This is the sung version of my new song. See below for the monologue/ spoken version with musical backing produced at Suno.com

These original lyrics were written for the following monologue with musical backing. The musical production was made at Suno.com

WHEN THE TRAVELLER KNOCKS
There are days, Lord, when I feel my will harden--
a will like steel, forged in self protection,
reinforced by determination and a kind of self love
that circles around temptation like it’s something sweet.
I catch the scent of things that promise much
but deliver nothing,
and still I linger.
My heart, once soft to Your whisper,
can turn to stone before I even notice.
A sentinel guarding itself
against the very Love
that has waited so patiently to warm it back to life.
A mirage of affection pulls me forward,
but it vanishes the moment I reach for it.
And all the while, You--
the One who said You would give me a new heart--
stands quietly nearby.

There have been seasons
when my will has slipped from Your hands
and become a tool for lesser things.
Instead of being shaped by the Craftsman,
I’ve let it be gouged, scraped,
left neglected and weather worn.
And I wonder why I feel splintered.
But You don’t leave me there.
Your Spirit stirs like holy dynamite in the deep places:
breaking open the stubbornness,
exposing the deceit,
not to shame me--
but to free me.
So I dive again into Your cool waters,
swimming upstream with everything in me,
because my life—my real life—depends on it.
I throw back the warm covers of complacency
and run toward the sound of Your call,
heart pounding, lungs burning,
yet somehow more alive than before.
And then--
I see You.
The Traveller at the door.
The One who has walked with me through deserts and storms,
who has carried memories baked hard by service
and glazed with forgiveness.
The One who has never stopped knocking.
I open the door,
and it feels like welcoming home
a long loved friend.
We sit together, sharing stories of the road--
the missteps, the mercies,
the grace I had forgotten to remember.
And in that space,
joy rises.
Not the thin joy of circumstance,
but the deep, steady joy of being found again.
Safe again.
Home again.
For the God who breaks stone hearts
also binds them.
The God who calls us upstream
also swims beside us.
The God who confronts our stubborn will
also sings over us with delight.
So here I stand--
will surrendered, heart open,
ready to walk again with the Traveller -
who was never far from my door.

An Easter Monologue  based on Jesus washing the disciples feet. (John 13:1-13)
We were gathered in the lamplight--
just a band of dusty men
waiting for the Passover,
while the night pressed in around us.
Then Jesus stood.
Quietly.
Deliberately.
And He tied a towel around His waist.
A servant’s towel.
The kind of thing no rabbi, no master,
no Messiah should ever wear.
I whispered, “Lord… this isn’t right.”
But His eyes--
they were full of fire and mercy.
He knelt before me.
Before me.
His hands, rough from years of carpentry,
were gentle as the morning light
as He washed the dust from my feet--
dust from roads I chose,
roads I wandered,
roads I shouldn’t have walked.
And He said,
“Peter, let Me wash you.
This is how My love is shown.”
In that moment,
my stubborn heart cracked open.
The truth cut deep--
that belonging to Him
meant surrender,
meant letting Him cleanse
what I could never fix myself.
So I said,
“Lord… not just my feet.
All of me.
Please, All of me!
Then He looked at us all and said,
“Do for one another
what I’ve done for you.”
A kingdom built on serving,
on bending low,
on lifting others up.
And now,
when I walk the dusty roads,
I think of that basin
Because the One who washed my feet
has taught me how to stand.

A towel.
A basin.
A lesson in the night.
The greatest in the kingdom
is the one who kneels
in the light of His love.
And I will follow
where His humble footsteps lead.

©Don Stott 2026 , Eliab.com

An original song based on the Bible passage from Luke 24:13-35 (The Road to Emmaus)
Don Stott 2026

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

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.)

A Seat of Grace
(A poem inspired by 2 Samuel 9. The story of David and Mephibosheth.)
In Lo-debar, he hides from foes
A broken man with nothing, knows
His name was once of noble breath,
Yet now he faces fear and death.,

A crippled child, from a fallen line,
His shattered past, no hope to find.
A king now rules, his throne is vast--
Would mercy come, or shame still last?

Then word arrived, a call so strange,
 King David summoned him by name!
His heart beat wild, his thoughts ran deep,
Would judgment come? Now time to weep?

Before the throne, he bowed so low,
Expecting wrath—expecting woe
Yet David spoke, "Do not be scared,
For Jonathan, your father, cared."

"For love he bore, and bonds we made,
This kindness now shall never fade.
Your father’s house I now restore,
Your brokenness is lost no more."

And then his words—so rich, so true,
"You'll eat with me, be made anew."
A seat was set, a place was found,
Where once was loss, now grace abounds.

Not by his strength, nor by his name,
But endless love, no longer blame.
The crippled child now robed with worth,
Sat at the table, graced from birth.

So take this hope, O heart distressed,
No wound nor shame shall leave you pressed."
For grace still seeks the lost, the lame--
God calls them forth, restored by name. 

DonSong. (c) Eliab.com May 2025
A Seat Of Grace
Song versions by Don Stott Lyrics and music (c) Eliab.com , June 27. 2025