Here's one of favorite poems ever! I hope you enjoy it and be blessed through these lines. 

Away despair! my gracious Lord does hear.
Though winds and waves assault my keel,
He does preserve it: He does steer,
Ev'n when the boat seems most to reel.
Storms are the triumph of His art:
Well may He close His eyes, but not His heart.

Have you not heard, that my Lord Jesus died?
Then let me tell you a strange story.
The God of power, as He did ride
In His majestic robes of glory,
Reserved to light; and so one day
He did descend, undressing all the way.

The stars His tire of light and rings obtained,
The cloud His bow, the fire His spear,
The sky His azure mantle gained.
And when they asked, what He would wear;
He smiled and said as He did go,
He had new clothes a making here below.

When He was come, as travelers are wont,
He did repair unto an inn.
Both then, and after, many a brunt
He did endure to cancel sin:
And having given the rest before,
Here He gave up His life to pay our score.

But as He was returning, there came one
That ran upon Him with a spear.
He, who came to us all alone,
Bringing nor man, nor arms, nor fear,
Received the blow upon His side,
And straight He turned, and to His brethren cried,

“If you have any thing to send or write,
I have no bag, but here is room:
Unto my Father’s hands and sight,
Believe me, it shall safely come.
That I shall mind, what you impart,
Look, you may put it very near my heart.

“Or if hereafter any of my friends
Will use me in this kind, the door
Shall still be open; what he sends
I will present, and somewhat more,
Not to his hurt. Sighs will convey
Any thing to me.” Hark, Despair away.

THE BAG, by George Herbert (1633, from The Temple).

Love you all, my friends. 

Lots of kisses and hugs! 

BeiJu***

Escrito por Ju Gigante às 05h05
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Giving thanks... that's what it's all about. For the Christian it's not just a day it's a lifestyle. It's recognizing that God is good and that He is to be appreciated for all He has provided. Like forgiveness of sins, constant grace, the right to stand before Him, justification from guilt, on-going mercy, and that's just the beginning. I mean it's great to have a calendar that separates a day to honor His provisions, but how many do? It's more than a day, it's a mindset that admires that in society we should give something that costs no money, give something that requires no work, but a thought, a breathe, a smile, a word...THANKS.

Some people suffering might ask "Thanks for what, difficulties and hardships?" No, thanks for HOPE, by which all difficulties will be eased, thanks for PEACE that all hardships will end. If you've never tried giving, then give Him a chance. If you've never given Him thanks then try giving God the simplest act of faith, and thank Him for a chance. After that the Thank you list begins to grow. Today some can thank Him for life, health, finance, love, hands that work, feet that walk, and whatsoever you have. Try it, it costs nothing but it will give you the essential ingredient for Life...God's kind of Life. Let's come together and celebrate LIFE on the Thanksgiving Eve.

rev. Ben

(from High Up Event - Thanksgiving Eve invitation folder)

Escrito por Ju Gigante às 00h18
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Cries of loneliness. Tune out the traffic and turn down the TV. The cry is there. You can hear their cries. You can hear them in the convalescent home among the sighs and the shuffling feet. You can hear them in the prisons among the moans of shame and the calls for mercy. You can hear them if you walk the manicured streets of suburban America, among the aborted ambitions and aging homecoming queens. Listen for it in the halls of our high schools where peer pressure weeds out the “have-nots” from the “haves.”
Many of you have been spared this cruel cry. Oh, you have been homesick or upset a time or two. But despair? Far from it. Suicide? Of course not. Be thankful that it hasn’t knocked on your door. Pray that it never will. If you have yet to fight this battle, you are welcome to read on if you wish, but I’m really writing to someone else.
I am writing to those who know this cry firsthand. I’m writing to those of you whose days are bookended with broken hearts and long evenings. I’m writing to those of you who can find a lonely person simply by looking in the mirror.
For you, loneliness is a way of life. The sleepless nights. The lonely bed. The distrust. The fear of tomorrow. The unending hurt.
When did it begin? In your childhood? At the divorce? At retirement? At the cemetery? When the kids left home?
Maybe you have fooled everyone. No one knows that you are lonely. On the outside you are packaged perfectly. Your smile is quick. Your job is stable. Your clothes are sharp. Your waist is thin. Your calendar is full. Your walk brisk. Your talk impressive. But when you look in the mirror, you fool no one. When you are alone, the duplicity ceases and the pain surfaces.
Or maybe you don’t try to hide it. Maybe you have always been outside the circle looking in, and everyone knows it. Your conversation is a bit awkward. Your companionship is seldom requested. Your clothes are dull. Your looks are common. Ziggy is your hero and Charlie Brown is your mentor.
Am I striking a chord? If I am, if you have nodded or sighed in understanding, I have an important message for you.
The most gut-wrenching cry of loneliness in history came not from a prisoner or a widow or a patient. It came from a hill, from a cross, from a Messiah.

"My God, my God,” he screamed, “why did you abandon me!”
(Matthew 27:46)

Never have words carried so much hurt. Never has one being been so lonely.
Out of the silent sky come the words screamed by all who walk in the desert of loneliness. “Why? Why did you abandon me?” I keep thinking of all the people who cast despairing eyes toward the dark heavens and cry “Why?"
And I imagine him. I imagine him listening. I picture his eyes misting and a pierced hand brushing away a tear. And although he may offer no answer, although he may solve no dilemma, although the question may freeze painfully in midair, he who also was once alone, understands.

by Max Lucado

Escrito por Ju Gigante às 00h45
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