Unlimited Resources - Rod Ferbrache

We went to town last week to do some bits and bobs.
Nothing in particular, although there was one job.
When we gained a grandson we saved up our loose cash
And once in a while when there’s enough, to the bank we dash.
We did the same one Saturday, and as we stood in line
A thought dropped into my head, that there would come a time
When Zach would be quite old enough to know he had a sum
That bit by bit had mounted up and then the time would come
When with his bank book in his hand he’d draw some money out
He didn’t have to worry, he didn’t have to doubt.

While too young to understand, or even be aware,
Resources are building up from those who love and care.
It didn’t depend on what he did, the kind of boy he was,
The money was simply there, I have to say, because-
His Gran and Granddad love him just the way he is,
He didn’t have to earn it; the fact is, it was his-
To do with as he wanted, to spend it his own way,
We wouldn’t dictate just where it went, we wouldn’t have a say.
So we’ll go on saving, until the time is right
And when we hand it over we’ll share in his delight.

This got me kind of thinking how just like life this is?
A truth that stares us in the face, and yet can so easily miss.
That in our name a bank account is there in time of need,
To draw upon, to benefit, if the truth of God we heed.
He says to me in weakness, His strength will make me strong.
When I mess up, do stupid things, do something that is wrong,
For me there is forgiveness, a massive stash of grace,
But I must go and draw it out, if the future I will face.
The Father paid a huge sum in sending us His Son,
It seems so sad to waste it, with all that He has done.

When next you go into a bank to draw some money out
Remember all that Fathers done, you never need to doubt.
If in any way you lack, in spirit or in soul
It need not forever stay that way; He wants to make you whole.
You may not realise in Him how rich you really are.
It’s something that’s not measured by size of house or car.
It’s also not dependant on how much is in the bank
As a son or daughter of the King it is how high you rank.
If Father owns the cattle upon a thousand hills
Then all is at His disposal, and can give it as He wills.
So never think you’re wanting, or have a need that goes unmet
We are heirs to the King of all, this we never should forget.

Rod Ferbrache

The Two Hardest Words - Rod Ferbrache

There are words in our language that are hard to pronounce,
There are some which are harder to spell
And some so familiar they roll off the tongue,
Words that we know so well
We have words that describe the way that we feel
To explain just the person we are.
Phrases sum up our opinion of folk,
That express to them that we care.

Descriptions are used to tell of a scene
That we visited when abroad.
We excitedly tell of a bargain we had
Buying something we could afford
Then we give reasons of why we did this,
Or our actions caused us to do that.
It might be a jumper we liked the look of,
Or for a wedding we purchased a hat.

Can we remember a day go by
When never a word that we spoke?
Silence for us is unnatural and strange,
For we're generally socially folk.
Yet sometimes we hear of people we know
Who have fallen out with each other?
It's sometimes between brothers and sisters,
Or worse, between father and mother.

Some words were spoken that cut to the quick,
That once uttered could not be retrieved.
A rift was created, an unbridgeable gap,
At least that's the lie they believed.
Years go by not a word was spoken,
The distance between them grows
In fact it is possible so long has time past,
If you ask, nobody knows -
The reason behind the silence
Why one does not speak to the other
The matter could so easily be solved,
But nobody seems to bother.

As I said at the start we have different words,
Some seem so hard to tell
But it isn't always the length of the words,
Or the fact that we cannot spell.
There comes a time when we refuse to admit
That we are in the wrong.
We only need to speak two words,
Yet it seems to take so long.

You see, those two little words are the hardest two words,
And by some are never spoken
And because these two words are the hardest two words
Many relationships remain broken.
What are those two words? The hardest two words?
Do we really need to worry?
Well yes, we do, for those two little words
Are just simply "I'm sorry".

Rod Ferbrache

Tears …The Souls Rain - Rod Ferbrache

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It says in Psalm 34 “The Lord is close to the broken-hearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit.”
Therefore none of our tears are wasted or overlooked.

The young married couple had dreamt of the day
When a daughter or son would be born.
At last the time came for the wife to give birth
Though the labour was long, and she worn.
Nothing could stop the joy in their hearts,
As she held the young babe to her breast,
A tear trickled down the young father’s cheek,
As he looked at the infant at rest.
So innocent there, untouched by the world,
With a peace that nothing could shake.
He was choked with emotion, full of pride too,
That he felt his heart would break.

The child quickly grew, and to school she did go,
Her lessons she learnt with ease,
A good sense of humour, well liked in the class,
A person who loved a good tease.
In no time at all university loomed,
With all of the study that meant,
She excelled in her work, a degree was attained,
A career in medicine spent.
As her parents watched on graduation day
Their daughter walk forward so meek,
Their eyes filled with water, a lump in their throats,
And tears trickled down both their cheeks.

One day she arrived at the family home
With a young man they never had seen,
“I’d like you to meet my husband to be”,
She said in a voice so keen.
Dad looked at Mum, Mum spluttered out loud,
“We really had no idea”.
“Oh mummy, we’re headlong in love, you see,
You really have nothing to fear!”
The church was arranged, the outfits bought,
The wedding day quickly arrived.
What a picture she made, their own little girl
Was now somebody else’s bride.
Once again they felt that that tear trickling down,
As they let their daughter go.
On the way home, it struck them so hard,
The trickle turned into a flow.

The parents had brought up their girl in the Lord,
She walked with Him close to her side.
But with pressures of family, career, and time,
She gradually started to slide.
At first, - wasn’t much, just her prayer time got dropped
In an effort to fit it all in.
But before very long, she was staying out late,
And then a young man led her to sin.
How it broke the hearts of her parents close by,
As they saw all their dreams disappear.
It wasn’t for joy, pleasure, or pride
That they ended up shedding a tear.

Like the Prodigal son in the story of old,
‘Twas only when nothing remained
She came to her senses, returned to her home,
Begged forgiveness from those she had pained.
There were tears shed that night, for the lost had been found,
They were gripped in a tight embrace.
It mattered not what the neighbours thought,
Or to the family, had brought disgrace.
Their child was back home, to the ones who had loved,
Throughout this crisis and pain.
Tears were a symbol of the compassion they felt,
But their faces expressed all the strain.

Tears are the rain that waters the soul,
As it passes through seasons which change,
Some filled with such joy, inexpressibly good,
The thought of sorrow seems strange.
But all of us know from personal expense,
That grief comes to each one in turn.
Whether it be the loss of a son,
Or a difficult lesson to learn.
Perhaps it’s our way of coping with pain,
Or compassion, or being a friend.
It never hurts to show that we care,
If a few tears on our loved ones we spend.

When Lazarus died, and Jesus was told
His friend had passed away,
He didn’t pretend He was under control,
Or even call it a day.
He came to Bethany, to the home that He loved,
To the place He had eaten and slept.
It wasn’t the words that He spoke that day –
We remember just “That He Wept”.
He cried tears of sadness, just as we do,
There were times of passion He felt.
Remember that night in the garden alone,
There fell sweat drops of blood where He knelt.

The tears that you shed in secret,
The emotions that run so deep,
He sees every drop, He knows every heart,
And near to His side He will keep-
Those who are hurting, confused, at an end.
He promises always to stay-
Until the time comes, as He says in His Word,
“All tears will be wiped away."

Rod Ferbrache

Lord when did you know? - Rod Ferbrache

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It was a question that entered my head that was the inspiration for this poem.
I thought, "I wonder at what point our Lord knew He was going to die for His world?"
And then a whole lot of other questions followed;

Lord when did you know? - Rod Ferbrache

As You brought into being this world of ours
The seas and the earth, birds, animals, flowers,
How far did You look down the road of time?
When you fashioned each leaf of the very first vine.
What did You think as the stars shone above?
Was the moon created simply for love?
And did the sun shine just to give off its heat?
Is the reason for animals just for their meat?
As I look at creation, it’s not answers I find,
Things didn’t evolve; they were part of a plan,
Right there in Genesis, the redemption of man

When You made that first tree did your eye shed a tear?
Did You see the time when your Son would hang there?
Were You tempted to make the bark of soft wood –
To ease His pain just as a father would?
As You added the thorns to the desert bush
Did You think of the time the soldiers would push –
Them into the brow of your precious Son?
Did You ever regret just what You had done?
When You laid the foundations with iron ore
Could You see the nails, which in His hands tore?
Was it painful to You, could Your tender heart feel
The stab of the spear with its tip of steel?

At the beginning of time when You made all these things
Did You stop to consider the pain it would bring,
Why was manmade, if You knew he would slay –
The dear Son of God, some dark evil day.
As You fashioned each stone as though it was hewn,
When did You realise it was for a tomb?
When You planted that garden for man to dwell,
Did You think of Gethsemane, and the road to Hell –
That Jesus would enter to take my place,
To carry my shame, to bear my disgrace?

For You gave the thorns, the nails and the tree,
And left them with man knowing how they would be –
Used as instruments to kill your Son.
But yet, as I ponder it, Your will was done.
You loved us completely, You could not forego
The work of creation if You, we would know.
I can’t understand such love, so great.
A love so much greater than a world full of hate.
A Creator who saw before time began
Exactly the way the gulf to span
Between Him and I, the gain the loss,
For without a tree there could be no Cross,
Without a Cross no forgiveness of sin,
But because of the Cross, I have Him within.

Rod Ferbrache

The School Bully - Rod Ferbrache

There once was a boy, who was frightened of school,
The thought of it filled him with dread.
For t’was many a time he said he was ill,
And often spent days tucked in bed.
You see, there were boys who bullied and punched,
They roamed the playground in gangs,
Threatening, taunting, fearsome they were,
Even lying in wait in the lanes.

So schooling was wasted, so little achieved.
“Could do better than this,” his reports read.
The potential was there, if only applied,
But too often alone, stuck in bed.
The years soon passed by, and a job was found,
Then in time moved on to another.
From growing to gardening, from bakery to post,
New skills were learnt without bother.
School memories faded, along with the hurt,
The family quickly did grow.
He little expected the time would come
When he’d come face to face with his foe.

The bully was seeking work for himself,
Some thirty odd years had gone by.
Yet when the victim set eyes on this man
He realised the hurt had not died.
Yet strange how the tables had turned around,
Revenge was an option, a choice.
The one who was bullied, helpless and dumb,
Was a person who had a voice.

Do I get my own back on this villain of old?
Shall I get even with him and be done?
Yet sensed if he gave in to a feeling like this,
It wouldn’t be him who had won.
He felt the Lord say quite clearly to him
“Forgiveness is surely the way”.
So the hurt he surrendered, the past put behind,
And a victory was won that day.

You see, I was that boy, and I am that man.
Thanks to His power I could forgive.
T’was His compassion that reached out that day,
As my motives I allowed Him to sieve.
Many experiences have I known,
Bereavement, anguish and pain.
None of these could I face in my strength,
But had to call on His name.

There are things in our lives which are hard to face,
We bury them deep in our soul,
But the Lords desire is to draw them out,
So our lives can be healthy and whole.
We can’t treat ourselves, we haven’t the means.
Lets learn to acknowledge this fact –
It’s not always us that sort things out,
We must give God permission to act.

Rod Ferbrache

I’ll Just Call Facilities - Rod Ferbrache

The day was hot and sunny and heat was pouring in,
The air con set to cooling, we knew we couldn’t win.
“Too hot” the cry came from a desk right by a window pane.
I can’t bear another moment, and blow the solar gain!”
“I’m going to call Facilities; they’ll know just what to do,
They’ll understand the reason, I won’t sit here and stew.

The one wrapped in the blanket, with woolly hat and scarf,
Overheard the conversation and said “hey, don’t you make me laugh!
You say that you are boiling, and sweating from the heat,
Well come and feel my hands and feet, they’re lumps of frozen meat!”
“I’m going to call Facilities; they’ll know just what to do,
They’ll understand the reason, I won’t sit here with flu!”.

Across from these two people sat with a smile from ear to ear.
A happy warm employee, they had nothing they need fear.
It mattered not if sun or rain were forecast for the day,
They knew that it was certain that the temperature would stay
Exactly how they liked it, neither hot nor cold – just right.
“I won’t call Facilities, and share my colleague’s plight”.

The moral of this story, though common, and quite true,
Is there needs to be more people who love being in a stew.
Or else be pleased at times to freeze, so mates can be just right.
There are bigger battles out there that we can face and fight.
Yet if you call Facilities, they’ll know just what to do.
They’ll go out on an errand, and leave you red or blue!

Rod Ferbrache

The Shadow - Rod Ferbrache

Long time ago in Bethlehem so the holy Bible say
Mary’s boy child Jesus Christ was born on Christmas day.
A lovely song we know so well, but does it make you wonder-
If there was far more truth than this, and maybe we should ponder
About poor Mary and the things she could’ve seen that night,
That made her heart uneasy, that didn’t seem quite right?
As she lay the baby down upon that rough old manger,
Did she see its legs had crossed, was that a sign of danger?

Then later on as Jesus grew into a fine young lad,
And learned to fashion wood beside his ageing dad.
Did Mary ever stop and stare upon the things he made?
Perhaps a stool or table, or a handle for a spade?
Did she ever marvel at his affinity with wood?
Were the alarm bells ringing, had she understood?
A carpenter he is right now, but would he always be,
The words that kept repeating, was simply these, “a tree.”

The years went by so quickly, Jesus was now a man,
He began a ministry, said this was the Father’s plan.
Crowds seem to follow him no matter where he went,
So he stepped into a boat that'll James and John had lent.
As they launched off from the shore out across the lake,
Did Mary see a future sight that made her poor heart break?
For as the boat went further out she felt a sense of loss,
Was it a coincidence that the mast had formed a cross?

A few months on the crowd had turned into an angry mob,
The sight that Mary looked on just made her sob and sob.
There was a cross before her, in fact not one but three.
Her son was on the middle one yet no one heard her plea.
She heard him cry for water, but vinegar they gave,
She saw him hang and die there, and no one came to save.
Then all those signs that she had seen throughout his life on earth
Made sense to her, and she could trace them from his birth.

We celebrate at Christmas the coming of God’s son; .
At Easter time we’re thankful for all that he has done.
But stoop into the stable; look at the manger bare,
There is a shadow of a cross that you can make out there.
For even though we celebrate, with joy that well loved story,
We can’t ignore the fact that when he left his glory -
He knew what he was coming to, what price he’d have to pay.
Make sure that you remember him this year on Christmas day.

Rod Ferbrache

The Changing Scenes of Christmas - Rod Ferbrache

Christmas has changed don’t you think?
From the ones when I was a lad,
Those times were special, simple and good,
Just my brothers, and me, Mum and Dad.
The ceiling was covered in paper chains,
There was holly and ivy – no tree,
Dad found a branch of evergreen oak,
Was as good as the real thing to me.

We’d go to bed early on Christmas Eve,
Made the night go quicker we thought,
But every so often I’d creep down the bed,
To feel what Santa had brought.
One of Dad’s socks did the trick every year,
Was amazing how much it would stretch,
We’d jump in their bed at the crack of dawn,
And our stockings we’d one by one fetch.

Christmas has changed don’t you think?
From the ones when I was a teen,
There were all sorts of decisions to make,
Like where to spend Christmas – I mean
Should I go to my girlfriend’s house?
Or should she come over to us?
What a difficult job to please everyone,
Yet we managed without too much fuss.

I remember one year on Boxing Day,
The party was held at my Gran,
It had snowed overnight but the roads were clear,
To drive Judy home was the plan.
But as evening fell so did the snow
Twas too deep to drive into town,
So she came home with me, and much to my glee,
From my parents not even a frown.

Christmas has changed don’t you think?
From the time when my children were small,
There were wish lists and hints dropped,
And the hope was that Santa would call.
It was their turn to jump on our bed in the dark,
“Can we get up, is it time?”
Didn’t matter that Dad worked a hundred hour week,
“Oh please can we get up?” they’d whine,

I loved Boxing Day; we’d play with their toys,
There was always something to make,
Lego was great; we’d build something big,
Like airports and towns with a lake.
My Little Pony, the Care Bears and Flumps,
Sylvanian families were fun,
The hours we spent on the floor with these things,
Just to think makes my throat grow a lump.

Christmas has changed don’t you think?
Now the girls have got boyfriends in tow,
Yet there’s a tradition that stays with us still,
You’ll not guess, so I’ll let you know.
Christmas Eve walks – they’re precious to me,
We’ve been doing them now twenty years,
We go out at three and come back in the dark,
During which we have faced many fears.

We can’t go on roads only farmland they say,
So through all the mud we trot,
There’s been chases with bulls, electrified fence,
And sometimes we’ve even been shot!
You’d think they could tell the difference between –
A rabbit, and humans times three,
But we still had to run across open land
And shelter behind a stout tree.

Christmas has changed don’t you think?
From that first Christmas long ago,
But has it? Or is it the things we have done
That has caused the occasion to grow.
We still celebrate the King who was born
In a stable so cold and bare
We sing of the Wise Men, who came from so far,
To worship, and give, and stare –
Into the eyes of the Christ child so small
A child who was destined to die,
We still praise His name and trust in His cross,
That was given for you and for I.

The story of Christmas remains the same,
The response is for us to give,
We either accept or reject this gift,
We can choose to die or to live,
Christmas can change from the one that you know,
The one that is never the same,
Just come to the Saviour, He beckons to you,
Listen, He’s calling your name.

Rod Ferbrache

Leave All Your Belongings Behind - Rod Ferbrache

I was sitting alone on the aeroplane
When the air steward began to speak.
I’d heard it before, about overhead lockers,
And the life jacket under the seat.
How to put it on and do up the straps.
Inflate it when outside the craft.
The whistle to blow, the light that would come on.
The doors that were fore and aft.

But then she said something that made me sit up,
It struck me as though the first time -
These words had been spoken, yet I am sure
I had oft heard this single line.
She spoke of us leaving the aircraft in haste
And she no doubt meant to be kind
But the words that she spoke were simply this...
“Leave all your belongings behind”.

“Leave all your belongings behind”, she said
For me that meant nothing at all.
I had no luggage with me you see.
Yet for others it would be a hard call.
There were some with computers, and briefcases full –
Of thins so hard to replace.
Others with weeks of clothing onboard
To lose them would be a disgrace.

“Leave all your belongings behind”
Is something we may never have done.
Yet a lot of our lives are spent, you’ll agree,
Just thinking of number one.
Accumulating things that hold value for us,
Fulfilling a want or desire.
We have often mentioned what we would grab
If our house should ever catch fire.

Because just as the air steward put it,
“Leave all your belongings behind”.
That’s how it will be at life’s ending,
You may think it a little unkind.
Yet the Bible so clearly puts it,
“Lay not up your treasures on earth”.
For when we face our Maker
None of this has any worth

But lay up treasure in Heaven
Where no rust can corrupt, or thief steal
Don’t hanker for things that have little value,
Spend time on things that are real.

We can get so hooked on the here and now,
Then give no heed to the there and then.
Yet there’s coming a day for everyone here
A time that is nearer than when –
We first got up this morning
Much nearer than we like to admit,
When we have to face the Saviour
And explain what we did with our bit.

Let us hold on to the world much lighter,
Its attractions lay to one side.
We need to live closer to Jesus.
In Him we need to abide.
“Leave all your belongings behind” is the call.
It will happen to us, ready or not.
Let’s strive for the crown that awaits us,
And not dwell on the things that just rot.

Rod Ferbrache

Just Who Would Be In Jesus’ Church? - Rod Ferbrache

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Just Who Would Be In Jesus’ Church? - Rod Ferbrache

A question slipped into my mind,
They often do these days,
Of all the people in our church
Who walk in different ways,
We’ve young and old, thin, fat and tall,
They vary quite a bit,
But generally are all the same,
No matter where they sit,

Respectable and dignified,
Middle class, well spoken too,
We all have cars, and lovely homes,
And rather well to do.
Life for most is comfortable,
With food and drink a-plenty,
We never know of what it’s like
To sleep outside, cold – empty!

We don’t look out of prison
With windows barred and bleak,
Where liberty is taken from us
With a visit once a week.
No urge to steal for drugs or drink
To get us through the day,
No selling of our bodies
Not with strangers do we lay.

So I got to think
If Jesus had a church
Who would He have in it?
For which people would He search?
Because as I look at Scripture,
And see the folk He found,
They were not the sort of people
We would like around.

Isolated lepers,
With sores that smelt and wept,
Tax fiddlers, enemy soldiers,
Were the company He kept,
Rough and rugged fishermen,
Women of the night,
These were the sort of people,
We see His heart delight.

So when I ask the question
Who would be in Jesus’ church?
The answer that returns to me
Makes my own heart lurch.
For it would not necessarily be
The people here today,
But the ones the world has
Turned its back on,
Are the ones who stay away.

The reason that they stay away,
Is often plain to see,
They simply don’t feel good enough,
To mix with the likes of me.
There’s a feeling of unworthiness
That can keep them from this place,
Their shame and degradation,
Isolation and disgrace.

Yet Jesus always had the time,
In fact He sought them out,
Never did He turn away
Never did He doubt
That in the schemes of glory
There would be a place
For the dirty, down and out,
He made for them a space.

So as we go to church each week,
And fill the same old seat,
If we see a stranger,
Let’s stand and go to greet
Those people Jesus sends us,
Let’s make them feel at home,
It was always His intention
This should be their home.

Rod Ferbrache

The Charcoal Fire - Rod Ferbrache

The night was dark and ugly
The crowd calling for blood.
Out in the garden of Gethsemane
Walked Jesus the Son of God.
There too were His disciples,
Frightened, confused, bereft.
Till finally all had fled away,
And only Peter was left.

He followed at a distance
Till the high priests house they reached
Stood alone in the courtyard,
While Caiaphas shouts and screeched.
Accusing Jesus of blasphemy,
For the Messiah he claimed to be.
Peter, by a charcoal fire
Strained forward so he could see.

"You're one of them the young girl said,
It's plain as plain can be."
"I’ve never seen this man before
One of those? Oh no, not me!"
But yet the girl persisted,
"I know you're one of his men."
Peter cursed and swore at her,
Then denied The Lord again.

He moved out to the entrance,
But the crowd were far from nice.
"I know him not!" poor Peter cried,
Then the cock bird crowed - just twice.
The memory then of Jesus words
Came flooding back to him.
"Three times you will disown me,
Three times that you will sin."

The days went by as though a blur,
Yet filled with such regret.
That night around the charcoal fire
He never could forget.
One morning on the fishing boat,
A little out to sea,
He smelt the smell of charcoal.
Not again....no, it couldn't be.

Looking out towards the shore
He saw a figure hunched and low.
A voice rang out, a voice so clear,
That instantly they know.
"It is The Lord", John shouted out,
Peter leapt straight from the ship.
It mattered not if clothed or wet,
He ended this fishing trip!

Breakfast of fish on red hot coals
Were eaten on shore that day,
And when the meal was over
The Master had His say.
No blame, no shame, just one question
Was asked to Peter thrice.
“Peter do you love Me?”
Three times, not once, not twice.

“Oh Lord, you who knows everything,
You see inside my heart.
You know how much I love you,
Regret tears me apart.”
“Then feed my sheep dear Peter,
Care for my lambs as well.
On you I'll build my church one day,
And in My presence dwell.”

So as we look at Peter,
And how from grace he fell.
The lesson that he teaches us
Is good news, so I'll tell.
We fall, and fail, deny, and curse,
In fact we've done the same
As Peter's done,
And hang our heads in shame.

The charcoal fire is waiting,
I can smell the fish from here.
The Master too is beckoning,
He wants us to draw near.
For there is full forgiveness,
For those who know they've fell.
Come now and seek that cleansing,
The charcoal I can smell.

Rod Ferbrache