Castels in the Air

“What’s that you’re building, son?”
she asked, watching colorful blocks
scattered across the floor,
like dreams yet to be explored.

“My school,” he said, eyes gleaming.
“Really?” she smiled.
“It’s the school for kids no one wants,”
he replied, matter-of-fact.

“And what’s the criteria to get in?”
“They should’ve failed in at least five subjects,”
he said with the gravity of a priest.

She looked at him, brows arched,
completely at a loss
for what might come next.

“Interesting… and then?”
“Then their old school should’ve made them repeat the year.”
“You know they’re already under bad influence”
She paused.
“Unless they’re dyslexic, of course.”

She studied him quietly.
“What are you going to do with these kids?”
He looked up, heart pure.
“Make them champions.”

“Brilliant,” she whispered, clapping
tears peeking from the corners of her eyes.
“That’s the challenge!
Jesus will help us make them champions!”

---

Years later…

Grace sat motionless on the prison bench.
Her face  calm as stone,
but her fingers tightly clasped,
knuckles white with silent prayers.
Her eyes, deep wells of sorrow,
asked the questions that gnawed at her soul.

“Where did I go wrong, Lord?
I brought him up fearing Your name.
Now that he’s grown up,
he’s drifted away  from me, and from You.”

The buzz of the door jolted her.
Her name echoed through the chamber,
and she rose, wiping away the tears
she hadn't known had fallen.

Then he stood before her.
A shadow of the boy she once held,
his face worn, his eyes repentant,
a soul broken open by grace.

She rushed forward, arms wrapping years of pain and prayer into a single embrace.

“Mum,” he whispered,
“I was lost… but He found me.
I’m no longer the same.”
“I know,” she breathed, voice trembling.
“So many prayers have climbed to heaven for you.”

---

As they neared their old neighborhood,
he was fascinated by the new buildings
that had come up.
Until the name on one caught his eye:

“The School for the Comeback?”

He turned to his mother in disbelief.
She smiled.

“You gave the vision.
He gave the means.
Today, our school has given this town
champions in every field.”

Luke 15:24 (NIV)

"For this son of mine was dead and is alive again; he was lost and is found."
So they began to celebrate.

Praise You When It's Dark

In a town torn by war and fear,
Families hid as danger drew near.
Huddled in caves, afraid to roam,
Longing for light, for peace, for home.

Children sighed and missed the day
when joy and laughter led their way.
Natania clung to Grandfather’s side,
"How long must we in darkness hide?"

"You said three days... it's been much more."
She stared in silence at the shelter door.
“Shall we make a wish list?” he softly said.
She nodded, leaning near his bed.

“I want to run beneath the sun,
to laugh, to play, to simply have fun.
I want my bed, a pillow, light
a glass of milk to warm the night.”

He smiled, though weak, and gently spoke,
“When things are dark, we sing we hope.
As it is written,” he softly said,
His voice like comfort beside her bed:

“In the Scriptures Acts 16:22–26
Paul and Silas were beaten and bound
In chains, in prison, behind cold stone
Yet still they praised the Lord alone.

‘And at midnight Paul and Silas prayed,
and sang praises unto God,’ unafraid.
The prisoners listened in the gloom,
as praises filled the prison room.

Then came a quake the prison shook,
the doors flew wide, the chains unhooked!
‘Every one’s bands were loosed,’ it’s said
and all walked free, no fear, no dread.”

“Will God send angels if I sing?”
She asked, her voice a trembling thing.
“He might,” said Grandfather. “If  He saved them,
He'll hear you too just sing again.”

So day by day, though hunger grew,
the little girl sang soft and true.
“Wake up, Grandfather,” she would say,
“Let’s sing so angels find our way.”

“Don’t stop,” he whispered, voice like dust,
“Just sing, and in the Lord we trust.”

Meanwhile, a rescue team pressed on,
through broken ground from dusk till dawn.
A soldier paused, his heart turned still
“I hear a song... so faint, so real.”

They followed hope through dirt and stone,
a child’s voice so soft, alone.
And when they found her, weak but bright,
still singing gently through the night

She smiled and whispered, “Look, they came
the angels knew my voice by name.”

They lifted her and Grandpa slow,
with tears of thanks that soon did flow.
“Give praise to God,” the old man said.
She bowed her heart, then raised her head

And sang once more with all her love,
to her faithful God above.

The Stranger from the Past

Years had passed and then they met again.
He saw a face once dear, now strange and so did she, in equal range.
Their faces blank, no hint of feeling there,
their voices curt, stripped of warmth or care.

Martha turned, she walked away,
her head reeling from that strain that day.
She traced the path she came along,
Her mind  wandered back to youthful days.

She saw again his bright, bright smile,
His teasing eyes that stayed awhile.
We’d chosen paths, had gone our ways,
but still, unease within remains.

"Some friendships fade like morning dew,"
The emptiness in that relationship simply cannot be renewed.

Thank you, God, my friend so true,
who stays when all have walked from view.
Who'll never leave, nor turn away,
but holds me close, both night and day.
You lift me up, you help me stand 
you uphold me with your righteous right hand.    (Isaiah 41:10)

Same God

She walked alone, eyes to the ground,

No smile, no voice, no joyful sound.

A life withdrawn, a soul crushed low,

A spirit lost, with nowhere to go.

She’d breeze through days in pin-drop silence,

Dead to all, yet still existing

Like a shadow quickly swept away,

She lived unseen, day after day.

One fateful slip, a sudden fall,

She lay in pain, no strength to call.

But just nearby, a door swung wide

Mrs Mary came like an angel in disguise.

With steady hands and quiet grace,

She soothed the pain from the girl’s face.

She wrapped her leg and brewed warm tea,

A simple act of empathy.

The silence broke, the tears tumbled down

Years of sorrow finally unbound.

“Oh child,” said Mary, “cry no more,

Christ still stands at every door.

‘Come to me,’ He calls the worn

the burdened, lost, the soul forlorn.

He gives us rest, He makes us whole,

Restores the heart, revives the soul.”               (Math 11:28)

The same God who called forth life once gone,

Who raised up Lazarus with His song,

Who heals, restores, and makes things new

That same God will come through for you.      (John 11:44)

She bowed her head, released her past,

And found true peace and hope at last.

“My life, O Lord, I give to you

Let me be yours in everything I do.”

 

All Things Are Possible to Him Who Believes

"All things are possible—just believe,"

He whispered softly, seeking reprieve.
Bills piled high, the orders few,
Seven mouths to feed, yet nothing new.

Tossing, turning through the night,
Weighed by worry, drained of fight.
Frustration rose, he turned on the light,
"Lord, what should I do?" he cried.
"I've tried it all, I've fought, I've tried."

His weary eyes, with doubt still lined,
Fell on the words he'd read a thousand times—

23 Jesus said unto him, If thou canst believe, all things are possible to him that believeth.  mark 9:23 KJV

The words now echoed, clear to see.

He let his thoughts drift back in time,
Scenes of childhood, sweet, sublime.
Though his parents had been poor,
They never lacked, though they slept on the floor.

Then came a spark—so warm, so true,
A memory bright and clear in view.
"If it worked for Mother, it will work for me too!"
Nine kids she raised, strong and wise,
With bread and cakes, she filled their lives.

Up to the attic, he climbed with care,
Dust in the air, but hope was there.
Through tattered pages, aged yet sound,
His mother’s treasured notes he found.

With love, he glued each recipe tight,
Kissed the book, then worked through the night.
And lo! By dawn, the ovens burned bright,
The bakery doors swung open to the light.

The townspeople lined from far and wide,
Drawn by whispers that spread overnight.
Bread and cakes, warm and sweet,
Sold before they left the heat.

Tears of thanks, a whispered word,
"Thank you, Lord, for prayers heard.
You lit my night, you made me see,
That faith will always carry me."