Growing Smaller

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A while back, a friend of mine mentioned (after I had made an observation that was more mature than usual, haha) that I was growing up. She meant that I was becoming more mature.

I thought about that for a while.

And then I thought, “I’m not growing up, I’m growing smaller.” That little phrase stuck with me, its poetic paradox kind of intriguing me.

So I kept on thinking, and the thought grew. And I started writing it.

Like this:

Growing smaller

Like a little child

I’m not getting older

My head isn’t larger

My heart is growing weaker

It is growing wider

Because God is in there

He is growing bigger

not me

God is getting older

not me

His heart is growing larger

mine is falling away

in awe

at Him

Like a little child

Just a little baby

Reaching up

Smiling big

Love bigger than that smile

Because God is in there

He is growing bigger

not me

God is getting older

not me

His wisdom is coming in

my mind is fleeing

away

from his

They say I’m getting older

Maturing into a man

They say my heart is bolder

My head is thinking straight

Growing smaller

Like a little child

God is getting bigger

And I am growing smaller

Darkness giving way to light

You see my life is changing

New me dawning on your sight

Cause I’m not there at all

Growing smaller

Like a little child

God is getting bigger

And I am growing smaller

Like a little child

Like a little baby

Reaching up

Open wide

Love bigger than that smile

Growing smaller

Like a little child

God is getting bigger

And I am growing smaller

Dust Love Come

Greetings,

Here is a poem I wrote a while ago. Let me know what you think. I don’t write much poetry. ๐Ÿ™‚

Dust
Tears
Never
Forever
Stifling my spirit
Broken, and chained, coming loose
When will my heart be wholly unified with His own?
Love
Hope
Always
Together
His sweet Spirit here
Weak and wounded, yet, am able
Carried on by the strength of His Word and His presence.
Come
Yield
Give up
Surrender
He will take you there
Trust Him and rest in His greatness
Open your life and your soul to His great benevolence!

What do you think? Did you catch the pattern? Did you understand it? Was it good? I wrote a tune for it to be sung to as well, but it isn’t what I want. If any of you would like to try and set it to music that would be cool. ๐Ÿ˜‰

Do Ye Now Nexte Thynge

Greetings,

Today I am posting what I am calling a ‘Saturday Serendipity.” That means that I am posting something that I found somewhere that was very useful and encouraging to me, and that I am going to share with you so that you will also have the opportunity of profiting from it. I hope to do these often, but I can’t make any promises. I will just Do The Nexte Thynge and post this one, and then go write some of the articles on my list.

This has been on our wall for years. It has reminded me over and over again what God desires of us each day and each minute.

From an old English parsonage down by the sea
There came in the twilight a message to me;
Its quaint Saxon legend, deeply engraven,
Hath, it seems to me, teaching from Heaven.
And on through the doors the quiet words ring
Like a low inspiration: โ€œDOE THE NEXTE THYNGE.โ€

Many a questioning, many a fear,
Many a doubt, hath its quieting here.
Moment by moment, let down from Heaven,
Time, opportunity, and guidance are given.
Fear not tomorrows, child of the King,
Thrust them with Jesus, doe the nexte thynge.

Do it immediately, do it with prayer;
Do it reliantly, casting all care;
Do it with reverence, tracing His hand
Who placed it before thee with earnest command.
Stayed on Omnipotence, safe โ€˜neath His wing,
Leave all results, doe the nexte thynge

Looking for Jesus, ever serener,
Working or suffering, be thy demeanor;
In His dear presence, the rest of His calm,
The light of His countenance be thy psalm,
Strong in His faithfulness, praise and sing.
Then, as He beckons thee, doe the nexte thynge.

–Anonymous

I hope that this poem will inspire you, and will exhort you to go and do the next thing that God has for you, instead of spending your time and life moseying around aimlessly (as I all too often do).
With joy and peace in Christ,
Jay Lauser

Longfellow

Greetings,

I was reading some of Longfellow’s poetry, and came across these two that struck me as profound and valuable to our spiritual lives.

The Rainy Day

The day is cold, and dark, and dreary;
It rains, and the wind is never weary;
The vine still clings to the moldering wall,
But at every gust the dead leaves fall,
And the day is dark and dreary.

My life is cold, and dark, and dreary;
It rains, and the wind is never weary;
My thoughts still cling to the moldering Past,
But the hopes of youth fall thick in the blast
And the days are dark and dreary.

Be still, sad heart! and cease repining;
Behind the clouds is the sun still shining;
Thy fate is the common fate of all,
Into each life some rain must fall,
Some days must be dark and dreary.

The Village Blacksmith

Under a spreading chestnut-tree
The village smithy stands;
The smith, a mighty man is he,
With large and sinewy hands;
And the muscles of his brawny arms
Are strong as iron bands.

His hair is crisp, and black, and long,
His face is like the tan;
His brow is wet with honest sweat,
He earns whate’er he can,
And looks the whole world in the face,
For he owes not any man.

Week in, week out, from morn till night,
You can hear his bellows blow;
You can hear him swing his heavy sledge,
With measured beat and slow,
Like a sexton ringing the village bell,
When the evening sun is low.

And children coming home from school
Look in at the open door;
They love to see the flaming forge,
And hear the bellows roar,
And catch the burning sparks that fly
Like chaff from a threshing-floor.

He goes on Sunday to the church,
And sits among his boys;
He hears the parson pray and preach,
He hears his daughter’s voice,
Singing in the village choir,
And it makes his heart rejoice.

It sounds to him like her mother’s voice,
Singing in Paradise!
He needs must think of her once more,
How in the grave she lies;
And with his hard, rough hand he wipes
A tear out of his eyes.

Toiling, — rejoicing — sorrowing,
Onward through life he goes;
Each morning sees some task begin,
Each evening sees it close;
Something attempted, something done,
Has earned a night’s repose.

Thanks, thanks to thee, my worthy friend,
For the lesson thou hast taught!
Thus at the flaming forge of life
Our fortunes must be wrought;
Thus on its sounding anvil shaped
Each burning deed and thought.

I hope that those bless you as they did me. Farewell!

With joy and peace in Christ,
Jay Lauser