Archived posts from April 2007
It’s just that the waves have knocked me flat over.
I must have lost my four leaf clover.
I reach for the slippery rock,clinging tothe shore just so,
My other half being dragged to the depths by the dark undertow.
I can hardly breath, the air is so heavy in my lungs.
My thoughts rush to scenes of the freedom I had so sung.
WhenI ran, never to be outrun
Endless energy
Brilliance
Oh! I laughed then but now I make no sound
And all around me the darkness pounds
But I still try until my power has run dry
I find myselfon all fours, shaking,and I wondered why
I don’t feel a hand to pull me up
From the cold, I feel so old, no longer bold...Wassup?
A hand, it’s mine,in the humid air, waving, wondering
Who’s there?
Wondering again who will reach for me...
A true friend or another?
The one kind who willmake me smother
Or the other of an angel of light who will make everything alright...
And I will again shine so bright.
---Peter in Thailand
I read this on a xanga today. I liked it, like a modern day psalm. It made me remember one of the most powerful and memorable dreams I’ve ever had....
I was staying in a hotel all by myself, an unusual thing. I went to bed feeling melancholy and troubled about some things.
I dreamed I was on the beach, playing in the surf, and got caught by a huge wave. It pulled me under, tumbled me around, roughed me up, and really scared me but I finally came to the surface, gasping for breath.
Then suddenly, another wave took me under. This one was rougher yet, and it seemed like I tumbled and was drug for a long time. Again, when I came up, I was unhurt, but devastated when I saw how far I was from the shore. I knew there was no way I could swim that far. I was overwhelmed by fear and h opelessness, and then--things got worse. I glanced the other direction, and saw a shark right beside me in the water. Panic seized me, and I raised my arms to strike him, the only thing I could do, at the same time realizing how futile it was to fight a shark by hitting him.
As I stared at the shark, so sure I was about to die, I suddenly realized to my great relief that it was no shark, but a dolphin! I put my outstretched arms around him, and he begin to swim toward the shore. I was confident he was going to take me all the way in. The ride was exhilarating, like nothing I had ever experienced. I knew I would remember this ride all my life, and couldn’t believe how blessed I was! I knew I would treasure this memory and be able to tell everyone how God had sent help in a miraculous way—the thrill and goodness of the ride far overshadowed the fear I had had just a few minutes before.
Then I awoke. I laid there for a few minutes, just basking in the pleasure of the dream. Then I realized that God HAD sent me help! His Spirit in me would make up for every inadequacy I had. He can do great and exceedingly abundantly beyond all we can ask or think!
I still remember that dream vividly, and treasure it.
I love
THIS from my very favorite blogger.
Psalm 19 is a favorite, and I copied it down into my journal just a month ago....I’ve been meditating on it and working on memorizing it.
How anyone can deny that God lives and is actively and constantly at work is a puzzlement--they have made a choice not to believe. They are "suppressing the truth in unrighteousness, because that which is known about God is evident within them; for God made it evident to them. For since the creation of the world his invisible attributes, his eternal power and divine nature, have been clearly seen, being understood through what has been made. so that they are without excuse." Paul says it so much better than I could.
What insanity it is to do anything but to throw ourselves at his feet and beg for mercy! What wonder to realize that he loves us and is not only willing to forgive but is passionately desiring a deep abiding friendship with us!
My friend,
queenofchocolate said she and her hubby went to the skate rink a few weeks ago and skated BACKWARD! WOW! That takes coordination, a trait I have never possessed. I desperately wanted to skate backwards back in the fourth grade, when I spent Saturday afternoons from 2 to 4 at Skateland here in good old St. Joe Mo, but alas, never was able to figure it out. But I used to love to skate, round and round in circles. My entire social life once revolved around Saturdays at Skateland, and I still remember the few times I actually skated with a BOY during couple’s skate, earnestly praying my hand would stop sweating.
A couple of decades later, I found myself rollerblading occasionally with my kids outside in the alley behind our house. It’s great exercise--really works those upper front thigh muscles (whatever they’re called). Two years ago, another decade later,I bought a new pair of blades. I love to walk outside, but had decided I needed to amp up the workouts. Never mind that the neighborhood we now live in has incredibly big HILLS. I knew going up those would REALLY work out those thighs. I didn’t think about the going down.
So one afternoon, when my two neighbors came to meet me for our walk, I appeared in the driveway with my brand new rollerblades on. They were a little surprised, but generally know I do surprising things all the time. Sheryl had her dogs with her, Angel, the big furry yellow dog, and Austin, the little yappy short-haired yellow dog. (they probably have dog brand names, too, just like muscles have names). So we began our walk/skate.
In just a few minutes, I reached the first BIG HILL I would have to climb. It was TOUGH WORK!!
At the top of that hill, I offered to take Angel’s leash. (She’s the big furry yellow dog.) I thought I might get a little help from Angel on the next hill. And we started moving. She was sort of pulling, but we were also on a flat stretch. Then we went down a little hill. Whoa! It was kind of scary, but I found myself rather exhilarated at the bottom. The girls were both yelling, "Be careful!" I got a little cocky. I got a little show-offy. And off Angel and I went.
The girls caught up as we were going up the next hill. Hills on rollerblades are tough on those upper front thigh muscles. (Are they quads? Or are those in back? I always get them mixed up.) So we were cruising along, getting to the top of the hill, yakking away as usual, when Angel pulled a little too hard and fast, and somehow I wiped out. It may have been that I just ran off the road, because I ended up doing a somersault in the grass.
I don’t think I was hurt, just shook up. And I leapt to my feet, anxious to prove it, saying, "I’m alright, I’m alright!" And took off again. And Angel and I were rolling down this really, really big hill, and my friends were yelling, "Be careful, be careful!" There was a turn right at the bottom of the hill. I began to be concerned about stopping. I began to turn, but was having trouble slowing down, and then I hit some gravel.
I wiped out. Big time. Flat on my back. I thought I’d jump right up and yell, "I’m alright, I’m alright!" But I couldn’t. I just laid there in the road. My friends were running to me, yelling, "Are you alright?" I’m not sure if I yelled anything back. I was thinking I was alright, I was HOPING I was alright.
They were able to help me to my feet, I decided I was alright. I SAID I was alright, but boy, I was hurting. They helped me back to my house, one on either side of me. I got the blades off, and actually put my tennis shoes on and went and walked a lap with them. I was humiliated. I didn’t want to admit I was hurting.
Next time we passed my house, I went inside. I was feeling better, but just kind of wiped out. That word has a double entendre this time. I wasn’t hurting anymore. At least I didn’t think so until I tried to bend over and take my shoes off. I couldn’t bend over. For a MONTH.
Pride goeth before a fall. I was humbled. I told the Lord I deserved to hurt for a while, and not to heal me too quickly. After the fourth day, I told him he could go ahead and heal me--I wasn’t enjoying the pain. I am not arrogant and am not a showoff on rollerblades anymore. Why? Because they haven’t been on since that day. My grammy, the one who lived to be 100, whose footsteps I have always wanted to follow, broke her arm when she was in her fifties. At the skating rink. I don’t want to be that much like her.
It would be more than an understatement to say I think we’re going to have some huge surprises in heaven.
The only better adjective or descriptive phrase I could think of was "earth shattering", and those words carry some other confusing connotations. The first mind explosions will begin as soon as we get up there....wait, did I say "up there"?
Why do people tend to think of heaven as "up there"?
When I woke up early this morning as I lay sleeping next to the open window, all was still except for the birds singing.
Why do we think of heaven as a quiet, peaceful place, with people walking quietly about in long white choir robes, gathering together to talk quietly in small groups, and then gently and soundlessly beating their large wings and flying away to light somewhere and join another conversation in progress? Like they were some kind of big, dumb birds?
I read Don Piper’s Ninety Minutes in Heaven a few years ago. I bought it in an airport, and I don’t think I put it down until I was finished. It was fascinating! This guy was killed instantly in a horrible accident, and through an incredible miracle is still here today. I have always been naturally skeptical of this genre of book, but hey, this guy is a Baptist, and they don’t tend to make these kinds of things up!
The description of what this guy experienced is similar to others who’ve had similar types of "near-death" experiences. They call them "near-death" because they come back, but this guy was "death-death" for ninety minutes. Another Baptist preacher, passing the wreck, crawled into the mangled car and prayed for him, began to sing, and was scared out of his mind when the already declared dead corpse began to sing along. He’d been called back to this world, and found himself in a real physical mess when he returned from what had been the most memorable and holy experience of his life.
Part of what made Piper’s story believable was that it was so holy and precious he didn’t tell anybody about it for a year. Much of the book covers his horrible and painful medical recovery and all the turmoil going on in his heart throughout that time.
I give all that history to say that those ninety minutes were phenomenal, they were full of awe and wonder, and Don Piper will never forget them, and longs to go back to that place. He says the most memorable part was the sound, the loud and intense and otherworldly sound of the worship of God. I don’t remember that he mentioned any birds....he probably couldn’t have heard them over the din!
But what if the heaven we find ourselves in someday is nothing like that? God might explain that He created that place only to show those precious few who He’s allowed to have that sort of supernatural experience, a mighty small percentage of the general population. The "real" thing is way better, it’s magnificently transcendent. "Eye has not seen, nor has ear heard, nor has it entered into the heart of man, the things that God has prepared for those who love Him." Our poor brains would explode and we would never be able to return back to this half-world, this veiled universe after seeing the real deal...
And that’s the first tiny little surprise we get when we "go to heaven"—tiny in comparison to all the other surprises that will follow.
Another treasured book about heaven is The Great Divorce , by C.S. Lewis. It is a fantastical allegory about a bus trip from hell to heaven. Surprises abound for these poor visitors who for the most part find they’re not equipped to stay. There is a woman who appears on a prancing white horse—surrounded by dancers with garlands and streamers. "Who the bloody hell is she?" the startled tourists wonder. They soon find that fame on earth and fame in heaven are quite different things. She was a total unknown on earth, and famous in heaven because of the things she had quietly done while on earth.
There will be a lot of those kind of surprises. Jesus said, "The last will be first, and the first will be last." He came to set the entire world rightside-up, which to many will be upside-down.
This natural tendency we have to be recognized, to be lauded, to be important won’t do us any good, but instead will cost us greatly when it comes to heaven. It is something we must continually contend with in this life. We must learn the way of humility, and then learn to not be proud of it! We have to learn to serve for the love of serving, for the love of others, and not for recognition, unless we want to be satisfied with the reward we’ve received here.
Reward? Oh, I smugly and sanctimoniously intone, I don’t care about any rewards in heaven....I’ll just be happy to be there.....
If Jesus is giving out rewards, believe me, you’ll want a part of that! Is there such a thing as eternal remorse? Will we all be blissfully happy, and equally so, for all eternity? If that’s the case, we can all breathe a sigh of relief, and live for today, and let Jesus worry about eternity.
I used to assume that Jesus would zap us with his anointing wand as we entered the pearly gates, and that everything lacking in us would be instantly brought to completion, that immaturity would become maturity, that the emptiness that resulted from our carnality on earth would be filled up. If that’s the case, why work so hard to be transformed while we’re here?
What if, and this is just wondering, what if you somehow were eternally sealed at the level of spiritual transformation you had attained, and you had to live with those shortcomings forever and ever and ever....that should put the fear of God into you!
Heaven is real, and this life is real, and what I do today is eternally important. I must treat those other human beings I encounter today with awe and reverence, knowing that the way I interact with them will affect my eternity and theirs as well. The reverberations of my words and actions today are forever—creating life or death. Someday everything I have ever done will be tried in fire by the One with whom I have to do, the One who created me, and gave me purpose and a destiny. I don’t want to let Him down. You don’t either.
"The glory of God is a human being fully alive."
--Iranaeus, 2nd century church father
MIRACLES
Why! who makes much of a miracle?
As to me, I know of nothing else but miracles,
Whether I walk the streets of Manhattan,
Or dart my sight over the roofs of houses toward the sky,
Or wade with naked feet along the beach, just in the edge of the water,
Or stand under trees in the woods,
Or talk by day with any one I love--or sleep in the bed at night with
any one I love,
Or sit at table at dinner with my mother,
Or look at strangers opposite me riding in the car,
Or watch honey-bees busy around the hive, of a summer forenoon,
Or animals feeding in the fields,
Or birds--or the wonderfulness of insects in the air,
Or the wonderfulness of the sun-down--or of stars shining so quiet
and bright,
Or the exquisite, delicate, thin curve of the new moon in spring;
Or whether I go among those I like best, and that like me best--
mechanics, boatmen, farmers,
Or among the savans--or to the soiree--or to the opera,
Or stand a long while looking at the movements of machinery,
Or behold children at their sports,
Or the admirable sight of the perfect old man, or the perfect old
woman,
Or the sick in hospitals, or the dead carried to burial,
Or my own eyes and figure in the glass;
These, with the rest, one and all, are to me miracles,
The whole referring--yet each distinct, and in its place.
To me, every hour of the light and dark is a miracle,
Every cubic inch of space is a miracle,
Every square yard of the surface of the earth is spread with the same,
Every foot of the interior swarms with the same;
Every spear of grass--the frames, limbs, organs, of men and women,
and all that concerns them,
All these to me are unspeakably perfect miracles.
To me the sea is a continual miracle;
The fishes that swim--the rocks--the motion of the waves--the ships,
with men in them,
What stranger miracles are there?
---Walt Whitman
This is for my friend Susie....
When I was about eight years old, I found taped on the inside of one of my Grammy’s kitchen cabinets a poem, which I liked and memorized. I still remember it and so many poems from my childhood--I treasured A Child’s Garden of Verses by Robert Louis Stevenson and still know many of them by heart--thanks Mom!
But I googled Grammy’s poem, and found two additional stanzas! Here it is in its entirety.
I met God in the morning
When my day was at its best
And His presence came like sunrise
Like a glory to my breast.
All day long His presence lingered
All day long He stayed with me
And we sailed with perfect calmness
O’er a very troubled sea.
Other ships were blown and battered,
Other ships were sore distressed,
But the winds that seemed to drive them
Brought to us a peace and rest.
But I thought of other mornings,
With a keen remorse of mind,
When I too had loosed the moorings,
With the Presence left behind.
So I think I know the secret
Learned from many a troubled way:
You must seek Him in the morning
If you want Him through the day.
--Ralph Cushman
I’ve got some good news and some bad news for you today....
Don’t you HATE it when people say that to you, all drawn out, and you’re freaking and just wish they’d spit the bad news out so you can know how bad it is and begin to figure out how you’re going to handle it?
Well, I’ve got some good news and some bad news for you today, about the Christian life....and that’s really scary!
But I’m going to start with the GOOD NEWS, and tell you that the GOOD NEWS is that there is absolutely nothing bad about the GOOD NEWS--God’s plan to turn our lives around and get us back on track and live the life He always intended for us. And if you ever start thinking that there is something bad or lacking about the good news, it just goes to show you that things are not always as they seem, and that you haven’t got everything figured out, and that His thoughts are far higher than your thoughts, and His ways far above your ways, and if you’ll just hang in there a little longer it will all start to make sense!
The good news is that the bad news is wrong!
And now for the bad news.....the bad news is that you will never progress to the point in this life that you won’t need to be utterly dependent on your Creator Father, relying daily on Him to provide you with His grace, His goodness, His mercy and strength.
And that is such good news! How many times have I been reminded of how easy it is for me to blow it, how weak I really am apart from Him. How good to know we can just fall in our Father’s arms, rest in His love and grace, and trust Him to enable us to do all we have to do!
My God is a genius, and His plan is PERFECT!
Early morning is the best part of day to be awake and alive. Unfortunately, it’s also the best time to sleep in, so we have to struggle with ourselves when we have the choice. There is a magic some days in the early morning, not every day, for then it would cease to be magic, but when you happen upon one of those days, oh what a joy!
I leaped out of bed this Saturday far earlier than I do on a weekday, when I almost never leap. I wanted to go for a walk. Never mind that it was dreary and wet, and that the thermometer said 36 degrees. My body was craving the stimulation, my lungs the fresh air. My heart wanted to pump hard, and my muscles wanted to wake up.
We live in the semi-country, on an asphalt road with BIG hills, a great place to walk. The road is a circle eight tenths of a mile long. I usually go five laps, which is four miles, but today only did three. The neighborhood was still asleep, not a single car passed me. The air was still, no wind at all, and as my blood begin to pump I quickly warmed up and shed my jacket. All was quiet, except for the BIRDS singing loudly--it was glorious. (So sorry to bring up birds again, I’m trying hard not to.) I heard a lone goose honk.
A second century church father, Iraneus, said "The glory of God is a human being fully alive." I feel most alive when I’m outside--I’m there as much as I can be.
When I was a kid, I’d climb high in the tree in the backyard with a book, and sit there forever. A little bit of heaven on earth.
Pip, my fifteen year old, came out and ran--we went opposite directions and passed each other a couple of times. He ran three laps in about the time I walked two. OK, he’s fifteen and he’s on the track team, give me a break! I think he ought to train for and run a marathon....him not me. I run sometimes up the hills--boosts my heartrate and uses different muscles--and uphill is easier on the knees. In case you were wondering, I’m older than fifteen.....
Earth’s crammed with heaven
And every common bush afire with God
But only he who sees takes off his shoes
The rest sit around it and pick blackberries.
----Elizabeth Barrett Browning
Ok, humor me, but we’ve had a big event in the household tonight. A breakthrough event, something we didn’t see coming. I hadn’t wanted to mention what had become of our cats, but two weeks ago, shortly after the scrunchy poo incident related in the March 27 entry, a straw finally did break the camel’s back. Actually, it was another poo incident, this time not a scrunchy. And I decided we weren’t getting any gratification from this relationship. I opened the door, enticed them out with some food, and then slammed it gleefully in their faces. Yes, they were cast into the outer darkness. My mercy had run out. I had tried and tried for more than two months, given all I had to give, to no avail.
I did put food and water out for them, but they were done living in my house. It was time for tough love.
Buechner has hung around a little more than Yancey. Yancey always was a bit more wild and estranged, snarled and scratched and hid from us more than Buechner. We haven’t seen Yancey in five days.
It rained all day today and was cold. This evening Buechner was on the deck, Pip opened the door and she ran in. She was meeker, more subdued. She got under the sofa for a while, but then came out and stretched, and walked over and climbed into Brian’s lap!
I looked at him in shock and said, "Brian, I can’t believe it!" He reached down and rubbed her back, grinned real big and said, "I LIKE cats that like me!"
SUCH A THING HAS NEVER HAPPENED!!!!! This cat has never voluntarily allowed anyone to touch her! She has spent the evening taking turns being loved by each of us. Even now, I am having trouble typing because she wants to be in my lap!
We’ve got our cat back! The prodigal has returned! Time for a party! Woo--wee!!
And there’s another one out there somewhere......
Okay, I’m laughing, my poor husband is reading his first chick book! He’s having a hard time with it. I read and loved Girl Meets God by Lauren Winner a few weeks ago. It is the story of her spiritual journey--very honest and raw--a conversion to Orthodox Judaism and soon after the discovery of Jesus as Lord. It is a narrative of her life, all the ups and downs, romances and heartbreaks along the way. She is a true academic, studied classical literature, did the Cambridge thing and all, and is an insightful writer.
I read him a few selected chapters, which impressed him, lessons she’d learned on the way. He vowed he would read the book after I finished. I didn’t want to discourage him, but I did say it was probably the closest thing to a "chick book" he had ever read. The chapters I elected to read him weren’t the chick parts. So now he is sitting across the room, groaning, saying he doesn’t want to know about her love affair with "Stephen" and I am getting a big kick out of it. I enjoyed the love affair with Stephen!
Most girls like to hear about other people’s romances. Matchmaking is one of my favorite hobbies. I take personal responsibility for probably five marriages that I can think of off the top of my head. Brian has a few times told me to stop meddling--I have had to tell him I wasn’t meddling, I was HELPING! Sometimes people need help!
Girls like to talk with their girlfriends about everything, and from the very beginning, I felt like Lauren was my girlfriend--that’s the secret to the great popularity of Oprah, by the way. I agonized with her over her desire to find Mr. Right, to fall in love, and live happily ever after. I shared that with Brian, and a few days later, read online that she was now married. I told Brian, and he said, "Phew, that’s a big load off your mind now, isn’t it?" Ha, it was!
He also groans when I write xangas about birds or cats or silly things. It just makes me laugh! We have a great marriage, which does not mean we agree on everything in the world.
I’m so glad I am who I am. I’m glad I finally grew up enough to quit trying to be somebody else. I had a lot of fun taking my seven year old niece shopping last week, and helping her to understand that even tomboys can wear dresses and enjoy feeling like a girl. I know in my heart I will never like NASCAR, and I don’t care!
(EDIT: This book is not for everyone. Read my post of March 28 before you run out and pick it up....)
I think I know why the bluebird was bashing my window the other day. She and the hubby were moving into a new house—one of the several birdhouses I have nailed to the rail of my deck. I started out with about eight, but the weather has gotten a few, and the ones remaining are starting to look a little shabby. This young couple had moved into a rundown little shack that badly needs a paint job, and the back door cleanout has flown open. The little Mrs. has squeezed through the front door several times, although I’ve not seen her man go in—he might be too big for the hole.
I’ve watched her go in, come out, scream at her husband, and then go bash herself against the window. She spent most of the morning at it, over and over again.
I think she’s stressed out.....the house needs work, and she’s not getting any cooperation. She’s got a thousand things to do, and he just stands around with his hands in his pockets. (or at least he would if he had pockets) The poor things fought all morning. I feel sorry for her, but I also feel sorry for him. He’s from Mars, but she’s from Venus.
I wish I could go open the door and invite them in for coffee. We could sit around the kitchen table, the three of us, and I could talk to them about what’s happening in their lives. I know I could help them. But, alas.
The little goldfinches are so much more relaxed and carefree. They’re an amiable bunch—their dispositions seem as sunny as their feathers. One is so much brighter than the rest—he really does look like he’s taken a dip in the Easter egg dye.
I’m most partial to my red-bellied woodpecker. He has a bright red head, but is named for the small red spot on his belly—a red-headed woodpecker looks very different indeed. He’s the biggest bird at the feeder--not very smart, but he sure is sweet. I call him Baby Huey. Everybody likes him. There’s something disproportionate and awkward about his bird body—but he’s the kind of guy you just want to stick up for.
This winter there was a big fella who came around several days in a row and only fed from the back side of the feeder. All I could see was a long spotted grey tail. I wanted to see more—in fact, that is all I ask of my birds, just let me watch you and find you in my bird book. I’ll buy the seed, scrape away the snow, keep the feeder full, just let me behold your glory! I finally decided to go out and tape off the back side of the feeder, so that the seed was only accessible from the front, visible side.
The next morning when I came downstairs I saw that ALL the seed had been raked out onto the deck. The feeder was empty. I guess I had some mad birds on my hands, or maybe just one big mad bird. I imagined that big grey bird working angrily, spitefully through the night, raking out all that seed (it had been nearly full).
I told Brian about it, and he said that was absurd, that birds are not capable of that sort of reasoning ability, that vindictive behavior. To what then should I attribute that pile of seed on the deck and the empty feeder? I quoted a little Hamlet to him, ""There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy."
Someday a door will be opened, and we can see and enjoy and investigate all the great mysteries of creation. Until then, we can only imagine.
Christ the Lord is risen today, Alleluia!
Earth and heaven in chorus say, Alleluia!
Raise your joys and triumphs high, Alleluia!
Sing, ye heavens, and earth reply, Alleluia!
Love’s redeeming work is done, Alleluia!
Fought the fight, the battle won, Alleluia!
Death in vain forbids him rise, Alleluia!
Christ has opened paradise, Alleluia!
Lives again our glorious King, Alleluia!
Where, O death, is now thy sting? Alleluia!
Once he died our souls to save, Alleluia!
Where’s thy victory, boasting grave? Alleluia!
Soar we now where Christ has led, Alleluia!
Following our exalted Head, Alleluia!
Made like him, like him we rise, Alleluia!
Ours the cross, the grave, the skies, Alleluia!
Hail the Lord of earth and heaven, Alleluia!
Praise to thee by both be given, Alleluia!
Thee we greet triumphant now, Alleluia!
Hail the Resurrection, thou, Alleluia!
King of glory, soul of bliss, Alleluia!
Everlasting life is this, Alleluia!
Thee to know, thy power to prove, Alleluia!
Thus to sing, and thus to love, Alleluia!
--Charles Wesley
It’s a beautiful COLD spring morning. The sun is shining brightly, everything is so green, but you are met by a surprising blast of cold air when you open the door. I have an enthralling sight to behold from the kitchen window--the BIRDS are back in town! Everyone’s come to the bird feeder today, greeting old friends, getting caught up with all the bird news. There are several goldfinch, one so brilliantly yellow he looks as if he’s been dipped in the Easter egg dye.
But all is not well--one silly guy is spoiling the whole idyllic scene. A beautiful bluebird keeps flying repeatedly into the windowglass. He’ll make several stabs at it--bang, bang, bang, and then fall exhausted on to the deck to recover for a few minutes, struggle to his feet, and go at it again.
It’s decidedly unpleasant, for me in the house, and, I would think, infinitely more so for him. I’ve chased him away several times, and opening the door also chases the others momentarily away. It’s so frustrating, he can’t seem to learn from his failures. I guess he’s a birdbrain?
There is a whole wide world out there--skies to soar in, trees to rest in. But this poor fool is intent on flying into the glass. It reminds me of the first Garden, all the fruit and trees to partake from, but we chose the one that was not intended for us....
How I thank God for taking on flesh, becoming one of us, incarnate, to suffer the consequences of our sin and to show us the way to live. We celebrate today the anguish and awfulness of the Cross, knowing that on Sunday we’ll get to celebrate the glory and victory of the Cross. Thank you Jesus!
O Love, that will not let me go
I rest my weary soul on Thee
I give Thee back the life I owe
That in Thine ocean depths its flow
May richer, fuller be.
O Light, that followest all my way
I yield my flickering torch to Thee
My heart restores its borrowed ray
That in Thy sunshine’s glow its day
May brighter, fairer be.
O Joy, that seekest me through pain
I cannot close my heart to Thee
I trace the rainbow through the rain
And feel the promise is not vain
That morn shall tearless be.
O Cross, that lifteth up my head
I dare not ask to hide from Thee
I lay in dust life’s glory dead
And from the ground there blossoms red
Life that shall endless be.
---George Matheson
All Glory, Laud, and Honor
All glory, laud and honor to Thee, Redeemer, King.
To Whom the lips of children made sweet hosannas ring!
The people of the Hebrews with palms before Thee went;
Our praise and prayer and anthems before Thee we present.
Thou art the King of Israel, Thou David’s royal Son.
Who in the Lord’s name comest, the King and blessed One!
To Thee before Thy passion they sang their hymns of praise;
To Thee, now high exalted, our melody we raise.
Thou didst accept their praises; Accept the prayers we bring.
Who in all good delightest, Thou good and gracious King!
All glory, laud and honor to Thee, Redeemer, King,
To Whom the lips of children made sweet hosannas ring!
---Theodulph of Orleans
