SALT and LIGHT - a reflection based on Matthew 5:13-16
You and I…
we’re called salt
in a world that keeps forgetting its flavour.

Not the loud kind,
not the look‑at‑me kind,
but the quiet goodness
folded into the everyday.

It’s in the way we speak gently
when the world is rushing past.
It’s in the way we notice the lonely
at morning tea,
or choose kindness
when being right would feel so much easier.
And Jesus says we’re light --
not a spotlight,
not a blaze,
just a steady glow
in schoolyards,
offices,
kitchens,
car rides,
checkout lines.

A lamp on a table,
not hidden,
not ashamed,
just shining enough
to show the way to grace.
And here’s the mystery --
when our small acts of love
meet the shadows around us,
they whisper of a greater Light.
The Light that shines through cracked vessels,
through tired hearts,
through ordinary people
who dare to believe
that their everyday life
can illuminate the world.
Salt.
Light.
Nothing spectacular --
just faithful. Just present.
Just His.
(c) Don Stott 2026 Eliab.com

Eliab Puppet Play Titled Salt & Light www.eliab.com/salt--light.html

I have now added a poem version of this Christmas Story and also an audio version of the story as well. Here's the link -
https://www.eliab.com/christmaspooh-corner.html

Some years ago I wrote a version of 'The Lord's Prayer" on the guitar. I have now updated the tune using Ai at Suno.com. 
OUR FATHER ©Don Stott 2025 

Here's the link to the original Christmas story called "Dan's Christmas Surprise." 
 See the video below that I created based  on the story.

Some years ago I wrote a number of songs with tunes on the guitar. I have now taken the lyrics and added Ai backing tracks. I have the rights to these songs and I request that you ask permission if you are going to use them. The lyrics are in the Songs and Stories section of Eliab.com. You can contact me via email [email protected]
A Seat of Grace - lyrics are in this Eliab Blog below

This is the traditional music of Go Tell it on the Mountain with new words in the verses. The music is public domain. 
The music in the verses is repeated with the last note in the second line of each verse staying on the same note instead of going up.
The words are based on the Bible passage from Acts 14 with the call to share the Good News about Jesus.

(Chorus)
Go tell it on the mountain,
over the hills and everywhere,
Go tell it on the mountain
That Jesus Christ is Lord!

From Antioch they journeyed with fasting, prayer, and grace,
The Spirit sent them forward to every tribe and place.
With courage born of heaven, their mission clear and true-
They told of Christ the Saviour , and we are called there too!

Chorus- Go tell it on the mountain...

They preached the word with boldness, though some refused to hear,
Still many hearts were opened, and joy replaced their fear.
They carried hope unshaken, God's word like flame unfurled-
And now we bear the calling, to share it through the world.

Chorus-

This mission stands before us, together bold we stand-
To spread His love and mercy and follow His command.
So let us speak with purpose, and live the truth we sing,
Proclaiming hope and mercy, found only in our King.

Chorus-

© words Don Stott, Eliab.com

Even There 

Before the song, before the light,  
in hush of dawn or darkest night, 
when words fall short, or none appear-- 
-God listens. Even there.
 
In broken hallelujahs rung, 
by weary hands or trembling tongue, 
through shadows deep or plaintive prayer-- 
-God listens. Even there.

 
When gladness dances, sorrow sighs,
beneath bright stars or stormy skies,
when fear and faith bring one to prayer
-God listens. Even there.

 
In grateful praise and quiet plea,
 by lifted hand or bended knee,
through silence deep when burdens tear
- God listens. Even there.

 
So let the music now arise, 
from longing hearts and tear-stained eyes; 
He hears us, meets us, leads us near-- 
-God listens. Even here.

© Don Stott.  Eliab.com June 28. 2025
Listen to the Song version of "Even There"
© Words&Music Don Stott, Eliab.com

 At the King’s Table
(A monologue from the perspective of Mephibosheth, reflecting on his journey from obscurity to the royal table.)

(Mephibosheth sits on the floor of the palace, gazing at the grand banquet table before him. His voice is quiet, filled with awe and gratitude.)

I never imagined I would see the inside of this palace, let alone sit at the king’s table.For years, I lived in Lo-debar—a place whose name itself means “no pasture,” a land of barrenness, forgotten by the world. I was the son of Jonathan, grandson of Saul, but that meant nothing now. When my father fell in battle, and my grandfather’s reign came to an end, I was only five years old. Fear gripped my nurse as she fled with me, and in that desperate escape, I fell—crippling both my feet forever.
A crippled boy. A remnant of a fallen dynasty. What hope could I have?
I learned to survive in obscurity, never expecting kindness, only waiting for the inevitable: a summons to my destruction. After all, was it not common for kings to eliminate any descendants of their predecessors? Did David not have every reason to wipe out Saul’s line?
And then, one day, the summons came.
David—King David—had sent for me.
I was carried to Jerusalem, trembling with every step. Would I die today? Would my name be blotted out as a final stroke of justice for the house of Saul?
I was brought before the throne. My body was low, my heart lower still. But then—his voice.
"Mephibosheth," he said. My name, spoken without threat.
I dared to answer. “Behold, I am your servant.”
The silence stretched, but not with wrath—no, something else lingered in the air. Mercy.
"Do not fear," he said. And in that moment, I breathed for the first time in years.
"I will show you kindness for the sake of your father Jonathan."
Jonathan. My father. A man who had loved David, defended him, covenanted with him in loyalty and friendship. A promise had been made long before my birth, and now, even with Jonathan gone, David remained faithful.
I braced myself for what would follow. Perhaps a token of mercy, a small provision. I never expected the words that came next.
"You shall eat at my table always."
Always? Surely, he did not mean—surely, he did not intend to--
Yet here I sit. At the table of the king.
Not as a crippled outcast. Not as a remnant of a broken house. But as a son.
The shame of my brokenness is covered here; no one looks at my feet. They see only the seat reserved for me.
What king does this? What ruler spares an enemy’s grandson, not merely to live, but to belong?
This is not the justice of men—this is the kindness of God.
(Mephibosheth looks up, his voice softening.)

Mercy found me in Lo-debar. Mercy lifted me to the throne room. Mercy placed me at the king’s table.
I have done nothing to deserve this, yet here I am.
Grace. This is grace.
(He pauses, then slowly reaches for the bread before him, as the lights fade.)