Like the samaritan women - a prayer

Prayer
Lord, I come to the well with my earthenware vessel. I come burdened with the weight of my past sins, steeped with feelings of unworthiness. I stand hidden with my veil of self-deprecation, of rejection. I am an outcast. Travel the short way, Jesus, and directly touch my heart, taking away all the negative feelings of unworthiness. Let me know that your acceptance is all I need for happiness. Fill my vessel with your compassion and love so I may drink of the living water. Visit the wells of other peoples and other nations, and refresh them with your water. Take away our stony hearts and give us natural hearts, ready to accept and love. Let it begin with me. Amen.
From http://www.rpinet.com/products/wwgw.html

Excerpt - Graced Time- profound questions-The women at the well

Excerpt

Graced Time

Suggested Questions

1. Have you ever had what you thought was a "chance encounter" that turned out to be a grace-filled event?

2. What things isolate you from the world around you?

3. What perpetuates isolation?

4. What can you do to break that perpetuity?

5. Do you perpetuate bias toward other persons or groups of people?

6. Do you have layers of barriers that make it difficult for God to reach you in a profound way?

7. Can you identify with the woman's isolation?

Women at the well-the samaritan women

Time erased

By life-giving water,

Offered by a man who had no bucket,

Who knew me not, yet knew me well.

My past washed clean

In the spring that I became —

Flowing, flowing through me,

God's instrument.

Never again shall I thirst.

Judy Ritter

WOMAN AT THE WELL

WOMAN AT THE WELL

A SAMARITAN WOMAN.-Poetry of Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Poetry of Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Christus: A Mystery

VI

JACOB'S WELL

A SAMARITAN WOMAN.
The sun is hot; and the dry east-wind blowing
Fills all the air with dust. The birds are silent;
Even the little fieldfares in the corn
No longer twitter; only the grasshoppers
Sing their incessant song of sun and summer.
I wonder who those strangers were I met
Going into the city? Galileans
They seemed to me in speaking, when they asked
The short way to the market-place. Perhaps
They are fishermen from the lake; or travellers,
Looking to find the inn. And here is some one
Sitting beside the well; another stranger;
A Galilean also by his looks.
What can so many Jews be doing here
Together in Samaria? Are they going
Up to Jerusalem to the Passover?
Our Passover is better here at Sychem,
For here is Ebal; here is Gerizim,
The mountain where our father Abraham
Went up to offer Isaac; here the tomb
Of Joseph,--for they brought his bones Egypt
And buried them in this land, and it is holy.

CHRISTUS.
Give me to drink.

SAMARITAN WOMAN.
How can it be that thou,
Being a Jew, askest to drink of me
Which am a woman of Samaria?
You Jews despise us; have no dealings with us;
Make us a byword; call us in derision
The silly folk of Sychar. Sir, how is it
Thou askest drink of me?

CHRISTUS.
If thou hadst known
The gift of God, and who it is that sayeth
Give me to drink, thou wouldst have asked of Him;
He would have given thee the living water.

SAMARITAN WOMAN.
Sir, thou hast naught to draw with, and the well
Is deep ! Whence hast thou living water?
Say, art thou greater than our father Jacob,
Which gave this well to us, and drank thereof
Himself, and all his children and his cattle?

CHRISTUS.
Ah, whosoever drinketh of this water
Shall thirst again; but whosoever drinketh
The water I shall give him shall not thirst
Forevermore, for it shall be within him
A well of living water, springing up
Into life everlasting.

SAMARITAN WOMAN.
Every day
I must go to and fro, in heat and cold,
And I am weary. Give me of this water,
That I may thirst not, nor come here to draw.

CHRISTUS.
Go call thy husband, woman, and come hither.

SAMARITAN WOMAN.
I have no husband, Sir.

CHRISTUS.
Thou hast well said
I have no husband. Thou hast had five husbands;
And he whom now thou hast is not thy husband.

SAMARITAN WOMAN.
Surely thou art a Prophet, for thou readest
The hidden things of life! Our fathers worshipped
Upon this mountain Gerizim; and ye say
The only place in which men ought to worship
Is at Jerusalem.

CHRISTUS.
Believe me, woman,
The hour is coming, when ye neither shall
Upon this mount, nor at Jerusalem,
Worship the Father; for the hour is coming,
And is now come, when the true worshippers
Shall worship the Father in spirit and in truth!
The Father seeketh such to worship Him.
God is a spirit; and they that worship Him
Must worship Him in spirit and in truth.

SAMARITAN WOMAN.
Master, I know that the Messiah cometh,
Which is called Christ; and he will tell us all things.

CHRISTUS.
I that speak unto thee am He!

THE DISCIPLES, returning.
Behold,
The Master sitting by the well, and talking
With a Samaritan woman! With a woman
Of Sychar, the silly people, always boasting
Of their Mount Ebal, and Mount Gerizim,
Their Everlasting Mountain, which they think
Higher and holier than our Mount Moriah!
Why, once upon the Feast of the New Moon,
When our great Sanhedrim of Jerusalem
Had all its watch-fires kindled on the hills
To warn the distant villages, these people
Lighted up others to mislead the Jews,
And make a mockery of their festival!
See, she has left the Master; and is running
Back to the city!

SAMARITAN WOMAN.
Oh, come see a man
Who hath told me all things that I ever did!
Say, is not this the Christ?

THE DISCIPLES.
Lo, Master, here
Is food, that we have brought thee from the city.
We pray thee eat it.

CHRISTUS.
I have food to eat
Ye know not of.

THE DISCIPLES, to each other.
Hath any man been here,
And brought Him aught to eat, while we were gone?

CHRISTUS.
The food I speak of is to do the will
Of Him that sent me, and to finish his work.
Do ye not say, Lo! there are yet four months
And cometh, harvest? I say unto you,
Lift up your eyes, and look upon the fields,
For they are white already unto harvest!

Una Fiesta de Venganza

Una Fiesta de Venganza (Marcos 6:21-29)

Durante la fiesta de cumpleaños de Herodes, nos encontramos que este le ofreció a la hija de Herodias hasta la mitad de su reino. Ella, instruida por su madre pidió en un plato la cabeza del profeta. Debido a los visitantes, y atado bajo el juramento se vio obligado a acceder a la petición que por mucho tiempo este trato de evitar que ocurriera. Por consecuencia, Herodias a través de su hija, logro llevar acabo su plan de venganza en contra del precursor de Cristo.

William Makepeace Thackeray quote

‘Tis not the dying for a faith that’s so hard, Master Harry – every man of every nation has done that – ’tis the living up to it that is difficult.
-William Makepeace Thackeray

Fear,Faith ,Worry..............and Dreams

As your faith is strengthened you will find that there is no longer the need to have a sense of control, that things will flow as they will, and that you will flow with them, to your great delight and benefit.
-As your faith is strengthened you will find that there is no longer the need to have a sense of control, that things will flow as they will, and that you will flow with them, to your great delight and benefit.
-Emmanuel Teney

Every tomorrow has two handles. We can take hold of it with the handle of anxiety or the handle of faith.
-Henry Ward Beecher

To me faith means not worrying.
-John Dewey

Faith isn’t the ability to believe long and far into the misty future. It’s simply taking God at His Word and taking the next step.
- Joni Erickson Tada

Faith is taking the first step even when you don’t see the whole staircase.
-Martin Luther King, Jr.

You block your dream when you allow your fear to grow bigger than your faith.
-Mary Manin Morrissey

Let this cup pass from me

Lord Jesus, it is not Your will that Your people should suffer. And yet, I remember so well how You took on suffering for us all. Keep me now from losing hope as I face once again my infirmity. I feel the pain and ask of God, "Let this cup pass from me."

As I kneel with You in the garden, may I welcome another day with a prayer that echoes yours: "Not my wil but Thine be done." Let me never forget how to laugh, for laughter is Your gift to me to undo depression and heal the hurt of a sickness I cannot control. Then I will gladly walk Your way, to join in Your sacrifice of love, and I will not dwell upon the pain that leads my thoughts away from You.

Take me into Your gentle embrace, for I know that whatever this day brings, You have paved my way with Your tears and redeemed me with Your victory. Amen.

Prayer for Health, Wisdom, and a Sense of Humor

Prayer for Health, Wisdom, and a Sense of Humor

O Lord, give me a good digestion as well as something to digest. Give me health of body as well as the sense to keep it healthy. Give me a holy soul, O Lord, which keeps its eyes on beauty and purity, so that it will not be afraid on seeing sin. Give me a soul that knows nothing of boredom, groans, and sighs. Never let me be overly concerned for this inconstant thing that I call me. Lord, give me a sense of humor, so that I may take some happiness from this life, and share it with others. Amen.

A new lease of life

A new lease of life,
is what i long for some days.
On other days this same life,
seems exciting enough.
Some days are too tough to handle
some days have no time for reflection
someday s i have no tome to gaze at stars or
the rustling leaves and the chirping bird.
Some days , its all sweat and rush,
no time sit and talk
you wake up and find too little time,
for task a head and it bangs heavily on you,
Somedays its more of body ache ,
and somedays its no work at all.

But all days i would like ,
the climate to be cooler,
in mypart of country.
To have less noise and pollution,
To be greatful to the Lord for His grace.

i do not comprehend HIM

awesome are His ways
far from my minds realms,
i do not comprehend HIM
but want Him to comprehend me
which He surely does,
but iam not satisfied
He knows my bones and marrows
and every thought,
before it is brought out,
there is nothing in me,
that He cannot know,
for He is my maker'
and the maker knows
my makings more than me,
yet iam unsatisfied
and i say to Him,
still you have not known me,
for my rebellious heart knows'
His ways are not my ways.

y gracia sobre gracia."

"Pues de su plenitud todos hemos recibido, y gracia sobre gracia."

Juan 1:16 (LBLA)

To Do List From God

To Do List From God

I ran my life in search of worldly things;
My time and will were firmly in control.
I thought I had no need for what God brings;
I gave no heed to murmurs from my soul.

"You're planning, doing all the time," it said,
"But something else is missing deep inside.
Your mind is whirling, but your heart is dead,
So turn to God and let go of your pride."

I did, and God said, "Here's My plan for you:
Give your life to to Me, and just let go.
Have faith and pray, and read the Bible through,
And you'll have blessings more than you can know."

So simple, yet it brings me perfect peace,
Living life for God the way I should.
Direction, purpose, fullness and release-
Life with God is very, very good.

By Joanna Fuchs
Wonderful Mother's day
http://www.squidoo.com/Mothers-Day-Christian-Poems

Hagar and Ishamael

Hagar, cast out now of her home
all alone, in the desert,
with a baby clinging by her side,
she cried and cried,
to the one above,
why was i chosen by the mistress,
why did i ever taunt her barrenness
was not she the one, who chose from many,
to be that special bearer of the masters child
but lo, now iam all by myself ,
even the master , not sees my plight
but with a pot of water ,sent me outright.
Why did my son have to die
for what is not his fault
for though not born of Sarah,
he is surely Abrahams firstborn.
Will the Lord from heaven send me some help
let me go at distance ,for i cannot see my sons death.
Oh , my creator , who cares for the contrite,
surely send me some help,
and help me and my dying son.

By self

William Makepeace Thackeray's poem: "Ah, Bleak And Barren Was The Moor."

Ah! bleak and barren was the moor,
Ah! loud and piercing was the storm,
The cottage roof was shelter'd sure,
The cottage hearth was bright and warm--
An orphan-boy the lattice pass'd,
And, as he mark'd its cheerful glow,
Felt doubly keen the midnight blast,
And doubly cold the fallen snow.

They marked him as he onward press'd,
With fainting heart and weary limb;
Kind voices bade him turn and rest,
And gentle faces welcomed him.
The dawn is up--the guest is gone,
The cottage hearth is blazing still:
Heaven pity all poor wanderers lone!
Hark to the wind upon the hill!


William Makepeace Thackeray's poem: "Ah, Bleak And Barren Was The Moor."

Doubt Heralding Vision Author: George MacDonald

Doubt Heralding Vision
Author: George MacDonald

An angel saw me sitting by a brook,
Pleased with the silence, and the melodies
Of wind and water which did fall and rise:
He gently stirred his plumes and from them shook
An outworn doubt, which fell on me and took
The shape of darkness, hiding all the skies,
Blinding the sun, but giving to my eyes
An inextinguishable wish to look;
When, lo! thick as the buds of spring there came,
Crowd upon crowd, informing all the sky,
A host of splendours watching silently,
With lustrous eyes that wept as if in blame,
And waving hands that crossed in lines of flame,
And signalled things I hope to hold although I die!

http://www.readbookonline.net/readOnLine/14551/

Blessed Are The Meek, For They Shall Inherit The Earth -By George MacDonald

Blessed Are The Meek, For They Shall Inherit The Earth
Author: George MacDonald

A quiet heart, submissive, meek,
Father do thou bestow;
Which more than granted will not seek
To have, or give, or know.

Each green hill then will hold its gift
Forth to my joying eyes;
The mountains blue will then uplift
My spirit to the skies.

The falling water then will sound
As if for me alone;
Nay, will not blessing more abound
That many hear its tone?

The trees their murmuring forth will send,
The birds send forth their song;
The waving grass its tribute lend,
Sweet music to prolong.

The water-lily's shining cup,
The trumpet of the bee,
The thousand odours floating up,
The many-shaded sea;

The rising sun's imprinted tread
Upon the eastward waves;
The gold and blue clouds over head;
The weed from far sea-caves;

All lovely things from south to north,
All harmonies that be,
Each will its soul of joy send forth
To enter into me.

And thus the wide earth I shall hold,
A perfect gift of thine;
Richer by these, a thousandfold,
Than if broad lands were mine.

The Aurora Borealis- By George MacDonald

The Aurora Borealis
George MacDonald

Now have I grown a sharpness and an edge
Unto my future nights, and I will cut
Sheer through the ebon gates that yet will shut
On every set of day; or as a sledge
Drawn over snowy plains; where not a hedge
Breaks this Aurora's dancing, nothing but
The one cold Esquimaux' unlikely hut
That swims in the broad moonlight! Lo, a wedge
Of the clean meteor hath been brightly driven
Right home into the fastness of the north!
Anon it quickeneth up into the heaven!
And I with it have clomb and spreaded forth
Upon the crisp and cooling atmosphere!
My soul is all abroad: I cannot find it here!

The Inuits and their homeland

The Inuit live in such uninhabitable conditions ,and yet live such peaceful lives .They are mainly found in the coastal regions , nearer to the north pole, the arctic, in regions spanning canada, Alaska, Siberia, Greenland etc.They are hunters who hunt whales, seals, caribou etc.They use Dog sleds for travelling.
Amazing to see their lives.

How our Lord sustains us in different climates and meets our needs.

Jorge Luis Borges- A famous Argentinian Writer

Limits by Jorge Luis Borges

Of all the streets that blur in to the sunset,
There must be one (which, I am not sure)
That I by now have walked for the last time
Without guessing it, the pawn of that Someone

Who fixes in advance omnipotent laws,
Sets up a secret and unwavering scale
for all the shadows, dreams, and forms
Woven into the texture of this life.

If there is a limit to all things and a measure
And a last time and nothing more and forgetfulness,
Who will tell us to whom in this house
We without knowing it have said farewell?

Through the dawning window night withdraws
And among the stacked books which throw
Irregular shadows on the dim table,
There must be one which I will never read.

There is in the South more than one worn gate,
With its cement urns and planted cactus,
Which is already forbidden to my entry,
Inaccessible, as in a lithograph.

There is a door you have closed forever
And some mirror is expecting you in vain;
To you the crossroads seem wide open,
Yet watching you, four-faced, is a Janus.

There is among all your memories one
Which has now been lost beyond recall.
You will not be seen going down to that fountain
Neither by white sun nor by yellow moon.

You will never recapture what the Persian
Said in his language woven with birds and roses,
When, in the sunset, before the light disperses,
You wish to give words to unforgettable things.

And the steadily flowing Rhone and the lake,
All that vast yesterday over which today I bend?
They will be as lost as Carthage,
Scourged by the Romans with fire and salt.

At dawn I seem to hear the turbulent
Murmur of crowds milling and fading away;
They are all I have been loved by, forgotten by;
Space, time, and Borges now are leaving me.

Lot's Wife- A Poem by Anna Akhmatova

Lot's Wife by Anna Akhmatova

And the just man trailed God's shining agent,
over a black mountain, in his giant track,
while a restless voice kept harrying his woman:
"It's not too late, you can still look back

at the red towers of your native Sodom,
the square where once you sang, the spinning-shed,
at the empty windows set in the tall house
where sons and daughters blessed your marriage-bed."

A single glance: a sudden dart of pain
stitching her eyes before she made a sound . . .
Her body flaked into transparent salt,
and her swift legs rooted to the ground.

Who will grieve for this woman? Does she not seem
too insignificant for our concern?
Yet in my heart I never will deny her,
who suffered death because she chose to turn.

Anna Akhmatova-I Taught Myself To Live Simply

I Taught Myself To Live Simply by Anna Akhmatova

I taught myself to live simply and wisely,
to look at the sky and pray to God,
and to wander long before evening
to tire my superfluous worries.
When the burdocks rustle in the ravine
and the yellow-red rowanberry cluster droops
I compose happy verses
about life's decay, decay and beauty.
I come back. The fluffy cat
licks my palm, purrs so sweetly
and the fire flares bright
on the saw-mill turret by the lake.
Only the cry of a stork landing on the roof
occasionally breaks the silence.
If you knock on my door
I may not even hear.

Polish Poetry in Siberian Exile

Supplications

From hunger,

From marches,

From rain,

From lice,

From strong wind that slashes your face,

From fire’s warmth-when at night they order you to leave it,

From marshlike taiga that you sink in up to your knees,

From torn-off shoe soles,

From stolen breadbag-Save us, Lord!

From tundra lying on its back facing the sky,

From nightmare of white nights,

From swarms of mosquitoes,

From sudden and unexpected night marches,

From leaden dawns to sooty dusks,

- Holy God!

- Holy Almighty!

Holy and Immortal, save us, oh Lord!

We the sinners,

We the tired,

We the ones given up to vast expanses,

We the ones cast out to be eaten alive by the frozen wastes,

We the ones deprived of humanity and legal rights,

Trampled like grass,

Hounded down and rounded up-

We the louse-infested beggars,

We the ones stupefied by hunger,

We the nameless multitude

Poisoned by wrongdoings,

We the filthy,

We the ragged,

We at times the ludicrous,

We the consoled,

We the sinners,

You Lord God we beg,

The Living and True,

The One and Indivisible,

- Holy God!

- Holy Almighty!

- Holy and Everlasting, have mercy on us!

Through the last,

posthumous

Wound of thy Son

through His Blood and Suffering

Amen - Amen - Amen (1)

From-
Lives Remembered:
Polish Poetry in Siberian Exile
A Survivor's Daughter's Commentary
Halina Ablamowicz
http://www.ruf.rice.edu/~sarmatia/105/251ablam.html#1

The Puppet- A beautiful poem by Gabriel Garcia Marquez

Gabriel Garcia Marquez

The Puppet

If for a moment God would forget that I am a rag doll and give me a scrap of life, possibly I would not say everything that I think, but I would definitely think everything that I say.

I would value things not for how much they are worth but rather for what they mean.

I would sleep little, dream more. I know that for each minute that we close our eyes we lose sixty seconds of light.

I would walk when the others loiter; I would awaken when the others sleep.

I would listen when the others speak, and how I would enjoy a good chocolate ice cream.

If God would bestow on me a scrap of life, I would dress simply, I would throw myself flat under the sun, exposing not only my body but also my soul.

My God, if I had a heart, I would write my hatred on ice and wait for the sun to come out. With a dream of Van Gogh I would paint on the stars a poem by Benedetti, and a song by Serrat would be my serenade to the moon.

With my tears I would water the roses, to feel the pain of their thorns and the incarnated kiss of their petals...My God, if I only had a scrap of life...

I wouldn't let a single day go by without saying to people I love, that I love them.

I would convince each woman or man that they are my favourites and I would live in love with love.

I would prove to the men how mistaken they are in thinking that they no longer fall in love when they grow old--not knowing that they grow old when they stop falling in love. To a child I would give wings, but I would let him learn how to fly by himself. To the old I would teach that death comes not with old age but with forgetting. I have learned so much from you men....

I have learned that everybody wants to live at the top of the mountain without realizing that true happiness lies in the way we climb the slope.

I have learned that when a newborn first squeezes his father's finger in his tiny fist, he has caught him forever.

I have learned that a man only has the right to look down on another man when it is to help him to stand up. I have learned so many things from you, but in the end most of it will be no use because when they put me inside that suitcase, unfortunately I will be dying.

translated by Matthew Taylor and Rosa Arelis Taylor

Antonio Goncalves Dias-A Brazilian Writer

The Song Of Exile

My homeland has many palm-trees
and the thrush-song fills its air;
no bird here can sing as well
as the birds sing over there.

We have fields more full of flowers
and a starrier sky above,
we have woods more full of life
and a life more full of love.

Lonely night-time meditations
please me more when I am there;
my homeland has many palm-trees
and the thrush-song fills its air.

Such delights as my land offers
Are not found here nor elsewhere;
lonely night-time meditations
please me more when I am there;
My homeland has many palm-trees
and the thrush-song fills its air.

Don't allow me, God, to die
without getting back to where
I belong, without enjoying
the delights found only there,
without seeing all those palm-trees,
hearing thrush-songs fill the air.

Antonio Goncalves Dias

Octavio Paz The Nobel Prize in Literature 1990

Motion

If you are the amber mare
I am the road of blood
If you are the first snow
I am he who lights the hearth of dawn
If you are the tower of night
I am the spike burning in your mind
If you are the morning tide
I am the first bird's cry
If you are the basket of oranges
I am the knife of the sun
If you are the stone altar
I am the sacrilegious hand
If you are the sleeping land
I am the green cane
If you are the wind's leap
I am the buried fire
If you are the water's mouth
I am the mouth of moss
If you are the forest of the clouds
I am the axe that parts it
If you are the profaned city
I am the rain of consecration
If you are the yellow mountain
I am the red arms of lichen
If you are the rising sun
I am the road of blood

Octavio Paz
The Nobel Prize in Literature 1990

Reluctance - Apoem by Robert Frost

Reluctance

Out through the fields and the woods
And over the walls I have wended;
I have climbed the hills of view
And looked at the world and descended;
I have come by the highway home,
And lo, it is ended.

The leaves are all dead on the ground,
Save those that the oak is keeping
To ravel them one by one
And let them go scraping and creeping
Out over the crusted snow,
When others are sleeping.

And the dead leaves lie huddled and still,
No longer blown hither and thither;
The last lone aster is gone;
The flowers of the witch-hazel wither;
The heart is still aching to seek,
But the feet question 'Whither?'

Ah, when to the heart of man
Was it ever less than a treason
To go with the drift of things,
To yield with a grace to reason,
And bow and accept the end
Of a love or a season?


Robert Frost

Helena Morley of Brazil

Helena Morley kept a diary from the age of twelve.Born to a British father and a Brazilian mother , Helena lived in a diamond mining town in Brazil.
Her diary translated by Elizabeth Bishop gives us a peek into the life of this girl.
Her real name was Alice Dayrell Caldeira Brant (August 28, 1880 – June 20, 1970) .
Read ---The Diary of "Helena Morley"
by Helena Morley

To be happy with a man

“To be happy with a man you must understand him a lot and love him a little. To be happy with a woman you must love her a lot and not try to understand her at all.”

Helen Rowland quotes (English-American writer, 1876-1950)
“The woman who appeals to a man's vanity may stimulate him, the woman who appeals to his heart may attract him, but it is the woman who appeals to his imagination who gets him”

Helen Rowland quotes (English-American writer, 1876-1950)
“Women marry men hoping they will change. Men marry women hoping they will not. So each is inevitably disappointed.”

Albert Einstein quotes