I Believe in Miracles

 

Desktop Designs Miracles

I Believe in Miracles

Battered and bruised was my bleeding heart

embittered by Satan’s poisonous darts

Anger and rage consumed my soul

like a blazing fire burning out of control

Fear and anxiety battled within

waging a war I could never win

I can’t take it anymore I cried to the Lord

then like a rag-doll I crumpled to the floor

God knelt down beside me and I felt His touch

I never knew that He loved me so much

He changed my life forever that day

when He cleansed and washed my sins away

Once I was blind but now I can see

because God worked a miracle in me

Sandi Staton

A Coat of Many Colors

A Coat of Many Colors

This poem came to me one quiet morning during a moment of meditation. Suddenly, across the screen of my imagination, flashed a brightly colored robe . . . a token of Jacob’s love for his son, Joseph. This robe symbolized a position of honor and esteem. I wish I had known a father’s love like that, I sighed. Suddenly, like a gentle breeze, the cloak of God’s love wrapped around me, reminding me that I am precious to Him. All the finest and brightest treasures of this world pale in comparison to God’s unfailing, unchanging, unconditional love for humankind!

With loving care and tenderness

My Father made for me

A coat of many colors

For all the world to see

He didn’t have to tell me

I saw it in His face

This coat of many colors

Must ever be worn with grace

Threads of pure gold proclaim His birth

Purple, His royal descent

Stripes of snow white and patches of blue

Proclaim His purity, honor, and strength.

And to complete His glorious masterpiece

He trimmed it all in red

Proclaiming the cross at Calvary

Upon which His blood was shed.

Father, thank you for your wondrous gift

So precious rich and free

For the coat of many colors

You have made for me

And lest in arrogance I wear your gift

Forgetting from Whom it came

Remind me of the price you paid

To cover my guilt My sin

My shame


	

The Front Porch Swing

The Front Porch

There’s nothing special about it at all. Sometimes it squeaks. Sometimes it houses wasps and hornets. Several times It’s even crashed to the porch with me on it! Yet, the old, country swing, with its rusty chains and layers of paint, holds a treasure chest of memories.

It’s where I take my morning coffee, where I sit and listen to the birds, and where Imeditate. It’s where I talk to God, laugh and cry, and reminisce.

But, my fondest memories are swinging with my grandchildren, talking and laughing, and pretending to sour high above the clouds on Mrs. Eagle’s feathered back. Then at night we’d listen to the frogs, and watch fireflies.

My oldest grandchild, Brandon, who was in junior high at the time, wrote me this beautiful poem, On the Front Porch, Swingin’. I thank God for reminding me how important it is to spend time with my grandchildren, and how fast they grow up.

On the Front Porch, Swingin’

As the sky starts dropping liquid beats,

The door, it creaks, and opens to the world.

Grandma’s rejoicing as Grandson’s voicing,

“Let’s go out and listen for a bit,

Before it quits. I hear it dyin’ down,”

The boy, he beckons.

“You’re right, I reckon.”

Cause one of these days Grandson’s gonna be a man,

So she’s gotta cherish moments while she still can.

Taking hold of the boy’s hand,

the two go out together on the front porch, swingin’.

“Dee Dee, can you tell me a story? Dee Dee, will you rub my back?”

And, “Dee Dee can you breathe real easy

while I lay my head on your lap?”

“Brandon, can you hear my heart singin’

In the midst of this thunderstorm show’r?”

Together on the front porch, swingin’.

“Let’s stay for another hour.”

Brandon Staton