No Room

Image "Knocking on Heaven's Door" courtesy of Flickr artist Vincent van der Pas

"No room," said the innkeeper,
And the Child was born in a stable.

Today that same Child stands at the door and knocks.
Will you, too, say "No room?"

-- David Jabs

---

This is, I think, my only original contribution to The Quote File and one of only two surviving poems that I have written.

When Jesus comes, he is the quintessential courteous Gentleman: he stands at the door and knocks.  He suffers the doorknob to be on the inside, with you, where you have the control to let Him in or keep Him out.

This is very different from the behavior of that seasonal charlatan that enters by stealth and without invitation and makes his way through sootier portals.

Merry Christmas!
Dave

edit:  This is actually my second original contribution.  I also wrote "Chartreuse Pillowcase" back during the wandering, caregiving years. 

The Weaver

My life is but a weaving between my Lord and me,

I cannot choose the colors He worketh steadily.

Oft times He weaveth sorrow, and I in foolish pride
forget He sees the upper but I the under side. 

Image "Loom - iPhone 4" courtesy of Flickr artist Jeffrey Turner

           Not till the loom is silent and 
the shuttles cease to fly,
shall God unroll the canvas and explain the reason why.

The dark threads are as needed in the 
Weaver's skillful hand,
as threads of gold and silver in 
the pattern life has planned.

Image "In the details..." courtesy of Flickr artist Barb Howe

Benjamin Malachi Franklin (1882-1965)

---

Lord, today I choose to remember to thank you for both the threads of gold and silver, 

as well as the threads of black and gray.  And I purpose not to whine.

Remain faithful,

Dave

What News Is This?

What is this news that we've heard from afar?
News from the wisemen following a star.
A babe is born, no a king they say,
Lying in  a manger, cradled in hay.
Tell us what shall we do with this newborn child?
Lying in the manger so sweet and mild?
Hold Him close to your heart, yes hold Him tight,
Remember and ponder what you've heard this night.

---

Images The Nativity and Mary at the Foot of the Cross courtesy of Flickr artist Sharon Mollerus

---

What is this news in the streets they cry?
Crucify him, crucify him, but tell us why?
What has he done, why must he die?
We've watched him grow and become a man,
Can his death be part of this mysterious plan?
Tell us what shall we do with this dying one?
Believe that they baby, this man is God's son.
Fall at the foot of that forsaken tree,
Give Him your heart there at calvary.

What is this news they try to conceal?
He's accomplished the purpose He came to reveal.
The mysterious plan is now open to all,
Open your heart and answer His call.

-- C. Ramirez

OUT THERE

Out there

you'll see it all.

The floating ends

will meet and mend,

and you will be yourself;

your fully formed,

though always changing,

self of selves.

Every clumsy backward look

will pay for itself.

---

Image "Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind" courtesy of Flickr artist Gisela Giardino

---

Every tear you've cried,

or wanted to cry,

will set your broken bones.

The rips in your heart

will no longer need to be guarded

by steel girders,

banyan tees,

or even rice paper.

Not so much as a

dragonfly's wing

will you need

to cover the bludgeoned place,

to protect the private you

you love so much

and hope to save intact

from what has seemed years

of relentless pummeling.

Go and live and love

in peace, my friend,

for surely there is love

to enfold you,

and life to be feasted upon:

your portion is boundless.

---

Image "Happy Socks" courtesy Flickr artist KeWynn Lee

---

Love will be the more

you've wanted.

You will know it

when you see it.

You will love yourself

as no lover

has ever had the courage

to love;

and the warmth you've wanted

will line your pillowcases,

dance upon your windowsill,

and hide

at the ends of your socks

awaiting your toes.

-- Deborah Mears

---

Jesus said, "I have come that ye might have life and have it more abundantly."  (John 10:10)  But what about when it hasn't worked out quite that way?  One of the fortunate side effects of the death of my bride is that I have discovered that I am powerless over my addictions and that my life had become unmanageable.  It is the latest step in my on-going process of dying to self and living to Christ.  It has helped me to see how I contributed to my bride's unhappiness and that fixing her was not and could not be the answer to my happiness.

And we know that all things work together for good to them that love God, to them who are the called according to his purpose. (Romans 8:28)  We know and trust this to be true, even when God reveals things to us that are unexpected and calls us in directions we had not anticipated.

Remain faithful,
Dave

---

A Friend of God

by C elkins

---

I’ve no desire for world renown,
To wear a princely golden crown,
I won’t be tempted with position
Gold and silver in addition
I’m satisfied to be a clod,
If I may be a friend of God.

I'm not ashamed of earthy mode
Sufficient if humble abode,
I’ve no desire to be around,
Glittering jewels and pretty gowns,
To worldly fashion, not a nod,
That I may be a friend of God.

---

Photo "Smiles" courtesy of Flickr artist Jerry Reynolds

---

I will not strive for adulation
Nor for world’s congratulation
I do not care for fickle fame,
Brilliant lights to spell out my name,
Though I'm just one pea in a pod,
Still I would be a friend of God.

A friend of God, A friend of God
I want to be a friend of God.
I want to live the Living Word
To point men to the Living Lord.
A friend of God, A friend of God
Always I'd be a friend of God.

---

Henceforth I call you not servants; for the servant knoweth not what his lord doeth: but I have called you friends; for all things that I have heard of my Father I have made known unto you.- John 15:15

Amazing Love! that the God of the universe wants to be my friend, and yours.

Remain faithful,
Dave

Amy's Song - David Harsh

Deborah Jabs (1960 - 2011)

The day you slipped away
Was the day my pain arrived
And I wonder how my life would be
If you were still alive
There's an emptyness within me
That is crying out your name
And no matter what I ever do
I will never be the same

Chorus:
And all I want to know
Is are you happy now?
Are you in the arms of Jesus
Can you see my life somehow?
As I sit here making wishes
That time will not allow
Please tell me
Are you happy now?

I think about the memories
And the time I had with you
And I laugh about the games we'd play
And the things we used to do
There is so much left to tell you
That I never got to say
And there are words I wish I'd never said
That I cannot take away

I can't wait 'til I can see your face again
In the house of our Father
Where the joy will never end
I can't wait to hold you close to me
And tell you that I love you
We'll be together in eternity

So as I walk along without you
In the years that still remain
I will think about you often
And smile through the pain
'cause there's a part of me that's missing
When you left and went away
But a part of you remains in me
And I know that it will stay

---

I really like the feeling and sentiment of this song, even if David Harsh and I disagree concerning what happens to a person when they die.
You can listen to David Harsh sing this song on YouTube here.
You can read the on-line Bible study, "Are the Dead Really Dead?" here.

Remain faithful,
Dave

Whatever You Think

Whatever you think, never think what you feel
You would blush, in the presence of God, to reveal;
Whatever you speak, in a whisper or clear,
Say nothing you would not like Jesus to hear.

---

Photo True phone courtesy of Flickr artist Florian SEROUSSI

---

Whatever you read though the page may allure,
Read nothing of which you are perfectly sure
Consternation at once would be seen in your look
If God should say solemnly, "Show me that book."

---

Photo "Bibliophile" courtesy of Flickr artist K. Sawyer

---

Whatever you write, though in haste or in heed,
Write nothing you would not like Jesus to read;
Whatever you sing, in the midst of your glees
Sing nothing His listening ear would displease.

Whenever you go, never go where you fear
Lest the great God should ask you, "How camest thou here?"
Turn away from each pleasure you'd shrink from pursuing
If God should look down and say, "What are you doing?"

Whatever you wear, can you be very sure
That the feelings it quickens are blameless and pure?
Would your face be unblushing and conscience be clear
Should your wardrobe be opened and Jesus appear?

When you think, when you speak, when you read, when you write,
When you sing, when you walk, when you seek for delight,
To be kept from all wrong when at home or abroad,
Live always as under the eyes of the Lord.

---

What a marvelous sentiment! Would your life, gentle reader, be any different, if you kept these thougts before you?

Remain faithful,

Dave

Land of Beginning Again

I wish that there were some wonderful place
Called the Land of Beginning Again
Where all our mistakes and all our heartaches
And all of our selfish grief
Could be dropped like a shabby old coat by the door
And never be put on again.

I wish we could come on it all unaware
Like the hunter who finds a lost trail
And I wish that the one whom our blindness has done
The greatest injustice of all
Could be at the gates like an old friend that waits
For the comrade he’s gladdest to hail.

---

photo by Lisa Allen

---

We would find all the things we intended to do
But forgot, and remembered too late;
Little praises unspoken, little promises broken
And all of the thousand and one
Little duties neglected that might have perfected
The day for one less fortunate.

It wouldn’t be possible not to be kind
In the Land of Beginning Again
And the ones we misjudged and the ones whom we grudged
Their moments of victory then
Would find in the grasp of our loving handclasp
More than penitent lips could explain.

For what had been hardest we’d know had been best
And what had seemed loss would be gain
For there isn’t a sting that will not take a wing
When we’ve faced it and laughed it away,
And I think that the laughter is most what we’re after
In the Land of Beginning Again.

So I wish that there were some wondered place
Called the Land of Beginning Again
Where all our mistakes and all our heartaches
And all of our selfish grief
Could be dropped like a shabby old coat at the door
And never be put on again.

by Louise Fletcher

---

Oh, that we might have healing in every wounded relationship, past and present. Who among us lives without regrets? But be of good cheer: God has promised that He will wipe away every tear in the ultimate land of beginning again (Rev 21:4).

-Dave

---

December is a time of reflection. The end of the year is upon us. We consider the past year and reflect on what has worked, what has not, what we did right, and what we wish we could have done differently. We look forward to January, to the season of beginning again, to the season of hope, to the season of, "maybe I'll get it right this year."

I originally posted this in January, 2008, and love it so much that I wanted to share it again.

Remain faithful,
Dave

I Asked God

I asked God to take away my habit.
God said, No.
It is not for ME to take away,
But for YOU to give it up.

---

rose bud II courtesy of Flickr artist ceanandjen

---

I asked God to grant me patience.
God said, No.
Patience is a byproduct of tribulations;
It isn't granted, it is learned.

I asked God to give me happiness.
God said, No.
I give you blessings;
Happiness is up to you.

I asked God to spare me pain.
God said, No.
Suffering draws you apart from worldly cares
And brings you closer to me.

I asked God to make my spirit grow.
God said, No.
You must grow on your own! ,
But I will prune you to make you fruitful.

I asked God for all things that I might enjoy life.
God said, No.
I will give you life,
So that you may enjoy all things.

I ask God to help me LOVE others, as much as He loves me.
God said...Ahhhh;
Finally, you have the idea.

---

1Pe 5:10 But the God of all grace, who hath called us unto his eternal glory by Christ Jesus, after that ye have suffered a while, make you perfect, stablish, strengthen, settle you.

We spend our entire lives trying to shield ourselves from suffering, but God allows a measure of suffering that we might be perfected. Would you give God permission to make you perfect?

Lord God, give me the grace, the stretching and the growth that You intend for the experiences and circumstances that You have allowed in my life that I might be more fully fitted for the work You have for me to do.

Remain faithful,
Dave

Checking In Today

A minister passing through his church
in the middle of the day,
Decided to pause by the altar
and see who had come to pray.

---

Photo by chefranden

---

Just then the back door opened,
a man came down the aisle,
The minister frowned as he saw
the man hadn't shaved in a while.

His shirt was kinda shabby
and his coat was worn and frayed,
the man knelt, he bowed his head,
then rose and walked away.

In the days that followed,
each noon time came this chap,
each time he knelt just for a moment,
a lunch pail in his lap.

Well, the minister's suspicions grew,
with robbery a main fear,
He decided to stop the man and ask him,
"What are you doing here?"

The old man said, he worked down the road.
Lunch was half an hour.
Lunchtime was his prayer time,
for finding strength and power.

"I stay only moments, see,
because the factory is so far away;
as I kneel here talking to the Lord,
this is kinda what I say:

"I JUST CAME AGAIN TO TELL YOU, LORD,
HOW HAPPY I'VE BEEN,
SINCE WE FOUND EACH OTHER'S FRIENDSHIP
AND YOU TOOK AWAY MY SIN.

DON'T KNOW MUCH OF HOW TO PRAY, BUT I
THINK ABOUT YOU EVERYDAY.
SO, JESUS, THIS IS JIM
CHECKING IN TODAY."

The minister feeling foolish,
told Jim, that was fine.
He told the man he was welcome
to come and pray just anytime.

Time to go, Jim smiled, said
"Thanks." He hurried to the door.
The minister knelt at the altar,
he'd never done it before.

His cold heart melted, warmed with love,
and met with Jesus there.
As the tears flowed, in his heart,
he repeated old Jim's prayer:

"I JUST CAME AGAIN TO TELL YOU, LORD,
HOW HAPPY I'VE BEEN,
SINCE WE FOUND EACH OTHER'S FRIENDSHIP
AND YOU TOOK AWAY MY SIN.

I DON'T KNOW MUCH OF HOW TO PRAY, BUT I
THINK ABOUT YOU EVERYDAY.
SO, JESUS, THIS IS ME
CHECKING IN TODAY."

Past noon one day, the minister noticed
that old Jim hadn't come.
As more days passed without Jim,
he began to worry some.

At the factory, he asked about him,
learning he was ill.
The hospital staff was worried,
but he'd given them a thrill.

The week that Jim was with them,
brought changes in the ward.
His smiles, a joy contagious.
Changed people, were his reward.

The head nurse couldn't understand
why Jim was so glad,
when no flowers, calls or cards came,
not a visitor he had.

The minister stayed by his bed,
he voiced the nurse's concern:
No friends came to show they cared.
He had nowhere to turn.

Looking surprised, old Jim spoke up
and with a winsome smile;
"the nurse is wrong, she couldn't know,
that in here all the while

Everyday at noon He's here,
a dear friend of mine, you see,
He sits right down, takes my hand,
leans over and says to me:

"I JUST CAME AGAIN TO TELL YOU, JIM,
HOW HAPPY I HAVE BEEN,
SINCE WE FOUND THIS FRIENDSHIP,
AND I TOOK AWAY YOUR SIN.

ALWAYS LOVE TO HEAR YOU PRAY,
I THINK ABOUT YOU EACH DAY,
AND SO JIM, THIS IS JESUS
CHECKING IN TODAY."

May God hold you in the palm of His
hand and Angels watch over you.

~Author Unknown~

It's Jewish

by Uriah Smith

---

When we present God's holy Law
And arguments from Scripture draw,
Objectors say, to pick a flaw:
"It's Jewish!"

Though at first Jehovah blessed
And sanctified His day of rest,
The same belief is still expressed:
"It's Jewish!"

Though with Creation this rest began
And thence through all the Scriptures ran,
And Jesus said 'twas made for man—
"It's Jewish!"

Though not with Jewish rites which passed,
But with the moral Law 'twas classed,
Which must exist while time shall last—
"It's Jewish!"

If from the Bible we present
The Sabbath's meaning and intent,
This answers every argument:
"It's Jewish!"

Though the disciples Luke and Paul
Continued still this rest to call
The Sabbath day, this answers all:
"It's Jewish!"

The Gospel Teacher's plain expression
That sin is of the Law transgression
Seems not to make the least impression;
"It's Jewish!"

They love the day of man's invention,
But if Jehovah's rest we mention
This puts an end to all contention:
"It's Jewish!"

Oh ye who thus God's day abuse
Simply because 'twas kept by Jews,
The Saviour, too, you must refuse—
"He's Jewish!"

The Scriptures, then, we may expect
For the same reason you'll reject.
For if you stop to recollect,
"They're Jewish!"

Thus the apostles, too, must fall,
For Andrew, Peter, James, and Paul,
Thomas, Matthew, John, and all,
Were Jewish.

So to your hapless state resign
Yourself in wretchedness to pine;
Salvation surely you'll decline—
"It's Jewish!"

---

This poem reminds me of a wonderful moment from The Hiding Place, the story of Corrie Ten Boom. Corrie's pastor is visiting to warn the family about their pro-Jewish sentiments. He begins to say, "It was the Jews who..." The anticipated end of his sentence was, "...killed Christ," but Father Caspar Ten Boom interrupts him saying, "...gave us the Bible - and gave us our Savior."

Poor cheap self proudly points at the nails and the hammer in the hands of another, but when God's grace gets hold of his life and he sees himself through God's eyes, he discovers that, not only is he holding the hammer and nails in his own hands, but that his hands are wet with the precious blood of the dear Son of God, as well.

It would be well for us to spend a thoughtful hour each day in contemplation of the life of Christ. We should take it point by point, and let the imagination grasp each scene, especially the closing ones. As we thus dwell upon His great sacrifice for us, our confidence in Him will be more constant, our love will be quickened, and we shall be more deeply imbued with His spirit. If we would be saved at last, we must learn the lesson of penitence and humiliation at the foot of the cross. -- Desire of Ages p.83

Remain faithful,
Dave

To Know the Value...

To know the value of a sister
Ask someone Who doesn't have one.

To know the value of ten years:
Ask a newly Divorced couple.

To know the value of four years:
Ask a graduate.

To know the value of one year:
Ask a student who Has failed a final exam.

---

photo by Mike Baird

---

To know the value of nine months:
Ask a mother who gave birth to a still born.

To know the value of one month:
Ask a mother who has given birth to A premature baby.

To know the value of one week:
Ask an editor of a weekly newspaper.

To know the value of one hour:
Ask the lovers who are waiting to Meet.

To know the value of one minute:
Ask a person Who has missed the train, bus or plane.

To know the value of one-second:
Ask a person Who has survived an accident.

To know the value of one millisecond:
Ask the person who has won a silver medal in the Olympics

Time waits for no one.

Treasure every moment you have.
You will treasure it even more when you can share it with someone special. – Author unknown.

---

Some bonus values...

To know the value of a yard, ask an NFL running back.
To know the value of a tenth of a second, ask a basketball team down by two.
To know the value of an inch, ask an architect.
To know the value of a pint, ask someone in need of a blood transfusion.
To know the value of a child, ask someone who can't have one.

To know the value of a life, ask God while His Son was on the cross.

I especially like that last one.

-Dave

Outside of Your Tent

by Eugene Prewitt (February 21, 2003)

---

Photo by Rob Lee

---

The food is now ready
Outside of your tent
Are you hungry, my dear one?
The manna is sent

The angels have brought
Their own fare to the ground
If you will but search
It soon will be found

Christ has given us no promise of help in bearing today the burdens of tomorrow. He has said, "My grace is sufficient for thee"; but, like the manna given in the wilderness, His grace is bestowed daily, for the day's need. Like the host of Israel in their pilgrim life, we may find morning by morning the bread of heaven for the day's supply {SD 119.4}

The manna is waiting
Outside of your tent
Are you hungry, my dear one?
The food has been sent

Wait not ‘til the sun
Will rise bright and warm
And bring to your life
A business-like storm

The provision for the day must be gathered in the morning; for all that remained upon the ground was melted by the sun. {PP 295.1}

And you go on famished
‘til your strength is spent
Up now! my dear one
Quick, out of your tent!

For the morning’s first rays
Will rob you of your bread
Are you hungry, my dear one?
The table is spread

The food is now ready
Outside of your tent
Are you hungry, my dear one?
The manna is sent

I Walked a Mile With Pleasure

by Robert Browning Hamilton

---

Photo by Erik Ogan

---

I walked a mile with Pleasure;
She chatted all the way;
But left me none the wiser
For all she had to say.

I walked a mile with Sorrow,
And ne'er a word said she;
But, oh! The things I learned from her,
When sorrow walked with me.

Excelsior!

by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

The shades of night were falling fast,
As through an Alpine village passed
A youth, who bore, 'mid snow and ice,
A banner with the strange device,
Excelsior!

His brow was sad; his eye beneath,
Flashed like a falchion from its sheath,
And like a silver clarion rung
The accents of that unknown tongue,
Excelsior!

In happy homes he saw the light
Of household fires gleam warm and bright;
Above, the spectral glaciers shone,
And from his lips escaped a groan,
Excelsior!

"Try not the Pass!" the old man said;
"Dark lowers the tempest overhead,
The roaring torrent is deep and wide!"
And loud that clarion voice replied,
Excelsior!

"O stay," the maiden said, "and rest
Thy weary head upon this breast!"
A tear stood in his bright blue eye,
But still he answered, with a sigh,
Excelsior!

"Beware the pine tree's withered branch!
Beware the awful avalanche!"
This was the peasant's last Good-night,
A voice replied, far up the height,
Excelsior!

At break of day, as heavenward
The pious monks of Saint Bernard
Uttered the oft-repeated prayer,
A voice cried through the startled air,
Excelsior!

A traveller, by the faithful hound,
Half-buried in the snow was found,
Still grasping in his hand of ice
That banner with the strange device,
Excelsior!

There in the twilight cold and gray,
Lifeless, but beautiful, he lay,
And from the sky, serene and far,
A voice fell, like a falling star,
Excelsior!

~~~~~~~~

I love this poem because it reminds me that the things that are worth living for are the things that are worth dying for, things that are greater than me, greater than poor, cheap self.

The Calf Path

by Sam Walter Foss (1858-1911)

---

Photo by Flickr artist Cowboy Dave

---

One day, through the primeval wood,
A calf walked home, as good calves should;
But made a trail all bent askew,
A crooked trail, as all calves do.

Since then three hundred years have fled,
And, I infer, the calf is dead.
But still he left behind his trail,
And thereby hangs my moral tale.

The trail was taken up next day
By a lone dog that passed that way;
And then a wise bellwether sheep
Pursued the trail o’er vale and steep,
And drew the flock behind him, too,
As good bellwethers always do.

And from that day, o’er hill and glade,
Through those old woods a path was made,
And many men wound in and out,
And dodged and turned and bent about,
And uttered words of righteous wrath
Because ’twas such a crooked path;
But still they followed — do not laugh —
The first migrations of that calf,
And through this winding wood-way stalked
Because he wobbled when he walked.

This forest path became a lane,
That bent, and turned, and turned again.
This crooked lane became a road,
Where many a poor horse with his load
Toiled on beneath the burning sun,
And traveled some three miles in one.
And thus a century and a half
They trod the footsteps of that calf.

The years passed on in swiftness fleet.
The road became a village street,
And this, before men were aware,
A city’s crowded thoroughfare,
And soon the central street was this
Of a renowned metropolis;
And men two centuries and a half
Trod in the footsteps of that calf.

Each day a hundred thousand rout
Followed that zigzag calf about,
And o’er his crooked journey went
The traffic of a continent.
A hundred thousand men were led
By one calf near three centuries dead.
They follow still his crooked way,
And lose one hundred years a day,
For thus such reverence is lent
To well-established precedent.

A moral lesson this might teach
Were I ordained and called to preach;
For men are prone to go it blind
Along the calf-paths of the mind,
And work away from sun to sun
To do what other men have done.
They follow in the beaten track,
And out and in, and forth and back,
And still their devious course pursue,
To keep the path that others do.

They keep the path a sacred groove,
Along which all their lives they move;
But how the wise old wood-gods laugh,
Who saw the first primeval calf!
Ah, many things this tale might teach —
But I am not ordained to preach.