Praise and Poetry III

[navyblue]

First Bride not First Love
By Arley Steinhour 050514

Who would I be, for Jesus to see,
If I'd lived, back in A D Thirty two,
Like Him, setting whole world free,
Or Sinner, on way to Hell, I be?

Jesus came, directed, to the Jew,
But, was rejected, killed by 'Power's hand,'
Therefore, turned to me and you,
To be His First Bride, not as Planned.

He didn't divorce his first love,
But the Jew had earned the Rod,
All Prophesied, by God Above,
Any who ask, in Jesus, belong to God.

A thief, who Robbed, on Cross, forgiven,
The Gentile woman's daughter, healed
The slave of Roman Centurion, life given,
Calling, Lazarus, and others from Hell, revealed.

Gentile Samaritans given two 'days,' to Repent,
But refused Him, on His Return,
He comes again, first to Jewish 'Tent,'
With the 'Church,' left behind, most destined to Burn.

When Jesus returns, Jew has a choice,
Acknowledge, or be doomed to Hell Fire,
The Gentile, without the mark, have voice,
To Repent, in Faith, and Works, Joy inspire.

Please turn, to Christ Jesus, your Sinful heart,
While there's still time to be in His Grace,
Most who see Great Tribulation start,
Condemned, and as Jesus' Bride, have no Place.
AMEN

Throw yourself down before Jesus' feet,
Repent your sin-filled Life, and ways, bonafide,
In Urgency, Spirit directs me, Call, and Repeat,
Justification by Grace, leaves with First Bride.
Archives, & picture at: www.mccookgazette.com/blogs/1580/entry/58068/

[navyblue]

Keith, Here is the one about the 'dream:' beforeitsnews.com/prophecy/2014/05/pope-francis-called-of-god-to-lead-a-great-revival-by-2015-and-putins-demise-strong-spirit-of-death-over-russia-video-2460880.html?utm_source=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.facebook.com%2F&utm_content=awesm-publisher&utm_campaign=&utm_medium=facebook-share&utm_term=http%3A%2F%2Fb4in.info%2FiYNP

I haven't studied this one, yet, but it popped up yesterday, and I missed it's blogging:
www.nowtheendbegins.com/blog/?p=20199

I'll keep looking for the one that said the Pope had only this year to unite the Church, or something like that. I'm beginning to think that I've been bamboozled again, and that concerns me greatly.

[navyblue]

Keith, It looks as if I've allowed myself to be stung again, by the lying bloggers, and must recant, or delete the entry part about what I thought to be Prophetic News. Thanks for the Challenge, as I thought I had researched it as well as can be, but didn't I guess. Go here, for another report, as a rebuttal to the article: www.malawivoice.com/2014/05/04/malawi-catholic-disowns-cardinals-jesus-was-drunk-there-is-no-second-coming-statement-please-verify-with-our-structures-on-such-suspicious-statements-ecm/

[Keith]

Already got'cha covered, Arley! Read on...

May 5, 2014 12:12:08 GMT -6 navyblue said:

www.nowtheendbegins.com/blog/?p=20199

Sorry, brother, I was mistaken. We did cover that last week....

divineinterventionws.proboards.com/post/87384/thread

May 5, 2014 12:12:08 GMT -6 navyblue said:

beforeitsnews.com/prophecy/2014/05/pope-francis-called-of-god-to-lead-a-great-revival-by-2015-and-putins-demise-strong-spirit-of-death-over-russia-video-2460880.html?utm_source=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.facebook.com%2F&utm_content=awesm-publisher&utm_campaign=&utm_medium=facebook-share&utm_term=http%3A%2F%2Fb4in.info%2FiYNP

This story turns out to be a 'prophecy' by Kim Clement, a false prophet, about the Pope, not a prophecy from the Pope...which would in actuality make him a false prophet also. We're going to disregard it.

[navyblue]

Shalom, Keith, I found the one that caused me to think the other was true:

www.jewsnews.co.il/2014/04/25/jesus-not-coming-back-by-the-looks-of-it-admits-vatican-cardinal/

I don't know what is real/sane anymore, and what is lie/insane. OY!! Maranatha, Lord Jesus//as//

[navyblue]

Heavens Wonders
By Arley Steinhour 050614

This morning, before the Sun could rise,
I enjoyed a dream, to my happy surprise,
I dreamt I was on a Guided Tour,
Of Heavens Wonders, Perfectly Pure.

These words, I offer, with no regret,
Cannot describe God's Joyous Set,
All things are soft, nothing is hard,
And everywhere, a well pruned yard.

Golden stones on path, soft to touch,
Tells feet they love them, ever so much,
One can walk forever, and never tire,
Legs don't weaken, and need to retire.

Waterway's sparkle, all Spring fed,
Inside, and out, provides body it's stead,
Bathe in the stream, it's Hot-tub warm,
Shower at Falls, where water drops swarm.

Snacks are a feast, whenever a need,
On only the best can we possibly feed,
A sip of cool water, or perhaps wine,
From stream, it begs you 'please drink mine.'

The Sun never sets, because it's not there,
Only Shekinah, lights with no glare,
If you have want or need for a bed,
Grass will massage, while you lay head.

These are a few, of the wonders I saw,
You'd change your heart, and wound Satan's law,
He may have you convinced, 'you'll never Swim,'
In sights I saw, 'Jesus don't want you with Him.'

I tell you, he lies, Jesus is always beside,
All Lost Sinners, till death makes your 'decide,'
The choice must be made, before your demise,
Or Rapture, of Bride; Repent, if you're Wise.
AMEN

Bridges are very seldom used,
But, provide a Rustic sight,
Nothing in Heaven is 'Abused,'
Even Siblings do not fight.
Archive, & picture, at: www.mccookgazette.com/blogs/1580/entry/58084/

[navyblue]

Storms of Life
By Arley Steinhour 050814

Fighting the life I used to have,
Ever full of Satan's Lying Salve,
Was spent in a world of debauchery,
Under the premise that we were free.

That which I thought promised, by You to me,
Seemed more to entangle, than set me free,
I now, rise in the morning, to start my every day,
Prayerful, and Joyfully, in most every way,

In Satan's court, I was convicted of a crime,
When I realized I'd wasted much mortal time,
There were too many lies, that required yet more,
To the simple mind, that becomes quite a chore.

I'd sailed the world, saw Sun on most continent,
In an adult life that could be called incontinent,
All that time, I thought myself free,
While You, patiently, stood beside me.

Until the day came, I repented to you,
The way Satan thinks, we should have been through,
With patience, above call, you'd waited for me,
So when I returned, even I could see,

Fighting life, with Life, of which I speak,
In neither life, could one call me meek.
Now, I once again belong to you,
And have told my worldly life, 'We're through.'

I should have said this long ago,
You know me, I'm kind of slow,
But, in a way, it belongs to today,
It's been part of my prayer, that starts every day.

AMEN

The Sea of Life, is hazardous,
With Storms of lasting value,
Storms of Life are Industrious,
Finished product just might be you.
Archive, & picture, at: www.mccookgazette.com/blogs/1580/entry/58124/

[navyblue]

AS SOWN REAP
By Arley Steinhour 051014

Once upon a time, not so long ago,
People came to U S A for the 'Medical Show,'
But, alas, tis no longer allowed, nor the way,
Even Insurance covered, we pay and we pay.

Obama Care is naught but a money trap,
With no way to fill the huge Deduction Gap,
The 'Premium Moneys' have no other Use,
Except for 'collection,' and a Debt Noose.

There comes a day, and I pray, Soon,
When we, of Faith, fly beyond the Moon,
Where Healthcare we don't have to pay,
And the Doctors can fish, or not, all day.

May our Obama, King and Queen, Repent,
And ask permission to Enter Jesus' Tent,
Where there is no expense, nor want or need,
And, with Jesus, Sow crops, with Love Seed.

AMEN

Inspired by:
personalliberty.com/obamacare-patients-socal-go-tijuana-get-affordable-care/
and other articles:

When Saul tried to open David, wide,
He ended up on God's 'Short Side,'
Went to death, on his own sword,
We must watch 'Leader's, Every Word.'
Archive, & picture, at: www.mccookgazette.com/blogs/1580/entry/58148/

[navyblue]

Mothers Big Day
By Arley Steinhour 051114

Hair of young woman, is tended with care,
The Mark of her beauty is in her hair,
Poorest of poor will work hours, long and hard,
To have the hairstyle that makes them a Bard.

Husbands, treated like hair, or beloved yard,
No matter the work, the woman's on guard,
She scrubs, and cleans, and cooks so fine,
Any man sane, would be proud to call her 'Mine.'

Children are they that causes hair to 'Gray,'
Wrinkles in face, from worry, her Pay,
When child breaks the skin, or worse yet, a bone,
But, the lines, have a beauty, all of their own.

So, look to your mother, and wish her this day,
A fine celebration, in the signs of her pay,
For keeping the home-front, alive, and well,
Often giving her 'beauty,' for her 'Family Shell.'

Happy Mother's day, today, and three sixty four more,
Every day is a Mother's day, as she scrubs the floor,
Or sparkles a window, so the whole world can see,
Her Man, and her Children give a longer Beauty.

AMEN

The Mother of Mothers, made one mistake,
Thinking God's Law, she could break,
She caused the punishment, Mothers get us out,
In such a Beautiful way, no man can pout.
Archive, & picture, at: www.mccookgazette.com/blogs/1580/entry/58155/

[navyblue]

healing or Healing
By Arley Steinhour 051214

There is 'healing,' and there is 'Healing,'
One for show and one for Go,
The Charlatan practices for money, not feelings,
And don't care if you do, or not, know.

They're off to the Bank with your money,
They put on a fantastic show,
At Judgment, receive Bitters', no Honey,
And, Below them is where they might go.

Jesus took some spittle, and clay,
And mixed them into a dough,
Thirty Eight years, a man couldn't play,
No eyesight, at Birth, restricted him so.

Jesus touched, and people could see,
He spoke and all seekers, got well,
Why, then, for this one, who didn't plea,
He needed mud, to force blindness dispel?

Blind from birth, with no hope could he find,
From what, the mixture, was Adam conceived,
And from that product of Adam, thus all of mankind,
Born without 'lenses,' Jesus made, man received.

To find a Faith - Healer, you need seek but a man,
Who does God's Healing, with Prayer, and touch,
New limbs to grow, sometimes, new eyes, to see,
Money not needed, just a 'Thank you so much.'

God gets all Glory, but that's as it should be,
The man is a tool to accomplish His end,
He is the True Healer, who sets you free,
Learn a lesson worthy, that Satan can't offend.
AMEN

As He passes, touch His cloak,
Sickness poverty is not a joke,
Faith expressed in many ways,
Touching the 'Clean' will shorten your Days. [Luke 8:45]
Archive, & picture, at: www.mccookgazette.com/blogs/1580/entry/58170/

[navyblue]

healing or Healing
By Arley Steinhour 051214

There is 'healing,' and there is 'Healing,'
One for show and one for Go,
The Charlatan practices for money, not feelings,
And don't care if you do, or not, know.

They're off to the Bank with your money,
They put on a fantastic show,
At Judgment, receive Bitters', no Honey,
And, Below them is where they might go.

Jesus took some spittle, and clay,
And mixed them into a dough,
Thirty Eight years, a man couldn't play,
No eyesight, at Birth, restricted him so.

Jesus touched, and people could see,
He spoke and all seekers, got well,
Why, then, for this one, who didn't plea,
He needed mud, to force blindness dispel?

Blind from birth, with no hope could he find,
From what, the mixture, was Adam conceived,
And from that product of Adam, thus all of mankind,
Born without 'lenses,' Jesus made, man received.

To find a Faith - Healer, you need seek but a man,
Who does God's Healing, with Prayer, and touch,
New limbs to grow, sometimes, new eyes, to see,
Money not needed, just a 'Thank you so much.'

God gets all Glory, but that's as it should be,
The man is a tool to accomplish His end,
He is the True Healer, who sets you free,
Learn a lesson worthy, that Satan can't offend.
AMEN

As He passes, touch His cloak,
Sickness poverty is not a joke,
Faith expressed in many ways,
Touching the 'Clean' will shorten your Days. [Luke 8:45]
Archive, & picture, at: www.mccookgazette.com/blogs/1580/entry/58170/

[navyblue]

Tongue in Cheek Plea
By Arley Steinhour 051314

The world, it seems, is Crazy,
At least, that is how it seems,
You pass along as simple video,
and someone, yells and screams.

I received an angry e-mail today,
That I should remove their name,
From my list of those who play,
With my Poem, and forwarding game.

' You are ... diabolical homophobic scum,'
And that was, I think, the nice part,
based on Apple peeling, before it can come,
With Cordless Drill, for a good start.

I dislike the need to ponder a word,
I'd thought I knew the meaning of,
So, read and reread, to better afford,
Where my bias had given bitter shove.

I cannot find the problem answer,
I seem to be at solution loss,
I prayed, but all God returned was laughter,
For me thinking, Insanity was boss.

So, I bring it to my Christian Peer,
Or anyone else, for Logical response,
Show me error of my ways, I'll hear,
Of my bad trait, upon which I'll trounce.

AMEN

e-mail text that caused divorce:
" Here you go, guy’s and Gal’s, the best way I’ve seen for pealing apples, ever, and it keeps the batteries fresh, not that, the extra work (Nicad batteries tend to
die, sitting in a box). This will give everyone reason to keep their tools
clean.....not clean,,,,no pie...!!!
Here: www.facebook.com/photo.php?v=335893426565493
With that, I offer my plea.
(I've never done this before, but thought the insanity kind of cute, in Sardonic way//as//)

I don't belong here, anymore, Maranatha!!

[navyblue]

Rainfall
By Arley Steinhour 051414

A clap of thunder rolled through my walls,
and made the doors all shake,
With an intensity calling for heavy rain,
Then, it rained, but the storm was 'bark,' not 'bite.'

It rained a while, but not too hard,
Just enough to wet my yard,
Then the rain stopped, the cloud went on by,
Leaving a blue ski, and urge to fly a kite.

But, the thing I love after the rain,
Is the freshness that fills the air,
A freshness that no can may share,
when the dust and pollen are no longer there.

Today, I got that feeling,
I could walk, and smell, and breath,
But, alas, my lungs and legs are gone,
And the fresh smell didn't last long, to share.

I sit here at my P C bemoaning,
I can't do today what I did in yester-year,
I've walked them all, and smelt the rain,
From Jungle dew, to great storms upon the sea.

The rain reminds me of all I've had,
For these things, I thank my God,
And, of course, the working Tax payer,
Who paid the whole expense, for me.

AMEN

How much rain does it take,
To fill the Seas, and Oceans,
So Sailors, like the one you see,
Can play in so much rain?
Archive, & picture, at: www.mccookgazette.com/blogs/1580/entry/58210/

[navyblue]

Gone Fishing
By Arley Steinhour 051614

Today, looks like a good day,
To take a pole and go fishing,
The clouds are mild, not too hot,
Multi-tasking I think they'd call it.

While fishing, there's time for you and me,
To have Prayer conversation, without blinking,
Also, write down my Prayerful thoughts,
For the fish, who want to know you.

Folks come by, and ask me,
'How are they biting, today,'
A greedy grin pastes upon my face,
As I respond, 'about a hundred fifty three.'

The shock, and horror, leaves their face,
'Tell me, perhaps, I came to right place,'
So, I tell the truth, 'I didn't, catch that many,'
Since, fishing from the 'Right Side,' catches more.'

'Oh, my god, a man of God,' they say, rising to run,
'Stop and stay a wee bit longer,' I call,
'If you ask, I'll not bother you, with Him,
He doesn't want to be 'intrusive,' of anyone.'

On a good day, when fishing is good,
And Spirit sets 'hook' in a heart,
The person tends to stick around,
To hear God's Truth, what 'Right Side's' all about.

Once we let the Spirit take up residence,
Through Repentance of our Sinful ways,
The change is clear, for the world to see,
Another 'Fisherman,' casts, and stays.

AMEN

OK, so we don't use 'Hooks,'
We use Loving Nets to Lure,
Truth, and Love, fills the boat,
To a point, God won't let it sink.
Archive, & picture, at: www.mccookgazette.com/blogs/1580/entry/58229/

[navyblue]

Path Song
By Arley Steinhour 052014
Inspired by sister Rosie Nixon's Photos

I sit here and I ponder,
Can pathway Beauty of Heaven be explained,
Knowing well that no man is able to,
Find words, to describe all the senses entertained.

Flexible stems branch out to leaves of Green,
A closer look shows veins, and shapes, finely specified,
The shiny top absorbs the Sun's bright rays,
The bottom, exchanges Oxygen, for Carbon Dioxide.

The leaf has its own odor, and wonder of being,
attached to this plant, and no other,
But, at the tip of twig, or stem, the bloom,
Where hearts and minds breathe deeply, or smother.

In the blossom, blooms the character,
Its odor, its touch, and deep personality,
That fills the heart and mind with bliss,
With some blooms indicating Nationality.

In a garden, like Eden, the shapes, colors, and smells,
As a tabernacle choir, blend into beauty, all its own,
The separate mixtures, together, take one on a voyage,
As if sailing to an Island, no one has ever known.

In the words of a mortal, with limited skill,
I try to hint at the Life, 'graduation,' can bring,
Where every path of 'Home,' has a song to be sung.
And the harmony of all, has no findable end.

AMEN

Beauty that will dazzle eye,
With perfumed odor, all its own,
Spend its time singing to the Son,
Who's word, spoken, created every one.
Archive, & picture, at: www.mccookgazette.com/blogs/1580/entry/58261/

[navyblue]

Doctor Visit
By Arley Steinhour 052114

Today is such a gorgeous day,
I think the Doctor ought to know,
To prove that I am in a breathing way,
But, alas, I must go there,++ to show.

The problem with the 'Aging Gene,'
It comes in different ways to each,
'Down and Out,' or 'In between,'
The ultimate, Old Age like a Peach.

Color good, Fresh taste in fare,
With painless energy to the very end,
Since these are they that lived their share,
Preparing for that, around the bend.

My life has been, much like a Racing horse,
Fast, on the track, a 'sure win bet,
We needed run in Storm-rain, of course,
And too often was I 'put away Wet.'

My strengths do whither, unlike the Peach,
Too many hard miles on the meter,
Graduation, is different, for people, each,
I keep the Watch, for our Creator.

His ownership, of my Eternity,
His gentle graduation guidance to Home,
Puts me ahead, or with 'Church/Bride, Class,'
The Generation dependant on His 'Tarry,' alone.

AMEN
052714
I'm Old, but still a rolling,
Dark smoke from my stack,
Chugging for new 'Streamliner' look,
When I graduate, and don't look back.
Archive, & picture, at: www.mccookgazette.com/blogs/1580/entry/58349/

[navyblue]

A Girl with an Apple
By Arley Steinhour 052814

Thank you, Richard, for the reminder,
History, seems to be on track,
Aiming, once again, to Prophetic timer,
Except for Jesus, we’d be taken back.

The mood is high, resistance low,
Even in the Gentile, adopted Church,
To want the Jew to be cast ‘Below,’
Thinking, Jesus left them in the Lurch.

As Jacob worked for Rachel, his Love,
Found him married to sister, Leah, for the work,
Seven years, Slavery, paying Bride Price,
But, in the heart of their father, Satan did Lurk.

Jesus was cheated, by Satan’s control,
Laid aside Israel, and Wed the Gentile,
But the ‘Bride Price,’ to which He agreed,
Was for ‘Every Soul’ accepting ‘Espousal.’

As History shows, Rachael was Second Bride,
but, still number one in Jacob’s heart, and life,
As relating to Jesus, the ‘Rest of the Story,’

He comes for the Bride, who’ve agree to be Wife.

The time, is so short, to accept His Offer,
At ‘Snatching,’ Bride Covenant changes,
Salvation, then available, to all who request,
Salvation rules change, Choose before Rules rearranges.

AMEN

Love of Jesus comes this way,
Accepting His Offer, fills heart with Love,
This story, about one of His Chosen People,
Shows, He’s always there when needed, Above.
Archive, & picture, at: www.mccookgazette.com/blogs/1580/entry/58355/


[NEVER AGAIN]

And, now, without further adieu, I offer what gave me ‘Inspiration:’

A Girl With An Apple

(This is a true story and you can find out more by Googling Herman Rosenblat. He was Bar Mitzvahed at age 75)

August 1942. Piotrkow , Poland .

The sky was gloomy that morning as we waited anxiously. All the men, women and children of Piotrkow's Jewish ghetto had been herded into a square.

Word had gotten around that we were being moved. My father had only recently died from typhus, which had run rampant through the crowded ghetto. My greatest fear was that our family would be separated.

'Whatever you do,' Isidore, my eldest brother, whispered to me, 'don't tell them your age. Say you're sixteen.

'I was tall for a boy of 11, so I could pull it off. That way I might be deemed valuable as a worker.

An SS man approached me, boots clicking against the cobblestones. He looked me up and down, and then asked my age.

'Sixteen,' I said. He directed me to the left, where my three brothers and other healthy young men already stood.

My mother was motioned to the right with the other women, children, sick and elderly people.

I whispered to Isidore, 'Why?'

He didn't answer.

I ran to Mama's side and said I wanted to stay with her. 'No, 'she said sternly.

'Get away. Don't be a nuisance. Go with your brothers.'

She had never spoken so harshly before. But I understood: She was protecting me. She loved me so much that, just this once, she pretended not to. It was the last I ever saw of her.

My brothers and I were transported in a cattle car to Germany ...

We arrived at the Buchenwald concentration camp one night later and were led into a crowded barrack. The next day, we were issued uniforms and identification numbers.

'Don't call me Herman anymore.' I said to my brothers. 'Call me 94983.'

I was put to work in the camp's crematorium, loading the dead into a hand-cranked elevator. I, too, felt dead. Hardened, I had become a number.

Soon, my brothers and I were sent to Schlieben, one of Buchenwald 's sub-camps near Berlin ...

One morning I thought I heard my mother's voice.

'Son,' she said softly but clearly, I am going to send you an angel.'

Then I woke up. Just a dream. A beautiful dream.

But in this place there could be no angels. There was only work. < span>And hunger. And fear.

A couple of days later, I was walking around the camp, around the barracks, near the barbed-wire fence where the guards could not easily see. I was alone.

On the other side of the fence, I spotted someone: a little girl with light, almost luminous curls. She was half-hidden behind a birch tree.

I glanced around to make sure no one saw me. I called to her softly in German. 'Do you have something to eat?'

She didn't understand.

I inched closer to the fence and repeated the question in Polish. She stepped forward. I was thin and gaunt, with rags wrapped around my feet, but the girl looked unafraid. In her eyes, I saw life.

She pulled an apple from her woolen jacket and threw it over the fence.

< span>I grabbed the fruit and, as I started to run away, I heard her say faintly, 'I'll see you tomorrow.'

I returned to the same spot by the fence at the same time every day. She was always there with something for me to eat - a hunk of bread or, better yet, an apple.

We didn't dare speak or linger. To be caught would mean death for us both.

I didn't know anything about her, just a kind farm girl, except that she understood Polish. What was her name? Why was she risking her life for me?

Hope was in such short supply, and this girl on the other side of the fence gave me some, as nourishing in its way as the bread and apples.

Nearly seven months later, my brothers and I were crammed into a coal car and shipped to Theresienstadt camp in Czechoslovakia .

'Don't return,' I told the girl that day. 'We're leaving.'

I turned toward the barracks and didn't look back, didn't even say good-bye to the little girl whose name I'd never learned, the girl with the apples.

We were in Theresienstadt for three months. The war was winding down and Allied forces were closing in, yet my fate seemed sealed.

On May 10, 1945, I was scheduled to die in the gas chamber at 10:00 AM.

In the quiet of dawn, I tried to prepare myself. So many times death seemed ready to claim me, but somehow I'd survived. Now, it was over.

I thought of my parents. At least, I thought, we will be reunited.

But at 8 A .M. there was a commotion. I heard shouts, and saw people running every which way through camp. I caught up with my brothers.

Russian troops had liberated the camp! The gates swung open. Everyone was running, so I did too. Amazingly, all of my brothers had survived;

I'm not sure how. But I knew that the girl with the apples had been the key to my survival.

In a place where evil seemed triumphant, one person's goodness had saved my life, had given me hope in a place where there was none.

My mother had promised to send me an angel, and the angel had come.

Eventually I made my way to England where I was sponsored by a Jewish charity, put up in a hostel with other boys who had survived the Holocaust and trained in electronics. Then I came to America , where my brother Sam had already moved. I served in the U. S. Army during the Korean War, and returned to New York City after two years.

By August 1957 I'd opened my own electronics repair shop. I was starting to settle in.

One day, my friend Sid who I knew from England called me.

'I've got a date. She's got a Polish friend. Let's double date.' A blind date? Nah, that wasn't for me.

But Sid kept pestering me, and a few days later we headed up to the Bronx to pick up his date and her friend Roma.

I had to admit, for a blind date this wasn't so bad. Roma was a nurse at a Bronx hospital. She was kind and smart. Beautiful, too, with swirling brown curls and green, almond-shaped eyes that sparkled with life.

The four of us drove out to Coney Island . Roma was easy to talk to, easy to be with.

Turned out she was wary of blind dates too! We were both just doing our friends a favor. We took a stroll on the boardwalk, enjoying the salty Atlantic breeze, and then had dinner by the shore. I couldn't remember having a better time.

We piled back into Sid's car, Roma and I sharing the backseat.

As European Jews who had survived the war, we were aware that much had been left unsaid between us. She broached the subject, 'Where were you,' she asked softly, 'during the war?'

'The camps,' I said. The terrible memories still vivid, the irreparable loss.. I had tried to forget. But you can never forget.

She nodded. 'My family was hiding on a farm in Germany , not far from Berlin ,' she told me. 'My father knew a priest, and he got us Aryan papers.'

I imagined how she must have suffered too, fear, a constant companion. And yet here we were both survivors, in a new world.

'There was a camp next to the farm.' Roma continued. 'I saw a boy there and I would throw him apples every day.'

What an amazing coincidence that she had helped some other boy. 'What did he look like? I asked.

'He was tall, skinny, and hungry. I must have seen him every day for six months.'

My heart was racing. I couldn't believe it.

This couldn't be.

'Did he tell you one day not to come back because he was leaving Schlieben?'

Roma looked at me in amazement. 'Yes!'

'That was me!'

I was ready to burst with joy and awe, flooded with emotions. I couldn't believe it! My angel.

'I'm not letting you go.' I said to Roma. And in the back of the car on that blind date, I proposed to her. I didn't want to wait.

'You're crazy!' she said. But she invited me to meet her parents for Shabbat dinner the following week.

There was so much I looked forward to learning about Roma, but the most important things I always knew: her steadfastness, her goodness. For many months, in the worst of circumstances, she had come to the fence and given me hope. Now that I'd found her again, I could never let her go.

That day, she said yes. And I kept my word. After nearly 50 years of marriage, two children and three grandchildren, I have never let her go.

Herman Rosenblat of Miami Beach , Florida

This story is being made into a movie called ‘The Fence.’ [Google, and buy, you will enjoy it, over, and over; AMEN //as//]

[Keith]

Absolutely wonderful, brother Arley, just wonderful! One can't get through that story without shedding a tear.

[navyblue]

Feast of Counting
By Arley Steinhour 053114

In the early minutes of whiling,
First few minutes of this day,
There is time for Prayer, and smiling,
Seeking words that we must say.

Praising words, only to You,
Oh Lord, our God, on High,
Be words many, or be they few,
We are the 'Apple of Your Eye.'

You have known everything,
And have, right from the start,
Even when the Church takes wing,
And be Heavenly, Family, part.

Of course, there be some things,
You address, direct, quite clearly,
Like, 'Thou Shalt Not, type of slings,
To us Reveal, or nearly.

There seems to me a day was lost,
In the Churches study of Your Word,
The day of ascension, before Pentecost,
As a day for Rapture, seldom heard.

June 1, this year is the eighth day,
Before Pentecost's Fifty count,
Slim the chance, we be carried away,
At least, we're seeking Heaven's Fount.

AMEN

Christianity, so soon, will surprise,
Unsaved, as they don't believe their eyes,
Those who waited, were not too wise,
They see 'Tribulation,' without disguise.
Archive, & picture, at: www.mccookgazette.com/blogs/1580/entry/58403/

[navyblue]

Unto the END
By Arley Steinhour 060114

Eight days before our Pentecost,
This day of Christ's Ascension,
Many believed 'The Way' was lost,
Till Holy Spirit 'Indwelt,' got world's attention.

This Christian felt, this might be 'it,'
The day Bridegroom comes to 'snatch,'
Alas, in Jerusalem, we see Sun-Set,
So, Optimistically, keeps the Watch.

'Days of Gentile, Thousand's,' soon be filled,
Should mankind survive, that long,
But, with Tribulation, many be thrilled,
To enter Millennium, with Praising Song.

Church went away, to Wedding Feast,
Seven years before Tribulation's end,
New Christian, 'Saint's,' overcoming the Beast,
Enter Kingdom, their welcome, defend.

A thousand years, without a Satan,
Passes by, with little Hostility,
But, when released, Rebellion has 'Station,'
And God's Word, ends all 'Mortality.'

The Great White Throne Judgment ends,
Golden Gate, to Eternity, then Sealed,
'Family' to Joy, 'Rejector' to Torment, God sends,
Up, or Down, your Choice; I pray it's to God you Yield.

AMEN

Children under Twelve years old,
Accountable, after that day,
Be Snatched away to Heaven's Gold,
Where, Eternally, all Work is Play.
Archive, & picture, at: www.mccookgazette.com/blogs/1580/entry/58407/