Very early,
Sunday morn,
Grief rising up like a gathering storm,
Day-break,
Hearts ache,
As the weight of it all begins to dawn.
Thorns, nails,
Mournful wails,
Laid in a tomb that wasn't His own,
Laden with spices,
We make our way,
Not even knowing who'll roll back the stone.
Earth quake!
Guards shake,
Heavenly beings in dazzling white,
Our hearts pound with fear,
Afraid to draw near,
We fall to the ground at this awesome sight.
Don't fear!
He isn't here.
Why search for the living amongst the dead?
Hurry, go!
Let everyone know,
That Jesus is risen, just as He said.
An hour of toil in the garden,
Is always time well-spent
Tugging out those stubborn old weeds,
Which year upon year won't relent.
An hour spent tending the garden,
Is never wasted time,
Lungs full of wonderful sweet, Spring air,
Hands caked in dirt and grime.
It's hard to feel glum in the garden,
With birds chirping high in the trees,
Potting up Pansies, so cheery and bright,
Hair tugged about by the breeze.
Cutting the deadwood, turning the earth,
Allowing the sun to shine through,
Seems to clear my cluttered mind,
And lifts my spirits too.
Thank you dear Lord for my garden,
Humble and small though it be,
It's a place where so often I've felt You are near,
And Your joy surrounding me.
Once You knelt down in a garden,
And in terrible anguish You cried,
"Thy will, not Mine, be done O Lord!"
Abandoned. Betrayed. Denied.
One Sunday morn, in a garden,
You rose up again from the grave,
Bringing salvation and mercy and grace,
To the ones You came to save!
The Streets of the City were crowded that day,
The Teacher was coming, He was heading this way,
My heart leapt within at the sound of His Name,
This man who healed lepers, the blind and the lame.
But the crowds all around me were blocking my view,
And try as I might, I just couldn't push through,
(There's not much to be said for my stature - it's true,)
So I ended up right at the back of the queue.
Then ahead of the crowds, in the distance, I see,
Down the long, dusty road,
There's a Sycamore Tree,
I was desperate to see Him,
It had to be done,
I kicked up the dust and I started to run!
My robes snagged on twigs as I scrambled up high,
And I hoped against hope,
That He'd not pass me by,
Still, my heart skipped a beat when He stopped by that tree,
And He peered through the leaves, looking right up at me!
What would He say to a man such as me?
What was I doing here?
How could it be,
That this wonderful stranger should call me by name?
In that moment, I knew, I would not be the same.
The people were outraged,
He was going to eat,
At the home of Zacchaeus, the swindler, the cheat!
But whenever He spoke, all my pride fell apart,
Until something had changed in the depths of my heart.
The tears started falling,
My heart overflowed,
I would pay it all back - every penny I owed.
I would give it all gladly,
I'd do anything,
For this wonderful man,
For this beautiful King!
The love that He showed me,
The grace that He gave,
Swept over my being,
Like wave upon wave,
What joy filled my soul,
And what gladness within,
When the Son of God cleansed me
From all of my sin.
Angela Jelf Writes... 