The sacrifices of God are a broken spirit: a broken and a contrite heart, O God, thou wilt not despise.

Lover and friend hast thou put far from me, and mine acquaintance into darkness.

For there is hope for a tree – if it’s cut down, it sprouts again, and grows tender, new branches. Though its roots have grown old in the earth, and it’s stump decays, it may sprout and bud again at the touch of water, like a new seedling.

My life is but a weaving, between my God and me.
I do not choose the colors. He worketh steadily.
Oftimes He weaveth sorrow, and I in foolish pride,
Forget he sees the upper, and I, the underside.
Not till the loom is silent and the shuttles cease to fly,
Will God unroll the canvas and explain the reason why.
The dark threads are as needful in the skillful Weaver’s hand,
As the threads of gold and silver in the pattern He has planned.

Since we live by the Spirit, let us walk in step with the Spirit.

“I have had to forgive myself too. …Often we can’t forget, but we can always forgive. It can be the start of a new way to remember, It can change the memories of past failures into hope for the future and free us up to laugh again.” p. 115, Chapter 27, ‘Tricks My Dog Taught Me About Life, Love and God’, Phil Callaway.

“But there is no bargain, for here what is is what must be.”

May your sky be filled with rainbows;
May no dark clouds hide the view.
May your joys in life be many and uncertainties be few.
May you gladly greet the new day prepared for what will be,
And may you always thank the Lord for your Irish family tree.

Therefore encourage one another and build each other up…

Hatred stirs old quarrels, but love overlooks insults.