IN SIMPLE THINGS

I have found such joy in simple things;
A plain, clean room, a nut-brown loaf of bread
A cup of milk, a kettle as it sings,
The shelter of a roof above my head,
And in a leaf-laced square along the floor,
Where yellow sunlight glimmers through a door.
I have found such joy in things that fill
My quiet days: a curtain's blowing grace,
A potted plant upon my window sill,
A rose, fresh-cut and placed within a vase;
A table cleared, a lamp beside a chair,
And books I long have loved beside me there.

Oh, I have found such joys I wish I might
Tell every woman who goes seeking far
For some elusive, feverish delight,
That very close to home the great joys are:
The elemental things--old as the race,
Yet never, through the ages, commonplace.

~ Grace Noll Crowell ~

Unfolding Moments

Pink Rosebud by Bonnie Jones

It is only a tiny rosebud

A flower of God's design;
But I cannot unfold the petals
With these clumsy hands of mine.

The secret of unfolding flowers
Is not known to such as I.
God opens the flower so sweetly,
Then, in my hands, they died.

If I cannot unfold a rosebud,
The flower of God's design,
Then how can I have the wisdom
To unfold this life of mine?

So, I'll trust in Him for leading
Each moment of my day,
I will look to Him for His guidance
Each step of the Pilgrim's way.

The pathway that lies before me
Only my Heavenly Father knows.
I'll trust Him to unfold the moments,
Just as He unfolds the rose.

~ Author Unknown ~

To Each of My Children

Hope ~ Laura Monahan

Being your Mother

means that I have had the opportunity
to experience loving someone
more than I love myself.

I have learned what it's like
to experience joy and pain
through someone else's life.

It has brought me pride and joy;
your accomplishments touch me
and thrill me like no one else's can.

It has brought me
a few tears and heartaches at times,
but it has taught me hope and patience.
It has shown me the depth,
strength, and power of love.

Being your mother
hasn't always been easy,
and I'm sure
I've said or done things that have hurt or confused you.

But no one has ever made me as satisfied
as you do just by being happy.
No one has made me as proud as you do
just by living up to your responsibilities.

No one's smile
has ever warmed my heart
like yours does;
no one's laughter
fills my heart with delight
as quickly as yours can.

No one's hugs feel as sweet,
and no one's dreams
mean as much to me as yours do.

No other memories of bad times have miraculously
turned into important lessons or humorous stories;
the good times have become precious treasures
to relive again and again.

You are a part of me,
and no matter what happened in the past
or what the future holds,
you are someone
I will always accept,
forgive, appreciate, adore,
and love unconditionally.

Being your mother
means that I've been given
one of life's greatest gifts: YOU.

~ Barbara Cage ~

The Power of Motherhood

A Mother's Joy by Sandra Kuck

A Missionary's Vision

After marriage God called me to the mission field -
A little bundle needing all my care,
A disciple in touch with my life, obedient to all he hears.
Then came some more all in a row.
Everywhere I went, six little arrows in tow.
God had to call me again to His mission field.
I answered, "To China, to Africa, to Israel, oh where?"
His voice was clear, soft and gentle. My ministry arranged -
"My child, you are to polish our arrows,
Preparing them for My call to spread my
Words of life for other nations to see."
"Lord," I cried, "Loneliness surrounds my soul,
No other woman stands with me answering your call.
The sacrifice is great."
Women give way to another's voice, pulling them away
from their home, far from the quiver."
Once more I pleaded, "May I go too, Lord, I feel the call
To share with the lost, Life giving words,
To feed the hungry a satisfying meal."
"My child," Jesus replied, "You share with your
children salvation and truth.
Feed them meals under your roof.
Discipline them, train them and then lie down in peace,
For sacrificial love have you given to make the world right.
Arise in the morning, open My book,
Teach them into My eyes they must look."
"Yes, Lord, I replied, "But should I serve you in a more obvious way?"
"Child, my sweet child," God spoke once more.
I anointed you to do this work - the high calling of Motherhood.
To show our children the need for my love."
"Lord,", I sought out, still not fully convinced,
"Should I sew for those in thread barren clothes, a Dorcas, a Martha?"
"Sit at my feet, my child, listen to me.
Your daughter needs dresses, your sons warm shirts,
The button of your husband's coat still lies on the table.
Pick up your mantle, the rod of Aaron.
Lead my women back to their home.
"Yes, Lord." Filled and content, I took my position in God's mission field.
Hungry faces graced my bedside.
Clothed in God's mantle, children at my side,
I prepared breakfast.

~ Paula Muller of Brodnax, Va ~

This wonderful poem can be found in the book 'The Power of Motherhood' by Nancy Campbell.

The Clothesline Speaks Volumes

CLOTHESLINES seem very special to me.

I have always loved the fragrance of the outdoors that clings to everything that is hung out to dry in the warm sun and the fresh air! Because of that, having a clothesline was of major importance to me when we first built our house many years ago.

One of the very first things I looked forward to doing upon being discharged from the hospital after an almost 7 month stay which culminated in my heart transplant, was once again having the physical strength to use my clothesline!

With spring just around the corner, I'm looking forward to getting a brand new clothesline since the previous one is not in good shape!

When hanging out the clothes, my thoughts are sometimes taken up with the sounds of birds chirping merrily as they enjoy the warmth of spring. But many times my thoughts are far removed from my back porch and the yard that surrounds our house.

Oft remembered are clotheslines are former days when tiny outfits marched proudly along the line, receiving blankets billowing in the breeze, announcing to all that a new life had graced our home and our hearts.

Days when shorts and jerseys jockeyed for position reminding me of our 2 sons, soccer and pride in doing one's best.

Days when dresses of satin and roses danced joyfully together with garments of denim and lace, echoing the click-clacking of my daughter's footsteps, so recently leaving a trail to distant lands.

A clothesline was a news forecast
To neighbors passing by.
There were no secrets you could keep
When clothes were hung to dry.

It also was a friendly link
For neighbors always knew
If company had stopped on by
To spend a night or two.

For when you'd see the fancy sheets
And towels on the line;
You'd see the company table clothes
With intricate design.

The line announced a baby's birth
To folks who lived inside
As brand new infant clothes were hung
So carefully with pride.

The ages of the children could
So easily be known
By watching how the sizes changed
You'd know how much they'd grown.

It also told when illness struck,
As extra sheets were hung;
Then nightclothes, and a bathrobe, too,
Haphazardly were strung.

It said, "Gone on vacation now"
When lines hung limp and bare.
It told, "We're back!" when full lines sagged
With not an inch to spare.

New folks in town were scorned upon
If wash was dingy gray,
As neighbors raised their brows,
And looked disgustedly away.

But clotheslines now are of the past
For dryers make work less.
Now what goes on inside a home
Is anybody's guess.

I really miss that way of life.
It was a friendly sign
When neighbors knew each other best
By what hung on the line!

~ Author Unknown ~

[Images: "DRYING CLOTHES © Helen Allingham
and "CLEAN and FRESH" © Jerianne Vandijk]

What Was Seen in Me Today?

Today as I saw the snowflakes falling in earnest and knowing that freezing rain was forecast for later on, I hurried about doing the few errands I had to do and returned home before the roads got too messy.

Now, as I sit back, sipping a cup of hot tea, the words of this poem play over in my mind.

Was I patient while waiting in line to pay for my groceries? For my gas? Did I smile at the faces I passed, sending up a general prayer for each of them since they were strangers to me?

I often wonder how I am perceived by strangers and whether anything of my precious Lord shines through my hard, crusty, impatient self?

How about you?

THE BEAUTY of JESUS in ME

My Life touched yours for a very brief space,
And what, oh, what did you see?

A hurried, a worried and anxious face,
Or the beauty of Jesus in me?

Was I steeped so deep in the ways of the world
That you couldn't detect one thing
That would set me apart and show that my heart
Belonged to the Heavenly King?

Did I carry no banner for Jesus my Lord,
Not one thing at all that could show
Whose side I am on in this glorious fight?
I am His! But you wouldn't know.

Forgive me! And if we e'er meet again
Upon earth, oh, I pray you will see
No mark of this world, but His banner unfurled,
And the beauty of Jesus in me!

~ Alice Hansche Mortenson ~

“And be not conformed to this world:
but be ye transformed by the renewing of your mind,
that ye may prove what is
that good and acceptable, and perfect, will of God.”
~ Romans 12:2 ~

[painting Shopping in Paris by Basile LeMeunier]

TO A HOMEMAKER

TO A HOMEMAKER

Sweetness and soul,
We find joy in your gentle ways.
You nurture all of us: the dog, the bird,
The plants, the people -- lucky ones you love;
You're caring, ever caring, here -- and far
Where letters send your light to sunny up
A burdened life. With fierce protective eye
You scan afar for threat to those God gave
You vigil o'er. From morn to night you work:
You cook, you wash, you sew, you clean, you shop.

What for? Why just to make a home
For us who come -- and go.
You suffer little leavings every day
And bravely bear the pain and think of ways
To make homecomings glad and good, and build
Us strong again.
You cook. Oh, how you cook!
Not as some other women cook, with weariness,
Complaint: "So many years, so many dinnertimes."
No, you cook like God would cook. I think.
Each meal's a miracle. Dried beans and rice
Become gourmet for you. But more than that,
Each meal's a feast of love
Turned into bread and drink. We humbly take.
There is no way to honour you enough.

Carla Emery, 1939-1975
[painting by Alexei Tyranov]