The healing atmosphere
Delivers you from fear
And wipes tears away.
Our God of Compassion
Touches the hearts of many
And breaks their chains.
When you find Him
You can’t turn away.
He draws you in.
Receive Him and be made whole.
Strokes are healed,
We look to the Lord.
Our King is here.
Thank you Jesus
You have mercy on me.
He knows what you need.
Get up off your knees.
Come, enter the light.
You belong inside
Jesus, the gate to eternity.
We will live and not die
when we come inside
His holy kingdom.
Every soldier rejoice!
Your hands are washed clean
Washed in the blood of the Lamb.
He gave himself for us
So that we can be free.
God bless his holy name.
Stop punishing yourself.
Wake up! Your King has arrived.
He bore it all for you.
You are worth the best of Heaven
Brought down to serve.
God’s glory is in the clouds;
His love is in the sky.
With love He created fruit,
Sweet to eat and good for nourishment.
The love and care He has for creation.
The Lord Almighty is thinking of me
Expressing His love each day.
With grace, He generously gives all.
How much can I receive?
Heaven overflows with blessings.
They are available to partake.
If we know that they are ours,
Are we bold enough to ask for them?
Please come, He wants to give it to you.
You are His desire.
I’m on the edge.
I’m on the edge of the middle.
It’s a constant food crusade.
I eat Doritos from the wrong end.
Eating them the hard way isn’t necessarily bad.
Real men eat Doritos the hard way.
Real men aren’t afraid of a challenge.
Real men blah blah blah.
My jokes aren’t funny.
When I perform them for people nobody laughs.
While I smile no one snickers, not even a grin.
I wrote a story that I thought was creative.
It was boring and the plot didn’t make sense.
I wrote a screenplay that I thought was hilarious.
I showed it to an actor who was perfect for the lead.
He dropped it in the shredder.
I gave a presentation.
A few people looked at their watches, others slept.
I wrote a poem. I thought it was clever.
My husband got mad when I recited it.
I was standing in front of the television
And my poem didn’t rhyme.