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Showing posts from October, 2017

Abt Vogler

Would that the structure brave, the manifold music I build, Bidding my organ obey, calling its keys to their work, Claiming each slave of the sound, at a touch, as when Solomon willed Armies of angels that soar, legions of demons that lurk, Man, brute, reptile, fly,—alien of end and of aim, Adverse, each from the other heaven-high, hell-deep removed,— Should rush into sight at once as he named the ineffable Name, And pile him a palace straight, to pleasure the princess he loved!
Would it might tarry like his, the beautiful building of mine, This which my keys in a crowd pressed and importuned to raise! Ah, one and all, how they helped, would dispart now and now combine, Zealous to hasten the work, heighten their master his praise! And one would bury his brow with a blind plunge down to hell, Burrow awhile and build, broad on the roots of things, Then up again swim into sight, having based me my palace well, Founded it, fearless of flame, flat on the nether springs.
And another would m…

Cranky Old Man

Got this poem from Joanna Davidson Politano's website

It's a poem that recites with first person point-of-view about an old man—or just what he thinks of himself, and what other people are thinking of him, that way.
The poem was found after he'd died in a nursing home.
Perhaps this poem could also touch someone like you, or us.

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Cranky Old Man
What do you see, Nurses? ... What do you see? What are you thinking ... when you’re looking at me? A cranky old man, ... not very wise, Uncertain of habit ... with faraway eyes? Who dribbles his food ... and makes no reply. When you say in a loud voice ... ’I do wish you’d try!’ Who seems not to notice ... the things that you do. And forever is losing ...A sock or shoe? Who, resisting or not ... lets you do as you will, With bathing and feeding ...The long day to fill? Is that what you’re thinking? ... Is that what you see? Then open your eyes, nurse ... you’re not looking at me. I’ll tell you who I am ... As I sit here so still, As I do at your …

Hattie May Wiatt

Kisah nyata ini terjadi pada akhir tahun 1800-an di Philadelphia, Amerika. Ada seorang gadis kecil bernama Hattie May Wiatt berdiri terisak di dekat pintu masuk sebuah gereja yang tidak terlalu besar, dia tidak diperkenankan masuk ke gereja tersebut karena sudah terlalu penuh.

Pdt. Russell H. Conwell yang kebetulan lewat menanyakan mengapa dia menangis.
“Aku tidak bisa ke Sekolah Minggu,” jawab Hattie.
Melihat penampilan Hattie yang acak-acakan dan tidak terurus, sang pendeta segera mengerti dan bisa menduga sebabnya dia tidak disambut masuk ke Sekolah Minggu. Hattie bersama kedua orangtuanya tinggal di daerah kumuh karena mereka tergolong keluarga miskin. Segera dituntunnya Hattie masuk ke ruang Sekolah Minggu dan mencarikan tempat duduk yang masih kosong untuk Hattie.
Hattie begitu tergugah perasaannya, sehingga sebelum tidur di malam itu ia sempat memikirkan anak-anak lain yang senasib dengan dirinya, yang tidak mempunyai kesempatan untuk ikut Sekolah Minggu.
Ketika ia menceritakan peng…

Kakak PA

Kemarin membuka-buka Alkitab di rumah, menemukan secarik kertas mungil merah berisikan tulisan singkat berikut ini.
Mungkin yang menulis adalah seorang anak kecil murid Sekolah Minggu. Dengan sedikit penekanan tambahan pada jumlah berapa kali dia memintanya, dari 120 saya ubah menjadi 153.

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Tuhan, sudah 153 kali aku minta pada-Mu agar Tuhan mengirim kakak PA (pendalaman Alkitab) bagiku.
Jangan kirim padaku seorang kakak PA yang tidak siap. Jangan kirim padaku seorang kakak PA yang sering terlambat. Jangan kirim padaku seorang kakak PA yang ketus & galak. Jangan kirim padaku seorang kakak PA yang tidak sayang padaku.
Tapi kirimkan padaku seorang kakak PA yang baik s'perti Engkau. tidak usah indah suaranya, asal ramah senyumnya tidak mesti cakap parasnya, namun menarik pribadinya tidak usah tegap badannya, asal lembut hatinya tidak mesti bagus pakaiannya, namun rendah hatinya tidak usah bagus ceritanya, asal Kristus hidup di hidupnya
Agar... ketika aku sedih, aku dapat menangis di depannya saat a…

I watched a potter at work

I watched a potter at work today–choosing a marl of bluish-grey,
Ugly and dirty, unpromising stuff; he took it, and washed it till he’d got enough To finish the task he’d set for the day.
His foot was steady, his hands were firm, I saw the wheel begin to turn– Faster and faster, it spun on its way, then–all of a sudden he threw the clay. How many years did it take to learn?
With love and patience those hands so skilled, shape up the pot that he has willed. So long ago, before he began, he had in his mind his own special plan And now at last it’s being fulfilled.
He slows down the wheel, and with fingers neat he places his pot in the infinite heat Of the oven, so hot that it tempers the pot Until tested and tried his work is complete.
Does the pot he now holds bring him pleasure? Will it always be something to treasure? You and I are God’s clay–will we let Him today Mould us to give Him this joy beyond measure? 

~ Cilla Watkins



One day at a time

One day at a time, sweet Jesus That's all I'm asking from You Just give me the strength to do everyday What I have to do Yesterday's gone, sweet Jesus And tomorrow may never be mine Lord, help me today, show me the way One day at a time

(by Marijohn Wilkin)