Silence is deeper than quiet.
Quiet is muffled, subdued,
Lingeringly present,
Unobtrusive, well mannered.
In silence there is no sound.
The lack of sound
Is rude;
Obtrusive, the center of attention.
I seek my God in quiet,
And find my Lord in silence.

Sad sighs, hidden
By the sound of laughter,
Too often
Streak across a pale and cloudless sky.
And sorrow, alone but strong,
Rejects all outstretched hands
And turns for cover
From a rain that never comes.
Butterflies, with complete disdain
For broken hearts and broken souls
Were never angels,
Or messengers of hope…
Only apparitions
That flee from dreams
And tumble from their place,
As insecure as any other
Misplaced hope.

To be an heir of prophecy
Is to avoid the quiet
And seek the stillness
Of silence.
That eye of peace that
Rests between the business of now,
And the anxiousness of next.
To float amidst this swirling gale
Demands unearthly trust,
To know that prophecies
Are only footprints
From the God Who went before.

Don’t rest on footprints
That only serve to point
And reassure.
Ride the wings of trust
And rise above the maelstrom
That bites and claws
To have your life.

Precious is the garland
You’ve woven for the LORD.

So many years I've prayed for you,
Amidst the brass and chrome.
I've stumbled, staggered, solitaire;
But you have brought me home.

A tapestry of tangled errs
Till God heard my appeal.
A longing for a happy home
That you have made so real.

Now I have my little clan
Who circle me with love.
Know that I am well aware
I'm blessed by Him above.

Little voices in the air
Fill each and every room.
And smiles that only children have,
Like candles sweetly bloom.

My little son, I wish you too,
Could take part in this joy.
For here's a home with love for all,
Enough for one more boy.

We've Christmas Cards upon the walls
And garland hanging low.
A tree adorned with lights and bulbs,
And outside wind and snow.
We've stockings hanging on the door
And gifts beneath our tree.
If only you were here with us
How lucky we would be!