Cerebral Palsy is a medical condition that makes your muscles contract constantly, except for when you are sleeping. I tried taking the medication that will allow the muscles to loosen up when I was younger but the side affects were tremendous. There is now new technology that a pump can be implanted into the body which will distribute medicine when needed. After careful thought I decided against the pump. I have learned over time that the only part of my body that is really tight are my hips. The alternative to taking medicine is to exercise daily. If a person with Cerebral Palsy does not exercise enough their muscles contract and stay tight and the result would be the inability to move that part of your body.
Poetry from the Heart is a collection of poems about God and friendship in a downloadable ebook. You will be given a link to download the book after your purchase. Thank you! It happened one day when a friend by the name of Heather came over for a visit.
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We were both in the kitchen hanging out talking about stuff when Heather suggested I should sit down and write my thoughts into poetry. I responded negatively to the idea. With her insistence I went to my room, turned on my computer and I did it! I wrote a poem and have not stopped writing since the year Two years after the year I started writing poems I was in a depression. I disliked being in a wheelchair.
In a nut-shell I didn't like myself and people were mean to me in my first two years of high school. My poem writing from consisted of writing about young men. Since I didn't like myself I thought by having a "boyfriend" my wheelchair would somehow disappear and I would be like any other teenage girl, because after all, I thought by having a boyfriend I would be accepted. At age seventeen I brought my poems out into the open and shared them with friends. My speech teacher in high school I had to take speech class because of my disability told me that I could do something with my poems.
I now share my poems with people through "Voice Chat" via the internet. I plan to write my poems as long as I live and share them with people. No Mistakes When my hopes fade And my dreams die. And I find no answer By asking why. I just keep on trusting And hang on to my faith. Because God is just He never makes mistakes. Should the storms come And trials I must face. When I find no solution I rest in God's grace. When life seems unfair And more than I can take. I look up to the Father He never makes mistakes.
God sees our struggles And every bend in the road. But no mistake is ever made Cause He weighs every load. Life's Daily Doses Life is measured in daily doses Of trials and pleasures each. Day by day grace is dispensed To meet our immediate needs. Comfort comes to the weary We find that which we seek.
A bridge is built at the river And power is given to the weak. One day's load we have to bear As we travel on life's way. Wisdom is given for the occasion And strength to equal each day. There anger lies, and lust, and pride, And envy base its head will hide, And malice brooding ill; There unbelief the Lord denies, And falsehood wispers out its lies, And avarice gripeth still. Thy help, Almighty Lord, impart, And drag the tyrants from my heart, And chase the thieves away; Within my bosom fix thy throne, And there be loved and served alone, And teach me how to pray.
My God. Thy majesty how bright. How beautiful Thy mercy-seat In depths of burning light! How wonderful, how beautiful The sight of Thee must be; Thine endless wisdom, boundless power And awful purity. This carries us into the very heavenlies, as also do the words: Holy, holy, holy, Lord God Almighty, All Thy works shall praise Thy name In earth, and sky, and sea. My God! Lord, till I reach yon blissful shore, No privilege so dear shall be And thus my inmost soul to pour In prayer to Thee! My heart now overflows With prayers and praises.
And yet my heart will sing Because Thou seemst sometimes so near. Close-present God! To me, It seems I could not have a wish That was not shared by Thee; It seems I cannot be afraid To speak my longings out, So tenderly Thy gathering love Enfolds me round about; It seems as if my heart would break, If, living on the light, It should not lift to Thee at last A bud of flawless white. And yet, O helpless heart! My soul, take courage from the Lord; Believe and plead his holy word; To him alone do thou complain, Nor shalt thou seek his face in vain. Though the corruptions of thy heart Daily new cause of grief impact,.
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Pray that thy lust may all be slain, Nor shalt thou seek his face in vain. Though sharp afflictions still abound, And clouds and darkness thee surround, Still pray, for God will all explain, Nor shalt thou seek his face in vain. In him, and him alone, confide; Still at the throne of grace abide; Eternal victory thou shalt gain, Nor shalt thou seek his face in vain.
No time to pray! O, who so fraught with earthly care As not to give a humble prayer Some part of day! What heart so clean, so pure within, That needeth not some check from sin. Needs not to pray? No time to pray? Who need not pray? Of what an easy, quick access My blessed Lord, art thou! To show that state dislikes not easiness, If I but lift mine eyes, my suit is make; Thou canst no more not hear than thou canst die.
Of what supreme, almighty power Is thy great arem, which spans the east and west, And tracks the centre to the sphere! By it do all things live their measured hour: We cannot ask the thing which is not there, Blaming the shallowness of our request. Of what unmeasurable love Art thou possest, who, when thou couldst not die, Wert fain to take our flesh and cruse, And for our sakes, in person sin reprove; That by destroying that which tied thy purse, Thou mightest make way for liberlaity. Since then these three wait on thy throne, Ease, Power and Love; I value prayer so, That were I to leave all but one, Wealth, fame, endownments virtues, all should go, I and dear prayer could together dwell, And quickly gain, for each inch lost, and ell.
O God of Bethel! By whose hand Thy people still are fed; Who, through this weary pilgrimage Hast all our fathers led— Our vows, our prayers we now present Before thy throne of grace: God of our fathers! Through each perplexing path of life, Our wandering footsteps guide; Give us each day our daily bread, And raiment fit provide. Such blessings from thy gracious hand, Our humble prayers implore; And thou shalt be our chosen God And portion evermore. Oh, this is blessing, this is rest! O, tenderness! O, truth divine! Lord, I am altogether thine, I have bowed down; I need not flee; Peace,peace is mine in trusting thee.
O Thou who camest from above The pure, celestial fire to impart: Kindlea flame of sacred love On the mean altar of my heart. There let it for Thy glory burn With inextinguishable blaze, And trembling to its source return, In humble prayer and fervent praise. Oh, closer every day; Let me lean harder on Thee, Jesus, Yes, harder all the way.
Oh, what peace we often forfeit! Oh, what needless pain we bear! All because we do not carry Everything to God in prayer;. Jesus, where'er thy people meet, There they behold thy mercy-seat; Where'er they seek thee thou art found, And ev'ry place is hallow'd ground. For thou, within no walls confin'd, Inhabitest the humble mind; Such ever bring thee, where they come, And going, take thee to their home. Dear Shepherd of thy chosen few! Thy former mercies here renew; Here, to our waiting hearts, proclaim The sweetness of thy saving name. Here may we prove the pow'r of pray'r, To strengthen faith, and sweeten care; To teach our faint desires to rise, And bring all heav'n before our eyes.
At thy commanding word, We stretch the curtain and the cord; Come thou, and fill this wider space, And help us with a large increase. Lord, we are few, but thou art near; Nor short thine arm, nor deaf thine ear; Oh rend the heav'ns, come quickly down, And make a thousand hearts thine own! O watch and fight, and pray. Renew it boldly every day, And help divine implore.
Fight on, my soul In the happy moments, praise Him, In the difficult moments, seek Him, In the busy moments, bless Him, In the quiet moments, worship Him. In the waiting moments, trust Him, In the painful moments, touch Him, In the lovely moments, thank Him, In the quiet moments, worship Him. For the glory in all our moments, He is there, In goodness, in kindness, in love.
Pray, though the gifts you ask for May never comfort your fears, May never repay your pleading:: Yet pray, and with hopeful tears, An answer --not that you sought for, But diviner--will come one day: Yet strive and wait and pray. Adelaide A. I asked the Lord, that I might grow In faith, and love, and every grace, Might more of His salvation know, And seek more earnestly His face.
It was He who taught me thus to pray, And He, I trust has answered prayer; But it has been in such a way, As almost drove me to despair. I hoped that in some favored hour, At once He'd answer my request: And by His love's constraining power, Subdue my sins, and give me rest. Instead of this, He made me feel The hidden evils of my heart; And let the angry powers of hell Assault my soul in every part. Yes more, with His own hand He seemed Intent to aggravate my woe; Crossed all the fair designs I schemed, Blasted my gourds, and laid me low.
Lord, why is this, I trembling cried, Will You pursue Your worm to death? Prayer changes things -- and yet how blind And slow we are to taste and see The blessedness that comes to those Who trust in Thee. But henceforth we will just believe God. Prayer is the burden of a sigh, The falling of a tear, The upward glancing of an eye, When none but God is neat. Prayer is the simplest form of speech That infant lips can try; Prayer is the sublimest strains that reach The Majesty on high.
Written by James Montgomery, the son of a Moravian missionary, who, despite his religious teaching, did not learn of the joys of salvation until he had bitterly experienced the disappointments of the pleasures of this world. Prayer is the burden of a sigh, The falling of a tear; The unward glancing of an eye When none but God is near. The saints in prayer appear as one, In word, and deed, and mind; While with the Father and the Son, Sweet felloship they find. The path of prayer thyself hast trod; Lord, teach us how to pray. Prayer makes darkened clouds withdraw, Prayer climbs the ladder Jacob saw; Gives exercise to faith and love, Brings every blessing from above.
Prayers and praises go in pairs, They hath praises who hath prayers. Pray, though the gifts you ask for May never comfort your fears, May never repay your pleading:: Yet pray, and with hopeful tears, An answer --not that you sought for, But diviner--will come one day: Your eyes are too dim tosee it, Yet strive and wait and pray. Prayer was appointed to convey The blessings God designs to give. Long as they live should Christians pray; For only while they pray they. Depend on him, thou canst not fail; Make all thy wants and wishes known; Fear not, his merits must prevail; Ask what thou wilt, it shall be done.
Shepherd Divine, our wants relieve In this and every day; To all Thy tempted followers give The power, to watch and pray. Spirit of the living God, Fall fresh on me. Spirit of the living god, Fall fresh on me. Break me! Melt me! Mold me! Fill me! Spirit of the living God, fall on me. My Lord calls me, He calls me by thunder, The trumpet sounds within my soul. Steal away, steal away, steal away to Jesus.
Sweet hour of prayer, sweet hour of prayer, The joys I feel, the bliss I share of those whose anxious spirits burn with strong desires for thy return! With such I hasten to the place Where God, my Saviour, shows his face, and gladly take my station there, and wait for thee, sweet hour of prayer.
Teach me to pray Lord, teach me to pray, This is my heart cry day unto day; I long to know Thy will and Thy way; Teach me to pray Lord, teach me to pray. My weakened will, Lord, teach me to pray; My sinful nature Thou canst subdue; Fill me just now with power anew, Power to pray and power to do! Teach me to pray Lord, teach me to pray; Thou art my Pattern, day unto day; Thou art my surety, now and for aye; Teach me to pray, Lord, teach me to pray. Words and music by Albert S. Reitzd; copyright , renewal Broadman Press. Used by permission. Fillmore copyright Renewed by Nazarene Publishing House.
Problems just tumbled about me, and heavier came each task. I woke up early this morning, and paused before entering the day; I had so much to accomplish that I had to take time to pray. The light of love is round His feet, His paths are never dim; And He comes nigh to us, when we Dare not come nigh to Him. Let us be simple with Him, then, Not backward, stiff, or cold, As though our Bethlehem could be What Sinai was of old. The Lord has heard and answered prayer and saved his people in distress; this to the coming age declare, that they his holy name may bless.
All men in Zion shall declare his gracious name with one accord, when kings and nations gather there to serve and worship God the Lord. You, O Jehovah, shall endure, your throne forever is the same; and to all generations sure shall be your great memorial name. Psalm The Psalter, ; alt. Bid the unruly throng depart, And leave the consecrated door. Devoted as it is to thee, A thievish swarm frequents the place; They steal away my joys from me, And rob my Saviour of his praise.
I know them, and I hate their din; Am weary of the bustling crowd; But while their voice is heard within, I cannot serve thee as I would. O for the joy thy presence gives; What peace shall reign when thou art here; Thy presence makes this den of thieves A calm, delightful house of prayer. And if thou make thy temple shine, Yet, self-abased, will I adore; The gold and silver are not mine; I give thee what was thine before. The Ministry of Intercession.
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There is no holy service But hath its secret bliss: Yet, of all blessed ministries, Is one so dear as this? While some are hushed in slumber, Some to fresh service wake, And thus the saintly number No change or chance can break. And thus the sacred courses Are evermore fulfilled, The tide of grace By time or place Is never stayed or stilled. Who are the blessed ministers Of this world-gathering band?
Yet there are some who see not Their calling high and grand, Who seldom pass the portals, And never boldly stand Before the golden altar On the crimson-stained floor, Who wait afar and falter, And dare not hope for more. Will ye not join the blessed ranks In their beautiful array? Let intercession blend with thanks As ye minister to-day! There are little ones among them Child-ministers of prayer, White robes of intercession Those tiny servants wear.
First for the near and dear ones Is that fair ministry, Then for the poor black children, So far beyond the sea. The busy hands are folded, As the little heart uplifts In simple love, To God above, Its prayer for all good gifts. There are hands too often weary With the business of the day, With God-entrusted duties, Who are toiling while they pray. They bear the golden vials, And the golden harps of praise Through all the daily trials, Through all the dusty ways, These hands, so tired, so faithful, With odours sweet are filled, And in the ministry of prayer And wonderfully skilled.
Free of the heavenly storehouse! There are noble Christian workers, The men of faith and power, The overcoming wrestlers Of many a midnight hour; Prevailing princes with their God, Who will not be denied, Who bring down showers of blessing To swell the rising tide. The Prince of Darkness quaileth At their triumphant way, Their fervent prayer availeth To sap his subtle sway. But in this temple service Are sealed and set apart Arch-priests of intercession, Of undivided heart. The fulness of anointing On these is doubly shed, The consecration of their God Is on each low-bowed head.
They bear the golden vials With white and trembling hand; In quiet room Or wakeful gloom These ministers must stand,-. To the Intercession-Priesthood Mysteriously ordained, When the strange dark gift of suffering This added gift hath gained. Not always with rejoicing This ministry is wrought, For many a sigh is mingled With the sweet odours brought. Yet every tear bedewing The faith-fed altar fire May be its bright renewing To purer flame, and higher. But when the oil of gladness God graciously outpoars, The heavenward blaze, With blended praise,More mightily uproars.
So the incense-cloud ascendeth As through calm, crystal air, A pillar reaching unto heaven Of wreathed faith and prayer. And evermore the Father Sends radiantly down All-marvellous responses, His ministers to crown; The incense-clond returning As golden blessing-showers, We in each drop discerning Some feeble prayer of ours, Transmuted into wealth unpriced, By Him who giveth thus The gloria all to Jesus Christ, The gladness all to us!
The prayers I make will then be sweet indeed If Thou the Spirit give by which I pray: My unassisted heart is barren clay, That of its nature self can nothing feed;. Thou must lead.
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The praying Spirit breathe, The watching power impart, From all entanglements beneath, Call off my anxious heart. My feeble mind sustain, By worldly thoughts oppressed, Appears and bid me turn again To my eternal rest. For prayer that humbles sets the soul From all delusions free, And teachers it how utterly Dear Lord, it hangs on Thee.
The Path of Prayer, Samuel Chadwick. Then earnest let us cry, And never faint in prayer: God loves our importunity, And makes our cause His care. Since Christ was God, why must He pray? By Him all things were known and made. Omniscient and omnipotent. Why need He ever ask for aid? And touched with our infirmities, For those few years like us to be, He still remembers we are dust, Since He was tempted like as we.
But well He knew the source of help, Whence comes all power, strength and peace, In blest communion with His God, Care and perplexity would cease. Oh, no, no, no, said Elder Slow, Such posture is too proud. A man should pray with eyes fast-closed And head contritely bowed. It seems to me his hands should be austerely clasped in front With both thumbs pointing toward the ground, Said Reverend Doctor Blunt. The victories won by prayer, By prayer must still be held; The foe retreats, but only when By prayer he is compelled.
My wells are dry. Then, seeing me empty, you forsake. And thus you neither need reply Nor can; thus, while we seem Two talkers, thou art One forever, and I No dreamer, but thy dream. Away in foreign lands they wondered how Their simple word had power. At home, the Christians two or three had met To pray an hour. Thou art coming to a King, Large petitions with thee bring; For his grace and power are such None can ever ask too much. This prayer is not his own: God Himself is speaking. See, God prays in him, and he stands in deep contemplation.
God has given him both the contemplation and the answer? The ruins of my soul repair, And make my heart a house of prayer. Thy promise, Lord, is ever sure, And they that in Thy house would dwell That happy station to secure, Must still in holiness excel. Ah, no! Am I His, or am I not? If I love, why am I thus; Why this dull, this lifeless frame?