God of our life,
there are days when the burdens we carry
chafe our shoulders and weigh us down;
when the road seems dreary and endless,
the skies gray and threatening;
when our lives have no music in them,
and our hearts are lonely,
and our souls have lost their courage.
Flood the path with light,
turn our hearts to brave music;
give us the sense of comradeship
with heroes and saints of every age;
and so quicken our spirits
that we may be able to encourage
the souls of all who journey with us
on the road of life, to your hour of glory.

A concerned husband goes to see the family doctor and says, "I think my wife is deaf because she never hears me the first time I say something, in fact, I often have to repeat things over and over again."

"Well," the doctor replies, "go home and tonight and stand about 15 feet from her and say something. If she doesn't reply, move about five feet closer and say it again. Keep doing this so we can get an idea about the severity of her deafness."

Sure enough, the husband goes home and does exactly as instructed. He starts off about 15 feet from his wife in the kitchen and as she is chopping some vegetables, he says, "Honey, what's for dinner?"

He gets no response. He moves about five feet closer and asks again. No reply. He moves five feet closer. Still no reply. He gets fed up and moves right behind her, about an inch away, and asks again, "Honey, what's for dinner?"

She replies, "For the fourth time, vegetable stew!"

The growing season behind us now,
I gaze into the field,
The autumn harvest is at hand,
How many will we yield?

The crop was looking bountiful,
The sun was shining so,
No time to rest and celebrate,
The weeds will surely grow.

The seeds were planted earnestly,
Within the fertile soil,
But much was washed away by rain,
Despite my constant toil.

The insects came and had their way,
Such chaos they did cause,
The crop no longer copious,
And showing many flaws.

Calloused hands and troubled hearts,
Discouraged to the core,
Fleeting time still pressing in,
The enemy at the door.

I know the season marches on,
Though much has gone awry.
The leaves are orange, brown and red,
The end I can't deny.

Yet hope and trust of yesterday,
Rise up from deep within,
Rekindled faith will overcome,
Despair, dismay and sin.

The autumn leaves are falling down,
No longer in a bind,
Your love and grace have rescued me,
We'll save this crop in time.

Sherrie is a believer in Jesus Christ, a freelance writer, a wife and a mother. She resides with her family on the island of Oahu in Hawaii, where she was born and raised. She is also the author of Disciple on a Crowded Bus