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“THERE’S A BOOK
THAT’S SITTING IN YOUR HOUSE
SOMEWHERE THAT
COULD USE SOME
DUSTING OFF
THERE’S A MAN
WHO DIED FOR ALL
OUR SINS HANGING
FROM THE CROSS
YOU CAN GIVE
YOUR LIFE TO
JESUS
AND HE’LL GIVE
YOU A SECOND
CHANCE
“TIL YOU CAN’T”
~Lyrics added by Kid Rock, February 8, 2026, while performing a Cody Johnson Hit, called “Till You Can’t” at the TPUSA Alternative Superbowl Halftime Show.
So, on the hard days, you must remind yourself:
You wouldn’t trade the love to escape the grief.
You wouldn’t erase the happiness to avoid the pain.
And you will endure a lifetime of missing, for the privilege of having loved.
~ Jameson Arasi
I almost see the welcome
That’s waiting just for you
Beyond the gates of heaven
When you have stepped right through:
The glowing light of heaven –
God’s presence all around,
The sweetest songs all filling
The air with joyful sound,
The pure and lovely fragrance
Of home sweet home at last,
The wide-awake, glad feeling
Of life when pain is past,
The dear ones gone before you
All gathered round the throne,
The fuller understanding
Of all you’ve ever known,
And best of all the Savior
Who’ll welcome you above
To share His life forever
In perfect peace and love.
~Christina Joy Hommes
In memory of Joseph Scott Samson
(July 18, 1964 – May 3, 2025)
Who am I? They often tell me
I stepped from my cells confinement
Calmly, cheerfully, firmly,
Like a Squire from his country house.
Who am I? They often tell me
I used to speak to my warders
Freely and friendly and clearly,
As thought it were mine to command.
Who am I? They also tell me
I bore the days of misfortune
Equably, smilingly, proudly,
like one accustomed to win.
Am I then really that which other men tell of?
Or am I only what I myself know of myself?
Restless and longing and sick, like a bird in a cage,
Struggling for breath, as though hands were compressing my throat,
Yearning for colors, for flowers, for the voices of birds,
Thirsting for words of kindness, for neighborliness,
Tossing in expectations of great events,
Powerlessly trembling for friends at an infinite distance,
Weary and empty at praying, at thinking, at making,
Faint, and ready to say farewell to it all.
Who am I? This or the Other?
Am I one person today and tomorrow another?
Am I both at once? A hypocrite before others,
And before myself a contemptible woebegone weakling?
Or is something within me still like a beaten army
Fleeing in disorder from victory already achieved?
Who am I? They mock me, these lonely questions of mine.
Whoever I am, Thou knowest, O God, I am thine!
~ Deitrich Bonhoeffer1http://www.dbonhoeffer.org/who-was-db2.htm
Pity the nation whose people are sheep
And whose shepherds mislead them
Pity the nation whose leaders are liars
Whose sages are silenced
And whose bigots haunt the airwaves
Pity the nation that raises not its voice
Except to praise conquerors
And acclaim the bully as hero
And aims to rule the world
By force and by torture
Pity the nation that knows
No other language but its own
And no other culture but its own
Pity the nation whose breath is money
And sleeps the sleep of the too well fed
Pity the nation oh pity the people
who allow their rights to erode
and their freedoms to be washed away
My country, tears of thee
Sweet land of liberty!
~ Lawrence Ferlinghetti
It was spring, but it was summer I wanted,
the warm days, and the great outdoors.
It was summer, but it was fall I wanted,
the colorful leaves, and the cool, dry air.
It was fall, but it was winter I wanted,
the beautiful snow, and the joy of the holiday season.
It was winter, but it was spring I wanted,
the warmth and the blossoming of nature.
I was a child, but it was adulthood I wanted,
the freedom and respect.
I was 20, but it was 30 I wanted,
to be mature, and sophisticated.
I was middle-aged, but it was 20 I wanted,
the youth and the free spirit.
I was retired, but it was middle-age I wanted,
the presence of mind without limitations.
My life was over, and I never got what I wanted.
~ Jason Lehman
Jason Lehman wrote this poem when he was 14 years old. His grandmother sent it to Abigail Van Buren who verified Jason’s age and ran the story in her column “Dear Abby” on February 14, 1989.
Don’t grieve for me, for now, I’m free, to follow the path that God made for me.
I took His hand when I heard Him call, I turned my back and left it all.
I could not stay another day, to love, to laugh, to work, or play.
Tasks left undone must stay that way, For I found peace, at last, that day.
If my parting has left a void, then fill it with remembering joy.
A friendship shared, a laugh, a kiss, oh yes, these things I too will miss.
Be not burdened with hearts of sorrow, my wish for you is the hope of tomorrow.
My life’s been full, I’ve savored much, good friends, good times, a loved one’s touch.
Perhaps my time has seemed much too brief, don’t lengthen it now with undue grief.
Lift up your heart and share with me, God wants me now — He’s set me free.
~ Author Unknown
In memory of Jeanette Margaret Gold
(June 6, 1941 – October 3, 2022)
When I die
Give what’s left of me away
To children
And old men that wait to die.
And if you need to cry,
Cry for your brother
Walking the street beside you.
And when you need me,
Put your arms
Around anyone
And give them
What you need to give to me.
I want to leave you something,
Something better
Than words
Or sounds.
Look for me
In the people I’ve known
Or loved,
And if you cannot give me away,
At least let me live on your eyes
And not on your mind.
You can love me most
By letting
Hands touch hands,
By letting
Bodies touch bodies,
And by letting go
Of children
That need to be free.
Love doesn’t die,
People do.
So, when all that’s left of me
Is love,
Give me away.
~ Merrit Malloy
In Memory of Lawrence David Sinclair (August 26. 1943 – June 14, 2020)
‘Tis a fearful thing
to love what death can touch.
A fearful thing
to love, to hope, to dream, to be –
to be,
And oh, to lose.
A thing for fools, this,
And a holy thing,
a holy thing
to love.
For your life has lived in me,
your laugh once lifted me,
your word was gift to me.
To remember this brings painful joy.
‘Tis a human thing, love,
a holy thing, to love
what death has touched.
~Yehuda HaLevi (1075 – 1141)
In Memory of Nancy Potter
(October 7, 1954 – October 23, 2020)