How Did You Die?

Did you tackle that trouble that came your way

With a resolute heart and cheerful?
Or hide your face from the light of day
With a craven soul and fearful?
Oh, a trouble's a ton, or a trouble's an ounce,
Or a trouble is what you make it,
And it isn't the fact that you're hurt that counts,
But only how did you take it?

You are beaten to earth? Well, well, what's that?
Come up with a smiling face.
It's nothing against you to fall down flat,
But to lie there -- that's disgrace.
The harder you're thrown, why the higher you bounce;
Be proud of your blackened eye!
It isn't the fact that you're licked that counts,
It's how did you fight -- and why?

And though you be done to the death, what then?
If you battled the best you could,
If you played your part in the world of men,
Why, the Critic will call it good.
Death comes with a crawl, or comes with a pounce,
And whether he's slow or spry,
It isn't the fact that you're dead that counts,
But only how did you die?

Edmund Vance Cooke (1866 – 1932)

Our Daily Bread

Bread....Warm, soft, comforting...the smell wafting from the old kitchen brings a thousand different memories to a thousand different minds, the yeasty goodness taking you back to the time of family communion around your table, sharing the food of your father's labor together in a joyful supper.
Bread is a gift from the Lord that we sometimes over look because it is such a daily, normal thing. We often eat it in a hurry, rarely taking the time to ponder and realize what a gift this "staff of life" is. When you eat next, take a moment to thank Jesus, from your heart, realizing what He's given you, for the food you're about to eat, and for giving you this day, your daily bread.

Take a moment to read this beautiful poem below by Mrs. Grace N. Crowell~It will inspire you to knead for His glory and pleasure, and to thank Him for His goodness.
An ancient rite, as old as life is old:
A woman baking bread above a flame.
It's value is far greater than pure gold,
It is ageless, timeless, and the simple name
Of bread is wholesome as the summer sun
That has lit and warmed the fields that men might eat;
It is as clean as are the winds that run
Their light -foot way across the waving wheat,

A loaf is only half a loaf unless,
We share it, and unless we say
Our grace above it, asking God to bless
The bread that He had given day by day.
O woman, handle flour as you should!
It is a thing God-given, priceless, good.

-Grace Noll Crowell