Everything in this world has a song,
its own tone, its own rhythm, its own music.
Everything has its place and its purpose.
When we are in harmony with our own song,
we are in harmony with the world.
This morning outside I stood
I saw a little red-winged bird
Shining like a burning bush
Singing like a scripture verse
It made me want to bow my head
I remember when church let out
How things have changed since then
Everything is Holy Now
It used to be a world half there
Heaven’s second rate hand me down
But I walk it with a reverent air
‘Cause everything is Holy Now.
Everything, Everything, Everything is Holy Now!
~Holy Now by Peter Mayer
Sing the praises of the Lord, you his faithful people; praise his holy name. ~Psalm 30:4 ✝
I want to make poems that say right out, plainly,
what I mean, that don’t go looking for the
laces of elaboration, puffed sleeves. I want to
keep close and use often words like
heavy, heart, joy, soon, and to cherish
the question mark and her bold sister
the dash. I want to write with quiet hands. I
want to write while crossing the fields that are
fresh with daisies and everlasting and the
ordinary grass. I want to make poems while thinking of
the bread of heaven and the
cup of astonishment; let them be
songs in which nothing is neglected,
not a hope, not a promise. I want to make poems
that look into the earth and the heavens
and see the unseeable. I want them to honor
both the heart of faith, and the light of the world;
the gladness that says, without any words, everything.
He (Jesus) will be a joy and delight to you, and many will rejoice because of His birth. ~Luke 1:14 ✝