God is in my fingers
When I play guitar
God is in my footsteps
When I must travel far
God is in my lips
When I whistle a tune
God is in my voice
When I sing or croon
God is my protector
When my goal is
reached
God is in my heart
When his word is
preached
God is my salvation
In every single way
God is in my heart
Every single day
Oh God in heaven
I thank you
For your son
For supporting me
Embracing me
Accepting me
For offering me your
hand
Your loving hand
We sing oh Lord
To praise you
For you support us
Embrace us
Accept us
You offer us your hand
Your loving hand
We give ourselves oh
Lord
Into your love
Sing in praise
To God on high
Accept Him
Into your heart
Sing in praise
To God our Lord
Accept His
Great gift of love
Sing in praise
To God on high
Accept Him
Into your life
Sing in praise
To God our Lord
Accept Him
As your saviour
One thing you’ll never hear,
And there is
absolutely no chance
Of anyone hearing a
Hindu say
Oh well, you only live
once
I believe in God
I believe him to be the creator
The creator of heaven and earth
Of the stars and the planets
I believe him to be the creator of the
universe
The scientific community
Talk of the big bang
Which sparked off the creation of the
universe
They call God a myth
And his creation a myth
Science of course call it the big bang theory
Theory being science speak for a guess
Or put another way a belief
They can no more prove their belief
Than I can prove the existence of God
For all their contempt for belief systems
They are locked in one of their own making
I have faith in the creation
But if there was a big bang
Then God pressed the button
When I was a boy I prayed to god
For a new bike for me
Than I realized that god
Doesn’t work like that you see
So I stole one instead
And asked him to forgive me
One day many years in the past
A young monk arrived at a monastery.
To assist other monks with the canon and laws
By making hand written copies
But he notices very quickly
That all of us are copying from copies,
And not from the original texts
So he goes to the Abbott with a query
He tells the Abbott of his concern
That any error in the first copy
No matter how small it may be
Would be duplicated in each subsequent copy
The abbot says to the boy
"We have been doing it for centuries
Copying from the copies
But you have a good point, sonny."
The abbot goes down to the dark caves
To the archives beneath the monastery
where the original manuscripts are held
Kept locked in a vault for safety
Hours go by and nobody sees the abbot
he misses his meals and prayers
The young monk gets worried
And goes to look for him downstairs
He finds him banging his head on a wall
Wailing, "We missed the “R”
His forehead is bloody and bruised
And the boy thinks that will lave a scar
The young monk asks the abbot,
"What's wrong?" why do you create
Crying the Abbott replies,
"The word was Celebrate!!!”
