Category Archives: Exalting Jesus Christ

I Am Nothing Without Jesus by Debbie Harris

22 Saturday Aug 2026

Posted by in Christ-centered poetry, Christian Poetry, Exalting Jesus Christ, Holy Bible, Inspirational, Royally Redeemed, Thanksgiving, Triumphant

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Dear Reader,

These lines were written from a quiet place of wonder — a simple heart overflowing with the beauty and nearness of Jesus. May they gently remind you, as they remind me, that every good and perfect gift flows from Him alone.

With love,

the poet

I am nothing without Jesus—

an empty cup of purest gold,

waiting until His love comes pouring,

overflowing, warm and manifold.

Without His smile the morning pales,

without His voice the song grows thin;

yet one soft word from His kind heart

turns every dusk to golden dawn within.

I am the branch the living Vine now holds,

leafed in emerald, kissed by summer rain;

His life runs sweet through every vein

and makes the barren places bloom again.

I am the child held close and safe

beneath His everlasting wing;

He walks beside me step by step,

with open arms where endless joys take wing.

I am the heart now soaring free,

beloved, radiant, fully known;

He robes me in His brightest grace

and sings His victory as my own.

So take my fears, my restless plans,

my striving that could never win;

I lay them down with happy hands—

for only in Him does life begin.

I am nothing without Jesus…

and everything because of Him.

**To God be the glory only and always.**

Oh The Unsearchable Riches Of Christ That None Can Trace by Debbie Harris

22 Saturday Aug 2026

Posted by in Christian Poetry, Exalting Jesus Christ, Holy Bible, Inspirational, Royally Redeemed

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Dear Reader,

These lines were written in quiet meditation upon the unsearchable riches of Christ, drawn from the apostle’s words in Ephesians and the sweet, heart-stirring reflections of Charles Spurgeon. May they turn your heart upward, deepen your wonder at the Saviour’s boundless grace, and leave you hungering to know Him more. Read them slowly, and let the Spirit apply their truth. Amen.

May the unsearchable riches of Christ be ever more precious to every heart that reads these lines.

— The Poet

Job 5:9 – Which doeth great things and unsearchable; marvellous things without number.

Job 9:10 – Which doeth great things past finding out; yea, and wonders without number.

Romans 11:33 – Oh, the depth of the riches both of the wisdom and knowledge of God! how unsearchable are his judgments, and his ways past finding out!

Psalm 145:3 – Great is the Lord, and greatly to be praised; and his greatness is unsearchable.

Isaiah 40:28 – Hast thou not known? hast thou not heard, that the everlasting God, the Lord, the Creator of the ends of the earth, fainteth not, neither is weary? there is no searching of his understanding.

Beyond arithmetic’s frail and fading count,

Beyond the measuring rod of reason’s mount,

Beyond imagination’s farthest dream,

Beyond the brightest ray of eloquence’s gleam—

Lie treasures deeper than the seeking mind,

Unsearchable, in Christ alone enshrined.

My Master stands more vast than highest thought,

Though thought to heaven’s utmost summit wrought;

More swift to pardon than the faltering soul

Is swift to stumble toward the darkling goal;

More mighty still to cleanse, to loose, to free

Than sin can bind or shadow over me.

He waits more eager, open-handed, near

Than I am slow to kneel and make appear

My hidden hunger, whispered want, and need.

O never crown Him with a brittle reed

Or silver pale—He claims the living gold

That burns with glories yet untold.

He spreads for me the living emerald green

Where quiet waters run in silver sheen;

His shepherd-pipe pours forth such melodies

As hush the heart like evening’s breathing seas.

No love that earth has known, nor heaven shows,

Can match the fathomless depth His mercy knows.

To know Him, and in Him forever abide—

This is the life the long, long ages hide,

The marrow of the everlasting feast,

The wine well-refined, the sacred vintage pressed.

He gives as kings to kings their gifts impart,

With open hand and large, unstinting heart.

Two heavens His lavish, royal grace prepares:

One here below, where love itself declares

Its quiet joy in serving day by day;

One there above, where every shadow stays

Forever banished in the purest light

Of His unveiled, beloved, glorious sight.

Along the pilgrim road He builds my wall

Of living rock, and answers every call

With bread that never fails, with waters sure;

Yet there—O there—the purified, the pure

Shall hear the triumph’s everlasting song,

The feast of those who waited, true and long.

These riches are the earth’s most sacred tune,

The harpers’ anthem under sun and moon,

The stars that hymn Him through the night and day.

Lord, teach us more of Jesus’ radiant way,

That we, with tongues of fire and living grace,

May tell His boundless wealth from place to place.

The Presence of God Is a Royal Symphony by Debbie Harris

19 Wednesday Aug 2026

Posted by in Celebratory, Christ-centered poetry, Christian Poetry, Exalting Jesus Christ, Holy Bible, Inspirational, Jesus Christ, King of Kings, Praise, Royally Redeemed, Thanksgiving, The Light Of The World

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Dear Reader,

From the Poet—

These lines were born in quiet hours when the soul, thirsty and still, first heard the distant strains of a music not of this world. I have tried, with imperfect human words, to capture something of that royal symphony—the life-giving presence of God that does not merely visit, but resurrects; that does not merely comfort, but creates anew. May these verses serve as an open door rather than a finished chamber. Step through them gently. Listen not only with the ear, but with the heart. For the true symphony is not confined to ink and rhyme; it plays wherever His presence is welcomed, and it never ceases to give life. If even one note awakens in you a deeper hunger for that living Presence, then these pages have fulfilled their quiet purpose.

With reverence,


The Poet

In courts of light where death itself must flee,
A royal symphony begins to play;
The life-giving presence of the King Most Free
Awakens dust and turns the night to day.

Soft strings of mercy breathe upon the soul,
Like morning mist that kisses barren ground;
Each gentle note restores what time has stole,
And lifeless hearts leap up with living sound.

The brass of power proclaims a quickening word—
Dry bones arise, the withered bloom again;
While flutes of grace, like living waters heard,
Pour endless streams through every desert plain.

Celestial choirs swell in radiant throng,
Their harmonies a river pure and wide;
The presence of the Lord, so vast, so strong,
Floods every vein with life that will abide.

The harp of healing plucks the wounded deep,
Where sorrow’s thorns once choked the tender vine;
Its golden chords make broken spirits leap,
And every scar is bathed in light divine.

The drums of glory roll across the earth,
Awaking forests, seas, and silent stone;
Creation hears the music of new birth
And answers back in voices not its own.

The organ of eternity now speaks—
Vast pipes of wonder thundering above;
It lifts the lowly, strengthens all the weak,
And fills the void with everlasting love.

No measure ends, no final cadence falls;
The symphony of God forever streams.
His life-giving presence through the ages calls,
And every soul that listens lives and dreams.

O come, and lean into this royal song—
Let every breath be tuned to heaven’s fire;
For in His presence life is ever strong,
And death itself becomes a silenced lyre.

To God be the glory, always and only.

Prayers Too Small by Debbie Harris

19 Wednesday Aug 2026

Posted by in Christian Poetry, Exalting Jesus Christ, Holy Bible, Inspirational, Praise, Prayer

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A Note from the Poet

Dear Reader,

These two poems were born from the same place: the quiet, overwhelming discovery that our God is not only big enough, but willing enough, to meet us in the exact places of our need.

The first poem simply tells what happened—money that appeared where there was none, a stranger’s voice quoting Psalm 23 until a mother’s storm grew still, hospitality and kindness that asked for nothing in return, strength and calm that were never mine to claim. It is a record of miraculous provision, offered as a testimony that the same God still walks hospital corridors and long roads of worry.

The second poem is the breath that followed. After tasting such goodness, a question rose in me that I could not ignore: Perhaps my prayers have been too small. It is less a statement of achievement and more a humble invitation—to myself and to you—to enlarge our asking in the light of a God who has already proven He multiplies the little and fills the empty places.

I offer both poems together, not as polished theology, but as lived wonder. May they remind you that provision is real, that peace can arrive through the most unexpected voices, and that the God who has already given so much is still inviting us to pray larger than our fears.

With gratitude for the journey,

and hope that you, too, will taste the wideness of His hand,

—The Poet

I have tasted the wideness of Your hand:

money lying quiet between the thin leaves of a Book,

hospitality that asked for nothing and gave everything,

kindness so tender it broke open dry eyes,

an angel’s voice speaking Psalm twenty-three

until the storm inside a mother’s heart fell silent.

Strength arrived that was never mine to claim.

Calm settled deeper than breath.

And now the thought rises, soft and sharp:

Perhaps my prayers have been too small.

After provision rose where nothing lived,

after empty pockets and empty rooms were filled,

after peace that passes understanding rested on us—

how can I still ask for crumbs

when the table of heaven has already been set?

You are the God who multiplies the little,

who opens closed doors with a single word,

who walks hospital corridors and long southern roads,

who turns distress into quiet

and lack into more than enough.

So enlarge my asking, Lord.

Let me pray past the edges of my fear,

past the borders of what I can imagine,

past the limits of yesterday’s need.

Your goodness has already proven

that nothing is too hard,

nothing is too late,

nothing is beyond the reach of Your providential love.

Teach me to pray large—

not because I am bold,

but because You are bigger

than every small prayer

I once thought was enough.

To God be the glory—-always and only!

Miraculous Provision by Debbie Harris

19 Wednesday Aug 2026

Posted by in Christian Poetry, Exalting Jesus Christ, Holy Bible, Inspirational, Love Of Family, Praise, Prayer, Triumphant

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Our God is vast beyond the farthest star,

Almighty, tender, near as breath and bone.

In empty hands He places what we need,

And quiet comes that never was our own.

When fear rose high beside a hospital bed,

And mother’s soul trembled like a leaf in storm,

An unexpected angel spoke the ancient words:

“The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want.”

Psalm twenty-three, remembered by heart,

Poured peace like living water through the room.

Her breathing slowed. The storm inside grew still.

That calm was not hers—it was His alone.

Money appeared where none had been before,

Hidden in the pages of a worn, open Book,

Enough to carry love across the miles

To stand beside her in the hour of need.

Hospitality arrived with open doors,

Kindness from strangers who became true kin,

Gifts no one could repay, yet freely given—

Each one a quiet miracle of grace.

Strength rose when strength had long since fled,

A steadying hand that was not flesh and bone.

The valley of the shadow lost its sting

Because the Shepherd walked the path ahead.

Green pastures opened in the barren place,

Still waters found us when the wells ran dry.

He prepared a table in the presence of fear,

And mercy followed every weary step.

This is no private story bound by time or name.

Wherever need is real and faith looks up,

The same great God still multiplies the loaves,

Still speaks the Psalm that quiets troubled hearts,

Still sends provision wrapped in human hands,

Still gives a peace the world cannot invent.

So let the soul that feels its own smallness rest:

Our God is big. Our God is great. Our God is near.

He leads. He keeps. He restores the fainting soul.

And all the days of our lives, His goodness follows.

To God be the glory——always and only!

In Christ Our All — Exquisite Provision and Victorious Hope by Debbie Harris

19 Wednesday Aug 2026

Posted by in Christ-centered poetry, Christian Poetry, Exalting Jesus Christ, Holy Bible, Praise, Royally Redeemed, salvation

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A Note from the Poet

Dear Reader,

These lines rose like dawn light warming a waiting tongue, born from the radiant declaration of Lamentations 3:24 — that the Lord is our portion. In every season, through every shifting wind and shadowed path, Christ is our everything: the sweet honey that surges through the pulse, the fragrant spice of unshakable hope, the thunderous voice that rolls across the open sky, our exquisite and inexhaustible provision.

May this sonnet pour golden radiance into your lifted eyes, set dancing feet upon paths of living light, and carry the triumphant, majestic joy that such a truth awakens.

With hope that soars,

The Poet

Note on Form

This poem is a Shakespearean sonnet: fourteen lines of iambic pentameter with the classic rhyme scheme ABAB CDCD EFEF GG.

Lamentations 3:24

“The Lord is my portion, saith my soul; therefore will I hope in him.”

In radiant dawn that warms the waiting tongue

And fills the air with sweet and living breath,

The soul announces triumph, freely sung:

The Lord alone is everything—true life past death!

It drinks the sweetness mercy pours like dew

And tastes the joy that sweeps away all pain;

It breathes the spice of hope the victors knew

And hears a voice that rolls like thunder’s reign.

Now dancing feet explore the paths of light;

A golden glow floods every lifted eye;

Warm honey surges through each pulsing beat

While winds of promise perfume the open sky.

So soul and sense rise up in pure delight—

In Christ our all—exquisite, triumphant light!

To God be the glory always and only.

The Breaker Is Come Up Before Them: A Hymn of Finished Victory by Debbie Harris

18 Tuesday Aug 2026

Posted by in Christ-centered poetry, Christian Poetry, Exalting Jesus Christ, Holy Bible, Inspirational, Jesus Christ, King of Kings, Triumphant

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Dear Reader,

From the Poet’s Note

I wrote these lines after sitting with C. H. Spurgeon’s meditation on Micah 2:13—“The breaker is come up before them.” His words stirred something deep: the quiet courage that comes when we remember Christ has already walked the road ahead of us, broken every barrier, and left the enemy defeated. This poem is not an attempt to improve upon Spurgeon, only to echo his trumpet call in a different key. May it steady your steps if the way feels dark, and remind you that the hardest fighting has already been done by Another.

With hope,
The Poet

To God be the glory—always and only.

Micah 2:13
The breaker is come up before them: they have broken up, and have passed through the gate, and are gone out by it: and their king shall pass before them, and the LORD on the head of them.

Colossians 2:14-15
Blotting out the handwriting of ordinances that was against us, which was contrary to us, and took it out of the way, nailing it to his cross; And having spoiled principalities and powers, he made a shew of them openly, triumphing over them in it.1 Corinthians 15:54-57
So when this corruptible shall have put on incorruption, and this mortal shall have put on immortality, then shall be brought to pass the saying that is written, Death is swallowed up in victory. O death, where is thy sting? O grave, where is thy victory? The sting of death is sin; and the strength of sin is the law. But thanks be to God, which giveth us the victory through our Lord Jesus Christ.

Hebrews 2:14-15
Forasmuch then as the children are partakers of flesh and blood, he also himself likewise took part of the same; that through death he might destroy him that had the power of death, that is, the devil; And deliver them who through fear of death were all their lifetime subject to bondage.

Psalm 91:13
Thou shalt tread upon the lion and adder: the young lion and the dragon shalt thou trample under feet.

Isaiah 43:2
When thou passest through the waters, I will be with thee; and through the rivers, they shall not overflow thee: when thou walkest through the fire, thou shalt not be burned; neither shall the flame kindle upon thee.

Romans 8:37
Nay, in all these things we are more than conquerors through him that loved us.


The Breaker has gone up before,
Through gate and gloom and iron door;
He marched the road we tremble on,
And every foe is overthrown.

Sin’s heavy chain He nailed to wood,
Death’s sting He swallowed in His blood;
Hell’s yawning gulf He barred with might—
No child of His shall taste that night.

The lions roar, but teeth are gone;
The serpents strike, their fangs withdrawn;
The rivers rage, yet bridges stand;
The flames may leap—we walk unscathed,
Clad in the garment He has made.

The sword was forged, the spear was keen,
Yet both lie blunted, cold, unseen;
The war is won before we fight,
The darkness yields before the Light.

So faint-heart, lift your weary head,
The path is cleared, the vict’ry said;
March on, divide the richest spoil—
Your Captain triumphed, end of toil.

Proclaim aloud the Breaker’s name,
Who broke the powers of death and shame;
Sweet name that fits Him, strong and true—
He broke the way, and leads us through.

Lord, Is There Still a Path for America? by Debbie Harris

18 Tuesday Aug 2026

Posted by in Christ-centered poetry, Christian Poetry, Exalting Jesus Christ, Holy Bible, Inspirational, Jesus Christ, King of Kings

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A Note from the Poet

Dear Reader,

This poem was written with a heavy heart and a hopeful spirit for the land we still call home. In an age when corruption seems to run deep, and the foundations tremble, these lines are offered as both a cry and a call: that America would turn, repent, and return to the one true God. May these words stir something eternal within you.

With prayer and longing,
The Poet

To God be the glory—always and only.

Psalm 33:12
Blessed is the nation whose God is the LORD; and the people whom he hath chosen for his own inheritance.2 Chronicles 7:14
If my people, which are called by my name, shall humble themselves, and pray, and seek my face, and turn from their wicked ways; then will I hear from heaven, and will forgive their sin, and will heal their land.

Psalm 11:3
If the foundations be destroyed, what can the righteous do?

Proverbs 14:34
Righteousness exalteth a nation: but sin is a reproach to any people.

Jeremiah 18:7-8
At what instant I shall speak concerning a nation, and concerning a kingdom, to pluck up, and to pull down, and to destroy it; If that nation, against whom I have pronounced, turn from their evil, I will repent of the evil that I thought to do unto them.

Hosea 14:1
O Israel, return unto the LORD thy God; for thou hast fallen by thine iniquity.

Psalm 85:6
Wilt thou not revive us again: that thy people may rejoice in thee?

Isaiah 55:7
Let the wicked forsake his way, and the unrighteous man his thoughts: and let him return unto the LORD, and he will have mercy upon him; and to our God, for he will abundantly pardon.

Corruption sinks its roots through every vein
Of this once-hallowed land we still call home;
Its shadow stretches far across the plain,
While justice falters and the truth is sold for gain.
In midnight’s hush we lift a trembling plea:
“Lord, is there still a path for America?”

Yes—there is.
Repent, America.
Turn from the glittering idols raised on high,
From silver thrones and souls that gold has bought;
Return unto the One, the only God Most High,
Whose mercy waits where prodigal hearts are sought.

The foundations are destroyed—what can the righteous do?
The temple’s pillars lean, the stones begin to crack,
Yet still the Voice that spoke when worlds began
Resounds through tempest, moral night, and lack:
“Come home, My people—there remains a way for all.”
Cast down the pride that sealed the hardened heart;
Confess the wounds where darkness claimed its part.

Repent, America—bow low and true;
Seek first the Kingdom that remakes the whole.
Not by the sword, nor wealth, nor arm of might,
But by the broken spirit washed and made pure light.
The God who once poured blessing from above
Still holds forgiveness, still extends His love.

Rise, then, from ashes, America—arise;
Lift eyes from dust toward the ancient skies.
Return unto the Father who has never left,
Whose covenant endures when all else is bereft.

Though corruption runs deep, His mercy runs deeper still;
Repent—and the way stands open by His will.
He is the everlasting King on high,
Full of mercy, love, and truth that never die;
And if judgment must fall upon the land,
Repent, America—His open arms still extend.

America, America,
May God again shed His grace on thee;
Restore what we have lost through pride,
And set this nation free—
If we will turn, repent, and bow the knee.

Seared Hearts and Sleeping Souls: The Quiet Tragedy of Our Desensitization by Debbie Harris

18 Tuesday Aug 2026

Posted by in Christ-centered poetry, Exalting Jesus Christ, Holy Bible, Jesus Christ, King of Kings, Luke warm, Spiritual Warfare, Taking A Stand Against Evil, The curse of being luke warm

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Dear Reader,

I wrote these lines not as one who claims any moral superiority, but as one who, by God’s sheer and undeserved grace, has been kept from the full weight of that slow dulling of the soul the poem describes. I have not felt the same progressive numbness that has settled over so much of our culture—yet I know it is only grace that has preserved me, not any strength of my own. The same heart that beats in me is capable of the same hardness; apart from the continual mercy of God, I too would drift. Biblical theology is clear on this danger. From the beginning, sin is not merely a mistake; it is a turning away from the God who is life itself:

For all have sinned, and come short of the glory of God.
— Romans 3:23 (KJV)

The apostle Paul warns of those whose consciences are seared:

“Speaking lies in hypocrisy; having their conscience seared with a hot iron.”
— 1 Timothy 4:2 (KJV)

and of minds that become darkened:

“Having the understanding darkened, being alienated from the life of God through the ignorance that is in them, because of the blindness of their heart: Who being past feeling have given themselves over unto lasciviousness, to work all uncleanness with greediness.”
— Ephesians 4:18–19 (KJV)

Isaiah cried out against a people who reversed moral truth:

“Woe unto them that call evil good, and good evil; that put darkness for light, and light for darkness; that put bitter for sweet, and sweet for bitter!”
— Isaiah 5:20 (KJV)

Jesus Himself wept over Jerusalem:

And when he was come near, he beheld the city, and wept over it, Saying, If thou hadst known, even thou, at least in this thy day, the things which belong unto thy peace! but now they are hid from thine eyes. For the days shall come upon thee, that thine enemies shall cast a trench about thee, and compass thee round, and keep thee in on every side, And shall lay thee even with the ground, and thy children within thee; and they shall not leave in thee one stone upon another; because thou knewest not the time of thy visitation.
— Luke 19:41–44 (KJV)

The danger is real and eternal:

For the wages of sin is death; but the gift of God is eternal life through Jesus Christ our Lord.
— Romans 6:23 (KJV)

Yet the same Scriptures that expose our peril also hold out mercy. God takes no pleasure in the death of the wicked:

Have I any pleasure at all that the wicked should die? saith the Lord GOD: and not that he should return from his ways, and live?
— Ezekiel 18:23 (KJV)

Christ came not to condemn the world:

For God sent not his Son into the world to condemn the world; but that the world through him might be saved.
— John 3:17 (KJV)

The poem is therefore not a final word of despair, but a quiet alarm—an invitation to awaken, to name what is broken, and to return to the One who still calls, “Come to Me.”If these lines disturb you, let them. If they awaken even a small hunger for holiness, give thanks. The Spirit still convicts, still softens, still restores. And if, like me, you have been spared thus far, then join me in trembling gratitude—knowing that every day of spiritual sensitivity is pure gift.

To God be the glory—always and only.

The Poet

In the glare of endless screens,
sin slips soft as silk,
no longer a wound that bleeds,
but a background hum we barely hear.

We scroll past the sacred
and call the hollow holy,
trade the weight of conscience
for the lightness of “whatever feels right.”
The old names—lust, pride, greed, envy—
have been rebranded into lifestyle,
identity, self-care,
until the soul forgets it ever had a pulse.

How tragic:
hearts once made for fire
now settle for the flicker of a notification.
Children learn the language of appetite
before they learn the language of awe.
Mercy is mocked as weakness,
repentance as shame,
and the quiet voice that once said “Stop”
is drowned by a chorus of “You do you.”

How dangerous for souls:
for what we no longer call sin
still devours in the dark.
It hollows the eyes,
frays the bonds between us,
and leaves us wandering
in a fog of our own making—
convinced we are free
while the chains grow tighter
around the part of us that was meant to fly.

We have become a culture
that laughs at the cliff edge,
calls the fall “progress,”
and wonders why so many
feel the wind but never the landing.

Wake, if you can still hear.
The tragedy is not only that we sin—
but that we have forgotten
how to weep for it.

The Sacred Ache of Watching Beloved Saints Enter Their Eternal Home by Debbie Harris

18 Tuesday Aug 2026

Posted by in Christ-centered poetry, Exalting Jesus Christ, Grief, Bereavement, Loss, Holy Bible, Inspirational, Jesus Christ, King of Kings, Love Of Family

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A Note from the Poet

Dear Reader,

I count it a privilege to have grown up on the campus of Bob Jones University, surrounded by brilliant, Christ-centered, humble, talented, and faithful professors. How blessed was I that Jesus let me be born into all of this—their lives were living testimonies, quietly radiant with devotion, marked by sacrifice, and poured out for the glory of the One they served. In recent years, many of these dear saints have gone home to be with their Lord and Savior. Truthfully, I cry over every one. Yet even as tears fall, I rest in the certain knowledge that their sacrifices and eternal rewards far exceed anything we can imagine this side of glory. Through decades of faithful service, they have touched thousands upon thousands of students, leaving an indelible imprint of Christ upon generation after generation. This poem is my humble tribute—to them, and to so many others who have crossed into their eternal home.

With deep gratitude, love, and admiration
for their Christ-centered service—
a lasting example of faith poured out for His glory,

To God be the glory—always and only.


The Poet

Psalm 116:15
Precious in the sight of the Lord is the death of his saints.

2 Corinthians 5:8
We are confident, I say, and willing rather to be absent from the body, and to be present with the Lord.

Philippians 1:21
For to me to live is Christ, and to die is gain.

John 14:2
In my Father’s house are many mansions: if it were not so, I would have told you. I go to prepare a place for you.

John 14:3
And if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come again, and receive you unto myself; that where I am, there ye may be also.

Revelation 14:13
And I heard a voice from heaven saying unto me, Write, Blessed are the dead which die in the Lord from henceforth: Yea, saith the Spirit, that they may rest from their labours; and their works do follow them.2 Timothy 4:7
I have fought a good fight, I have finished my course, I have kept the faith:2 Timothy 4:8
Henceforth there is laid up for me a crown of righteousness, which the Lord, the righteous judge, shall give me at that day: and not to me only, but unto all them also that love his appearing.

Matthew 25:21
His lord said unto him, Well done, thou good and faithful servant: thou hast been faithful over a few things, I will make thee ruler over many things: enter thou into the joy of thy lord.

Hebrews 12:1
Wherefore seeing we also are compassed about with so great a cloud of witnesses, let us lay aside every weight, and the sin which doth so easily beset us, and let us run with patience the race that is set before us,

Hebrews 12:2
Looking unto Jesus the author and finisher of our faith; who for the joy that was set before him endured the cross, despising the shame, and is set down at the right hand of the throne of God.

How my heart aches
when word arrives like evening’s hush
that a saint I have loved
has crossed the final threshold
into the everlasting home prepared for them.

I and many others were granted
the rare privilege of watching
their Christ-centered gifts unfold—
talents refined in the furnace of devotion,
a brilliance that never sought its own glory
but steadily reflected the radiance of the Crucified.

At their side I learned
the quiet art of a faith made flesh,
and still I aspire, with imperfect resolve,
to carry even a faint echo of that light
into the ordinary hours they no longer share.

Yet the ache abides:
a sacred hollow where their presence once dwelt,
a hushed space once filled with their voice of praise.
With grateful hands I release them
into the scarred embrace of the Savior
who first claimed their heart,
while mine continues onward—
marked forever by the honor of having seen,
having learned,
and still striving to mirror, however faintly,
the Christ they so faithfully revealed.