Praise and Poetry

[navyblue]

What You Ask For
By Arley Steinhour 031712

Praising you Lord, started my day,
An hour early, it began,
Quickly, you did fill my tray,
No space for Satan's 'also-ran.'

This Seventh day, Your Sabbath,
The one Day You did declare,
For our Faith to take a Bath,
Refreshing our Spirit Fare.

Breakfast was a taste-bud win,
Eggs with tatters, on the side,
Bott Radio, teaching about sin,
Story: David, Cool Water, and Pride.

Second Samuel, Twenty Three,
Verse fifteen starts the story,
About things folk want for free,
Causing hazard, or wasted glory.

David, yearned, cool water sip,
From well, at gate of Bethlehem,
Three mighty men made the trip,
To provide sip-pleasure, just for him.

Enemy, they had to fight,
To obtain that water, cool,
There and back, took the night,
Without wound from sharpened tool.

Proudly, they placed, in David's hand,
A flask, filled with his desire,
Ah yes, they were his mighty band,
No man they honored any higher.

David knew the danger's sway,
So, sip he refused to take,
Poured it out, unto Yahweh,
In Thanks for their 'Safety' sake.

The men were some adither,
But, the story rings deep and true,
'Wants, that may harm another,
Lends no benefit to You.'

Ravi Zacharias, the teacher be,
That simple truth, he did teach,
Truth with depth, like crystal sea,
Sand made of diamonds, within reach.

When you read your Bible book,
Challenge what the words do say,
Deeper understanding, the hook,
Catching Believers, every day.

AMEN

2Sa 23:17 And he said, Be it far from me, O LORD, that I should do this: is not this the blood of the men that went in jeopardy of their lives? therefore he would not drink it. These things did these three mighty men.

[navyblue]

Ode to Pastor Jackson
By Arley Steinhour 031912
Father God,
I have a love for another man,
Along the lines of mine for Jesus,
In life, I count upon one hand,
The Allan Jackson's, that does please us;

'Us,' the Three, God, Jesus, and me too,
In Spirit, God, Jesus, plus mortal, me,
A foursome fit, that wears like good shoes,
Filling the Four Winds, of God's Family Tree.

He came to town, one fate filled day,
Elected to preach at our Church,
In little time, we found akin to say,
'Time of Gentile soon left in the lurch.'

Two years he preached, with Bible sway,
Word of God did fill the pews,
Soon was found, folk held him at bay,
Not preaching what they would choose.

Shades of Christianity, schism in the making,
Half the Congregation wanted focus changed,
Half held to Pastor's teaching, Truthful staking,
In lieu of 'Time of Gentile,' rearranged.

With sacrifice, and Christian love,
Pastor left the Congregation,
Some left with him, urged from above,
To form a brand-new Jesus Station.

For a year, our Gathering, did,
Without an increase of number,
Decision made, we close the lid,
'Gathering' water dry, sad to remember.

We walked away, the founding five,
No more to meet again,
'Messiah's Gathering,' no more alive,
Spiritual tears fell from our chins.

A year has passed, we seldom talk,
Each one taking diverse pathway,
Pastor gone, from where we others walk,
Our love follows him, I feel, more than halfway.

Wherever Pastor totes his 'Cross,'
He has our love to urge him on,
To his calling, may we be like dental floss,
That he does well, when he's called upon.

I'm sure we all have prayed,
many times many, before,
Pastor's path, with gold you've paved,
Until we all enter Heavens door.

AMEN

The person teaching from the pulpit has a much better view of the world than anyone. As that Preacher/Teacher looks out over the Congregation, the world is looking back at him, standing in the loneliest place in the building.

[navyblue]

This describes me so well, I thought I would share with you.
One of the better things of having a broken rememberer is that we can't remember, sort of like what I was going to say, but can't remember:

Forgetter Forgotten
(Author Unknown)

My forgetter's getting better,
But my rememberer is broke;
To you that may seem funny,
To me, that ain't no joke!

When I'm 'here' I'm wondering,
If I really should be 'there';
When I try to think it through,
I haven't got a prayer!

Oft times I walk into a room,
Say, 'what am I here for;'
Wrack my brain, but all in vain,
Zero, is my score!

At times, I put something away,
Where it is safe, but, Gee,
The person it is safest from,
Is, generally, me!

When shopping, I may see someone,
Say 'Hi,' and have a chat,
Then, when the person walks away,
Ask myself, 'who the heck was that?

Yes, my forgetter's getting better,
While rememberer is broke,
It's driving me plumb crazy;
To me, that ain't no joke!
AMEN

PS:
I no longer wonder, I wander,
Conclusions just die on my plate,
The time, where all day I could ponder,
Start now with a very clean slate;
I think.

[navyblue]

THE ROOM
Verse by Arley Steinhour 032712
Story Author, unknown

I pass this on, once again,
A story about Life, and Sin,
It will fill your heart and brain,
Knowing Jesus can change ‘Sin, to WIN.’

IMAGINE...please...:
This is excellent and really gets you thinking about what will happen
in Heaven.
17-year-old Brian Moore had only a short time to write something for a class.
The subject was What Heaven Was Like.
"I wowed 'em," he later told his father, Bruce .
It's a killer.
It's the bomb It's the best thing I ever wrote."
It also was the last.

Brian's parents had forgotten about the essay when a cousin found it
while cleaning out the teenager's locker at Teays Valley High School
in Pickaway County .

Brian had been dead only hours, but his parents desperately wanted
every piece of his life near them, notes from classmates and teachers,
and his homework. Only two months before, he had handwritten the essay about
encountering Jesus in a file room full of cards detailing every moment
of the teen's life. But it was only after Brian's death that Beth and Bruce Moore realized
that their son had described his view of Heaven.

It makes such an impact that people want to share it.
"You feel like you are there," Mr. Moore said.
Brian Moore died May 27, 1997, the day after Memorial Day.
He was driving home from a friend's house when his car went off
Bulen-Pierce Road in Pickaway County and struck a utility pole.
He emerged from the wreck unharmed but stepped on a downed power line
and was electrocuted.

The Moore's framed a copy of Brian's essay and hung it among the
family portraits in the living room.
"I think God used him to make a point. I think we were meant to find
it and make something out of it," Mrs. Moore said of the essay.
She and her husband want to share their son's vision of life after death.
"I'm happy for Brian.
I know he's in Heaven.
I know I'll see him."

Here is Brian's essay entitled:

"THE ROOM"
In that place between wakefulness and dreams, I found myself in the room.
There were no distinguishing features except for the one wall covered with small index card files.
They were like the ones in libraries that list titles by author or subject in
alphabetical order.
But these files, which stretched from floor to ceiling and seemingly endless in either direction, had very different headings.
As I drew near the wall of files, the first to catch my attention was one that read " Girls I Have Liked." I opened it and began flipping through the cards.
I quickly shut it, shocked to realize that I recognized the names written on each one.
And then without being told, I knew exactly where I was.
This lifeless room with its small files was a crude catalog system for my life.
Here were written the actions of my every moment, big and small, in a detail my memory
couldn't match.
A sense of wonder and curiosity, coupled with horror, stirred within me as I began randomly opening files and exploring their content.
Some brought joy and sweet memories; others a sense of shame and regret so intense that I would look over my shoulder to see if anyone was watching.

A file named " Friends" was next to one marked " Friends I Have Betrayed." The titles ranged from the mundane to the outright weird; "Books I Have Read," " Lies I Have Told," "Comfort I have Given," "Jokes I Have Laughed At."

Some were almost hilarious in their exactness: "Things I've Yelled at My Brothers." Others I couldn't laugh at: "Things I Have Done in My Anger", "Things I Have Muttered Under My Breath at My Parents." I never ceased to be surprised by the contents.
Often there were many more cards than expected, sometimes fewer than I hoped.
I was overwhelmed by the sheer volume of the life I had lived.

Could it be possible that I had the time in my years to fill each of
these thousands or even millions of cards? But, each card confirmed this
truth. Each was written in my own handwriting. Each signed with my
signature.

When I pulled out the file marked " TV Shows I Have Watched," I
realized the files grew to contain their contents..The cards were
packed tightly, and yet after two or three yards, I hadn't found the
end of the file. I shut it, shamed, not so much by the quality of shows
but more by the vast time I knew that file represented.
When I came to a file marked " Lustful Thoughts," I felt a chill run through my
body. I pulled the file out only an inch, not willing to test its size,
and drew out a card. I shuddered at its detailed content. I felt sick to
think that such a moment had been recorded. An almost animal rage broke
on me.

One thought dominated my mind: No one must ever see these cards! No one
must ever see this room! I have to destroy them!" In insane frenzy I
yanked the file out. Its size didn't matter now. I had to empty it and
burn the cards. But as I took it at one end and began pounding it on
the floor, I could not dislodge a single card. I became desperate and
pulled out a card, only to find it as strong as steel when I tried to
tear it. Defeated and utterly helpless, I returned the file to its
slot. Leaning my forehead against the wall, I let out a long,
self-pitying sigh.

And then I saw it. The title bore "People I Have Shared the Gospel
With." The handle was brighter than those around it, newer, almost
unused. I pulled on its handle and a small box not more than three
inches long fell into my hands. I could count the cards it contained on
one hand; and then the tears came. I began to weep. Sobs so deep that
they hurt. They started in my stomach and shook through me. I fell on my
knees and cried. I cried out of shame, from the overwhelming shame of
it all. The rows of file shelves swirled in my tear-filled eyes. No one
must ever, ever know of this room. I must lock it up and hide the
key. But then as I pushed away the tears, I saw Him.

No, please not Him. Not here. Oh, anyone but Jesus. I watched helplessly
as He began to open the files and read the cards. I couldn't bear to
watch His response. And in the moments I could bring myself to look at
His face, I saw a sorrow deeper than my own. He seemed to intuitively
go to the worst boxes. Why did He have to read every one? Finally He
turned and looked at me from across the room. He looked at me with pity
in His eyes. But this was a pity that didn't anger me. I dropped my
head, covered my face with my hands and began to cry again. He walked
over and put His arm around me. He could have said so many things. But
He didn't say a word. He just cried with me.

Then He got up and walked back to the wall of files. Starting at one
end of the room, He took out a file and, one by one, began to sign His
name over mine on each card."No!" I shouted rushing to Him. All I could
find to say was "No, no," as I pulled the card from Him. His name
shouldn't be on these cards. But there it was, written in red so rich,
so dark, and so alive. The name of Jesus covered mine. It was written
with His blood. He gently took the card back He smiled a sad smile and
began to sign the cards. I don't think I'll ever understand how He did
it so quickly, but the next instant it seemed I heard Him close the
last file and walk back to my side. He placed His hand on my shoulder
and said, "It is finished."

I stood up, and He led me out of the room. There was no lock on its
door. There were still cards to be written.

"For God so loved the world that He gave His only begotten Son, that
whosoever believes in Him shall not perish but have eternal life."
John 3:16

If you feel the same way, forward it to as many people as you can, so
the love of Jesus will touch their lives also. My "People I Shared
the Gospel With" file just got bigger, how about yours?

IF THERE IS ONE MESSAGE THAT I HAVE READ THAT NEEDS TO GO AROUND THE
WORLD (many many times), IT IS THIS ONE, PLEASE PASS THIS TO EVERY ONE YOU KNOW,
CHRISTIAN OR NOT!"LET'S FILL OUR OWN FILE CARD" AND MAY GOD BLESS YOU
ALL!
You don't have to share this with anybody, no one will know whether
you did or not, but you will know and so will He.

God Blesses Us, Everyone, Everyday, in Your Way.
It's Up To Us To Notice!!!
It’s Up To Us To Witness!!!
It’s Up To Us To Repent!!!
AMEN

My File-room holds my good, and Bad,
Now, transfigured there within,
Much blood needed for Sin I had,
Against all Sin-Storms now, I 'WIN.'
AMEN

[navyblue]

Signed Sealed Delivered
By Arley Steinhour 032812

Hours long, hours short,
There's only twenty-four,
To read another news report,
Then fall asleep on bed or floor.

Between each article I read,
Lord, I come to you, in prayer,
To ask you if you do heed,
The scenes I see out there;

Scenes of great destruction,
Scenes of death and pain,
Like words from your Instruction,
Tribulation falls like rain.

Earthquakes shake the surface,
From deep within the earth,
People walk like Clown in Circus,
Except, with little mirth.

Volcano's erupting, not a few,
Magma seeks a way to blow,
Lava flows so hot and true,
Its nighttime beauty steals the show.

Creatures dying most everywhere,
Birds falling from the sky,
Good reason is the unanswered share,
Seems no one knows quite why.

Creatures, surface, thought long dead,
A million years ago, or more,
Kind of does things to one's head,
With all that happens, shore to shore.

Reasons for this haunting,
Comes from ancient Seer days,
Bible, Mayan, or people flaunting,
Prophets, or some with eyes a-glaze.

They tend to say the same thing,
Guess You let more than one group know,
We are about to feel the sting,
For not letting YOU run the show.

So, if we want to smack a jaw,
Or cry upon sympathetic shoulder,
Smack our self, if that be the law,
Or cry to YOU, who's so much older.

The blame rests squarely on our back,
We walked away from Creator,
Now, soon, You give a bunch the 'Sack,'
We, Reborn, will be spectator.

There is a way to guarantee,
A joyously full eternity,
Turn the heart to Jesus, and see,
The beauty of where I plan to be.

AMEN

Cool but haunting Lights,
Hot Seat of Pants,
So many Prophetic sights,
Make us all just feel like ants.

Today is great to change the heart,
Tomorrow may never come,
Be Right with Jesus from the start,
Refusers will be kind-of-glum.

[navyblue]

Waiting Room Ponder
By Arley Steinhour 032912

Insanity, insanity, all things are insanity,
If this is how things need to be,
Then, please, dear Lord, come for me.

I signed into the net, today,
To see what's going on,
A new volcano wants to play,
Time to run is almost gone.

Earthquakes shaking up the land,
Making false teeth shake in glass,
A protester burned by his own hand,
Union paid protesters have no class.

I know that you have noticed this,
I know that you do care,
Lord, what's going on, ain't Heaven Bliss,
How thin need your patience wear?

The Bible says much about this time,
And How Israel stands alone,
But Insane things are hard to rhyme,
And Rapture's not by phone.

I guess, I need to ask you,
To come down, and take a hand,
Prayer is all that I can do,
With leadership, a motley band.

Don't get me wrong, Oh dear God,
I can't 'mad-dog' bark at you,
I would gladly suffer Iron Rod,
than Haters gain, as we become but Few.

Faithful folks can't stand to watch,
As Travailing events come to pass,
Quicker, Harder, getting ready to hatch,
Affecting every soul, like broken glass.

Our time is getting ever closer,
For you, we need keep looking up,
Your word give us the final answer,
Soon at Wedding Feast, we Sup.
AMEN

Sitting on a bench, waiting for a bus, one looks up on occasion,
but when waiting for the Bridegroom, the Bride looks up continuously,
Keeping the Watch.

[navyblue]

A Dog Story
Poetry by Arley Steinhour 033012
Story author: G. K. Chesterton (??)

Well, it came around again, once more,
And I pass it on, this sunny day,
I toss this ball to your P C door,
In Christian Love, and Sway.

There seems to be Tribulation,
Gaining speed, and power today,
The kind that cripples might nations,
In a very Demonic way.

For Freedom, people have to die,
That others can live and love,
Agape’, is the reason why,
We follow Him, above.

So, as you take this journey,
Into Love that can fill an Arc,
It won’t cost you any money,
But your heart might hear its bark.

AMEN:

They told me the big black Lab's name was Reggie, as I looked at him lying in his pen. The shelter was clean, no-kill, and the people really friendly. I'd only been in the area for six months, but everywhere I went in the small college town, people were welcoming and open. Everyone waves when you pass them on the street.

But something was still missing as I attempted to settle in to my new life here, and I thought a dog couldn't hurt. Give me someone to talk to. And I had just seen Reggie's advertisement on the local news. The shelter said they had received numerous calls right after, but they said the people who had come down to see him just didn't look like "Lab people," whatever that meant. They must've thought I did. But at first, I thought the shelter had misjudged me in giving me Reggie and his things, which consisted of a dog pad, bag of toys almost all of which were brand new tennis balls, his dishes and a sealed letter from his previous owner.

See, Reggie and I didn't really hit it off when we got home. We struggled for two weeks (which is how long the shelter told me to give him to adjust to his new home). Maybe it was the fact that I was trying to adjust, too. Maybe we were too much alike.

I saw the sealed envelope. I had completely forgotten about that. "Okay, Reggie," I said out loud, "let's see if your previous owner has any advice."
..To Whomever Gets My Dog:
Well, I can't say that I'm happy you're reading this, a letter I told the shelter could only be opened by Reggie's new owner. I'm not even happy writing it. He knew something was different. So let me tell you about my Lab in the hopes that it will help you bond with
him and he with you.

First, he loves tennis balls. The more the merrier. Sometimes I think he's part squirrel, the way he hoards them. He usually always has two in his mouth, and he tries to get a third in there. Hasn't done it yet. Doesn't matter where you throw them, he'll bound after them, so be careful. Don't do it by any roads.

Next, commands. Reggie knows the obvious ones ---"sit," "stay," "come," "heel." He knows hand signals, too: He knows "ball" and "food" and "bone" and "treat" like nobody's business.
Feeding schedule: twice a day, regular store-bought stuff; the shelter has the brand. He's up on his shots. Be forewarned: Reggie hates the vet. Good luck getting him in the car. I don't know how he knows when it's time to go to the vet, but he knows.

Finally, give him some time. It's only been Reggie and me for his whole life. He's gone everywhere with me, so please include him on your daily car rides if you can. He sits well in the backseat, and he doesn't bark or complain. He just loves to be around people, and me most especially. And that's why I need to share one more bit of info with you...His name's not Reggie. He's a smart dog, he'll get used to it and will respond to it, of that I have no doubt. But I just couldn't bear to give them his real name. But if someone is reading this ... well it means that his new owner should know his real name. His real name is "Tank." Because, that is what I
drive.

I told the shelter that they couldn't make "Reggie" available for adoption until they received word from my company commander. You see, my parents are gone, I have no siblings, no one I could've left Tank with ... and it was my only real request of the Army upon my deployment to Iraq, that they make one phone call to the shelter ... in the "event" ... to tell them that Tank could be put up for adoption. Luckily, my CO is a dog-guy, too, and he knew where my platoon was headed. He said he'd do it personally, and if you're reading this, then he made good on his word.

Tank has been my family for the last six years, almost as long as the Army has been my family. And now I hope and pray that you make him part of your family, too, and that he will adjust and come to love you the same way he loved me. If I have to give up Tank to keep those terrible people from coming to the US I am glad to have done so. He is my example of service and of love. I hope I honored him by my service to my country and comrades. All right, that's enough. I deploy this evening and have to drop this letter off at the shelter. Maybe I'll peek in on him and see if he finally got that third tennis ball in his mouth.

Good luck with Tank. Give him a good home, and give him an extra kiss goodnight - every night - from me.

Thank you,
Paul Mallory

I folded the letter and slipped it back in the envelope. Sure, I had heard of Paul Mallory, everyone in town knew him, even new people like me. Local kid, killed in Iraq a few months ago and posthumously earning the Silver Star when he gave his life to save three buddies. Flags had been at half-mast all summer.

I leaned forward in my chair and rested my elbows on my knees, staring at the dog. "Hey, Tank," I said quietly. The dog's head whipped up, his ears cocked and his eyes bright. "C'mere boy."

He was instantly on his feet, his nails clicking on the hardwood floor. He sat in front of me, his head tilted, searching for the name he hadn't heard in months. "Tank," I whispered. His tail swished.

I kept whispering his name, over and over, and each time, his ears lowered, his eyes softened, and his posture relaxed as a wave of contentment just seemed to flood him. I stroked his ears, rubbed his shoulders, buried my face into his scruff and hugged him.

"It's me now, Tank, just you and me. Your old pal gave you to me." Tank reached up and licked my cheek. "So whatdaya say we play some ball?" His ears perked again. "Yeah? Ball? You like that? Ball?" Tank tore from my hands and disappeared into the next room. And when he came back, he had three tennis balls in his mouth.

If you can read this without getting a lump in your throat or a tear in your eye, you just ain't right.

A veteran is someone who, at one point, wrote a blank check made payable to 'The United States of America' for an amount of 'up to and including their life.'

That is Honor, and there are way too many people in this country who no longer understand it.

"The true soldier fights not because he hates what is in front of him, but because he loves what is behind him."

G. K. Chesterton
(I can AMEN that!!//as//)
John 3:16, The perfect start for anyone seeking Perfect, (AGAPE') LOVE.

A Story of Love, a Story of Faith, a Story of Heroism, a Story of Sacrifice. My Poetry is there to fill space, or mark the place. Wanna-race?? Enjoy this day, today, for tomorrow, today will be yesterday, too late to live. Ask Tank, he knows.

[navyblue]

Pink Slime
By Arley Steinhour 033112

Hamburger came from 'Trimmings' left,
It wasn't Prime Sirloin Steak,
So poor folks be not meat bereft,
Bun held meat is what they make.

Today, we're in a quandary,
'Pink Slime,' has come to town,
We'd think they selling dirty laundry,
Or skin and bone, instead of 'Round.'

The food called Pink Slime, by name,
Is more inclusive burger meat,
The rich folk out there, play a food game,
To keep the poor from having food to eat.

Treatment of the product, you see,
Makes it last a long, long, time,
In times of great emergency,
Everyone can eat, just fine.

As a child, back in Forty-four,
Other children made fun of me,
My family ate burger, not much more,
Yet, I grew to look like a tree.

Pink Slime looks so handy,
Just slice a patty to cook,
For a meal in a bun, it's dandy,
It should have a place in the Cook-book.

Sprinkle some salt and pepper on,
Powder of onion and garlic too,
With medium heat, cook till done,
To make a believer out of you.

AMEN

Opinion is what I offer, growing up under 'Poor-folk' name,
This looks as good as 'Space-food,' of Astronautic fame,
Burgers, once, were looked down on too,
Until a Clown sold them to you.

[navyblue]

Christian Sanity Lost
By Arley Steinhour 040212

This morning I must have a say,
This article says much to me,
How shoddy be News coverage today,
And, how deep Social problems be.

Martins death, similar yet different,
Compared, In many subtle ways,
Shows that our country is Hell-bent
As Satan rules these last days.

This leads to the full story,
Compare with what you know,
We can’t give God this Glory,
Only, to he who rules below.

Our Blessings may be over,
Our Way, racing off to Hell,
Unless Jesus, does all sin cover,
Before He Rings, the Final Bell.

Should this ripe, Satanic Mania,
Confuse the strongest heart,
Think back near Two Millennia,
To when Jesus played His Part;

God came to earth, as Son of Man,
To Redeem us, from Adam’s Sin,
Soon, phase-three, of His Royal Plan,
Millennial Kingdom, Believers Win.

So, Decry this society of violence,
Focus energy on giving helping hand,
So our hearts can gain perfect balance,
And all can live in God’s perfect Land.

AMEN

Now that I have had my say, I turn you over to why I play, this game of Faith every day, and to offer poetic sway:

With all that is transpiring, with the Martin death, at the hand of a Neighborhood(y) (emphasis mine) Watch patrolman, being called atrocity, cold-blooded murder, and many other heinous names, why is it, an incident where a two year old girl is shot to death, sitting on her homes, front porch, apparently by gang-members, receives so little press? This, IMO, jumps out at me, and hopefully you. But, there is another hint, of yet another story, about our Familial Society, also imbedded in the story (hint, notice all the last names, even of the child). But, I won't go there, only offer that Biblical peek.

Tribune address: www.chicagotribune.com/news/local/ct-met-weekend-mayhem-0320-20120320,0,3600888.story

A person could, again IMO, Biblically study for quite some time, just on all the factions of this overall life story, of this child, and her family and neighborhood surrounding.

In Messiah, I keep the watch.

Yet, another Child is Dead,
Place the blame on Mankind's Head,
How in conscience, can We go to Bed,
When our Blessing Ink is Naught but RED?

[navyblue]

Weekend Memorial
By Arley Steinhour 040512
(Article Author Unknown)

I’ve sent this on, a time or two,
And perhaps even more,
Markers grown now, to more than a few,
And we still can’t close deaths door.

Each day our young folk, live and die,
On far and distant shore,
Those we save, makes me wonder why,
We go there, any more.

They’re dying for a way of life,
That Hates us, in every way,
Loving to cause us pain and strife,
And destroy us, some soon day.

Until we place no new cross,
Or see limbless Veterans any more,
Patriotism pay's that loss,
On every worldly shore.

God, dear God, please hear our cry,
As we lift our Praise to You,
Knowing yet. that more shall die,
Before you ‘Drop the Shoe.’

Your Will be Done, for everyone,
As we pass to the Kingdom Age,
And those who live like Satan is fun,
Know the payment for Sin-filled wage.

Until that day, our young will die,
Protecting the Good, and Bad,
All will be Paradise when we fly,
Making ‘Left Behind’ very Sad.

AMEN

Part of the email going around:
Santa Barbara
The first picture and the last picture are taken at the beach in Santa Barbara right next to the pier.
There is a veterans group that started putting a cross and candle for every death in Iraq and Afghanistan .
The amazing thing is that they only do it on the weekends. They put up this graveyard and
take it down every weekend. Guys sleep in the sand next to it and keep watch over it at night so
nobody messes with it.
Every cross has the name, rank and D.O.B. and D.O.D. on it.
Very moving, very powerful??? so many young volunteers. So many 30 to 40 year olds as well.
Amazing !
Did you know that the ACLU has filed a suit to have all military cross-shaped headstones removed?,
>(Photo)
and that they filed another suit to end prayer from the military completely. They're making great progress.
The Navy Chaplains can no longer mention Jesus' name in prayer thanks to the ACLU and our new administration.
>(Photo)
Keep forwarding this e-mail to others. I'm not breaking this one. I'm asking that you not break it either.
>(Photo)
If I get it a 1000 times, I'll forward it a 1000 times!
Please, let us pray...
Please send this on after a short prayer. Prayer for our soldiers... please don't break it!
Prayer:
'Heavenly Father, hold our troops in Your loving hands. Protect them as they protect us.
Bless them and their families for the selfless acts they perform for us in this our time of need.
These things I humbly ask in the name of Jesus Christ our Lord and Savior, Amen.'
GOD BLESS YOU FOR PASSING IT ON!

A name is borne upon each cross,
A person, young, this Nations loss,
Please pray, as if you know them well,
Lives lost for us, but, to Kingdom Tell.

[navyblue]

Healing Colors
By Arley Steinhour 040612

When the world is getting ugly,
And you have not place to hide,
Settle into chair quite snugly,
With this video take a ride.

You may not know the reason,
God added color to the world,
Just know, it is the season,
For Eternal page unfurled.

We zip along though this life,
Paying little attention to the side,
All that beauty lost, leaving strife,
Slowing down would open eyes so wide.

The colors take the mundane,
Fills each cell, with crystal life,
Smiling up to God like upward rain,
To heal His suffering and strife.

So, settle back and fill your heart,
With every color in God’s Book,
Join all of things with our color part,
Flowing over God, like refreshing brook.

AMEN

Go to: www.greatdanepro.com/Just%20Colors/index.htm

When Colors fill the Valley,
Reaching high into the sky,
God increases His precious Tally,
Of those He'll teach to fly.

[navyblue]

Star Spangled Banter
By Arley Steinhour 040712

Star Spangled Banner should not just be played,
Star Spangled Banner should also be Prayed,
Too many men, in the cold sod are laid,
For God's blessings of Freedom to fade.

Suffering hunger and cold, every one,
As their monies bought powder, and shot.
With their private owned gun,
For our Freedom, they fought,

Standard, Red, White, and Blue,
Through every perilous fight,
Required their hearts to be True,
To honor those who won't see next day's light.

Look down at your un-calloused hands,
Shake freely, your well shod feet,
There find no chain, or bands,
As God's Blessing is our True Meat.

The Decalogue stands perfect in Law,
Forefathers Wisdom did set them in place,
Lately, we've change them into weed straw,
God's Wrath will soon take Freedoms Grace.

Visions and Dreams, by Sister's and Brother's,
Shout that Repentance by all, sorely needing,
Wrapped in prayer, may defray His Orders,
'To Babylon, handed, for Slavery Seeding.'

Star Spangled Banner, is tattered and torn,
It be that, from the way that we've fallen,
Political Correctness, mingles Tare with the Corn,
Today, Christians are naught more than Pollen.

Only True Christians will understand WHY.
Christians are they, watching the SKY,
God owns everything in Freedoms PIE.
Repent, or our People and Country WILL DIE.
AMEN

Volcano's, and Earth Quakes, Tsunami's a-washing,
Drought killing cattle, and Comets a-flashing,
These are a few of His warnings to me,....and you....
What then, does He want us to dooooo?

[navyblue]

From Mourning to Bride
By Arley Steinhour 040912

The Sun was threatening to rise,
That First day of Omer counting,
Sighting tomb, brought great surprise,
Stone rolled aside, their tension mounting.

Roman guards, nowhere in sight,
As they cautiously approached,
It seemed the guards had taken flight,
When someone, the tomb door broached.

Mary Magdalene, with three friends,
All disciples of Master Jesus,
Entered there, His body for to cleanse,
What they saw did create quite a fuss.

The glimmer from the lamp was dim,
Jesus gone, a scene of disarray and loss,
Shroud disheveled, Napkin folded trim,
Mary's cheeks, great tears did cross.

His Tomb, so vacant, Jesus dead,
They searched, but couldn't find;
Angels appeared, at foot and head,
'Not Dead,' they said, 'Search in kind.'

Most all knows the story,
Of His sacrifice, on the Cross,
How He went on to His Glory,
Redeeming mankind from Sinning-Loss.

Yes, Jesus took our Sin, right into the grave,
Where all Sin eternally will reside,
As His Bride, from death, He does stave,
Sacrifice accepted, from death, we need not hide.

On that Fate-filled Sunday Morning,
Mary, at the Tomb, went inside,
She went to do a Funeral cleansing;
But, Death and Resurrection, made us Bride.
AMEN

Look at the rock, He isn't there,
He wasn't there very long,
If you wish to see Him come in the air,
Fall on your knees, with prayer and song.

[navyblue]

Old Man Thoughts
By Arley Steinhour 041012

War is now much more fun,
For the other guy to fight,
I will sit upon the sideline,
and Root with all my might.

Too many years ago,
Before my age caught up,
With every bone I own,
War filled my ego cup.

Today, the body's tired,
My mileage very high,
Propulsion poorly fired,
Dimness of the eye.

Today, I run the Ten yard dash,
Most people call it 'crawl,'
The worst that happens, is a crash,
When I trip, and take a fall.

I once knew how to do that,
Hit the ground safely, at full speed,
Now, when I land, my nose goes splat,
The Ambulance, is what I need.

I'm watching all the day's events,
Volcano's spewing ash and smoke,
Earthquakes, forcing life into tents,
And Tsunami's ain't no joke.

Birds are falling from the sky,
Whale and Dolphin run aground,
Fish by millions roll over, and die,
In 'Divers Places,' Events are found.

Wars, being fought all over,
With more on agenda plate,
Insanity completely seems to cover,
A Blood-lust, we cannot seem to sate.

I sit here, with my maladies,
But, really don't complain,
Enjoying life as Parody,
Heroism, I must now feign.

In a way, I tell a story,
Of Times, we call The End,
The world has lost its glory,
With God's Kingdom round the bend.

Satan, to rule earth, a while,
Half of Seven Years, like Hell,
At the End, we all can smile,
As Satanic Sin we Shell.

Earthly Paradise, mankind will live,
A full One Thousand Years,
With no intrusion Satan give,
Hallelujah's fill our ears.

The only sinful thoughts and deed,
Found in people of the Millennium,
Lay squarely in their personal seed,
Of heart, that's held within.

Then, After Jesus' Millennial Rule
Satan loosed for a short season,
To him, Sinful soul's will act the fool,
And commit the Holy Spirit Treason.

One Word from God, All is Complete,
Except, one Judgment left to call,
Great White Throne, God on the seat,
Ends Time forever, Eternally Closes all.

AMEN

(Day three of the Omer, Aviv 18, 5772)

Give me five minutes more, only five minutes more, and I'm sure I'll make my way, to Heaven's Door. Only, don't close the Gate, even though I may be late, as my bones can't run fast races, any more (But, I can still pray Seventy-Five MPH).

[navyblue]

Supernal to Eternal
By Arley Steinhour 041212

We don't really want all the answers,
to all there is to know,
There'd not be room for happenstance,
For Your people learning, here below.

We spend our full mortality,
Following the woven line,
That wanders to Eternity,
With your blessings on our mind.

The way gets kind of tangled,
The line frayed and somewhat thin,
From the mortal wounds that rankle,
All caused by committing Sin.

How do we hold to the woven line,
That leads us home to you,
With those many snares and a sinful mind,
That trips us, from out of the Blue?

We all need know that answer,
To follow, as best we can,
Fidelity to you, we must swear,
Through your Only Son, the Man.

Your Spirit keeps us on that line,
With guidance in your Holy way,
Standing tall, not credulously supine,
As your honored child, each day.

My line is Velvet, and Navy Blue,
That always got tangled up,
Until I turned my heart to you,
And your Son filled my cup.

I may not pray the best of prayers,
And can't quote Book, Chapter, or verse,
Many times I've tripped on Jacobs stairs,
Your Love and Spirit has been my Nurse.

The Faithful wait and pray for you,
To come, snatch away your Bride,
The Bride that might be called 'Leah,'
As Your Love for 'Rachael' burns inside.

To end these days of Gentile shoe,
Upon your True-Loves neck,
Concludes events you've cited to do,
To complete Abrahamic Trek.

When you open Gates of Kingdom,
A Thousand Years of Perfect Rule,
Without the sway of Satandom,
Celebration of Eternal Yule.

AMEN

When Time has ceased to count the days,
We need adjust in so many ways,
Like birds, the first time that they fly,
We live completely, or completely die.

[navyblue]

Hard Lesson Taught
by Arley Steinhour 041412

Jesus left a bloody footprint in the sand,
Is He now, about to leave one on the Land,
The sinful way we've followed isn't grand,
Folks of Sodom might now be favored, in His hand.

The blood He left, first time, his own,
This time, it's ours, in kind,
He'll walk on flesh, as if on stone,
We ran away, with thought He wouldn't mind.

Like Sheep, of course, we wandered far,
Beyond the fence, all looked so green,
Where Wolves reside, with the Fallen Star,
With parties, to feed our Sinful dream.

When our cash and wool were spent away,
And Sinful naked we did stand,
We crawled to where we once did play,
Protected by Shepherds steady Hand.

Alas, it seemed, the flock was gone,
And fence looked different from this side,
Barbs on wire went on and on,
So sharp, flesh touched was opened wide.

Was not a blade of grass, this side, alive,
Just painted weeds, all dry and dead,
To maintain sanity, we strive,
What's mostly in our head.

We must Repent our Evil way,
Praying Shepherd has returned,
To look for His, in our pitiful stay,
And take us Home, with lessons learned.

AMEN

The time of Satan's sway does blossom, But only for a season,
To separate Weed from the Chosen, God has His own good reason.
Be Right, to be Counted Right.

[navyblue]

Crackers in Soup
By Arley Steinhour 041512

We're all like Soda crackers,
Destined for God's bowl of stew,
Whole crackers are flavor stackers,
If broken, give flavor True.

I dined today on Bean Soup,
Asking Blessing from the Lord
It was I fear, a watery goop,
I tossed some crackers there, on board.

The crackers floated, for a bit,
Then sank some from the surface,
I spooned one up, then it hit,
Cracker made soup, the apprentice.

Soup flavor, the cracker did overwhelm,
Little soup taste found my tongue,
Much like a ship, with too much helm,
No enjoyment the way ship swung.

The Bible says, Broken, Contrite, heart,
Has sweet smell and taste to God,
With more crackers, broken apart,
Soup-spoon became my Iron rod;

Cracker pieces with no shape,
Took well, favor of the soup,
Gave a bubble-look of crepe,
My spoon then became a scoop.

Broken, and Contrite, we're welcome,
As part of the Family of Many Colors,
Not to control or overwhelm the sum,
But to bring out all of the Flavors.

We can't enter, as a 'one,' board stiff,
We'd overwhelm and ruin the taste,
Broken down, blended to give a lift,
Flavored for God, with no hint of waste.
AMEN

When we're dining with Lord Jesus,
All is prepared, just to please us,
For dining, foods are 'Perfect Turn,'
In Lake of fire, some things burn.

[navyblue]

HANDS of the MASTER
By Arley Steinhour 041612
(Now, Day 10 of Omer 5772)

I come to share heartfelt emotion,
Pulling gently on my heartstrings,
I have desire to cause a commotion,
That might give your heart wings.

Some time ago, I received a story,
About an old, and ugly violin,
And how it came to be that sorry,
Twas the uncaring hands it was in.

The story took my breath away,
As my love for the instrument sings,
Knowing how they sound with a Master,
and how those hands give the strings wings.

Someone, out in Cyber-land,
More talented than I could be,
Put the story in to Music,
For all your hearts to see,

The story, plus the music speaks,
About the hands of the Master,
Words, if spoken, would take me weeks,
I give you the WEB site, it is much faster:



Don't go away, I've more to say,
About the Hands that all need trust,
That message came in just today,
Its viewing, too, an absolute must.

This clip will take you close to God,
As it deals with being in the sky,
In the hands of another Master,
The Pilot, and the plane they fly:



Play them both, one after the other,
Close your eyes, and let Jesus join,
You'll find this flight light as a feather,
And HE won't cost you any coin.
AMEN

The Master has us in His hand,
Welcome Him, and feel the Love,
That fills you heart, from up above.

[navyblue]

Tears Passed Forward
By Arley Steinhour 041812

Video received, this morning,
And I pass it on to you,
No particular reason,
Other than, you will like it too.

We guys, may be big and strong,
But the eyes of a woman sings a song,
For to see, the strongest of us long,
Looking back, when all is wrong.

Please don't tell the women this,
Or the rest of your mortal life,
Will be filled with Her Love, Your Bliss.

Click Here "Tears of A Woman"

bit.ly/TearsOfAWoman

AMEN

Tears are precious to our Lord,
For sure, those of Wife and Mother,
He keeps them handy, to mend the chord,
That binds us, to Him, and to each other.

(Day 11 of OMER)

[navyblue]

TIME NO MORE
By Arley Steinhour 041912

Sound the Shofar, light the pyre,
Bring your neighbors, to their door,
Share the call as Salvation-Crier,
Giving warning to all, and more.

Tribulation soon now, a roaring flame,
As this alert is going out,
Refusing to hear Jesus' claim,
Makes this 'Watcher,' want to shout,

From torment of Hell, for Eternal days,
Look up and ask, 'Are you there?'
We have some time, to change our ways,
You'll find your answer; He does care.

Take this Peal into your heart,
As we end Life’s Mortal Ride,
Especially if you don't have Jesus,
Or plan to be a part of His Bride,

The shortness of the time to heft,
Now written on Date-keeper's page,
Be Months, as years are now bereft,
God soon adjudges well earned wage.

If this sounds like 'Chicken Little Bird,'
You just might be hearing right,
I'm not always worthy of being heard,
And folks still sleep quite well at night;

Remember that the Shofar cried,
Alerting all that would open ear,
I may be wrong, but have not lied,
Dare you gamble what you hold dear?

I leave that to your Ponder,
And if you set my words aside,
In a month or three you may wonder,
'Are they gone, or did they hide.'

Your Choice, God Given.
AMEN

Today the modern Shofar,
Would be the Web, World Wide,
To reach the people near or far,
In a system where few can hide.
[Day 12 of OMER]