He stands in new strength and walks by faithCompelled by Heaven’s Holy Spirit love

Forever steadfast along the only true Way

His Shepherd’s most narrow path for Life

Walked long ago by the One who revealed the Way, His Way;

Common feelings come, human feelings go

Yet “perfection” somehow calls, draws from within

Though the body seems frail and weak

Silver threads of the “Silver Cord” remains strong

Even from the first birth with Heaven’s touch.

In spite of all, I still hear the merciful Spirit Voice

He calls to my inner gift of faith-

“Press on! Press on! Take hold of your destiny.”

And daily I do…

Many others follow nearby, they too hear the words spoken

Read the honest encouragements written

And continue their unique path of faith in Truth.

The world and those who love it first, scoff and mock

Roaring streams from blind, intellectual cynics,

More pours out from stubborn rebels

While pride and arrogance adorn the foolish hearts of others;

But their loud sounds and crude noise fall empty to the ground.

My humble prayers offered for the few are answered,

Those who will embrace good change one day

Plucked from the fire, saved from the “second death”,

Ones who repent and fall to their knees

After sudden waves of Heaven’s revelations

Just like gracious Paul, Thomas, Peter and many others,

Emerald rainbows will encircle them like James and John

And even remnant modern Israel!

Eyes formed by the Maker will see enlightenment

Ears made by the Creator will hear with understanding

And new Light will glow from within their being as well;

All who love the Way more than the world

All who love the Truth more than themselves

All who love the Life more than a selfish nature

All who love their Savior, their Lord more than their own life.

Beauty of The Broken

Jake Allen Sharp

The beauty of the broken

words too painful to be spoken

bleed onto the canvas

Depict the soul inside us

Every brush stroke seems to trace

The mascara down your face

Pain you cannot hide

You can’t hold it all inside
The beauty of the broken

I paint a portrait as a token

So to silently remember

A distant sad September

When paint begins to crack

And we will look back

We won’t have to speak a word

Thats too painful to be heard

Beauty of the broken

Represents the unspoken

The paint stains my hand

For a second I understand

The stains upon my heart

They are reflected in my art

My crying eyes look at you

I know that you are broken too

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My mind is a desk in a dust storm

Jake Allen Sharp

My brain – my mind is like a desk. It’s usually cluttered but not for lack of effort. Sometimes I’m attention asleep – I stack papers organized them have everything neatly placed and my plans written on paper on my desk. That’s when the dust storm comes in like a whirlwind of creativity. I forget what I was supposed to be doing I forget it about the task at hand, forget to pay bills, forget to turn in assignments, forget to complete things I had already started.

My thoughts become paper scattered by the wind.

I frantically trying to gather my thoughts again

without much effort my words all rhyme

then I’m lost in a moment in time

at least in my mind.

The dust settles and I look around. Try to pick up the pieces. I try my best to straighten my desk. I make a new plan and…

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