Some time ago I asked a complete stranger to take a picture for me of a place where I once lived and had a very good time.
In 1989 I came to live in Old Hall, Little Plumstead Hospital. I made friends there that I haven’t forgotten and I never will. I lived and worked there, grew up, learned, loved and was loved.
Sing for me my daughter for I cannot sing no more
Sing and praise the Lord for me, my voice is weak
Sing for me because my strength is gone
Sing for me and you to Him who loves us both
Sing as if there was nothing else to do
Sing with all the power you have within you, your heart and voice
Sing Him praise, pray, beg, cry, rejoice
Sing to thank Him, love Him give your life to Him
Little Lord Fauntleroy, getting reacquainted with the most beautiful book of my childhood.
Once, when I was 6 or 7 years old, I read Little Lord Fauntleroy, a book written by Frances Hodgson Burnett. And when I finished it I read it again … and again. And I never forgot. It was my first book with people from the grown ups world, where people could be mean. And then there was this little boy, capable of making these mean people nice and happy again. It fired my imagination to leave your own trusted surroundings and take a boat across the sea, no land around you and surrendered to God’s mercy and to go to a country and live in a castle.
Once there was a singer
Who lived to Praise the Lord
And while he kept on singing
No bread he could afford
They loved his songs
We heard them all
They played so many
Winter, Spring or Fall
While all enjoyed the singing
He still had nowt to eat
His songs fed Faith to many
He craved for bread or meat
And still he kept on singing
For Praise his only want
They spread the songs he’d offered
There was a large demand
If only I could earn a living
Is what the singer thought
And with winter now a coming
A warm coat must be bought
They loved his songs
We heard them all
They played so many
Winter, Spring or Fall
But still he kept on singing, for Praise is all he want …
