You Matter!


As mentioned earlier in this blog, I have a now defunct blog from a year or two ago that I’m deciding what to do with.  Rather than cause issues until I can make that decision, I am going to share this post in part here with a link to the post.  It is a beautiful story and part of a larger, even more beautiful story that I will probably share as we go.

“My friend’s funeral was amazing, as expected. I knew it would be a glorious uplifting, not only of Melissa, but of the God she so faithfully served. During the open mike period, I stood to give a shortened version of a poem I wrote for my mother and then adapted for my friend. Later, her pastor read a testimony she had given in service, and in it she talked about what I had said. Truly a kiss from God.

I thought I might retell that story here. I won’t tell it as well as Melissa would have, but here goes. My mother had been diagnosed with a rare and aggressive uterine cancer. After a surgery and several chemo treatments (short version) she was given six months to live and placed on hospice. I spent as much of that time as I could with Mom, helping her physically and emotionally to prepare for the end. During part of that time, Mom kept worrying about her relationship with God and if she had done enough and if she really mattered.”


Read the rest of the story here:     Please make any comments here instead of at the other blog. 🙂    AND —

*****The poem included in the post has helped several people since its inception.  Feel free to use it, changing the name of the person.  I would like attribution, but as long as you don’t take credit for it, use your own discretion.  Maybe you needed reminded that you matter to God today.  Maybe you know someone who needs this reminder.  That’s what this poem was written for, so pass it on as a legacy to my beautiful mother and my best friend who now rest in the arms of Jesus.    Thanks, Angie

If It Were All Up To Me


Hello!  I have been ill, but I think I might live.  While cleaning today, I found a Parent Newsletter from 2002 from my daughter’s school.  On the front was a poem by one of her classmates.  After sending a copy to her via facebook, I decided I would like to share this with you, my dear readers, as well.  I hope you enjoy it.  As an Idealist, it sounds like Heaven to me 🙂


If It Were All Up To Me

If only life was fun and games,

And never could there be any pain.

No violence of any kind,

Nothing like what happened at Columbine.

No knives, no guns, no dirty look,

No terrorists; the lives they took.

No thieves, no drunks, no robbers or crooks,

No spells that might have come from a book.

And there would be not one disease,

And not one person would ever leave.

No one would commit suicide,

And we would admit if we stole or lied.

There would be enough money to go around

Therefore, no one would sleep on the ground.

There would be no name calling allowed,

Therefore, everyone could stand proud.

Animals would be taken care of,

With food, a friend, and lots of love.

There wouldn’t be any stress,

No crying, no sighing, no being depressed.

And this is how the world would be,

If it were all up to me!!

Courtney B. Eichholtz

Grade 7

We know the world doesn’t look like this because there is sin in the world, but Christians should do their best to not contribute to the sin problem in our world.  And, it never hurts to dreeam, so . . .

What would the world look like if it were up to you?

Two steps forward, one (two or three) back


While I am enjoying my time with my youngest granddaughter, she does not help Grandma with her writing.  For some reason, she thinks Grandma should be holding her and playing with her.  Grandma agrees 😀  After all, who could say no to this face?????    





God made the world with its towering trees,

majestic mountains and restless seas,

then paused and said,

“It needs one more thing–

someone to laugh and dance and sing,

to walk in the woods and gather flowers,

to commune with nature in quiet hours.”


So God made little girls

with laughing eyes and bouncing curls

with joyful hearts and infectious smiles,

enchanging ways and feminine wiles.


And when He’d completed the task He’d begun,

He was pleased and proud of the job He’d done.

For the world when seen through a

little girl’s eyes greatly resembles paradise.





Control was never hers to take,  

‘Twas never up for grabs,

Though she found herself so often

In a sulk and keeping tabs.

“If I could just..” She tried to say,

Grasping to contain the sand

Slipping by grain through her fingers,

Seeking hard the upper hand.

Insane by all definitions

This repeated grab for control,

Invisible witness to fear,

This groaning of heart and soul.

Yet, each time she repeated the cycle,

Grasping that which cannot be held,

Squeezing with all of her might

To do this she feels compelled.

So much effort simply wasted,

Tilting at windmills for control,

That was never hers to have

That was never to be her role.

Like the swimmer afraid of the water,

Panic stricken, she’ll kick and thrash

As the water runs right through her fingers

Her attempts so foolishly brash.

For the water she cannot hold,

Control seeking head to toe.

She knows she’d be oh so much better

If she’d simply relax and let go

The water thinks, “what is she doing?”

As it oozes up over her head.

“If she’d just let go and stop fighting,

If she’d rest in me instead.”

“I would hold and gather her safely

Molecules bonding, together a team

Holding her safely and gently

And her life I would redeem.”

But the thrashing goes on unabated,

Trust a concept she cannot conceive.

So the waters of life take her down,

Because she refused to believe.

by Angela Masters Young © 5/2/2012

What does this poem mean to you?  Tomorrow’s post will explain what brought me to the point of creating this poem, but in the meantime, I hope you will apply it to your own life and share how you internalize it.  Do you struggle for control over things that aren’t yours to control?  Can you tell the difference?  Does the struggle bring you the peace you desire?  Comments and feedback are welcome 🙂

When I say, “I am a Christian”



When I say, “I am a Christian”

I’m not shouting, “I’ve been saved!”

I’m whispering, “I get lost!

That’s why I chose this way”

When I say, “I am a Christian”

I don’t speak with human pride

I’m confessing that I stumble—

Needing God to be my guide

When I say, “I am a Christian”

I’m not trying to be strong

I’m professing that I’m weak

And pray for strength to carry on

When I say, “I am a Christian”

I’m not bragging of success

I’m admitting that I’ve failed

And cannot ever pay the debt

When I say, “I am a Christian”

I don’t think I know it all

I submit to my confusion

Asking humbly to be taught

When I say, “I am a Christian”

I’m not claiming to be perfect

My flaws are all too visible

But God believes I’m worth it

When I say, “I am a Christian”

I still feel the sting of pain

I have my share of heartache,

Which is why I seek His name

When I say, “I am a Christian”

I do not wish to judge

I have no authority…

I only know I’m loved

Used by Permission

Copyright 1988 Carol Wimmer

“And Jesus said unto him, No man, having put his hand to the plough, and looking back, is fit for the kingdom of God.”  Luke 9:62

This poem was sent to me via e-mail, and I loved it.  It did not state the author’s name, however.  A simple search later I found her and requested her permission to share the poem, which she graciously granted.  As an aside, I hate when people take other’s work and send it around like that without giving credit, especially when the author was so easy to find.  I do not necessesarily endorse her website, but I loved this poem and wanted to share it with you.  Have a great, God-kissed day!

He is NOW…



When, sin-stricken, burdened, and weary,

From bondage I longed to be free,

There came to my heart the sweet message:

“My grace is sufficient for thee.”

Though tempted and sadly discouraged,

My soul to this refuge will flee,

And rest in the blessed assurance:

“My grace is sufficient for thee.”

My bark may be tossed by the tempest

That sweeps o’er the turbulent sea—

A rainbow illumines the darkness:

“My grace is sufficient for thee.”

O Lord, I would press on with courage,

Though rugged the pathway may be,

Sustained and upheld by the promise:

“My grace is sufficient for thee.”

Soon, soon will the warfare be over,

My Lord face to face I shall see,

And prove, as I dwell in His presence:

“My grace is sufficient for thee.”

                                                                               —  Samuel Longfellow

Last Sunday’s sermon had a nugget or two for me to walk away with and ponder.  One was the phrase “My grace is sufficient for you.”  As my pastor pointed out, the phrase says IS, not was, not will be, not should be, not could be, IS.  Say it with me:


His grace IS sufficient for me!

There are parts of our lives where we go along our merry way, sufficient unto ourselves for the needs of the day (or so we think).  And then life hits.  A loved one dies, a job is lost, health is lost, or some of the many, many other things that can hit us in the solar plexis and make us wonder how we’re going to make it through.

It is then that this reminder sticks in our head, and even more importantly, in our heart.  It abides there, reminding us that:


We cannot go through this in our own sufficiency.

We DO not go through this in our own sufficiency.


He offers us His sufficiency.

 His sufficiency IS all that we need.



MY grace IS!

My grace is sufficient,

Just trust me and see!

Don’t look at the waves,

Just lean hard into me.

Whatever the problem

You’re facing this day,

Assume, like the child

Dad will make it okay.

I see all your tears;

They’re not lost on me.

Feel me wipe them away

As you sit on my knee.

Just trust me my child

For I know what’s ahead.

I’ve got it, sweet one

So lay back on your bed.

Dream dreams of peace

Leave it all up to me

My grace is sufficient,

Just trust me and see!

                                        — Angela Masters Young   

                                                         © 2/29/2012



How has His grace been sufficient for you?

Is it a struggle for you to trust in the midst of the storm?


suf·fi·cient — adequate for the purpose; enough: sufficient proof; sufficient protection.


The Maze


Scream pierces

the darkness

As rat hits

One more wall.

He sits dazed

A moment

Then once more

Shakes it off


A new race.

In the dark,

A thick fog,

Darkness clings,

Dripping down,

Covers all.

So which way

To turn now.

Will that wall

Await again

Or will he

Find the prize.

The way out

He can’t see

The way here

The turns are

blind as the


to the rat.

But the man

Is watching

From above,

And He knows

The ending

His purpose

Not thwarted

By the rat’s

Blinded eyes.

His own to


The purpose

Of the maze;

Mine is but

Trust and learn

His great plan.

In the stillness . . .


In the stillness…

“Be still. Cease striving.” He said to me.

“Stop churning the waters, when I’ve set you free.

Your attempts at control make no sense when I!m here.

Why struggle and fight, why flounder in fear?

Just calmly lay back and rest in my arms.

Where my hands hold you firmly, and my love for you warms.

Let it go. Turn it over. Surrender all to me.

Learn to be still, and in me you’ll be free.

Your control’s an illusion that oft’ gets in the way,

When I’m trying to carry you safe through your day.

Just as a babe lays with trust in your arms,

As you tenderly nurture so’s to raise no alarms,

I will hold you, protect you, just lean hard into me.

For I promise, my child, your trust sets you free.


Angela Masters Young c 2/2012 all rights reserved

Striving, Resisting, fussing, fighting, whining, struggling, et cetera, are all futile attempts at control.  It is like telling a plan to grow itself.  It simply does what it is created to do, and it becomes a plant.  Look at the butterfly.  Is there struggle?  Yes, there is struggle as it makes its way out of the cocoon, but this is not a struggle for control.  This struggle allows the butterfly to become all he was meant to be.  Without the struggle he would not be able to fly.  Yes, there is struggle in our lives.  There is pain and loss and so many other things.  However, the struggles that we make in trying to stop these things from happening, trying to stop the feelings, or trying to control the uncontrollable just wear us out.

When I find myself not being still/striving/fighting, I take a moment to relax and turn it over.  Easier said than done, but making a habit of this makes a huge difference in so many things.  When we step out of God’s way, He can show us who He is and what He can do.  Prepare to be amazed!


Do you strive against God?  Against things you cannot control?  Against feelings you don’t like?   How do you deal with it?  How does that work for you?  What are the consequences? 

What are you trying to control?  How has that worked for you?  Have you had a time when God showed Himself to you in the midst of a trial?  Feel free to share.  

Last Words


Last words


Spoken as she breathed her last,

Her words would always haunt me.

As the death rattle gripped her,

“Thank God, at last I’m free.”


Words spoken in the heat of ire,

‘Ere he walked beyond the door.

“I hate you!” flung from anger.

Now he’s gone to hear no more


Last words, yes we may never know,

When words spoke will be our last.

So make them soft and well thought out.

For our time goes by so fast.


Last words entombed forever there,

In our minds for joy or regret;

For these words can be a heritage,

Or these words can be a debt.


Copyright 2/7/2010 Angela Masters Young


This poem was created in response to a Poetry Challenge by ClownRhymes on his(?) blog.  There is still time to join in if you wish.

This challenge, different to each person entering a poem, started the cogs moving.


Last Words as a Heritage

When we talk about last words, we often think of words spoken by a dying person to someone at his or her bedside.   We listen carefully to these last words, spoken by one we love.  We know we will hold on to them as long as we hold on to the memory of all this person means to us.  It is the cap on the heritage of a life.   Not all of us will have the opportunity to speak, or hear, the last words of our loved ones.  We never know when the words we speak will be our last, the last ones we leave with the hearer in this lifetime.

Last Words as a Horror

In the second stanza of the poem, a person screams words he or she cannot recall.  These turn out to be last words because the other person is gone (death in this case) and can no longer hear the words of regret pouring out of the screamer’s heart.  We never know when will be the last time we see someone, what will be the last words spoken.  This should urge us to always make sure the words we leave someone with will not leave us with a heart full of regret.


Do you keep in mind that your words may be “last words” to someone or for someone?  

What other kinds of last words do you think we can have? 

What do you want your last words to be?

As life has taught me this lesson the hard way, I want to always say, “I love you!” because they may be the last words that person hears or that person hears from me.

%d bloggers like this: