Nothing Should Be "Beneath Us"

Show Me Your Library

By Their Books You Will Know Them...

This is a re-issue of something I posted on Pilgrim Scribblings several years ago.  By the way...I LOVE BOOKS!

The pilgrim scribbler...David

The following post appeared on Dr. Albert Mohler's blog and my heart resonated with the author as I read the article...with much joy! Here's someone who feels exactly the way I do about books! Read through and see what you think and then...please COMMENT!

Jay Parini, a poet and professor of English at Middlebury College, has written an elegant essay for The Chronicle of Higher Education, noting his penchant for looking at personal libraries of friends and acquaintances.

In "Other People's Books",Parini writes:

It's not only the physical aspects of books that attract me, of course. In fact, I rarely buy first or elegant editions, however much I like to glance at them; good reading copies, in hardback or a decent paperback, are just fine. But seeing some of the editions in my living room reminds me of that wonderful house in Surrey, which stirred my imagination as a young man and was part of the reason I became a writer myself.

What interests me about other people's books is the nature of their collection. A personal library is an X-ray of the owner's soul. It offers keys to a particular temperament, an intellectual disposition, a way of being in the world. Even how the books are arranged on the shelves deserves notice, even reflection. There is probably no such thing as complete chaos in such arrangements.

Parini, author of biographies on William Faulkner and John Steinbeck, writes of visiting libraries in the homes of authors such as Graham Greene and Anthony Powell.

Of Powell's library, he writes: He lived deep in the English countryside, in Somerset, in an old stone manor on many green acres. We had tea in his sitting room, which had floor-to-ceiling shelves on every wall. There were first editions by his good friend Evelyn Waugh, and countless volumes culled from his decades as a reviewer. "I can't give a book up, if it's a book that meant something to me," he said. "I always imagine I'll go back to it one day. I rarely do, but the intention is there, and I get a warm feeling among my books." I wished I could have spent days wandering in that house, as he had books in nearly every room.

Book lovers know exactly what Powell meant. We do get a warm feeling among our books. Furthermore, true bibliophiles understand the problem in the Powell house -- the books spread themselves to every room.

Finally, he notes:

Other people's books draw my attention, of course. They excite curiosity about their owners and the worlds they inhabit. But it's finally my own books that matter, as they tell me about where I've been, and where I hope to go.

When truly read, a book becomes a part of us. That is why we are afraid to part with even the physicality of it. The book becomes an aid to memory and a deposit of thought and reflection. Its very materiality testifies that we once held it in our hands as we passed the pages before our eyes.

Parini observes that libraries are mirrors into our minds and souls. The books we collect, display, and read tell the story about us.

This may be especially true of Christian ministers. Books are a staple of our lives and ministries. When the Apostle Paul instructed Timothy to bring the books and the parchments, he was writing with the kind of urgency any preacher understands.

To a great extent, our personal libraries betray our true identities and interests. A minister's library, taken as a whole, will likely reveal a portrait of theological conviction and vision. Whose works have front place on the shelves, Martyn Lloyd-Jones or John Shelby Spong? Charles Spurgeon or Harry Emerson Fosdick? Karl Barth or Carl Henry? John MacArthur or Joel Osteen?

How serious a Bible scholar is this preacher? The books will likely tell. Are the books all old or all new? If so, the reader is probably too contemporary or too antiquarian in focus. Are the books read? If so, the marginalia of an eager and intelligent mind adds value to the book. It becomes more a part of us.

Is this person a Christian intellectual, feeding the mind and soul by reading? For too many pastors, the personal library announces, "I stopped reading when I graduated from seminary."

When I think of my closest friends, I realize that I am most at home with them in their libraries, and they are most at home with me in mine. Why? Because the books invite and represent the kind of conversation and sharing of heart, soul, and mind that drew us together in the first place. 
By their books we shall know them. And by our books we shall be known.

The pilgrim's scribbling concerning this...

Presently I'm reading several biographies at the same time. I've picked up other biographies and autobiographies in the last week and perused them for some information. Based on the following books...WHO AM I?

A biography of D. Martyn Lloyd-Jones written by a grandson

In Retrospect by F. F. Bruce

The Journals of Anthony Norris Groves

A biography of William Carey that I picked up in a used book store in the Milwaukee airport

The Journals of Jim Elliot by his widow Elisabeth Elliot

A biography of John Nelson Darby

Go ahead...tell me...who am I?

Note: I've posted the picture at the top of this article before. It's just one small corner of my library at my office in Peterborough. I have about 1,000 books there and about 2,000 plus in my library at home.

Another note: Don't even think about throwing out any old, unwanted Christian books. I'll pay the postage if you send them my way. Carol might kill me but then someone else could inherit my library.

True Christianity...the True Gospel

The Way by John Oxenham

I came across this poem from a 19th century English poet, William Dunkerley, writing under the pseudonym John Oxenham. 

The poem was included in perhaps the Christian book that most impacted my life as a young man...By Searching...written by Isobel Kuhn, a missionary to China.

Eloquently written, the poem’s message transcends the ages. We have choices in life. Take the high way or the right path; take the low way or the wrong path; or somewhere in-between. The choice is ours to make!  

THE WAY...

To every man there openeth
A Way, and Ways, and a Way,
And the High Soul climbs the High Way,
And the Low Soul gropes the Low,
And in between, on the misty flats,
To rest drift to and fro.
But to every man there openeth
A High Way, and a Low.
And every man decideth
The way his soul shall go.

John Oxenham

God Will Not Forget You

No matter how rough the road might be...God

will NOT forget you.  That's His promise!

Russell King - A Celebration of a Life Well Lived

Recently I had the pleasure of participating in the funeral/celebration of life of a lifelong friend, Mr. Russell King.  I had known Russell for over 50 years and he was a godly, generous man.  My brother Jon is married to Russell's daughter Elaine.

The Celebration of Life was captured on video and I'm sharing it here.

Thank you, Russell King, for the impact you made on many lives around the world.

"Precious in the sight of the Lord is the death of His saints."

Verse # 3 - A Personal Testimony

Many years ago during a particularly difficult time, the Lord gave me a poem/song that lifted the burden. Several years later He gave me the 2nd verse. 

Tonight, while waiting for our pizza, the 3rd verse came to my mind.  I'm sharing it below. It's my personal testimony regarding God's amazing care and provision. 

I've quoted this poem countless times since then. God knows our needs before we even ask. The answer may already be on the way. Trust the Provider. He has never failed! 

Our Great High Priest above, 
In righteousness arrayed; 
Presents our every need to God 
Before we've even prayed. 

Jehovah is His name, 
Our needs He will provide; 
His Word declares it to be true 
And He has never lied. 

Verse # 3...many years later...

Now after all these years
Grey hair adorns my head;
Yet from a child I can attest
I've never begged for bread.  (Psalm 37:25)

- David W. Fisher 

Safer Than a Known Way

So very true!  We can trust our God with every detail of our lives...

A Great Evening of Music for a Great Cause

YOU'RE INVITED...

We're looking forward to a great evening of music in Del Crary Park on August 26th from 7:00 - 9:00 p.m.

The concert will feature Pete Gauthier and his band, Washboard Hank and the Wringers and the McDonnel Street Gospel Quartet!

The concert is to benefit FRIENDS Peterborough, the humanitarian agency where I've been the frontline staff worker since October 2011.

Come on out and enjoy the evening!

See you there!

David

It's Worth the Wait

"Wait on the Lord...and again I say, wait."

It's always worth the wait but our impatience gets in the way.

God's timing is always best!

How to Discourage a Grieving Friend

An excellent article by Vaneetha Renall Risner from www.desiringgod.org:

What’s the best way to discourage a grieving friend? I can tell you what I’ve done.

I’ve asked numerous questions, trying to fully assess the situation. I’ve mentioned others who are going through similar trials, extolling their bravery and faithfulness. I’ve freely doled out advice, even mini-sermons, to my friends about how their painful situations will turn out for the best.

I wasn’t trying to be discouraging. I was trying to help. Surprisingly, my advice didn’t help at all. My words just added to their pain.

I know, because I’ve been on the receiving end of that kind of “help” as well.

Let Them Process Differently

That “help” has cut deeply. It has left me feeling judged and misunderstood in the midst of my struggle. It has made my burden heavier. It has made me feel lonely and isolated, wondering who was safe to talk to.

A friend once confided that she admired how I grieved. Apparently, my grief was more God-honoring than the sorrow of those who seemed defined by their pain. At first, I was flattered by the favorable comparison, but later her words troubled me. I didn’t want to be compared to others in my grief. There isn’t one “right” way to grieve. I wanted the freedom to be honest about future pain without feeling judged.

When we analyze grieving people, we add to their burden. Everyone processes loss differently, whether they are grieving the loss of a loved one, loss of health, lost relationships, or even lost dreams. Offering suggestions can feel like judgment, and careless words can cut deeply. We can become like Job’s comforters, who went on and on, speaking about things they neither knew nor understood.

Pat Answers for Deep Pain

Job said, as expanded in the New Living Translation, “I have heard all this before. What miserable comforters you are! Won’t you ever stop blowing hot air? What makes you keep on talking? I could say the same things if you were in my place. I could spout off criticism and shake my head at you. But if it were me, I would encourage you. I would try to take away your grief” (Job 16:2–5 NLT).

Job wanted his comforters to stop talking. Stop blowing hot air. Stop criticizing and judging. He longed for them to listen. To encourage him. To think about what he needed in his grief.

I’ve been like Job’s friends more often than I care to remember. And I’ve been in Job’s place too. I’ve been a miserable comforter, and I’ve received miserable comfort. Here is what I’ve learned from both sides of the fence: When I’m in agony, I don’t want trite comments. When someone tells me to count my blessings, that my plight could be worse, that there are starving orphans in Africa who have a much harder situation, I want to scream. Of course, these things are all true. But at that moment, they feel irrelevant.

Pat answers sound sermonizing. Saying that all things work together for good is absolutely true — and unspeakably precious — but it can feel hollow at a funeral.

How to Magnify Pain

Those of us who have faced our own losses can be the worst offenders. It’s easy to forget the intensity and all-encompassing nature of grief after the years have passed. Grief can be like a steamroller, flattening everything in its wake. We are often at its mercy.

Some people feel the sharp edge of grief for years, while others bounce back quickly without much struggle. In many people’s eyes, those with the fewest tears are the ones with the strongest faith. Cheerful Christians who face trials with smiles on their faces, who never seem discouraged, are held up as the models for others.

True, I may not be healing as fast as they are. Perhaps they are trusting God more than I am. Maybe their situations are harder than mine. Perhaps I am living in the past. But when friends minimize my struggle, it magnifies my pain. I feel judged. Misunderstood. Their dismissal makes me want to explain my miseries in excruciating detail, so others can validate my hardship.

Works in Progress

The fact is that I don’t always handle my trials well. I’m broken. A work in progress. I don’t like having things unravel. I can take some suggestions, but I’m fragile. I need encouragement to balance out any advice. And mostly I need grace. It’s hard to present a perfect, put-together self when life is crushing me.

Yet I know that my friends with advice have good intentions. They don’t want me to be overwhelmed, held captive to my struggles. They don’t want me to be defined by my trials. They want me to find joy in the present.

Those are worthy goals, but no one should presume that our input will lessen people’s pain. Transforming our suffering is ultimately the work of the Holy Spirit and not the product of good advice. Our main work is to pray.

What’s Most Comforting?

So how should we treat our grieving friends? What does being a friend to someone in need even look like? What should we say to our neighbors who are struggling?

From my experience, the most comforting thing we can do in the moment is to sit with them and mainly listen. Job’s friends said a lot of damaging things, but when they first saw him, “they sat with him on the ground seven days and seven nights, and no one spoke a word to him, for they saw that his suffering was very great” (Job 2:13).

Having someone listen as I pour out my heart has helped me more than any words ever have. I just want someone to be there. To weep with me. To pray for me. To not expect me to have perfect theology. To let me rant. What an amazing gift it is not to feel judged by every desperate word I utter. We need to remember there is mystery in suffering. We don’t understand the ways of God. Job’s friends thought they understood, so they wrongly blamed Job for his pain. There are no easy answers in grief.

Lay Down Your Expectations

It’s easy to discourage a struggling friend. Trust me, I know. But I’m challenging you, me, all of us, to put down our expectations of our suffering friends. Let’s stop trying to “fix” them. Don’t bludgeon them with theology. Trust that God is working in them, and be patient while they process.

Instead, let’s sit with our friends. Cry with them. Support them as they grieve. They need grace to heal. Remember, we don’t need to be a savior for our grieving friends. They already have One — and so do we.

Vaneetha Rendall Risner is a freelance writer and a regular contributor to Desiring God. She blogs at danceintherain.com, although she doesn’t like rain and has no sense of rhythm. Vaneetha is married to Joel and has two daughters, Katie and Kristi. She and Joel live in Raleigh, North Carolina. Vaneetha is the author of the book The Scars That Have Shaped Me: How God Meets Us in Suffering.

If Only We Could Remember This

Lately the lyrics to two songs have been reverberating in my mind a lot.  The theme is the same.  The trials we face here on our pilgrim journey will pale when we get "home" and see the One who sought us and saved us...Jesus.  If only we could remember the truths found in these lines...when we struggle...here below.  It WILL be worth it all.  Don't forget it!

Two lines for Eliza E. Hewitt's hymn When We All Get To Heaven state:

Just one glimpse of Him in glory

Will the toils of life repay.

Here are the lyrics to that great hymn, requested by well-known hockey coach Roger Neilson at his funeral in 2003:

1. Sing the wondrous love of Jesus,
   Sing His mercy and His grace;
   In the mansions bright and blessed
   He’ll prepare for us a place.
   • Refrain:
   • When we all get to heaven,
     What a day of rejoicing that will be!
     When we all see Jesus,
     We’ll sing and shout the victory!
2. While we walk the pilgrim pathway,
   Clouds will overspread the sky;
   But when trav’ling days are over,
   Not a shadow, not a sigh.
3. Let us then be true and faithful,
   Trusting, serving every day;
   Just one glimpse of Him in glory
   Will the toils of life repay.
4. Onward to the prize before us!
   Soon His beauty we’ll behold;
   Soon the pearly gates will open;
   We shall tread the streets of gold.
5. The other song that's been coming to mind is It Will Be Worth It All by Esther Kerr Rusthoi.
6. The words that I've been thinking of so much are:
7. One glimpse of His dear face all sorrow will erase,
   So bravely run the race till we see Christ.
8. Here are the lyrics to the entire song:

Oft times the day seems long, our trials hard to bear,

We're tempted to complain, to murmur and despair;

But Christ will soon appear to catch His Bride away,

All tears forever over in God's eternal day.

Refrain:

It will be worth it all when we see Jesus,

Life's trials will seem so small when we see Christ;

One glimpse of His dear face all sorrow will erase,

So bravely run the race till we see Christ.

Sometimes the sky looks dark with not a ray of light,

We're tossed and driven on , no human help in sight;

But there is one in heav'n who knows our deepest care,

Let Jesus solve your problem - just go to Him in pray'r.

Life's day will soon be o'er, all storms forever past,

We'll cross the great divide, to glory, safe at last;

We'll share the joys of heav'n - a harp, a home, a crown,

The tempter will be banished, we'll lay our burden down.

Through Cards, We Can Care More

I can attest to the value of sending cards...especially when friends and loved ones are hurting or grieving. My 30 plus years of sports chaplaincy was launched by a card and letter writing ministry...Epistle Sports Ministries.  1,000's of cards were sent to encourage athletes.

The following article is a clarion call for us to return to an oft-forgotten and much-neglected art. Send a card today! 

Through Cards, We Can Care More by Kate Carraway

TORONTO STAR - Tuesday, June 26th, 2018

When my husband Simon’s mother died, we received two deliveries almost right away: a basket tumbling with fruit from friends of mine and a flower planter from my parents that was so heavy I couldn’t lift it by myself, and laughed instantly, thinking of my mom on the phone with a florist, telling them to go bigger, no, bigger than that. We also got two cards, one from my cousin, who my husband had at that point never met, and one from my sister.

Unlike online messages, cards don’t demand a reply from someone who is already preoccupied with grief, Kate Carraway writes.

There was a suited cache of friends, from my husband’s rec hockey team and from his office, who drove six hours on a weekday to the funeral, to huddle together and trade practised collegialities in low voices. My husband gave the eulogy. “Nailed it,” he said after.

There was also a fast and steady flow of condolence emails, texts and Facebook messages. Two cards, though. What I noticed about that is how much I noticed. That so few people had mailed him a card made me sad and privately hysterical. Did his friends have our new address, 10 months after Simon had moved out of the apartment he had lived in for 10 years? No. Does my generation observe condolence cards (corny and hideous, tucked into some recess of a bookstore, and then the stamps and mailboxes, a long problem of esthetics and logistics) as a defining mourning ritual? Definitely not. Did I care? No.

Some of what I was feeling was the natural overreaching that comes with loving someone in pain, unprotectable. Simon didn’t need any cards, didn’t notice, didn’t care. His friends materializing at the funeral meant more to him, by far, and more to me. Still, two cards. Our mailbox became the scene of some quiet but shocking crime, evidence in absentia of this new world and its tolerance of what’s the easiest, most obvious, most convenient thing to do, and the subsequent and growing resistance to making an effort when making little to none is just what’s done.

The most useful thing to offer when someone is grieving, or celebrating, is acknowledgment: “I see it,” or really, “I see you.” When I was growing up, paper snowdrifts of cards marked birthdays and holidays, thank-yous for dinner parties and gifts, condolences for losses, all of them propped up on the mantel, for a while, totems of friendship. The various pings, instead, get lost in swampy inboxes, where daily life is barely interrupted by the “I’m so sorry’s” or whatever. Online messages ricochet, inviting a reply, even implicitly, and shifting the onus, sometimes callously, to whoever is already preoccupied with whatever’s just happened. A card, though, lands in real space and time, pulling the event and the attendant feelings into a higher and less familiar realm, where things are more important than just “Send.” A card mediates real and online life in a way that nothing much else does.

During my two-card hissing fury, I catalogued my friends’ recent triumphs and losses, and realized — like “Ooooooh” — that I hadn’t sent a card, or sent flowers or dropped something off, maybe half the time. I had thought my texts and emails and DMs had been enough, sometimes — and I drop an email or a text easily, always — because when you’re the one just outside of the happiness or sadness, it can feel like enough, like you’ve done something real. I also sometimes feel, when I send holiday and thank-you cards, like I’m overdoing it, because, I tell myself, if they cared about it, they’d do it too, and they don’t.

Except, I don’t think that’s it. I think it’s too embarrassing to admit to wanting gestures such as cards, even presents, as if they were ever about the thing itself instead of the intention, the “I see you.” I want people to care more, and to show their care more. I want my better angels to remind me, especially, that the sympathy and empathy I feel when someone else is in pain is not the end of my obligation.

There are so many times when we don’t know how to care for each other — I have failed so hard, and so often, to even perceive the pain that other people have been in — that it seems like we should jump on opportunities to care like barely metaphorical emotional grenades. Of all the ways to be let down, and to let people down, this is one we can fix.

Eternal Appraisals

Have you ever taken something that might have an unknown value to be appraised by a professional?  That old coin?  A piece of jewellry?  A classic book?  

Where do we go for an evaluation to determine what really counts in life?  What measuring stick do we use?

Without question, John Wesley's quote is worth considering:

Hardships

Have you being going through a rough period lately?  Hardships abound?  You don't know what God is doing?  Wondering when and where it will all end?  We've all been there at times.  Sometimes too often.  Maybe the sovereign, eternal God is preparing us for something significant.  A destiny we never imagined.  Trust Him!  He never fails!  Never failed yet...and never will!

"No discipline seems pleasant at the time, but painful. Later on, however, it produces a harvest of righteousness and peace for those who have been trained by it." - Hebrews 12:11

Precious Memories

This article was written for the Peterborough Examiner many years ago.  I like to recall those "good ol' days".

My fond memories of my hometown, Peterborough, Ontario and my special neighborhood in East City: 

Over the years, when asked where I'm from, I've proudly stated that Peterborough, Ontario is my hometown. 

Yes, Peterborough is a special place for the Fisher family. Grandma and Grandpa Fisher immigrated from England in 1923 just after dad was born. Grandpa had come to Canada in 1907 but returned to England, married and began a family. Ashburnham, or East City, became "home" for the Fishers and continues to be so for some of us. 

My mother, Jean Fisher, still resides in the same home the family built in the mid 40's and Uncle Bill and Aunt Shirley have lived in their home on St. Lukes Street for as long as I can remember. My earliest memories center around our family, my grandparents, aunts,uncles and cousins. Fisher Gauge was founded by Uncle Bill 60 years ago and "the shop" as we fondly called it was right across the road from our grandparent's home on Sophia Street. The entire family lived within a block of grandma's house. I never dreamed that my cousin Howard, who lived next door, would become such a talented and hilarious musician, Washboard Hank. 

All of us, including Aunt Eileen, Uncle Bill, Uncle Frank and dad attended King George School, a short walk up the hill. Dad and I even had the same kindergarten teacher. Much of our summer vacation was spent at grandpa's "lot", a piece of land on Lansdowne Street West where Holy Cross School now sits. We enjoyed rides in the trailer, pulled by grandpa's Massey Harris Pony tractor. We had picnics, harvested strawberries, went on hikes and learned to drive the tractor. We'd often spend a hot, summer afternoon at the Lion's Pool on Burnham Street but usually we'd cool off in the Trent Canal, only a few steps from our home. That same canal became a great hockey rink every winter.
 
Our allowance could be quickly spent on goodies at the Liftlock Candy Shop or an ice cream cone at Irwin's Drug Store (now Sullivans). Once a month we'd visit Jackson's Barber Shop until Cliff Jackson retired and Marty Martignetti set up shop. Many a summer evening was spent at East City Bowl watching the Lakefield Charltons play Georgie's Refreshments in a great softball rivalry. Our neighbourhood was the best! The kids did everything together. We had four natural boundaries, the Marble Works to the west, the Trent Canal on the east, the CPR tracks to the north and Little Lake on the south. Within those borders lived our "gang". The Groombridges, the Jackmans, the Stewarts, the Gooleys, the Joneses, the Shannons, the Wawrykows, the Hollings and, of course, the Fishers. Others would move in for awhile but the "gang" lived there forever it seemed.

Once a week mom hosted a Good News Club where kids would come after school to sing, have Bible quizzes and stories and get a homemade cookie. Many former attendees have expressed thanks to mom for the spiritual foundation laid during those formative years. One of those boys, Don Nicholson, who was one of my best friends, went on to become the minister at Edmison Heights Baptist Church. Our church, McDonnel Street Gospel Hall, was located where the police station now stands. In those days we attended church "twice on Sunday and once in the middle of the week". How I wish I could go back to that old church where I learned so many positive Christian values that would shape my life! We'd venture away from East City to attend hockey games in old (and cold) Civic Arena. As a teenager I attended Petes' games at the Memorial Centre on Thursday nights.

My most embarrassing recollection is the night the community honoured Wayne Connelly, one of the finest juniors ever to play here. Many businesses presented him with special gifts of lasting value. This young fan wrapped up a cheap tie from Kresge's and gave it to him. For seven long years I lived in Toronto but in 1994 we returned "home" to the Peterborough area. We live in Cavan but each morning I drive into Peterborough to grandma's house. We lived in the attic of grandma's house for six months after I was born and now, 59 years later, my office is there. Home again!

Yes, I have many fond memories of Peterborough, a very Special Place! 

Note: This story was entered in a writing contest sponsored by our local paper, The Peterborough Examiner. It did not win first prize but it was published at least. - David W. Fisher

Power vs. Tenderness

Which would you choose?

Power or tenderness?

Happy Soul

Over the years I've been blessed and encouraged by the hymns written by Fanny Crosby, the blind poet and composer.

This poem (in the graphic), penned by her early in her life, has always been so powerful in my own life.

What a contented woman she was!

Oh that I might be able to have that same attitude.

Thank you, Father, for Fanny Crosby!

Not Long or Loud but our Heart's Cry

So true!  THANK YOU, Charles Haddon Spurgeon, for explaining this so profoundly and yet so simply.

God's Remedy for Our Anxiety

My good friend Vince Nauss from Baseball Chapel introduced me to this verse many years ago and I'm so grateful.  God knows our anxious hearts and is ever present to give us His joy and endless compassion.  THANK YOU, Father!  You ALWAYS know what we need!

Oh Lord, You're Beautiful

This morning my good friend Pete Gauthier visited me in my office at FRIENDS Peterborough and we got talking about Keith Green's ministry before his life was tragically taken in a plane crash in 1982.  

Keith's wife, Melody Green, wrote some powerful lyrics that continue to be sung in churches.  There is a Redeemer and Oh Lord, You're Beautiful are two such songs.

A bridge, in bold type below, is often excluded when we sing this song but the lyrics are so powerful.  Rather than seeking a crown or any earthly recognition the only reward we should seek is the opportunity to bring glory to the Lord...our Redeemer.

Oh Lord, You're Beautiful

Oh Lord, you're beautiful,
Your face is all I see,
For when your eyes are on this child,
Your grace abounds to me

I want to take your word and shine it all around
But first help me to just, live it Lord
And when I'm doing well, help me to never seek a crown
For my reward is giving glory to you.

Oh Lord, please light the fire
That once burned bright and clean
Replace the lamp of my first love
That burns with holy fear

I want to take your word and shine it all around
But first help me to just, live it Lord
And when I'm doing well, help me to never seek a crown
For my reward is giving glory to you.

Oh Lord, you're beautiful,
Your face is all I see,
For when your eyes are on this child
Your grace abounds to me

- Melody Green