Somewhere there lies a twelve-year-old child|
In a hospital far away whose lost both it's arms;
We, who are the fortunate ones,
Complain because we want more.
We worry when we don't have enough to spend;
We worry when we lose a companion or a friend;
We worry by choice;
What about the little children
Who've lost their lives due to abuse
Who have no voice?
A devoted father and husband
Makes his way home on his hands and knees
Because evil men have gone on a shooting spree?
He almost made it: he was almost there;
Now, his wife and children will lay him to rest,
And only God knows the pain they bare.
Somewhere, there's a widow,
Or a widower who lives alone;
No one comes to call:
No one picks up the phone to say,
“I wanted you to know you are loved today.”
It's not enough to utter those
Precious heart warming words,
But your voice will always be heard.
We complain when we are too hot,
Or because we are too cold;
We complain because we're too young,
Or because we are too old;
We complain because we are in debt;
We worry when we don't have that fancy car,
That fancy boat, or that fast flying jet;
Somewhere there are providers who've
Lost their jobs because
The economy has tapered off;
Who's going to buy their groceries?
Who's going to help with these burdens?
Who's going to help them carry their cross?
We bask in the warmth of love given by our God,
Yet we complain, as we wander about aimlessly,
Backbiting, lying, stealing, cursing
In His Son's name.
Squelching His Spirit when
Upon His word we trod.
Yes, somewhere there's a rainbow;
Yes, God will always make a way,
And somewhere we will find answers
To the prayers we pray.
“Father, grant that I can make this
A better world in which we live today.”
I am blessed.
© Janice Bumbalough Marler
© 2018 dolores39
(All rights reserved)