Dailey & Vincent sing "When the Roll is Called Up Yonder"

 

WHEN THE ROLL IS CALLED UP YONDER

When the trumpet of the Lord shall sound,

And time shall be no more,

And the morning breaks, eternal, bright and fair;

When the saved of earth shall gather

Over on the other shore,

And the roll is called up yonder,

I’ll be there.

Refrain:

When the roll, is called up yonder,

When the roll, is called up yonder,

When the roll, is called up yonder,

When the roll is called up yonder

I’ll be there.

On that bright and cloudless morning

When the dead in Christ shall rise,

And the glory of His resurrection share;

When His chosen ones shall gather

To their home beyond the skies,

And the roll is called up yonder,

I’ll be there.

Let us labor for the Master

From the dawn till setting sun,

Let us talk of all His wondrous love and care;

Then when all of life is over,

And our work on earth is done,

And the roll is called up yonder,

I’ll be there.

(James M. Black, 1889)

Lyrics source: Postcards From God on Facebook

Romans 8:11 NIV

And if the Spirit of him who raised Jesus from the dead is living in you, he who raised Christ from the dead will also give life to your mortal bodies because of[a] his Spirit who lives in you.

Revelation 20:12-15 NIV

12 And I saw the dead, great and small, standing before the throne, and books were opened. Another book was opened, which is the book of life. The dead were judged according to what they had done as recorded in the books. 13 The sea gave up the dead that were in it, and death and Hades gave up the dead that were in them, and each person was judged according to what they had done. 14 Then death and Hades were thrown into the lake of fire. The lake of fire is the second death. 15 Anyone whose name was not found written in the book of life was thrown into the lake of fire.

John 5:28-29

28 “Do not be amazed at this, for a time is coming when all who are in their graves will hear his voice 29 and come out—those who have done what is good will rise to live, and those who have done what is evil will rise to be condemned.

1 Thessalonians 4:16-17

16 For the Lord himself will come down from heaven, with a loud command, with the voice of the archangel and with the trumpet call of God, and the dead in Christ will rise first. 17 After that, we who are still alive and are left will be caught up together with them in the clouds to meet the Lord in the air. And so we will be with the Lord forever.

Always in their heart

 

You’ll walk past someone who’s grieving today; someone who is carrying the ghost of love.

And the ghost of love is heavy: it makes the easy things difficult, and the difficult things unbearable. It weighs on every breath, every step and every turn that we take. It can make the every-day exhausting.

For some people, the ghost is a new acquaintance, and they carry it on their shoulders.

Unknown and unfamiliar, it is finding its place. Figuring out how to settle here forever.

For some it is an old friend, and they carry it in their arms.

It’s almost pleasant and overly-familiar, but it can still grow heavy; and that’s when it starts to ache.

And for some, it has become a part of who they are.

It walks beside them; love hand-in-hand with grief.

You’ll walk past someone who’s grieving today; someone weighed down by an invisible heaviness that they carry.

It’s new and it’s old,

and then it’s old that becomes new all over again in a heartbeat.

Because, no matter how long they have known it,

that is truly where they carry it.

Not on their shoulders.

Not in their arms.

But always,

always

in their heart.

*****

Becky Hemsley 2024

Beautiful artwork by Amanda Cass

This poem is from my most recent grief and loss collection, I Missed You Quietly Today:

Source: Becky Hemsley Poetry on Facebook

Time in a Bottle ~ Jim Croce

 

Video source: Jim Croce on Youtube

Image source: Poetry Lovers on Facebook

Ode to Spring

 

Spring will arrive.
Spring is coming.
Spring feels late…
and now—Spring is here.
Oh joy, Spring is here.

The rain has come,
and the grass turns
an Irish shade of green.

The crisp morning air reminds us
Spring is still new, still tender,
while the sun whispers
how warm it can be.

The birds come slowly—
one, two,
then whole families gathering,
searching for worms
in the Irish green grass.

The trees hold tiny buds,
full of quiet promise;
some will bloom into soft florals,
others into bright,
tender green leaves.

Spring is here,
and the earth is awakening
to all the things I love.

Oh joy…
Spring is here.

Above is a Slightly more lyrical version.

**********************

Gently Refined:

Spring will arrive.
Spring is coming.
Spring is late.
Spring is here—
oh joy, Spring is here.

The rain has come,
and the grass turns an Irish shade of green.
The crisp morning reminds us
Spring is still fresh.
The sun reminds us
how warm it can be.

The birds come in slowly—
one, two,
then whole families
searching for worms
in the Irish green grass.

The trees hold tiny buds;
some will bloom into beautiful florals,
and some into bright green tender leaves.

Spring is here,
and the earth is awakening
with the things I love.

Oh joy,
Spring is here.

**************************

Original:

Spring will arrive Spring is coming Spring is late Spring is here! Oh joy, Spring is here. The rain came and the grass turns an Irish shade of green. The crisp morning reminds us Spring is still fresh. The sun reminds us how warm it can be. The birds some in slowly one, two, then whole families looking for worms in the Irish green grass. The trees have tiny buds. Some will bloom beautiful floral and some bright green infant leaves. Spring is here and the earth is awakening with the things I love. Oh joy, Spring is here.

Original by me. Others written by me and refined by Chatgpt.

Ai artwork by me.

We come here with nothing

 

We come here with nothing
And we leave with nothing.
From birth to death, everything
is a gift.
Each person that passes our way
friend or foe, each comes with the
gift of learning.
Learning how to love, learning how
to set boundaries and learning how
to let go.
Throughout our journey we develop
grace, empathy and acceptance
and we learn to let go of hate,
as it's too heavy to carry.
Our natural state is love.
We came through love and
we return to love ...

C.E. Coombes

Art via Etsy

Source: Serendipity Corner on Facebook

Appalachia Connection

 

Driving through Kentucky feels normal… right up until the land starts folding in on itself like a crumpled piece of paper and you realize you’ve entered that part of the state.

One minute you’re cruising through smooth rolling farmland, thinking life is easy, roads are straight, and directions actually make sense. Next thing you know, you’re deep in eastern Kentucky where every road curves like it has trust issues and every hill looks like it’s hiding something.
You glance at the map and it’s just… wrinkles. Endless ridges stacked on top of each other like the earth decided to freestyle.
GPS? Completely overwhelmed.
“Turn left in 500 feet” — there is no left. There is only mountain.
You start going up… and up… and somehow still going up. Then suddenly you’re going down so steep you’re questioning your brakes, your life choices, and why this road even exists.
And don’t even get me started on what’s tucked back there: • a random house halfway up a mountain like gravity is optional
• a truck behind you that knows every curve personally
• and a road name that sounds made up but somehow isn’t
Meanwhile the rest of Kentucky is just minding its business, nice and open…
but over here? This is where the terrain said,
“Let’s make it interesting.”
Only in Kentucky can a “shortcut” turn into a full-blown mountain expedition.
And the wildest part?
Locals drive it like it’s a straight line.
Source: Kentucky Life on Facebook
**************

I was born in the middle of those wrinkles in Hazard.

If you’ve ever seen that part of Kentucky from above, you know what I mean—the land doesn’t stretch out, it folds in on itself. Ridges rise and fall like waves that never quite settled, and roads wind in ways that make you trust the curve before you can see what’s coming. It’s beautiful in a way that’s hard to explain unless you’ve lived inside it.

Growing up there leaves its mark on you.

For me, it left a deep and lasting fear of heights. When the world drops off just a few feet too sharply, I still feel it—that tightness, that awareness of how quickly solid ground can disappear. I think it comes from those narrow roads carved into hillsides, from looking out and realizing just how far down “down” really goes.

And yet, I love it.

I love that land in a way that feels stitched into me. Because those hills don’t just hold roads and trees—they hold stories. They hold my beginnings. They hold the voices, laughter, and quiet strength of people who know how to live close to the earth and even closer to each other.

This is God’s country, not because it’s perfect, but because it feels sacred in its honesty. There’s a humility in the land and in the people who call it home. A kindness that doesn’t ask for attention. A resilience that doesn’t need explaining.

I still have family there. People who carry on the rhythms of that place, who wake up to those same hills and call them ordinary, even though they’re anything but. And there are others—my people—laid to rest in that soil. Roots that don’t just grow down, but hold fast.

Maybe that’s why the connection never fades.

Even with the fear. Even with the distance.

Because no matter where I go, part of me will always belong to those mountains—to the curves in the road, the hush of the valleys, and the feeling that somehow, in all that ruggedness, I was held.

And in some quiet way, I still am.

Image source: Kentucky Life on Facebook

Breaking Through

Source: Ullie Kaye Poetry on Facebook