Michael Kelly Blanchard Lyrics - Mercy in the Maze


Words and Music by M.K.Blanchard
İ Gotz Music/Benson
(860) 673-1032

Thanks Be To God
Grandmother Sunday
Chickadee Cherub
On Sorrow's Other Side
The Hope That Ends The Human Drought
The Bonnie Breath of God
Great is the Lord, God
I Love You, I Do, You Bet!
The Picture
There Are No Songs
The Holy Land of the Broken Heart

Thanks Be To God speaker

Who do you thank at the gate of the dawn as the hounds of the night back away?
Who do you thank for the morning's new song, sung by birds as they play?
Who do you thank for the sermon of sun,
Preaching the hope of a new day begun,
Testifying that love's light has won?
Who do you thank for this kingdom come?

Who do you thank for the knowledge of noon that stands every shadow on end.
Who do you thank for the neighborhood tunes,
that float on the breeze like old friends?
Who do you thank as the sky settles down,
and wraps a red robe round town after town
and calls to the stars to start making their rounds?
Who do you thank as this beauty abounds?

Thanks be to God for the wonder of living
Thanks be to God that itıs free.
Thanks be to God for the life you've been given.
Resting in mercy fragrant and kind,
a sacred design, living awe
Thanks be to God, thanks be to God

Who do you thank for the map of your mind that charters the course of the day,
Leaving you room in this canyon of time, to learn what to look for and say?
Who do you thank for this mural of life,
the savor of senses sharp as a knife,
the privilege of poignant, the honor of right?
Who do you thank for delight?

Who do you thank for the treasure of home, wrapped in the real of routine?
The blessing of knowing your own flesh and bone,
and watching them wake from your dream?
Who do you thank for the structure of souls,
tied to each other from infant to old,
beauty so human, so holy to hold?
Who do you thank for such gold?

Thanks be to God for the life you're living
Thanks be to God that its free.
Thanks be to God that your shame is forgiven
Taken away by the stare of His grace, the look in His face
has melted the mob.
Thanks be to God, thanks be to God.

Who do you thank as the years gather in and hang like sweet herbs in the hall?
Who do you thanks as your moments begin to listen for the final call?
Who do you thank for the shape of your days?
Who do you thank for winning your ways?
Who do you thank for this primer in praise now as spirit leaves clay?

Thanks be to God for the breath that you're breathin',
Thanks be to God that its free.v Thanks be to God, though death may come stealing,
and take what it can, it can't have what you own,
'cause your soul has a home that's beyond this sod,
Thanks be to God, thanks be to, thanks be to God!

Grandmother Sundays

I was taken off guard by a window display in a downtown department store.
A little manikin-child, looking my way, in an Easter outfit my wife would adore.
And under his coat a red corduroy vest caught the quick glance of my eye.
And a memory arose I had long put to rest and hung in my heart like a sigh.
My grandmother moved in when I was about six.
Mom said, ³She can't live alone".
Till nearly the year's end, she stayed in her bed sick,
watched T V and talked on the phone.
Then one day at the door a young preacher appeared,
from a church she and Gramps had admired.
In a week, maybe less, all the pain disappeared...
a month later she sang in the choir.

Now Sundays were saved for sleepin' and things,
little boys just don't understand.
But grandmothers wake when the birds start to sing,
so we'd walk to her church hand in hand.
And all the way there I'd talk and I'd talk, and all the way home she'd hum.
And all of my worries would go as we walked,
and all sorts of dreams would come.
One sunny morning deep in an April we spotted a cardinal fly by.
I said, "God must have made him some kind of special"...
for his scarlet just severed the sky.
The next Sunday morning I woke to discover, a box at the foot of my bed.
I opened it up and there I uncovered, a corduroy vest, cardinal red.

Of all of the memories that bother or bless
The strongest and tenderest ones, I confess
Are my Grandmother Sundays with my red corduroy vest
My Grandmother Sundays when my heart was at rest
Grandmother Sundays were the best.

For almost three years this pilgrim brigade,
would march to the church down the street.
The past and the future in poignant parade would shuffle and skip to the beat.
Then one Sunday I told her I'd rather sleep in,
she stopped waking me after a while.
The red vest was stuffed in a Good Will bin, as the wonder just left the child.
Her good heart gave out on the way home from church,
Some years later one muggy June.
My folks were away, so I was the first, to get to the Emergency Room.
"Don't forget that the Lord really loves ya,"
she told me the last day of her life.
"No matter how much this world shoves ya...
you'll always be His special red-vested delight!"


Cickadee Cherub

There's a little chickadee cherub sitting on a telephone pole.
Has a song and with me shared it
To brighten up my soul.

"Thank you" is what the chickadee's saying
in a voice of praise and play.
I believe that chickadee's praying in his very own way.

"Thank you" in each and every moment.
I have never known it to fail when you say
"Thank you" in each and every moment,
Each and every moment becomes a prayer.

Now there's two little chickadee cherubs singing from that very same pole.
Two is better than one when caring, for my weary soul.

"Thank you" is what both of them are saying, in a duet sing along.
You know when there are two or more praying, God is in the song.


Hey look there's five chickadee cherubs gathered on that telephone pole.
Five-part harmony they're preparing, for my weary soul.

Thank you gratitude is contagious. One little voice becomes a choir.
One by one God turns the pages, of His heart's desire.

p> (Chorus)

There's a flock of chickadee cherubs, flying from that telephone pole.
They had a song and with me shared it, to brighten up my soul.

"Thank you" is the song they're bringing. "Thank you" is the lesson I learned.
"Thank you" is the song I'll be singing, when those birds return.


On Sorrowıs Other

When I was little I was mighty sick.
Had me my share of needles that stick ya.
I often panicked but my Mom had a trick, or two.
She said, "There's something that you've got to learn.
When you start out you've begun to return.
And it gets much greener where the grass has been burning you."
In the car I would fight back the tears.
Get real sullen and sad.
She'd tell some joke that would dilute my fears.
And somehow it wasn't so bad.
When it was over I was always surprised,
How better things looked through the very same eyes.
And how my hell had become paradise, but then she knew.

Coming's the flip side of going.
Leave anything and you got to be knowing
Suffering just part of growing
and all those farewell tears, will turn to hello cheers.
When your ship appears with the incoming tide, on sorrow's other side.

I knew this woman who was crippled and blind.
Her health was failing, no she hadn't much time.
Her path was stony and an up hill climb, heading home.
Everyday she took her pills by the pound.
And then some more to keep the first ones down.
She grew weary of the merry-go-round she rode.
But never once did she give up the fight.
She said, "I'm here till He calls my name."
Then one morning she saw such a Light. She was gone before the medics came.
And as the ambulance took her that day,
Somewhere better a band started to play.
Where she could laugh and throw her cane away, and know...



Marty and I were friends in 8th grade, back just before high school.
He was a clown in search of a stage, I, a strict servant of rules.
His father worked the road crew of the town, mine for the utilities.
They lived in a shack by the flat river ground, we lived on a hill with a breeze.
But somehow we stuck to each other like glue,
Always found something we both like to do,
Laughed our way into and over and through, more fun then trouble deserves.

He'd talk and he'd talk, for block after block, with stories that robbed me of sleep.
The things he'd done, though they must have been fun,
Got him in big trouble deep.
But Marty would laugh with his funny high voice,
And say that I should have been there.
And the look in his eyes said there wasn't a choice,
"Youıre gonna catch it sometime or somewhereŠboy.
You're gonna catch it some time or somewhere."

Most of the time he'd hitchhike to school, and look for me down on the steps.
Sit there so relaxed laid back and cool, like a bookie just waiting for bets.
At the first bell we'd run to homeroom, and listen for the office P. A.
As Mr. McFarlane's cold voice of doom, would name all the criminals that day.
McFarlane did not like Marty at all,
singled him out as he'd walk down the hall,
wanted to break him make him just crawl,
but you can't break a heart that's been broke.

So we'd laugh and laugh, as we walked between class,
we could never get free of the jokes.
A quick glance from him I'd start to grin,
then explode as the teacher spoke.
Marty would then do the very same crime, to insure the same punishment.
Detention for two was the cost of the fine, two comrades in confinement.

Marty, you know, as the years come and go
Thereıs an ache that just grows with you name.
For those dropped from the list
Whose beauty was missed
But whose hearts sang in spite of the pain.

Saturday mornings we'd go down to the tracks,
and walk out to the trestle sometimes.
Lower ourselves between the cracks, and tightrope the cross beams half blind.
He'd scoot over fast though I'd take a while,
with a sixty-foot drop 'neath my shoes.
He'd chuckle and seem to say with his smile...
"It ain't nothing, when thereıs nothing to lose."

I remember around a mid-term exam,
We had just before a field trip we had planned,
Miss Spiney announced it was gonna be "canned"...
unless the "guilty one" came to the front.
Oh what a mess, someone stole the test and now we were all gonna pay.
We waited and hated as the thief hesitated, and the trip just slip away.
Then Marty stood up and walked to her desk,
as a lynch-mob of eyes hung him high.
He couldn't care less about passing her test ,but she never detected his lie...
she never detected his lie.

Near the end of the year the word got out, that Marty was likely to fail.
And seeing no way to turn it about, the boy kind of pulled in his sail.
We still laughed some but less and less, as the truth of the real sank in.
He would return and I would progress, and it would not be as it has been.

I wanted to tell him it wasn't the end. I wanted to tell him we still would be friends.
I wanted to tell him we'd laugh once again. But wanting don't get nothing done.
We were standing in line the very last time I ever saw Marty's sad smile.
Rehearsing the way for the final day, we would walk in the room single file.
Then Mr. McFarlane made Marty wait, then said so the whole class could hear,
"Why Martin, you're not going to graduate."
I still can remember his tears...I still can see Marty's tears.


The Hope That Ends the Human Drought speaker

The hearts of some speak from their hands,
Those calloused cups that caring make...
That, tucked in pocket-wombs of pants,
Wait for ways to fix the break, hold for days the hurt and ache,
Join to pray for the lost soul's sake.
The hearts of some speak from their eyes, to see the good where bad has been.
Beacons from a paradise, that weep for winners who never win,
Love the sinner not the sin, spot the inner light within.

The Master's mercy falls like rain,
On this desert dressed in doubt.
Needs no logic to explain,
The hope that ends the human drought.

The hearts of some speak from their lips, with words that know the brokenness.
And sail the soul like summer ships, to stop in ports of tenderness,
And weave comfort with a Holy stitch, that binds all sorts of emptiness.
The hearts of some speak from their homes, magnets in this scrap-iron life.
A splint to stranger's broken bones, a temple with a front-porch light.
A balm of blessing from the fight. A door of day in the weary night.


And where do all these hearts come from, these timeless testimonials?
Where's the reason for what they've done, the rationale to sound this call?
Why such passion in us all? Why compassion when we fall?
The heart of God speaks from the One, Who climbed the hill of skulls to die.
For all the foolishness I've done, and then with one last lonely cry,
Professed that love was not a lie. Confessed love as the reason why.


The Bonnie Breath of God

Hang out your faded dreams,
the bonnie breath of God is breathing through the land
and at last it seems, a long forgotten sun is peeking in the
heart that's been broken down,
weary with the weight of winter is lifting from the
soul's dark and barren ground, love is seeping through the toes.

Deep in the woods of will,
the bonnie breath of God is singing like the song of the daffodil,
as it trumpets in the Springtime has broken loose,
the air is full of tunes and moments that cry
out like a northern goose,
as on a southern breeze she goes.

Time and treasures fade away like fleeting empty useless pleasures in the light of
Real forgiveness falling like a rain from heaven.
Sent to free us from the dreads we feel.

God's been dancing two thousand years,
Ever since Jesus showed up around here.
Born in a barn where the fiddler plays,
Tapping out His tune at the break of day.
(He says) "Follow me boys I'm a dancer like you,
I can hardly keep my feet inside of my shoes.
And I know everything you've ever been through.
And I got me some very,very, very, very, very good news.
I love ya so much tell ya what I want to do,
I love ya so much I wanna dance with you!"

There on the pond of pride,
the bonnie breath of God is melting all the ice of a life of lies,
waters running once again like it use to do,
long before the pain had pushed its way so deep down
inside of you, long before the chill set in.

Out on the street of scars,
the bonnie breath of God is whispering "I love you right where you are,
in the corners of your
night can not close My eyes,
for I see the sorrow that has made your
heart almost paralyzed, frozen from the frost of fear."

Dark and desperate we can hardly understand the
Light that lets us see the simple
Truth that we are shackled to our shame, regrets
deep down soul scars bleeding from our youth.

God's been dancing two thousand years
Ever since Jesus showed up around here.
Born in a barn where the fiddlers play,
Tapping out His song at the break of day.
(He says) "Follow me girls I'm a dancer like you.
I can hardly keep my feet inside of my shoes.
And I know everything you've ever been through.
And I got such very, very, very, very, very good news.
I love ya so much tell ya what I wanna do,
I love ya so much I wanna dance with you."

Great is the Lord, God

Great is the Lord God,
Greatly to be praised with your whole heart.
Great is the Lord, God, love Him all your days.
Great is the Lord, God,
Wondrous are His ways with His people.
Great is the Lord, God, worthy of our praise.

He has found me in my misery.
He has freed me from my shame.
He has saved me from self-tyranny, Holy is His name.
He has pulled me out of darkness.
He has brought me into light.
He has loved me with His tenderness, how He's blessed,
All of my life is His, all of my sins He forgives,
All of my days I will live in His love.

I Love You, I Do, You Bet!

There once was a boy who stole him a toy,
from a bin at the five and dime.
It wasn't too long before he knew it was wrong,
And lamented deep down his dark crime.
He suffered in silence ashamed of himself, afraid of the wrath of God.
He was convinced he was heading for hell, and a life behind bars on this sod.
Then his Momma came in to his room full of fears
and her eyes said, "Itıs time for a chat."
He made his confession in sorrow and tears
as she held him so close on her lap...
then swore she heard the angels clap.

(Spoken) And he said to her
(Sung) There's nothing so bad, you can't confide in me love.
No heartache or lasting regret.
Nothing so sad, that you've tried to be free of
That I won't forgive and forget...cause I love you, I do,
Oh I love you, its true, yes I love you, I do, you bet!

One rainy morn before a baby was born a wife of five years fell apart.
Through sobs that just choked, a dam finally broke.
She told her husband the ache of her heart.
"Before I met you, when I was in school, I fell mighty hard for this guy.
He was trouble I knew, friends called me a fool,
but I wouldn't let go of the lie.
When we finally broke up I was three months along,
Afraid and ashamed and confused.
I borrowed some money, I know it was wrong,
but I couldn't see clear what to do.
God knows I'm so sorry...do you?

(Spoken) Then he said to her

Most of our life we bleed from a knife, that cuts from the inside out.
We push down the lid, keep the scars hid act like we haven't a doubt.
But now and again a memory slips in, of a moment that filled us with shame.
When we could've or should've in retrospect would've,
but didn't and that's really quite plain.
Somewhere on the journey we need to get quiet, turn off the comfort of noise.
Confess what we've done and not try to deny it,
to the Maker of all girls and boys...then hear Him say as the angels rejoice.


The Picture  speaker

Now I've been a problem since Momma died, angry and restless and sad.
She was instantly killed on the passengerıs side, with barely a scratch for Dad.
We'd yell and yell till he'd hit me good,
And the lights would go on in the neighborhood.
It got so bad I wished I could...but then Daddy did.
Now Gramma was a lot like Mom, heart of gold in a tiny frame.
She took me in when there weren't no one,
and when I got in trouble she shared the blame.
Never cared much of my looks...
The kind of girl for bums and crooks...
Fish around till I'd get hooked... what a life to live.


There's a picture of Jesus on my wall.
It's been there since I was very small.
He looks like He just saw a little girl fall.
And you know He don't look angry at all.

Work swing shift in a bearing plant, got my friends and I got my foes.
I'd like to leave but I know I can't, and that's just the way it goes.
Got pregnant by a married man... Broke my heart and trashed my plans...
But when I hold that tiny hand...it don't seem so bad.
Gramma watched him for the first three years, till she got a killing flu.
He got real close so she could hear, "Gramma I love you."
Maybe 'cause we missed her so... Maybe 'cause... I don't know...
I let another baby grow...never told his Dad.


There's this man at work I see every night,Says God gonna judge me for my sins.
And I believe he's probably right, Yes I know that I've disappointed Him.
But every now and then I'll stare...At that picture of Jesus hanging there...
And a kind of hope fills up the air..like He loves me anyway.
When I was a little, I used to play down by a meadow pond.
A big blue heron would fly away, whenever I would come.
Kind of thought that's like God and I...Show up, He starts to fly...
But now when I look in Jesusı eyes...almost think that He would stay ...
I almost feel like I could pray.


There Are No Songs

There are no songs till Springtime comes.
No melodies for voice.
There are no tunes till death has stung
That Easter might rejoice.
There are no words to bring you back,
From your frozen winter's will.
There is no hope the ice will crack,
Till Jesus melts the chill.
or some you say. Perhaps, many ...yes.
But surely not for me.
For I have run from the very best,
How can there mercy be?
Come home, come home my ramblin' child.
Let down your ragged sail.
And steer your heart to the oceans wild,
Where the breath of God prevails.
It's not too late to turn around,
And catch the tender breeze.
That blows you to the holy ground,
You find beneath your knees.
or when has soul, been bound to time,
Or heart too cold to melt.
Or forgiveness too lost to find,
When regret is truly felt.
here's mercy, mercy my little ones.
Mercy without bounds.
For all who simply turn and come
And lay their burden down.
For there's nothing that you've ever done,
That My love can not change.
Unless you choose to finally run,
Away with pride and pain.


There are no words to bring you back,
rom your frozen winter's chill.
There is no hope the ice will crack,
Till Jesus melts your will.

The Holy Land of the Broken Heart speaker

Jesus in this life of mine, more and more Your Grace I find
in the kingdoms I decline...in the battles lost.
All that I would hold on to...hide away and keep from you
Fade like diamonds made of dew...underneath Your cross.
All the useless ways of my will, claiming peace while peaceless still...
all the dreams so unfulfilled, bitter empty air.
Hollow brag...ambition's boast, haunt the heart like tired ghosts...
leave their lessons and their yokes and their cold despair.


Jesus, Lord of all I am, hold me with your wounded hands.
keep me in the Holy Land of the Broken Heart.
Victory's an empty word, success simply seems absurd
When compared to You my Lord and Your hope that heals.

No conditions but the truth, all the shackled shame let loose.
Forgiveness the living proof ...that Your love is real.
Oh the eyes of human kind, show the pain that numbs the mind,
search the sorrow for a sign of mercy in the maze.
Then there in tears of our sin confessed, wrapped in humble blessedness,
Lord You live the honored guest of Your peoples' praise.


And when my dance of days is through,
when my oldest hour seems brand new,
when all desires are for You... may my story be...
That my treasures weren't of gold,
that my pride lost all its control...
to You, oh lover of my soul... Jesus to all Thee.