The Sands of Christmas

I got this from my local 912 group:

I had no Christmas spirit when I breathed a weary sigh,

and looked across the table where the bills were piled too high.
The laundry wasn't finished and the car I had to fix,

My stocks were down another point, the Bengals lost by six.

And so with only minutes till my son got home from school,

I gave up on the drudgery and grabbed a wooden stool.
The burdens that I carried were about all I could take,

and so I flipped the TV on to catch a little break.

I came upon a desert scene in shades of tan and rust,

No snowflakes hung upon the wind, just clouds of swirling dust.
And where the reindeer should have stood before a laden sleigh,

Eight hummers ran a column right behind an M1A.

A group of boys walked past the tank, not one was past his teens,

Their eyes were hard as polished flint, their faces drawn and lean.
They walked the street in armor with their rifles shouldered tight,
their dearest wish for Christmas, just to have a silent night.

Other soldiers gathered, hunkered down against the wind,

To share a scrap of mail and dreams of going home again.
There wasn't much at all to put their lonely hearts at ease,

They had no Christmas turkey, just a pack of MRE's.

They didn't have a garland or a stocking I could see,

They didn't need an ornament-- they lacked a Christmas Tree.
They didn't have a present even though it was tradition,

the only boxes I could see were labeled "ammunition".

I felt a little tug and found my son now by my side,

He asked me what it was I feared, and why it was I cried.
I swept him up into my arms and held him oh so near

and kissed him on the forehead as I whispered in his ear.

There's nothing wrong, my little son, for safe we sleep tonight,

our heroes stand on foreign land to give us all the right,

to worry about the things in life that really mean nothing at all,

instead of wondering each day if we will be the next to fall.

He looked at me as children do and said it's always right,

to thank the ones who help us and perhaps that we should write.
And so we pushed aside the bills and sat to draft a note,

to thank the many far from home, and this is what we wrote,

God bless you all and keep you safe, and speed your way back home.
Remember that we love you so, and that you're not alone.
The gift you give, you share with all, a present every day,

You give the gift of liberty and that we can't repay.

www.cincinnati912project.com

Planned Parenthood Must Go

Hear Their Cry

The following is a poem, which Dr. Alveda King recited at the Values Voters Summit in Washington D.C. a few weeks ago. It captures the same civil rights spirit of her late uncle, Martin L. King, Jr. Baby-killing is worse than slavery. Abortion is a moral issue, it is not a political issue.

Planned Parenthood Must Go

Oh, oh, oh, the voices of life have been misunderstood
We’ve been lied to and cheated by Planned Parenthood.

Yes, the people are hungry and gas is too high,
But in the name of all justice, do the young have to die?

We fight for our freedom, for our civil rights,
Yet our babies are dying, who turned out their lights?

Justice and freedom for one and for all,
A person is a person no matter how small.

How could Sanger deceive us and lead us to kill?
Oh, the millions of babies, yes she kills us with skill.

Claims of healthy abortions is part of their game
But no matter their rhetoric, the results are the same

Though Sanger has died, her killing legacy lives on
50 million and counting, oh friends something is wrong

Planned Parenthood promises are laced with deceit
How they lure you with hope and then deal you defeat

Let’s help kill black babies and make them seem good
Yet the message of life remains misunderstood

How can murdering heal you? It brings only pain
Then Planned Parenthood leaves you alone, sad, and in chains

Friends the victory and freedom will come when you see
The baby has rights to life, love and liberty

Yes, the victory and freedom will come when you know
If our babies will live, then Planned Parenthood must go

Target black babies, tell lies, yes they do
Planned Parenthood is racist, oh God, it is true

Pray for God’s mercy, His love and His grace,
That the blood of His Son will heal the human race

Hear Their Cry

They say, "The good is the enemy of the best." . K.C. captures that concept in the poem he wrote below. It is an indictment of pastors and preachers everywhere. It is an indictment of pew-sitters as well. Thanks, K.C., for allowing us to share your poem with the world, Christian and non-Christian.

(DON’T) LET THE BABIES DIE

by Karl C. Priest


Oh, pastor or preacher, please hear the pre-born babies cry.
Once a year you spend one hour with a sign along the street.
But, the Chain of Life won’t make your obligation complete.
For other days you close your heart and let the babies die!

You’re very busy building your church and trying to multiply.
The pews are padded and there's a plush carpeted floor.
It makes no difference the name hanging over your church door.
Your heart is on attendance and offering--while the babies die!

You have conferences with power-points about the sweet by-and-by.
There are trips, concerts, plays, and lots of covered dish dinners.
You have a hi-tech sound system and sports teams of winners.
People are pleased at all of the church fun--while the babies die!

Oh, pastor or preacher, please loosen your nice bright neck-tie.
Get down on your knees and pray for God’s Mercy and Grace.
To warn mothers-to-be and close every evil killing place.
Please, open your heart and don’t let the babies die!

Do It Anyway

Two Highly Principled Servants of God

Mother Teresa hung a copy of this poem on the wall of Shishu Bhavan, the Children's orphanage, in Calcutta she founded in Calcutta. Its source is unknown.

She dedicated her life to caring for the poor of Calcutta, India. Her exceptional dedication to the poor was widely recognized, including the reception of the Nobel Peace Prize in 1979 . . . Mother Teresa died September 5, 1997.

DO IT ANYWAY

Written By Mother Teresa

People are often unreasonable, illogical,

and self-centered;

forgive them anyway.

If you are kind, people may accuse you

of selfish, ulterior motives;

be kind anyway.

If you are successful, you will win some

false friends and some true enemies;

succeed anyway.

If you are honest and frank,

people may cheat you;

be honest and frank anyway.

What you spend years building,

someone could destroy overnight;

build anyway.

If you find serenity and happiness,

they may be jealous;

be happy anyway.

The good you do today,

people will often forget tomorrow;

do good anyway.

Give the world the best you have,

and it may never be enough;

give the world the best you've got anyway.

You see, in the final analysis,

it is between you and God;
It was never between you and them anyway.

President Ronald Reagan and Mother Teresa each embodied and lived out much of this poem. He was optimistic and persevered despite great obstacles. She was totally dedicated to helping the poor despite or in spite of apparently insurmountable obstacles.

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It is interesting to note that there are many references to this poem when you google it. Some, I have noticed, especially academic websites conveniently drop the last God-honoring verse. I would expect nothing less. Theophobia and Christophobia is rampant . . . Radical leftists are adamant in their absolute intolerance of God and Jesus Christ. Apparently they would be loath to offend their father, Satan, god of this world. We need more Reagans and Teresas today.