Not a Psalm 1

How do I praise you father?
How do I speak my gratitude?
I cannot return your grace.

You whisper to me in the quiet hours each morning,
before the first diamond of light sparkles on distant peaks.

You walk with me through the forest,
where tears of rain touch the fingertips of tall trees.

You give me strength to climb the mountain,
where I gaze far and marvel at the miracle of your creation.

You stand beside me by the ocean
where I feel your power in waves that crash against the reef;
I feel your love,
as those towering waves become soft blankets covering my toes.

Father, you sit beside me in the late of day.
As I watch the sun bleed her life across the sky,
I recall the blood you shed for me,
and your promise of a new day.

How do I praise you father? How do I speak my gratitude?
All that I have, all that I am or ever will be, all that is good is from you, Lord.
I cannot return your grace.

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Born in Harrisburg, PA. Undergrad at Drexel University. Learned to ride a bike when six years old, riding ever since. Started cooking when I was in college, stopped when I got married, started again in 2006 when my wife was out of town for a few months. Jobs: worked at post office while in college to earn money to buy a stereo. After grad school, worked at a small software company in Redmond, WA for twelve years. Afterwards, went back to school to get a certificate, then started teaching high school. Still doing that off and on, part time as the need arises.

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