WHAT IF

What if I never found love

Or anyone who understands?

What if I never found kindness

Anywhere in the land?

What if my body were wracked

With pain day after day?

What if no friends I had

To help me on my way?

What if every seed I sowed

Turned into a worthless weed?

What if no harvest I ever had

From all the planted seeds?

What if my family all left me

And I was alone in this place?

What if I never again saw

A friendly, smiling face?

What if my heart never felt joy

And peace was out of reach?

What if I never again heard

The man of God stand and preach?

What if my eyes never beheld

The blue of the skies?

What if I never saw love

In another person’s eyes?

What if I never heard the voices

Of the choir on the Sabbath day?

What if no one ever knelt at night

And thought of me when they prayed?

I may someday know all these things

But my heart need not be sad,

For the song in my heart

Always makes me feel glad.

Angels sing a song to my soul.

God speaks peace in the darkest night.

His love is forever and ever

And to my path a lasting light.

What if all these things come to me?

I will not feel unloved,

For these things will soon pass

And I will meet my Lord above!

Betty Whitworth, Dec. 2005

<<>>

A RIDDLE FOR THANKSGIVING

What happened when the turkey got into a fight?

(It got the stuffing knocked out of it!)

<<>>

WHEN IS IT LOVE?

Is it love when spoken

In just a word or two?

Is it love when shown

Just a time or two?

So, what is real love?

Is it a constant thing,

Or is it something

Opportunity brings?

Is your love spoken or shown

On days you feel like giving,

Or is it real every day

God lets you go on living?

Do others feel your love

Every day of the year?

Do friends always know

You hold their friendship dear?

Do you hurt when friends hurt?

Do you weep when friends weep?

Do you feel compassion?

Does your love run deep?

Is your love genuine and true?

Will it allow you to care

When the way gets rough?

Will you always be there?

When is it love?

B. L. Whitworth

The Turning Point

He faced Goliath, the giant,

And with one tiny stone

He restored Israel’s honor,

But he didn’t do it alone.

David and his family faced

Turning points along the way.

He made some right choices,

But he made a mistake one day.

He saw a beautiful woman,

And he called her to his side.

Although she was married,

He wanted her for his bride.

So he sent her husband out

Into battle, hoping he would die,

But David could never

Forget his evil, deceitful lie.

Nathan, the prophet, went to David

And told him a story so sad.

It angered David that a rich man

Would take the only lamb a poor man had.

Then Nathan told him the bitter truth

And David bowed his head in prayer.

He asked for God’s mercy

And received it right there!

Because of David’s sin that day

There was a price to pay.

From within his house evil came;

David knew he was to blame.

A son sought to inherit the throne

Before it was the right time.

His heart waxed hard and cold

As lust overpowered his mind.

He chased after David one day

With murder on his mind,

But his hair caught in a tree

And trouble he did find!

David was restored in full fellowship

With the Lord, it’s true,

But he still had to pay the consequences

Of the things he did do.

Betty L. Whitworth

           Things to Leave Behind

                  B. L. Whitworth

          (This was written for someone going through a difficult time with forgiveness.)

        Broken trust is like fragile China,

        It may be repaired but the flaw remains

        Unless the piece is restored by a

        Master craftsman.

        Broken love is like a porcelain doll.

        The pieces may be reassembled,

        But the doll is never the same

        Unless it is restored by a

        Master craftsman.

        A broken heart is like a Robin’s egg.

        It can never be repaired or restored,

        But the memory of it can be healed

        By the Master craftsman.

        We must learn to leave behind

        Those broken things in our lives,

        And it can only be done when

        The Master craftsman touches

        The painful areas and brings healing.

        My prayer for you is divine healing

        Of all the brokeness in your life,

        So you can begin to really live again

        And be free of the burden of carrying

        Those heavy broken pieces.

        As you are able to discard those broken pieces,

        Write each one and place in a little box.

        Never remove anything you place inside,

        But continue to place those pieces in this box.

        Within a few months you will be amazed

        At how much better you feel!

        <<>>

CHRISTMAS SPIRIT

The tree to put up

And gifts to wrap.

All I want is

A little nap!

Pies to bake

And bread to make,

Wish I could tell "time"

To please wait!!!

The Christmas spirit should

Make me calm and serene

Instead of leaving me

Just wanting to scream.

So, I will sit quietly

For a moment or so

And let the Christmas spirit

Soothe my frazzled soul.

Thank You Lord for

The peace You still bring.

Thank You Lord for

EVERYTHING!

Now that I have my

Priorities in line,

This Christmas season

Will be just fine!

B. L. Whitworth

Mr. Self

Now, Mr. Self is usually a jolly soul,

And he usually honest too,

But once in a while he

Sneaks in a lie dressed in "True".

You have to beware of Mr. Self

And the sly things he will do.

Why, if you're not careful,

He'll make life miserable for you!

Mr. Self doesn't have best friends,

So beware of his good deeds.

Oft times he acts like a pal

To fulfill his own selfish needs.

Mr. Self can be your worst enemy

If you allow him to take control.

He'll slowly drain your principles

Until he possesses your very soul!

But do not despair; there is hope

If you'll abandon your Army of Pride

And call out the Troops of Truth

To take up arms and join your side.

Mr. Self cannot survive when faced

With all the deeds he has done,

So fling open your Book of Life

And expose him to the "Son".

The "Son" will surely expose him

And allow you to clearly see

Exactly what he has become

And what he can be.

Mr. Self just needs guidance

And direction from above

In order to live a life

Of purity and love.

THE TONGUE

            {This poem was written to go with a Sunday School lesson

based on James 3.}

It carries quite a punch.

This thing called a tongue.

It can shoot fiery words

From the deadly gossip gun.

Each fiery word spreads

The fire from here to yon,

And before you know it

Much damage has been done.

It carries quite a balm,

This thing called a tongue.

It can shoot words of praise

From the Holy Ghost gun.

Each word is like the wind

Carrying praise from here to yon,

And before you know it

Blessings have begun!

So here you have the two

Sides of the tongue.

Choose the holy,

Praise-filled one

And there won't be room

For fiery words to come.

B. L. Whitworth (9-19-2003)

THIS OLE HOUSE

B. L. Whitworth

Today I went back home

But felt like a stranger there.

I searched for the little girl

With pigtails of sun bleached hair.

She was not to be found

Upstairs or down.

I listened for echoes of laughter

But silence greeted me.

I left the empty house

With only a door key.

Just as loneliness was

About to settle in,

I suddenly realized why

Things weren't as they had been.

This wasn't my real home!

I just lived there for a while.

And then I felt a smile

When Jesus said,

"You're right, my child.

Your home is built

On a street of gold.

It will never be bought

Or sold!"

No wonder I didn't feel at home.

My real home is up there on high,

And I will go there to dwell

When I bid this world goodbye.

Until then I must carry on

And do all I can

To help others reach

That heavenly land.

IT'S YOU, JESUS

B. L. Whitworth

It's not the bright lights

That twinkle in the night.

It's not the presents galore

That I'm most thankful for--

It's you, Jesus!

It's not the good smells

That cause my heart to swell.

It's not the pretty trees

That bring such joy to me--

It's you, Jesus!

It's not the ribbon and bows,

It's not the stars that glow.

It's not the pretty singing

Nor the church bells ringing,

It's you, Jesus!

It's not the snow so white

Nor the moon beams so bright

That make me joyous today

And want to kneel and pray--

It's you, Jesus!

Come and share this day with me.

My special guest you will be

As we celebrate your birthday

In a true Christmas way.

SUPPOSE

B. L. Whitworth

SUPPOSE

God said to visit the sinner

Who lives across the way.

"I'm really sorry, God," I said.

"It's not on my TO DO list today."

SUPPOSE

God said to study His word

And take time to pray.

But I said, "Not right now;

It's not on my TO DO list today.

SUPPOSE

God said to visit the sick lady

Who has bills to pay,

But I said, "Right now, Lord?

It's not on my TO DO list today."

SUPPOSE

    I cried out in my trouble

And asked Him to come right away,

But He said, "Sorry my child, but

It's not on my TO DO list today."

THE NAMES OF CHRIST

B. L. Whitworth

The Prince of Peace he wants to be,

When we face storms so bleak.

We can always rest assured
That perfect peace he can speak.

The Good Shepherd, he keeps watch

Over his sheep night and day.

We can always rest assured
That in his care we stay.

Immanuel, God with us

Brings hope in a troubled land.
We can always rest assured

When on his word we stand.

The Bread of Life he wants to be

If only we will eat of him.

We can always rest assured

That he is our constant friend.

Rose of Sharon, a fragrance sweet

Comes from heaven for you and me.

We can always rest assured

That his fragrance will forever be

With his children eternally.

UNKIND WORDS

B. L. Whitworth

You didn't kick me in the shin

Nor slap me in the face.

You didn't strike me

Any other place.

Yet, you injured me

Beyond the point of repair

By the unkind words

You forced me to bear.

The scars will forever

Be in my heart, you see,

For angry words leave

A mark for all eternity.

TRUTH

 B. L. Whitworth

SO QUICKLY A MISTAKE

I CAN SEEM TO MAKE,

BUT IT TAKES SO LONG

TO ERASE THAT ONE WRONG!

HEAVEN

The pretty gates swung open

And I walked inside.

Saint Peter met me

And said, "I'm your guide.

Let me show you the sights

And introduce you around.

When that's all done,

I'll issue your crown."

My eyes could scarcely believe

All the things I saw that day--

Streets of gold, pure sparkling water,

Angels in their white array.

They sang a song of welcome

And showed me such love.

Then I felt the comfort

From heaven's holy dove

As it lit upon my shoulder

And brushed away the tears.

"Now comes the best part,

My dear.

This is Jesus, the One who died for you."

I fell at his feet and worshiped him.

"My child, welcome home," he said.

"Come, greet all your friends."

His face lit the pathway

As we walked down the trail.

I saw my dear old dad

Telling one of his favorite tales.

He looked up and saw me,

And he ran to my side.

"It's good to see you, girl.

Now I'll be your guide!"

He took my hand and we walked

Through the city square.

Abraham, Jacob, John and Paul.

Timothy, Peter and Joshua were all there.

Then I saw a beloved face so dear.

My father-in-law smiled at me.

"It's so good to see you, Bet!

This is a good place to be."

"Here is where you get your crown,"

Jesus said as we faced the throne.

The Heavenly Father placed it on my head

And I knew peace like I'd never known!

"Welcome home, my child," He said.

"Welcome home!"

OFFERING THANKS

B. L. Whitworth

The daisy lifted its yellow head

And offered thanks to God above

For the refreshing shower

Sent on the wings of a dove.

The sparrow fed its babies

One after the other,

And they all cried

For their dear mother.

The kitten curled up for a nap

All snug and warm in the sun.

It dreamed of faraway places

Where it could safely play and run.

The man sat in the shade

Watching the clouds floating along.

He thanked God for His love,

For His mercy and for every song

That made burdens lighter to bear.

He offered thanks for grace

And every blessing, great and small,

For he knew God was the giver

Of them ALL!

SEEK THE GREATEST TREASURE

B. L. Whitworth

Treasures collected here on earth

Fall prey to moths and rust.

Thieves break through and steal!

Who can we really trust?

Lay up treasures in heaven

Where there are no thieves or rust.

Our hearts will visit there often

As in God we put our trust.

Let your eyes see the beauty

And reflect the light of love.

Give no room to darkness

That hides God's face above.

No one can serve two masters;

No one can serve God and man.

Your divided loyalty will

Cause God to remove His hand.

Don't worry about your needs.

Every one God will supply

From His storehouse of blessings

Way up there on high.

You can always trust Him.

Look at the birds of the air.

They depend on God to provide

What they need to eat and wear.

Look at the lilies of the field.

They don't toil or spin,

Yet they are clothed in beauty.

You are more precious than them!

Look at the fields clothed in grass.

It's lush, green beauty will not last.

Yet God in His mercy clothed that land.

So will He clothe you, O doubtful man!

Fret not about what you drink or eat.

The needs you have, God will meet.

He knows about what we need.

Just ask. you don't have to plead.

He wants us to seek His kingdom first

And trust Him to do the rest.

From His storehouse of blessings

He will send us His very best!

Don't fret about what tomorrow will bring.

Don't worry about things that might be.

Just put your trust in the Lord

And He will take care of thee.

(November 2001)

THE UPSIDE-DOWN CAT

Muffin, my fat cat, dashed by,

Stopped just ahead, gave me the eye,

Quickly disappeared through the door

And let out a blood-curdling roar!

I peeked around the corner to see

What was wrong with my kitty.

She looked at me, eyes wide and green,

Then cut a shine like I'd never seen!

She hiked her behind, head down

And turned a flip like a clown.

She purred and purred with delight

As I laughed at the funny sight.

I rubbed her perky ears and head.

"You silly girl," I playfully said.

She gave me a kiss and a nip

Before she turned another flip.

"What a sweetheart you are!" I cried

As she scampered away to hide.

The games had just begun, I knew.

It was a matter of who could outlast who.

After a while she gave a wide yawn

And I knew the playful mood was gone.

She curled up in my lap, fast asleep,

One ear open for the slightest peep.

The rustle of the potato chip bag

Put her in the mood for a game of tag.

She jumped down, ran toward the sound,

Hoping chips would soon be found.

One little bite set her all aglow,

And she was ready to go, go, go!

She darted here and she darted there,

And she jumped from chair to chair.

I darted at her and hissed real loud.

She arched her back and stood real proud.

I laughed and said, "You silly girl,

You sure do brighten my world!"

And so the days are filled with glee

As Muffin brings such joy to me.

B. L. Whitworth

Permission Denied

I approached the gates of heaven

In hopes of going inside,

But St. Peter met me and said,

“Sorry, permission denied.”

I was stunned to hear it

And asked him why.

I told him how good I’d been,

And had nothing to hide.

He looked at me with sadness,

And He quietly replied,

“The blood to your sins

Has not been applied.”

“But I believe in God.

By His rules I abide,

So please, won’t you

Let me come inside?”

He looked at me with love,

And then he cried.

“I’m so sorry,

But permission denied.”

Through the gates I could see

All my loved ones who had died.

They were gathered ‘round the throne,

Sitting by the Savior’s side.

They were smiling and happy;

They’d crossed the rolling tide!

But I stood without the gates.

Permission denied.

B. L. Whitworth

WOMEN OF THE REVOLUTIONARY WAR

By B. L. Whitworth

Man most often get the praise

For all their brave and daring ways.

They fought the British and won,

But who made bullets for the guns?

Back home the women toiled hard

Over every bullet the men fired.

The men fought and sometimes died;

Their women back home cried,

But they went on from day to day;

There was no other way.

They had hungry mouths to be fed

And they labored 'till fingers bled.

The men stayed on the battle field.

Some had wounds that wouldn't heal.

Their hearts were back home with those

Who worked to send them food and clothes.

Betsy Ross sewed a flag so fine

With stars and stripes in line.

Beside her husband Martha stood

To cheer the soldiers all she could.

Molly Pitcher loaded a cannon one day

When her husband plain fainted away.

Deborah Sampson dressed as a man

And went out to lend a hand.

Others whose names are unknown

Deserve some credit of their own,
But the time has dulled their fame

And even forgotten their names.

Unsung heroes they might be,

But their names are not in history.

The brave deeds they did back then

Should live on in the hearts of men.

Women, small but brave; frail but strong,

Their memories still live on.

Let us remember them, I say

By never letting those memories fade.

Tell your children, tell everyone

How our freedom was really won!

The end

THE GIFTS

By B. L. Whitworth

God sent an angel down from heaven

With a basket of gifts in hand.

She called all the believers together

Into one congregation so grand!

One by one she called them by name

And gave each a gift that day.

Some put the gift on a shelf;

Others chose to give it away.

The gifts placed on the shelf

Soon ceased to be a treasure,

While those given away

Kept bringing joy and pleasure.

God sent an angel down from heaven

With an empty basket in hand.

She was to gather the unused gifts

From every corner of the land.

They were taken from the shelves.

From closets, drawers and chests.

They were collected by the angel.

And then she had to rest.

The work on earth was done.

Her basket was packed

With the unused gifts

She had to take back.

WHERE IS YOUR GIFT?

The end

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