Tag Archives: truth

And Giveth Again…

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My precious Grandma Vicki….

I am proud (in the puff-up-your-chest, walk-a-little-taller, American sense of the word) of some aspects of my heritage. For instance, my maternal great-grandmother’s name was Mamie (rhymes with Jamie) and  played the steel guitar. Yep. Ballin’.

And my paternal grandmother, Vicki Jo, is just as awesome. She lives in a double-wide trailer decorated from floor to ceiling in the most beautiful, south-western fashion. Dried chilis hanging from the front porch. Painted cow skulls hanging in the dining room. Woven Indian blankets on the couch. She taught me how to make cherry pie from scratch, raised six children almost exclusively by herself and every fall the pioneer woman gets herself a doe-tag (hunting license) and shoots a doe elk from her kitchen window.

That being said, the thing that reminds me the most of my Grandma Vicki is southern gospel music. And I’m talking about those oooooold hymns played in that bouncy way, like “There’s Power in the Blood” and the ever great “Victory in Jesus”. Grandma Vicki plays the piano so well; her passion and talent in music has infused itself deeply in our blood, bearing fruit over generations.

Why am I talking about my grandparents? Well, a good number of years ago I decided to explore through some hymnals and I came across this goldmine. I’ve never heard it sung live; as a matter of fact, only recently had I ever heard someone else even sing it. I am always so encouraged by the words, deep life-giving truth. And in honor of my beloved Grandma (who still records Gaither music specials on VHS tape), I’m including both the lyrics and a video for you to be encouraged as well.

Fear not that thy need shall exceed His provision,
Our God ever yearns His resources to share;
Lean hard on the arm everlasting, availing;
The Father both thee and thy load will upbear.

My most favorite hymn. I can hear these words over and over and over again. The faithfulness of our Never-Ending-Generous God is so amazing that I cannot help but cry tears of grateful worship.

He giveth more grace as our burdens grow greater,
He sendeth more strength as our labors increase;
To added afflictions He addeth His mercy,
To multiplied trials He multiplies peace.

            His love has no limits, His grace has no measure,
            His power no boundary known unto men;
            For out of His infinite riches in Jesus
            He giveth, and giveth, and giveth again.

When we have exhausted our store of endurance,
When our strength has failed ere the day is half done,
When we reach the end of our hoarded resources
Our Father’s full giving is only begun.

Fear not that thy need shall exceed His provision,
Our God ever yearns His resources to share;
Lean hard on the arm everlasting, availing;
The Father both thee and thy load will upbear.

Annie Johnson Flint (1866-1932)

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Grace is…

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I’m staying at a friend’s house tonight, sleeping in a room currently unoccupied, and I found this unassuming page pinned to the normal occupant’s bulletin board. I don’t know if she is the original author, for no one is credited. I wanted to post this here to record this incredible piece of work, so I can continue to ponder the depth of truth found in its imagery.

Grace is an inflated raft that can submerge to the floor of a sea to save you.

Grace is the silver thread that stiches up the shreds of mangled souls.

Grace is the eye that finds us where it refuses, there, to leave us.

Grace calls the waitress to the table and sits her down to wash her feet.

Grace sees underneath the manhole on a street of self-destruction

Grace is the air to draw a breath in the belly of a whale.

Grace is the courage to stand in the shamed wake of a frightful falling.

Grace is the only fire hot enough to burn down a living hell.

Grace waits with healing in His wings when we’re too mad to pray.

Grace is the gravity that pulls us from depravity.

Grace races us to the Throne when we make haste to repent and always outruns us.

Grace treats us like we already are what we fear we’ll never become.

Grace is the doorpost dripping red when the angel of death grips the knob.

Grace is the stamp that says Ransomed on a life that screams Ruined.

Grace sets a table before me in the presence of my enemy, even when my enemy is me.

Grace is the cloak that covers the naked and the palm that drops the rock.

Grace is divine power burgeoning in the absence of all strength.

Grace proves God true and every self-made man a liar for the sake of his own soul.

Grace is the power to do what we cannot do for the Name of Christ to go where is has not been.

Grace is a room of a thousand mirrors, all reflecting the face of Christ.

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(added later: I was informed that Beth Moore is the author of this incredible poem. Go Beth!)