Her Old Bible

This poetry explains it’s self fairly well, yet I will cover some of the history of it and how such Spirit kisses come at our hour of need. I started collecting bibles which led to my being a book collector now. The richest of all Golden Leaves left behind are the unveiled paths of the sincere searching heart, as this was what I had found in analyzing this lady’s journey in the book she held so close all her life. In the days of old, when the Scribes would make copies of the bible, they would count every word as a proof of completion, nothing left out. I found little pencil dots above each word and their number for each chapter, as there was a record of such from the Publisher in the back of her bible. Though simple as it may seem, she wanted to know that her version of the bible was complete. As I looked upon all the scriptures she had marked, I realized that the version of His Word she was looking for was already written upon her heart . . . and she knew it not. She too was a poetess. So I dedicate this to her and all those like her who see not their own beauty, especially when they are seeking the word of healing for the souls of those they love . . .

In the days of my beginning
First Light when I did believe
I was thirsty for His water
And her bible appeared to me

It was old and torn and weathered
Yet so beautiful to me
A token for all my labors
From the many volumes among the sea

Then home, it lay on the mantle
For busy days I often find
Till a day of clouds . . . the ran fell
And I rested for peace of mind

Night came with a fire to warm me
I watched its enchanting blaze
Giving thanks that we had shelter
To that old book my eyes did gaze

Then I opened it to the middle
Where the book of psalms is found
And before I could read one line
Crumbled pieces fell to the ground

What was but a dried up flower
She had placed many years before
And I felt a welcome feeling
Like the greeting of a friendly door

So I turned back to the beginning
Found her name when she was young
With the joy of an Angel's singing
A song, I had not heard sung

In her youth she loved to doodle
There was a flower with long stem
And a cross with rays of sun light
That she had drawn for Him

Then my fingers lead me quickly
To the last page that I could see
Where a withered hand had written
A poem that cut through me

Though it flowed with so much sorrow
It was truth that rang of hope
To daily strengthen of her soul
For her plight that see must cope

Another log upon the fire
And I sat down for more to read
I knew she was of the richest soil
When Father scattered all the seed

I felt she had gone to Heaven
This gold leaf she left behind
Then I bowed my head in silence
For such a glorious gift to find

She had underlined all she sought
In words of comfort, words of praise
From the Lord, much Gold she bought
It was for others she often prayed

Then I dozed off somewhere near midnight
I fell fast into a dream
That brought me close to Heaven
Up high . . . to a mountain stream

As the water rippled so gently
I looked close that I may see
And there, with my own reflection
I saw a face that smiled with me

Then the log twisted in the fire
And with it’s crackling, I awoke
Then the sparks, for me, had meaning
As they rose up with the smoke

I held it closely to my heart
As she had done, I’m sure, before
I wondered all that I would learn
How much more there was in store

I know she was of the simple
Of a kind the Lord is pleased
She spent many countless hours
That by man she was not deceived

Understand what I deem "simple"
Back to the days of ancient time
Each page had her tiny markings
She counted every word, each line

She found scripture of forgiveness
Of compassion's enduring feat
As one raised up from His table
Spiritual milk and blessed meat

In this Light we seek, and we find
With a knock, His door opens wide
His children’s sins, they will not bind
In His hands, our hearts confide

I know it’s beyond explaining
Still I write that you understand
By the water and blood of our Savior
We shall conquer the breadth of the land

I search every heart He allows
Though resting from whence she came
Before the strong, the sleek, the proud
She will rise before kings to reign

Amen
Michael

This was her Golden Leaf she left behind

Are Ye Able?

Able to suffer without complaining
To be misunderstood without explaining
Able to endure without a breaking
To be forsaken with forsaking
Able to give without receiving
To be ignored without grieving
Able to ask without commanding
To love despite misunderstanding
Able to turn to the Lord for guarding
Able to wait for His own rewarding?

It may not look like she had left much behind, but try living out these few simple words in your life, and you also will find that she was His Lamp filled with the oil of perseverance.
~ New Info ~
I have just recently discovered that this lady did not write the poem "Are Ye Able". It originated from the heart of a Scottish woman a long time ago and found it's way into my home, from the land of the bold and the brave. Never ending is the voice and undeniable love as such as these.