As I was walking down life's highway many years ago I came upon a sign that read
Heaven's Grocery Store.
When I got a little closer
the doors swung open wide
And when I came to myself
I was standing inside.
I saw a host of angels.
They were standing everywhere
One handed me a basket and said
"My child shop with care."
Everything a human needed
was in that grocery store
And what you could not carry
you could come back for more.
First I got some Patience.
Love was in that same row.
Further down was Understanding,
you need that everywhere you go.
I got a box or two of Wisdom
and Faith a bag or two.
And Charity of course
I would need some of that too.
I couldn't miss the Holy Ghost
It was all over the place.
And then some Strength and Courage to help me run this race.
My basket was getting full but
I remembered I needed Grace,
And then I chose Salvation for
Salvation was for free
I tried to get enough of that
to do for you and me.
Then I started to the counter
to pay my grocery bill,
For I thought I had everything
to do the Masters will.
As I went up the aisle I saw
Prayer and put that in,
For I knew when I stepped outside
I would run into sin.
Peace and Joy were plentiful,
the last things on the shelf.
Song and Praise were hanging near so I just helped myself.
Then I said to the angel
"How much do I owe?"
He smiled and said
"Just take them everywhere you go." > > > Again I asked "Really now,
how much do I owe?"
“My child " he said,
"God paid your bill a long,
long time ago."
Jan Bagwell
God Bless , There are so many we need to pray for !!
Friday, September 24, 2010
Thursday, September 23, 2010
Happy the man that finds the grace
Happy the man that finds the grace,
The blessing of God's chosen race,
The wisdom coming from above,
The faith that sweetly works by love.
Happy beyond description he
Who knows, The Saviour died for me,
The gift unspeakable obtains,
And heavenly understanding gains.
Wisdom divine! Who tells the price
Of wisdom's costly merchandise
Wisdom to silver we prefer,
And gold is dross compared to her.
Her hands are filled with length of days,
True riches, and immortal praise,
Riches of Christ, on all bestowed,
And honour that descends from God.
To purest joys she all invites,
Chaste, holy, spiritual delights;
Her ways are ways of pleasantness,
And all her flowery paths are peace.
Happy the man who wisdom gains,
Thrice happy who his guest retains!
He owns, and shall for ever own,
Wisdom, and Christ, and heaven are one.
The blessing of God's chosen race,
The wisdom coming from above,
The faith that sweetly works by love.
Happy beyond description he
Who knows, The Saviour died for me,
The gift unspeakable obtains,
And heavenly understanding gains.
Wisdom divine! Who tells the price
Of wisdom's costly merchandise
Wisdom to silver we prefer,
And gold is dross compared to her.
Her hands are filled with length of days,
True riches, and immortal praise,
Riches of Christ, on all bestowed,
And honour that descends from God.
To purest joys she all invites,
Chaste, holy, spiritual delights;
Her ways are ways of pleasantness,
And all her flowery paths are peace.
Happy the man who wisdom gains,
Thrice happy who his guest retains!
He owns, and shall for ever own,
Wisdom, and Christ, and heaven are one.
Wednesday, September 22, 2010
The Meaning of Peace
The Meaning of Peace
There was once a king who offered a prize to the artist who
could paint the best picture of peace. Many artists tried.
The king looked at all the pictures, but there were only two
that he really liked, and he had to choose between them.
One picture was of a calm lake. The lake was a perfect mirror
for the peaceful towering mountains all around it. Overhead was
a blue sky with fluffy white clouds. All who saw this picture
thought that it was a perfect picture of peace.
The second picture had mountains, too. But these were rugged
and bare. Above was an angry sky from which rain fell, and in
which lightening played. Down the side of the mountain tumbled
a foaming waterfall. This did not look peaceful at all.
But when the king looked, he saw behind the waterfall a tiny
bush growing in a crack in the rock. In the bush a mother bird
had built her nest.... a perfect picture of peace.
Which of the pictures won the prize?
The king chose the second picture.
Do you know why?
"Because," explained the king, "peace does not mean to be in a
place where there is no noise, trouble or hard work.
Peace means to be in the midst of all those things and still be
calm in your heart. That is the real meaning of peace."
That is the REAL meaning of peace.
Jan Bagwell
God Bless !!
There was once a king who offered a prize to the artist who
could paint the best picture of peace. Many artists tried.
The king looked at all the pictures, but there were only two
that he really liked, and he had to choose between them.
One picture was of a calm lake. The lake was a perfect mirror
for the peaceful towering mountains all around it. Overhead was
a blue sky with fluffy white clouds. All who saw this picture
thought that it was a perfect picture of peace.
The second picture had mountains, too. But these were rugged
and bare. Above was an angry sky from which rain fell, and in
which lightening played. Down the side of the mountain tumbled
a foaming waterfall. This did not look peaceful at all.
But when the king looked, he saw behind the waterfall a tiny
bush growing in a crack in the rock. In the bush a mother bird
had built her nest.... a perfect picture of peace.
Which of the pictures won the prize?
The king chose the second picture.
Do you know why?
"Because," explained the king, "peace does not mean to be in a
place where there is no noise, trouble or hard work.
Peace means to be in the midst of all those things and still be
calm in your heart. That is the real meaning of peace."
That is the REAL meaning of peace.
Jan Bagwell
God Bless !!
Tuesday, September 21, 2010
Mon's Last Laugh { By Doris Grant]
Mom's Last Laugh
=================
Consumed by my loss, I didn't notice the hardness of the pew
where I sat. I was at the funeral of my dearest friend -
my mother.
She finally had lost her long battle with cancer. The hurt was
so intense, I found it hard to breathe at times. Always
supportive, Mother clapped loudest at my school plays, held a
box of tissues while listening to my first heartbreak,
comforted me at my father's death, encouraged me in college
and prayed for me my entire life.
When Mother's illness was diagnosed, my sister had a new baby
and my brother had recently married his childhood sweetheart,
so it fell on me, the 27-year-old middle child without
entanglements, to take care of her. I counted it an honor.
"What now, Lord?" I asked sitting in church.
My life stretched out before me as an empty abyss.
My brother sat stoically with his face toward the cross while
clutching his wife's hand. My sister sat slumped against her
husband's shoulder, his arms around her as she cradled their
child.
All so deeply grieving, no one noticed I sat alone.
My place had been with our mother, preparing her meals, helping
her walk, taking her to the doctor, seeing to her medication and
reading the Bible together. Now she was with the Lord.
My work was finished, and I was alone.
I heard a door open and slam shut at the back of the church.
Quick footsteps hurried along the carpeted floor. An
exasperated young man looked around briefly and then sat next to
me.
He folded his hands and placed them on his lap.
His eyes were brimming with tears.
He began to sniffle. "I'm late," he explained, though no
explanation was necessary. After several eulogies, he leaned
over and commented, "Why do they keep calling Mary by the name
of 'Margaret'?"
"Oh, because that was her name, Margaret. Never Mary.
No one called her 'Mary,'" I whispered.
I wondered why this person couldn't have sat on the other side
of the church. He interrupted my grieving with his tears and
fidgeting. Who was this stranger anyway?
"No, that isn't correct," he insisted, as several people glanced
over at us whispering, "Her name is Mary, Mary Peters."
"That isn't who this is," I replied.
"Isn't this the Lutheran church?
"No, the Lutheran church is across the street."
"Oh."
"I believe you're at the wrong funeral, Sir."
The solemnness of the occasion mixed with the realization of the
man's mistake bubbled up inside me and came out as laughter.
I cupped my hands over my face, hoping it would be interpreted
as sobs. The creaking pew gave me away. Sharp looks from other
mourners only made the situation seem more hilarious.
I peeked at the bewildered, misguided man seated beside me.
He was laughing too, as he glanced around, deciding it was too
late for an uneventful exit.
I imagined Mother laughing.
At the final "Amen," we darted out a door and into the parking
lot. "I do believe we'll be the talk of the town," he smiled.
He said his name was Rick and since he had missed his aunt's
funeral, he asked me out for a cup of coffee.
That afternoon began a lifelong journey for me with this man who
attended the wrong funeral but was in the right place.
A year after our meeting, we were married at a country church
where he was the assistant pastor. This time we both arrived at
the same church, right on time.
In my time of sorrow, God gave me laughter.
In place of loneliness, God gave me love.
This past June we celebrated our 22nd wedding anniversary.
Whenever anyone asks us how we met, Rick tells them,
"Her mother and my Aunt Mary introduced us, and it's truly a
match made in heaven."
Jan Bagwell
God Bless !!
Thank you Doris , I need this letter .
=================
Consumed by my loss, I didn't notice the hardness of the pew
where I sat. I was at the funeral of my dearest friend -
my mother.
She finally had lost her long battle with cancer. The hurt was
so intense, I found it hard to breathe at times. Always
supportive, Mother clapped loudest at my school plays, held a
box of tissues while listening to my first heartbreak,
comforted me at my father's death, encouraged me in college
and prayed for me my entire life.
When Mother's illness was diagnosed, my sister had a new baby
and my brother had recently married his childhood sweetheart,
so it fell on me, the 27-year-old middle child without
entanglements, to take care of her. I counted it an honor.
"What now, Lord?" I asked sitting in church.
My life stretched out before me as an empty abyss.
My brother sat stoically with his face toward the cross while
clutching his wife's hand. My sister sat slumped against her
husband's shoulder, his arms around her as she cradled their
child.
All so deeply grieving, no one noticed I sat alone.
My place had been with our mother, preparing her meals, helping
her walk, taking her to the doctor, seeing to her medication and
reading the Bible together. Now she was with the Lord.
My work was finished, and I was alone.
I heard a door open and slam shut at the back of the church.
Quick footsteps hurried along the carpeted floor. An
exasperated young man looked around briefly and then sat next to
me.
He folded his hands and placed them on his lap.
His eyes were brimming with tears.
He began to sniffle. "I'm late," he explained, though no
explanation was necessary. After several eulogies, he leaned
over and commented, "Why do they keep calling Mary by the name
of 'Margaret'?"
"Oh, because that was her name, Margaret. Never Mary.
No one called her 'Mary,'" I whispered.
I wondered why this person couldn't have sat on the other side
of the church. He interrupted my grieving with his tears and
fidgeting. Who was this stranger anyway?
"No, that isn't correct," he insisted, as several people glanced
over at us whispering, "Her name is Mary, Mary Peters."
"That isn't who this is," I replied.
"Isn't this the Lutheran church?
"No, the Lutheran church is across the street."
"Oh."
"I believe you're at the wrong funeral, Sir."
The solemnness of the occasion mixed with the realization of the
man's mistake bubbled up inside me and came out as laughter.
I cupped my hands over my face, hoping it would be interpreted
as sobs. The creaking pew gave me away. Sharp looks from other
mourners only made the situation seem more hilarious.
I peeked at the bewildered, misguided man seated beside me.
He was laughing too, as he glanced around, deciding it was too
late for an uneventful exit.
I imagined Mother laughing.
At the final "Amen," we darted out a door and into the parking
lot. "I do believe we'll be the talk of the town," he smiled.
He said his name was Rick and since he had missed his aunt's
funeral, he asked me out for a cup of coffee.
That afternoon began a lifelong journey for me with this man who
attended the wrong funeral but was in the right place.
A year after our meeting, we were married at a country church
where he was the assistant pastor. This time we both arrived at
the same church, right on time.
In my time of sorrow, God gave me laughter.
In place of loneliness, God gave me love.
This past June we celebrated our 22nd wedding anniversary.
Whenever anyone asks us how we met, Rick tells them,
"Her mother and my Aunt Mary introduced us, and it's truly a
match made in heaven."
Jan Bagwell
God Bless !!
Thank you Doris , I need this letter .
Monday, September 20, 2010
Like a Brook
Like a Brook
Life is time of changing courses ,
Changing moods and altered wills –
Like a brook that changes pathways
Through the woodlands , fields and hills;
It is time of changing values –
From beginning to its end –
Where we choose ,with growing wisdoms ,
Newer courses ; better friends.
There are years of rushing splendors ,
Reckless thrills and lustful fonds;
Times of tears that flood and threaten
Loves of life and human bonds;
Years of struggle – trail and error –
When we reach for higher goals ,
Searching life for truths and comforts
That are balm for heart and soul .
Then there come the years of ebbing ,
In the quiet pool of life ,
Where there are no rushing waters-
No demands of youth or strife ;
Graceful years that hold no changes
For our courses , wills and ways –
Where the Lords makes calm the waters
That precede our Judgment Day .
Jan Bagwell
God Bless !!
Life is time of changing courses ,
Changing moods and altered wills –
Like a brook that changes pathways
Through the woodlands , fields and hills;
It is time of changing values –
From beginning to its end –
Where we choose ,with growing wisdoms ,
Newer courses ; better friends.
There are years of rushing splendors ,
Reckless thrills and lustful fonds;
Times of tears that flood and threaten
Loves of life and human bonds;
Years of struggle – trail and error –
When we reach for higher goals ,
Searching life for truths and comforts
That are balm for heart and soul .
Then there come the years of ebbing ,
In the quiet pool of life ,
Where there are no rushing waters-
No demands of youth or strife ;
Graceful years that hold no changes
For our courses , wills and ways –
Where the Lords makes calm the waters
That precede our Judgment Day .
Jan Bagwell
God Bless !!
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