Author: Ru

My Facebook link is facebook.com

A Prayer for the New Year

by Lucy M. Young

Dear Lord, help us keep Christmas in our hearts
All through this fresh new year,
And show us how to do our part
To bring an end to famine, war and pestilence.
Help us all, each in his own way,
To share whatever we may have to give -
Our love, a helping hand, a cheerful smile,
A cup of tea, a hug, a phone call to a lonely neighbor,
A cookie or an apple to a little child.

Lead us, Lord, that we may be your true disciples
In our homes, our neighborhood, our country;
Living your Word, sharing your love wherever we may go;
Extending the hand of brotherhood to every race and creed.
Let peace and harmony, good will and hope,
Go out from our small corner
To spread throughout a saddened suffering world.



photo by Robin Noguier on Unsplash

Good Friday

by Lucy M. Young

On this day two thousand years ago
He suffered cruelly on the cross and died for us.
Today we are still crucifying Him with our sinful ways.
Daily we drive the nails into His precious body;
His teachings are forgotten or ignored.

We love not one another as He asked.
We judge and covet, envy, lie and cheat.
Self-centered, greedy, grasping,
We struggle to pile up and hoard the riches of the earth.

Heaven's treasures disregarded, we fail to see the needs of others.
We ask forgiveness while failing to forgive.
And then we wonder why we have to suffer;
Why we are beset by sickness, pain and sorrow, tragedy and loss.

Wouldn't you think we'd learn?



photo by Soul devOcean on Unsplash

A Prayer for the Homeless

by Lucy M. Young

When I awoke this morning, Lord,
And looked out at your beautiful world,
I thought of the other nations on earth
Whose banners of war are unfurled;
While here the morning songs of the birds
Brought music into my room;
And a softly whispering spring-time breeze
Held the scent of lilacs in bloom.

While I enjoyed the quiet peace
Of my little country home,
I thought of the homeless far and near
Who have been condemned to roam
In search of a place to call their own,
No matter how humble it be -
Just a tiny spot to make their home
From war and tyranny free.

Help them find it, Lord - a place of their own -
Secure and safe from fear.
Let them know the joy of freedom and peace,
The assurance that you are near.
Let them settle down with their families and friends,
Let their children romp in the sun;
May they never again know the terrors of war
Or hear the sound of a gun.

photo by Fares Hamouche on Unsplash

On Dieting

by Lucy M. Young

Dieting is a piece of cake
And how I wish I had one;
Faithfully I eat "good" things,
But how I crave the "bad" ones.

Omitting sugar, starch and fat -
Following a plan;
Counting calories, weighing food,
Don't forget the bran.

Struggling from morn to night
With "goodies" all around,
Standing on the scales at last
To find I've gained a pound.

photo by I Yunmai on Unsplash

If

by Lucy M. Young

If you can hear the softly falling raindrops,
Or the crashing roar of surf upon the shore;
If you can hear the birds at evening vespers,
Or the sweet contentment of a kitten’s purr.

If you can smell the wonderful aroma
Of fresh-baked bread upon the window-sill;
The fragrance of a lovely dew-drenched flower,
Or the tantalizing scent of sage and dill;

If you can see the gorgeous hues of sunset,
Or the soft pastels of early morning skies;
If you can see the vast, star-studded heavens,
Or the lovelight shining in your mother’s eyes;

If you can feel the warmth of summer sunlight,
Or the frosty coolness of an autumn morn;
The presence of a friend when you are lonely,
The touch of a friendly hand when you’re forlorn;

If you can see and feel and taste and hear,
And walk unhampered through God-given days,
Then lift your heart in thanks to God above,
In joyous abandon sing His praise;
For you are truly blest by His great love –
A light to guide and strengthen you always.

photo by Johannes Plenio on Unsplash

Our Daily Bread

by Lucy M. Young

The art of making bread is ages old -
Thousands of years ago 'twas made
By women of ancient Egypt, Syria, Greece, and Babylon.

Unleavened bread was made by Israelite women
During their flight from Pharaoh's cruel bondage.
Housewives were baking bread
When Mount Vesuvius poured tons of ash and molten rock
On unsuspecting Pompeii.

It is the staff of life,
The staple food of a million generations.
Sarah, Rebecca, Hannah, Rachel, Martha
Baked their fragrant loaves by open fires
To feed their families;

And Jesus broke the bread of life with His disciples
Before Gethsemane.

There's a deep religious connotation
In the humble art of making bread -
A soul-deep feeling, difficult to understand
Or explain.

Today, as I mix and knead and bake my bread;
And when like incense its aroma fills the house,
I think of all those women of the past
Whose work-worn hands performed this simple task.
In spirit I am close to them;
And just as they, so long ago, did lift their hearts in gratitude to God,
I, too, sincerely thank Him for our daily bread.

Going Home for Christmas

by Lucy M. Young

photo by Jason Leung on Unsplash
We're going home for Christmas
And I can hardly wait
For Mother will be waiting,
No matter if we're late.
For a lamp will burn in the window -
A beacon shining bright -
Mother always put it there
To guide us home at night.

Father will be standing
Beside the open door,
A happy smile upon his face
To welcome us once more.
Our little sister will be there -
The angels will let her leave
To be with us just one more time
This lovely Christmas Eve.

The laden tree will sparkle
In the firelight's cheerful glow,
And Mother will be playing 
Organ music soft and low.
We'll gather 'round her singing
The carols we all love;
Rejoicing that the Precious Babe
Was sent to us from above.

There will never be a Christmas
Like those our memories know
When we were all together
So many years ago;
But we're going home, down memory lane,
How wonderful it seems
To be going home for Christmas,
If only in my dreams.

We Are All His Own

by Lucy M. Young

We all have the same loving Father in Heaven
Be we black, white, red, yellow or brown;
If we love Him and serve Him faithfully
We'll meet when our sun goes down
On the life we know in this "vale of tears"
And we leave for our Heavenly rest,
We'll see for ourselves we are all the same
In His eyes, and we all are blessed.
We are all the same color beneath the skin,
Red blood flows through every vein;
We all reach out for friendship and love,
Our hearts beat to the same refrain.

So why do we quarrel, mistrust and hate,
We the sons and daughters of God?
We are brothers and sisters, He loves us all,
Let's spread understanding abroad.
Let's look at each other with friendship and trust
Ignoring the color of skin;
With wide-open minds and loving hearts
Let us see all the goodness within;
And go to our Maker, hand in hand,
Black, white, red, yellow and brown;
With our hearts serene and our souls at peace,
He will know we are truly His own.








	


	
	








	
	

		
Shrink-Proof
	


	

		




Ru's avatarRu's Rambles




journal, mother daughter, heart


My thoughtful daughter, Jess, gave me this journal several Christmases ago so that I would have plenty of time to jot down memories of my life for her to read after I’m gone.  It’s a wonderful idea book from Hallmark (naturally!) and includes questions that serve as jumping-off points for remembering all sorts of moments from childhood on.


Thinking about the precious bond between us,  I recalled a “visit” we made once for family counseling when Jess was young.  I don’t recall the reason we went or how old Jess was at the time, but what we do recall quite clearly was the psychiatric opinion that my daughter and I were too close. What?!  And as I recall, we never went back to that “doctor”!  The notation in my journal under most important lessons reads: “Psychiatrists who think a mother & daughter can be too close need only be seen…




View original post 42 more words