This day is all about new years' resolutions. I've written a song where I said I wasn't planning on any more, but they aren't necessarily a bad thing if they are manageable and you stick with them.

So here's one for my stack, and it's bubbling up to the top:

I'm resolving to spend more time on Faith, Home, and Family this coming year, so I'll be taking a sabbatical from Social Networking sites for most of the year. I'm on many and they can suck your time away if you let them.

Inevitably, the family suffers when you spend too much time connecting with the thousands of friends you have online. And so, I bid you adieu, with a song that strikes me as appropriate, one I wrote this month for my book 'The Blue Door', which I am currently reading to my wonderful kids...


http://soundclick.com/share?songid=8549109

What foundation are the homes that we build for our families based on? Is it the shifting sands of this passing world, or the solid rock?

Do we build a home where our kids feel welcome? One they'd want to return to if they were ever in trouble? Build up your home as a warm and welcome place, a place that is a shelter from the storms of life.

The Robin and the Jay

Oh, the robin sung sweetly as she feathered her nest
With the soft down that came from the robin's red breast
And she built her home strong, for the eggs that were coming
As the winter snow thawed and the stream started running.

Twas a home built with care for a love meant to share
As the soft songs of Spring filled the sweet morning air
And the rains, they came down, and the wind whipped around
But the nest in the tree stood there, snug, safe, and sound

Are the homes that we build made of wood, hay, and stubble?
Are there gold and bright gems in the midst of the rubble?
Will our children remember, wherever they roam
That there'll always be a place to come home?

Oh, the bluejay came late to the wood in the glen
When the winter storms pased, with the Spring setting in
With a nest thrown together, and nary a feather
Unaware of the wind and the oncoming weather

Twas a home built in haste, and the jay, as she raced
Could not see the dark clouds that would soon lay to waste
All her efforts begun on a home for her young
As the storm cast her home in the dirt and the dung

Are the homes that we build made of wood, hay, and stubble?
Are there gold and bright gems in the midst of the rubble?
Will our children remember, wherever they roam
That there'll always be a place to come home?

Are the homes that we build made of wood, hay, and stubble?
Are there gold and bright gems in the midst of the rubble?
Will our children remember, wherever they roam
That there'll always be a place to come home?