Guest blog: God’s Masterpiece by Gwyn Dooley

God’s Masterpiece
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Gwyn Dooley

The Lord, our God is the Father
Creator of Heaven and earth
He made you in His image
More than sparrows are you worth
Let no one tell you otherwise
Or make you feel ashamed
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Colonial Beach, VA

You are wonderfully crafted
God, the Father knows your frame
A perfect earthen vessel
Complete in every way
For God is the Master Potter
Who molds and shapes the clay
When first He began to build you
He had a great plan in mind
A glorious purpose and destiny
While yet in the womb, He designed
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Looking at Maryland from Virginia

He made you like no other
There is no one like you on earth
For you alone can complete the task
That was set before you at birth!
                           By: Gwyn Dooley

Guest blog: His Glory by Gwyn Dooley

 

 

 

HIS GLORY

 

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Any place USA. God is good.

I’ve never seen the Face of God
Or looked into His Eyes
Or met His tender, loving gaze
So gentle and so wise
But I know His Glory’s matchless
And there’s none that can compare
To the beauty of His goodness
And His mercy, sweet and fair
For I feel the comfort of His Arms
Surrounding me each day
And I hear Him calling out to me
In the stillness when I pray
And when I close my eyes in sleep
I feel His calm delight
And know that I am precious
In His blessed Holy Sight!
                               by: Gwyn Dooley
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Guest blog: The Flow of God by Gwyn Dooley

Guest blog: The Flow of God by Gwyn Dooley

There’s a river that flows serenely
The waters pure and clear
Coming from the Throne Room
Of God, in Heaven so near
Its current will carry you safely
To shores of impossible dreams
Dreams only God can deliver
In the flow of His Living streams
So sever the ties and hoist anchor
Embark on the journey of faith
Leaving oars on the banks of the river
Ride the tide, your destiny awaits!
                                        by: Gwyn Dooley
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North Carolina

Guest blog: God’s Perfect Love by Gwyn Dooley

God’s Perfect Love by Gwyn Dooley

 

One night in a dream I was kneeling to pray

 

When I asked the Lord to show me a more perfect way

 

Lord, I said, I’m hurting; I was forsaken by a friend

 

And I know I must forgive him, who against me did sin

 

But it sees almost impossible, an overwhelming task

 

Show me the way, dear Lord, this I humbly ask

 

My hope is in you, O’ God, grant me this I pray

 

Place me on an eagle’s wing and let me fly away

 

To soar across the sky above in search of your perfect love

 

So far above this earthly plane, where only a Father’s love can reign

 

Guide me with your loving hand and take me to the place you stand

 

Where you gaze upon the hearts of men, who struggle and toil in a world of sin

 

Grant me a view from your lofty height, where nothing is hid from your keen sight

 

So the Lord did answer and I went flying through the air

 

Soaring on that eagle’s wing, not a worry or a care

 

Up and up I thought we would go but instead we went down, to the earth below

 

On and on we traveled to a far, distant land

 

To a place quite ordinary, just desert and sand

 

What grand thing did I come here to see?

 

The eagle took me closer and sat me on a tree

 

In the sky above me was a black, roaring cloud

 

And on the ground below me was a hissing, angry crowd

 

I was feeling uneasy and wanted to go home

 

When somewhere to the left of me I heard a pitiful moan

 

I saw a man, bloody and beaten, on the ground struggling to rise

 

When Roman soldiers kicked him and spat into his eyes

 

“Hail! King of the Jews!” they bowed to him and said

 

“My, what a splendid crown that rests upon your head!”

 

The crowd jeered and laughed at a King battered and torn

 

Upon whose sagging head lay a prickly crown of thorns

 

I watched as they led him up that steep craggy hill

 

And I stood up in wonder, for he went of his own free will

 

“Run!” I cried. “Fight back! What is wrong with you?”

 

But he said, “Father, forgive them. They know not what they do.”

 

He looked just like a lamb taken up to slaughter that day

 

He did not open his mouth. No, not a word did he say

 

I watched as he was lifted up, to the sky above

 

There displayed on a cursed cross was God’s own perfect love

 

I’d found what I was looking for, hanging on a cross

 

Now everything I had gained in life I count it all as loss

 

Jesus said, “You can’t love God if you hate your brother

 

So as I have loved you, then you too should love one another.

 

Above all things have love, for it covers a multitude of sins

 

For greater love hath no man than this, that he lay down his life for his friends!”

 

 

By: Gwyn Dooley

 

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Photo by Gwynn Dooley

Guest blog: The Playhouse by Gwyn Warren

Guest blog: The Playhouse by Gwyn Warren
Grandma and Dad were deeply religious people with very strict rules about what was and was not acceptable. He was far stricter than she was. We were to remain as quiet as possible on Sundays. We could spend the day reading our Bible story books Daddy had given us the Christmas before he died; but, we could not laugh or play noisy games on Sunday. If we wanted to play like normal children, we had to get far enough away from the house that Dad couldn’t hear us. So we usually went to our cousins’ house to play about 3/10 mile from our grandparents.

 

Jo and I were convinced that Dad didn’t like us very much. Grandma was always teasing us, laughing with us, etc., while he rarely ever smiled. We usually went to church with our cousins on Sunday morning, came back to Grandma’s to eat dinner, and then went to our cousins’ house to play in the afternoon.

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North Carolina

Church was another big shock for us. We had gone to “town” churches all our lives where ministers spoke in a soft even voice, and you could understand every word of the sermon. Country churches were just the opposite. When the preacher (a new word for us) delivered his sermon, he got so carried away, and so loud, it was hard to decipher anything he said. His face also got really red like we used to see Daddy’s become right before he had a heart attack. Country preachers scared us.

 

One weekend, Mother, Jo and I went to Uncle Jim’s house for the weekend. Uncle Jim was Mother’s brother and they had a son, Richard, who was a year older than I with whom we played. When we got back to our grandparent’s house on Sunday night, it was already dark, so we just went in and went to bed.

 

Monday morning, while we ate breakfast, Dad told us to come outside after we finished with the dishes because he had something to show us. I doubt we had ever finished the dishes as fast as we did that morning.

 

When we went outside, Dad showed us a playhouse he had built for us while we were gone. He was a master wood craftsman and our playhouse was a dream. From the outside it looked just like a real house complete with front porch, sized just for two little girls. There was room inside for our doll beds, table and chairs and anything else we could round up to “furnish” our little house. Our cousins, Sue and Edmond, would come up and play with us in our little house.

 

Toward the end of summer, we had grown tired of playing “house” and wanted to play something different. After much discussion, we decided to play “church”. I was “elected” to be the preacher and Jo, Sue and Edmond were the congregation. We started out by singing songs we had learned in their church. Then came time for the sermon.

 

I first led my parishioners in prayer. So far, so good. Then I opened my Bible story book to one of my favorite stories. I started out reading in a normal tone, then raised my voice for a few sentences. I repeated this procedure several times while my “congregation” shouted “Amen!” and I even heard one “Preach it, Sister!”, which would never have been said in a country church because women weren’t allowed to speak in the church. If they had something that needed to be said, they conveyed it to their husband, and if he felt it had merit, he would speak to the congregation. I even pounded my pulpit and used a washcloth to “wipe sweat from my brow”.

 

Just as I was really getting “into the spirit” as they called it, a shadow covered the door. Dad looked at me with as stern a face as I had ever seen and said, “That will be enough, little lady.” With that, he left, no doubt to tell Grandma what a fine sermon I had been delivering. Wrong.

 

Apparently he walked around to the back of the playhouse where there was no window. After some discussion, we decided to resume our “church service”. Again, I gave it my all. And again, that shadow covered the doorway. This time, he told Sue and Edmond to go home, and for Jo and me to go in the house. When we told Grandma what had happened, she laughed till tears were streaming down her cheeks. Dad didn’t think it was a bit funny.

 

The next morning, when we went to our playhouse, there was a padlock on the door. Dad told us we were forbidden to play in there again. We protested that all our toys were in there and he said, “No they’re not. They are on the back porch.” Sure enough, we checked and everything that had been in our playhouse was in a big wooden crate on the back porch.

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North Carolina

The following weekend, we again went to Uncle Jim’s to spend the weekend, coming home late Sunday night. After finishing the breakfast dishes on Monday morning, we went outside to ask Dad if we could play in our playhouse if we promised not to play church any more. To our total astonishment, while we were gone, he had completely dismantled our playhouse. Except for the fact the ground was bare where it had been, one would never have known a playhouse had ever been there.

 

In retrospect, I often wondered if Dad worried that he might have thwarted my ambitions to be a minister of the gospel. Nah. Like I told you earlier, women weren’t allowed to speak in the church. I’m sure if one had started to preach the walls would have crumbled.

 

DISCLAIMER: This little story is not to mock country churches and I hope I haven’t offended anyone. Jo and I were 7 and 8 years old respectively and this was a whole new world to us.

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North Carolina