12/1/19 Through 12/7/19

12/1/19 Through 12/7/19

Sunday

Eating and drinking as nothing is wrong

Lost are the foolish and pitiful throng.

Here while there's time to repent and obey

They ignore when He calls, and just go on their way.

With signs all around of His glory and grace

They act as if they had created this place.

If they had control over seasons and times,

And if they would be judge of the sins and the crimes.

How foolish to live full of pride in this way

While the evil one lurks for these souls as his prey.

It's simple and easy to just turn around,

And then in an instant, the lost will be found.

His mercy an ocean of self-giving love,

His Father enthroned in the heavens above.

He waits with great patience for man to amend,

But the fact is quite clear, there is coming an end!

Monday

If You would only say the word

A sacrifice will be preferred

Above indulgence once again

And discipline would teach me then.

But this burden now is mine

To appetites and will refine,

To choose the better o're the good

And act the way I know I should.

But I am weak and Thou art strong

I need Your grace to carry on

Without You I go wandering

And find I have no offering.

Tuesday

The childlike I wish to be

That hidden things I'd clearly see

For You, oh Lord did firmly hide

Your gifts from those with sinful pride.

I pray Your mercy on my soul

And beg that You would make it full

That humble I would learn to be

And hidden things I'd clearly see.

Wednesday

This rich and juicy, tasty food

Unseen in spite of what they viewed.

The crippled blind and mute were seen

Restored, and even lepers clean.

But, somehow we miss the boat

And turn from what the prophets wrote

And fail to recognize in bread

The rich and juicy food we're fed.

Thursday

The sands of pride and idleness

Support this house of man.

The walls of our self-righteousness

Collapse amid His plan.

The simple way to build a place

Both strong and flood secure

Is act upon His daily grace

To live both right and pure.

To hear, but never yet to mend

The breach within the soul

Is like a house, by flood condemned,

Upon a sandy shoal.

Friday

I do believe the cure will come

When focused on the Lord.

Not just a simple passing crumb,

But grace in mass out-poured.

The kind to make the desert green

And water arid lands.

The kind to make the leper clean,

And stretch out withered hands.

The Maker wishes all to be

Conformed within His will.

Each one a sign of unity,

And faithful to Him still.

Saturday

The bread I need is given me

Each still and quiet morn,

And if I eat and drink I see

New life in me is born.

I pray He guides my steps each day

And waters well the seed.

That I may learn to love and pray

And find there all I need.