For I will pour water upon him who is thirsty,
and floods upon the dry ground.

I will pour My spirit upon your offspring,
and My blessings upon your descendants.

And they shall spring up among the grass like willows or poplars by the watercourses.

So He promised.

He has done it.

Praise God from Whom all blessings flow...!

_________

Isaiah 44.3,4 Amplified translation

A Love Letter

It doesn't always happen but it does happen often enough to confirm the relevancy and immediacy of Scriptural inspiration!  Just in the course of daily reading on the day and at the time a special word is needed, it happens. 

On this day comes the awesome - and I use the word in the true sense, not in today's common, much too common way - comes the reminder of who and Whose I am.

Isaiah chapter 43 is one of those tender love letters from the Father to put focus and sense back into my life and thoughts. 

Thus says the Lord, He Who created you..and formed you..Fear not, for I have redeemed you.  I have called you by your name; you are Mine. 

I do know that these words were written to the nation of Israel, and yet through Grace they can be mine as well and truly are in fact.

Created - formed - redeemed - called.  That is splendid as is.  But to be called 'by my name' in this day and age when in every other situation I am but a number on a file folder, part of the mob and collective humanity.  Here is personal attention from a Personal God.  

That is good. Selah.  Pause and calmly think of that!

The passage also states that come flood or fire He is with me.

And there is a because following.  It's not just these stone-strong promises that are given, no.  It is because He is the Holy one, the I AM of Israel and my Savior and "because you are precious in My sight and I love you."  

It matters not if I am precious to anyone else I am to my Creator-Redeemer.  I am loved.  This is not common every-day sort of love, this is "the delight .. the ardent fullness of affection and tender mercies of God to His people."*

Still there is more.  He makes paths through the seas, a way through the waters, provides streams in the desert places.  O yes, and He is the one Who blots out and cancels my sins -for His own sake- and remembers them no more!

Can Love be more complete, more beautiful than this?
I am His..  He is with me..   I am called by my name as well as by His..  I am created for His glory..  He makes paths and provides streams..  and my sins are blotted, canceled and forgotten.

I am reminded that I am to be His witness, His servant as He has chosen me that I might Know Him, believe Him and remain steadfast to Him because He is the Only One.  There is no other.

Love is reciprocal or should be.  But my Faithful God, the God of my entire history was and is the First Mover when it comes to Love.  I fall on my face before such Love.

Love is the final word.  Nothing remains but to praise Him!

_____
Amplified translation used
* Wilson's Word Studies of the Old Testament

Golden Days

These were the farm years, the Mennonite years, the years of the children.  
These were years of friendships, of family and of growing and establishing foundations for future days.

They were also years of stability, the stability that can only come from supportive blood family and from supportive family "under the Blood".

Looking back down the years, even the woes and travails add to the balance of the whole, giving their own special color to the threads of the tapestry then woven.

The country school the children attended, while a public school, was greatly influenced by the Mennonite community in which it was located as well as the Mennonite teachers and administration that directed the days and ways of it.

Work and play together made up the farm life.  Country ways and the seasons determined the tasks and pleasures.

Then came an abrupt leaving, a new road was taken, a new and different journey begun. Yet even now, we each look back to those day grateful for what was given, received and learned.  Those years remain near to the heart.

And then, recently this golden time was revisited.  Yes, you can go home again, said the Daughter.

We returned on a Sunday to hear the preaching of one of the scruffy lads that often visited our home in those early years.  Now he is "fully growed", a man of great insight and wisdom, a man after God's own heart.  What is more, he is a man who has chosen Joy for his journey.  

The countryside was virtually unchanged.  Names on mailboxes much the same as remembered.  Mennonites are 'root' people, not driven to change.  It was unspeakably comforting to know that such a place remains to this day.

Entering the church, a familiar landmark, to be greeted warmly, well, it felt like coming home even though it was not the specific home church of our past.  Still, Mennonites are Mennonites regardless of how conservative or progressive.  They still worship with order and stillness.  To this day the old hymns of the church are sung in full voice and complete harmony.  And Oh! how they sing!  It surrounds you, washes over you and provides the choice to stand in silence and weep, or join in the chorus.  We did a little of each.

After the glory of the worship service and the brilliance of the preaching, -(yes, the preaching was brilliant and after divorcing from my mind the images of a wild lad climbing out an upstairs window and walking along the roof of the farm house, greatly enjoyed and appreciated)- we were treated to a good old Mennonite meal around a family table.  Oh yes, the Mennonites cook as well as they sing!

This was a family who were choice and dear friends of ours in those past days.  We had not seen some of the children, now parents and grand parents for many years. Yet, as it always is with true friendship, we picked up where we left off so long ago. There was a delighting in shared memories, good, sad and silly.  There were minutes of outrageous  laughter and moments of misty reflection.

After warm hugs and kisses, we drove away with grateful hearts freshly aware of 'all the ways the Savior leads', of how He restores the years the locusts have eaten. We were reminded too, of the dynamics and blessing of true friendship, and the fact that we do and are affected by those who are placed in our lives and who remain in our hearts.

This Time Of Year

Once January comes, it is time to await the arrival of favorite seed catalogs, to see if there are any new garden magazines on the news stands and dream of Spring.

Walking through the garden in the frosty morning, I noticed that there were already rows of daffodil noses sticking up here and there.  Last fall I planted a great lot of them in the raised bed where my St. Francis statue (Frank, to the family) stands in his scarf and stocking cap. (One cannot be too careful in winter when one's tonsure is exposed.)  It is going to be a happy bloomin' place in the weeks to come when our corner of the world warms up and Frank's wraps come off.

And about those magazines, the newest issue of Country Gardens is on the stands here in the West.  One of the features was that of a garden in Minnesota.  The gardener, Stacey Weichert and her husband have created an outdoor space that is what garden dreams are made of.  The structures are all charm itself. If that was not enough, she gives practical gardening tips as well. Stacey's blog is a visual treat that makes me long for dirt under the fingernails once more.

Her blog address now appears on my blog list.  If you are needing a quick reminder of of why one gardens I suggest you drop by her place.

In the meantime, where did I stack those seed catalogs?

A New Year, An Old Comfort

At the beginning of a new year the mind goes off looking for some absolute, some word to claim for the journey ahead.

This is just what we do.  We review the year just past, in spite of or because we desire to carry on, to go forward, to claim new territory in a spiritual sense.  We know we need provisions as for any trip.  Many ideas come and just as many are discarded. Then comes a surprise, from the least expected source taking us back to the True Source while directing us to our goal.

This year its about sheep and shepherds.  We love sheep.  We have raised sheep. We have cared for them in their foolish choices, illnesses and foot rot.  We have even delivered their lambs at times.  Following our farm years, we were under-shepherds for the Good Shepherd's flock.  Here again, we cared for His sheep in their foolish choices, their illnesses and foot rot.  We loved tended their lambs.

Then too, I have been so often brought to the startling awareness of my own sheep-hood.  Time and again I have been made to acknowledge that as a sheep I'm one of the dumbest in the flock, one of the silliest who makes repeated foolish choices.  Yes, there have even been times of foot rot from getting out of the proper pasture and spending too much time loitering in boggy areas and just not paying attention to the Shepherd  and taking care.

Yesterday I discovered a new periodical, a magazine, beautifully British that claims "Life at natures pace".  How can one go wrong with such as that?

This lovely magazine contained an article (yes, I am getting to my point!) about a young woman, a shepherdess in the Lake District of England.  She was relating her life with her sheep, yet the spiritual truths known my life long lept from the page. The very best was concerning "hefting".

"Hefting is the ancient practice in moorland shepherding and eliminates the need for fences or enclosures, helping the shepherd keep the flock close.  To heft the flock can take years; the shepherd must be with the sheep every day, guiding and herding them to graze only within their boundaries...Once a sheep has established its territory it will graze there for life, passing on the knowledge to its lambs, who will do the same through subsequent generations."

Is this not a beautiful picture of the loving intent of the Shepherd of our souls? Knowing the Shepherd, being with Him every day keeps me in the proper pasture and within the boundaries that are safe.  And finally, as I/the sheep learn this, it is only natural that the knowledge is passed on to 'the lambs' and they then, in turn, to their own lambs.  "...to the thousandth generations"  of those that follow, keeping close to the Shepherd.

Herein is the reminding of the old comforts, the truths known.  

In green pastures by cool waters, guided and protected by His rod and staff, where I know of a certainly from life long experience that His goodness and mercy are part of His following love for all of my days,  this is where I desire to be found.  

It comes to mind that the familiar King James word for hefting might be 'abide'.  

Whether hefted or abiding, that is the thought for the year ahead ~ staying put in good pasture close to the Shepherd ~ taking care so that the generations to come will also find the pasture good and remain in it.

Blessings on your own journey ahead, Dear Reader.
May all your pastures be green, your streams abundant.
______

Landscape, Issue 12, Christmas 2013;  
Sheep on the Fells, Helen McLaughlin

Alison O'Neill, www.shepherdess.co.uk

Although it looks nice on a Christmas card,
it is not really much fun to put your baby to sleep in an animal's feeding trough because there is nowhere else except the dirty floor.

It is a dreadful thing for a mother to feel that the world has no room for her baby.

How it must have cheered Mary when the rough shepherds came bursting in,
all breathless and excited saying that they had a vision of angels up there on the hillside and had been told beyond all doubt that this little fellow was really God.

Might they please kneel and give him their worship and honor?

How the people snoring comfortably in the inn next door would have laughed to have seen the sight of the shepherds kneeling on that stable floor!

But that is how God made His entrance...

What we are celebrating is not the feast of jolly old Father Christmas or good King Wenceslas, or a beautiful scenario of wishful thinking or fantasy.

We are celebrating the visit of God.

How Marvelous!

I wish you joy this Christmastide, Dear Reader.
May you gain a fresh glimpse of His glory and a true sense of His divine presence.

__________
Italicized thoughts taken from the writings of J. B. Phillips, 1906-1982

The Old, Old Story

This season is truly one of the most sacred and blessed of all.  Or should be.  It seems that Christmas time is becoming less sacred and important, and that no less in the Christian community than in the world outside.  And shame on us.

We have lost sight of the important, the central Truth somehow.  It seems we have become so 'pressed into the world's mold' and mindset that we no longer even notice.

Fret not, Dear Reader, this is not about consumerism, lights in the garden and house decor, nor is it going to be Santa bashing.  

My grief is principally News Letters, so called. 

This season truly is about News - the Good News.  We have those best news letters in the New Testament Gospel accounts.  From this we should take our cue for our own.

So Dear Reader, you may rest easy.  I will not be writing missives about the wonderful accomplishments of my brilliant children this year.  (There have been and they are)  Nor will you receive an organ recital listing all aches, pains and procedures of mine or of Husband Dearest. I could. I won't because frankly, I find them a colossal bore. This will not be about searing loss or other countless woes.  These happened, they are personal and they are common to man.

No.  This season is all about Him, the Incarnate, Risen and Living Lord, the Christ the Son of God with whom we have to do.  It is about the fact that He emptied Himself of His divine attributes and by deliberate act plunged into the storm and stress of our pitiful human life.  "The King of the ages came beyond the stars to dwell with us as our blood-relative."*

The Incarnation, that astonishing mystery as well as historical fact, that God became man like us, that we may become His children resembling Him our Father.  This is the news to be rehearsed and reported.

That is why we should be more like those first shepherds who heard, came, worshiped and adored, who then went away rejoicing and telling others the wonders made known to them.  

It was and is His news, His Story, which He allowed to become our own through His simple life of obedience,  His unspeakably horrible death and His glorious, victorious resurrection. Its all about Life and Light, Grace, Love and Mercy and oh, so much more.

May we like those simple shepherds go on our way rejoicing.
The old, old story is still the best.

~ Quote from J. Sidlow Baxter 1903-1999

O Sing To God

During the Christmas season, starting December 1, it is a family tradition to haul out the season's movies..one an evening is the limit.

Among the collection are the great classics, as well as lesser 'filler' sorts.  Some are pure entertainment, some silly.  But there are those that do leave a warm and gentle message.

One of those is The Bishop's Wife - the old black and white version, please, Dear Reader..don't mess with the classics, thank you.  While the story line is a bit of a theological stretch and fantasy, it contains so many enjoyable scenes and wise lines of dialog.  

Perhaps, though, is the scene with the boy's choir harmonizing with such simple, gracious beauty.  This song has always thrilled me and this year I had to, once and for all, discover its origin.  

It turns out that it is indeed a hymn of honorable credentials.  It truly is a hymn, though not found in hymnals as such.  It was originally written, it seems, as a motet for women's voices which is why it is so well suited to those of boy sopranos. 

Here then, are the words for the reading and savoring.  Perhaps you will even re-watch this sweet old movie and hear this lovely hymn sung once again - reminding us of the reason why we sing in season and out.


O Sing To God

composed by Charles Gounod Dec. 1, 1885

Words by the Rev. B. Webb

"O sing to God your hymns of gladness
Ye loving hearts your tribute pay
Your Lord is born this happy day
Then pierce the sky with songs of gladness
Disperse the shades of gloom and sadness
The Lord is born this happy day

O sing to God your hymns of gladness
O sing to God your hymns of gladness
Ye loving hearts your tribute pay
Your Lord is born this happy day
Then pierce the sky with songs of gladness
Disperse the shades of gloom and sadness
Your Lord is born this happy day

O sing to God your hymns of gladness
O Word of God for us incarnate
O Word of God for us incarnate
By faith we hear thine angels sing
Thy blessed angels sing their hymns
Thine angels sing of praise to thee their King
We join with them in adoration
We join with them in adoration
We pour to thee our supplication
That Thou would grant us, Lord, salvation

Distresses and Blessings

Dear Reader,

I have been away from posting of late and with reasons good enough to perhaps warrant your forgiveness.  Shortly after my last post, I received news that my First Hero and Last Champion was found to have an inoperable brain mass.  This mass is fast moving and quickly destroying all faculties and abilities in its path.  

Such  news is always devastating.  Even more so, for those of us who have loved this man well.  As my own dear son remarked : how sad he couldn't die as he lived, with poetry.

My dear, brilliant brother lived his entire professional career in the sphere of academia.  When he received his degree in Library Science if I remember correctly, it was one of only six in the nation in those early years. 

He has traveled the world, assisted learning centers, given counsel to governments, been instrumental is establishing museums and their collections.  He has authored books and encouraged generations of students in their pursuits of excellence.  And along the way has been a trusted and encouraging friend to many.

He has been a most kind and loving man in all his relationships, familial and otherwise.  He has rubbed shoulders with the famous and influential yet never lost his delight in telling of receiving his primary education in a one room country school.

As I look around my personal library I realize in very large part it came from him -for birthdays, Christmases and 'just cuz' gifts.  Books and learning have been his life.

For much of our adult lives geography has separated us, yet the childhood bond of siblings only three years apart has never weakened.

While I am prevented from being by his side in these his last days as his world becomes smaller and darkness comes in, my time has been spent, via technology, sending him daily chronicles of our country childhood as shared and remembered.  It has taken constant thought and much writing.  Yet it has been a joy and great privilege.

And here, Dear Reader is the blessing!  Never before have I thought of the astonishing gift that memory is.  Certainly all throughout the scriptures is the call to 'remember' given..remember My Words... My Laws .. My Sabbath .. remember the way in which you have come .. My comforts in the night seasons .. My death till I come ... Remember.  We are called to set up alters of remembrances .. Ebenezers .. noting times and circumstances when our God has drawn near and provided  help, refuge, strength, mercy, love etc.

Remembering and memories are true gifts and reasons for giving thanks. I'm aware too that one of the comforts of old age is the looking back.  Perhaps the reason for the vividness of youthful memories is the comfort it brings in last, difficult days.  Perhaps that too is a gift and not just an evidence of one drifting in ones dotage!

For my brother and me, it has been a treat to call to mind the small things and simple people and godly parents that made up the landscape of our childhood.  This has not been a time to remember the unpleasant, but only  the bright joys and loves and goodnesses.  

It has been a challenge and a stretch to be sure.  It has also given me a reason for my days.  It has given us deeper love and appreciation for the pilgrim path we have traveled.  It has given me a fresh glimpse of the Faithfulness of our God whose goodness and mercy truly has followed us all the days of our lives.  I now have a most detailed relief map of our Faith and that of our parents.

This childhood documentation will continue on until my dear brother's Arrival safe Home.  Then, perhaps, I will more faithfully resume blog writings.  In the meantime, Dear Reader, I have a more pressing claim.  

I know you understand.  And thank you.

   

A rough German peasant perhaps.
A tormented monk, to be sure but one with a heart desperately seeking God and God's Truth.

He was changed through a scripture text.
Martin Luther didn't meet words when he opened the scripture to the book of Romans, he met the Living Word!

"The just shall live by faith...."  That was the text branded on his heart.

God through His Word changed the man Luther and the man Luther changed the course of the Church and the history of the world.

He gave the Word of God in the common language for common folk.
He stood before Pope and Emperor alike defending his right to do so.

Luther gave song to the church, singable hymns loaded with doctrine.
And so much more.


If we in our own strength confide,
our striving would be losing,
Were not the right man on our side,
The Man of God's own choosing.
You ask who that may be?
Christ Jesus it is He,
Lord Sabaoth His name,
From age to age the same,
And He must win the battle.

That was Luther's message, Christ The Man and He our salvation 
by Faith alone, Grace alone, through Scripture alone.

Happy Reformation Day, Dear Reader!

Does life never frighten you with its bleakness, Anne Shirley?

This line from Kevin Sullivan's movie masterpiece often comes to mind when Life crowds in with things heart-rendingly woeful.  Such events so often come in groups swiftly causing our focus to slip from the True.

Of late, there have been several of immense proportions touching the life of our family.  Among them  are those much loved who have chosen to leave the Excellent Way and make shipwreck of their lives leaving incalculable devastation in their wake.  While others find a valiant and productive life of one much beloved slipping from their grasp in a way beyond human control while they can only sit by in bewilderment.

Add to these the daily disappointments and other small-potato losses of the Ordinary and I find myself falling to my knees and pushing my little boat into the stream of scripture.  

Gone are the days when I spin in the why cycle.  "Why" doesn't enter in to the equation.  Whys were settled before the Throne in other such times. But the patchwork cloak of bafflement and the heaviness it brings envelop. Emotion broadsides bringing tears and grief brings on a slowness of pace and thought.

  

There is also a return to the well remembered pain of yet another great family loss but a few short years ago.

Then, as is always the way of Mercy,  glory visits.  For us this season, it is the bringing yet another new little lad into our clan circle.  Babies are always the perfect reminder that there is a Time for all things under Heaven and a continuum and purpose to the days we are given.

Too, there is the reminder that bleakness may seem our lot here in the Shadowland.  Yet the reminder comes that we walk through the Valley of the Shadow.  We are not pitching our tent there. Praise Him.

The eternal God is  [our] refuge and dwelling place,

and underneath are the everlasting arms....

No matter how low the spirits, how deep the despair, underneath even those are the strong arms of the Eternal God, unseen and perhaps even unfelt, yet there.  Always there.  Count on it.  

Again and again, praise Him!

Selah.

________

Anne of Green Gables, the Continuing Story

Deuteronomy 33.27, Amp.

Image of a Jewish cemetery in Prague by Lynnette Austin McMinn  

If I ascend to highest heights;
if the Spirit brings Jesus to me in unaccountable brilliance,
and the glass is wiped clear of the greater part of its darkness,

     Jesus is fairer.

If I am permitted to see what I can only call the beauty of Jesus 

in the saintliest saint,

     Jesus is fairer.

If I happen upon a grand doxology,

in which the best of the poets inscribes with the best of his best,

     Jesus is fairer.

If I could but once speak with the tongues of men and of angels,

fill with a rush of unqualified love,

     

    Jesus is fairer, and the fairest of ten thousand to my soul.

If I could compress the beauties of all God's handiwork

into one transcendent handful,

     Jesus is fairer.

If, in another handful, I could combine Sebastian Bach, Michelangelo,

Brahms, Vermeer, Rembrandt, a heaven full of angel voices,

a world of newly born babies, a galaxy of weavers, potters,

sleight-of-toe ballerinas -

If I could hold these handfuls to my hungry heart and be filled with their glory,

     Jesus is fairer.

Dear Name! 

the rock on which I build,

My shield and hiding-place,

My never-failing treasury, filled

with boundless stores of grace.

Jesus, my Shepherd, Husband, Friend,

My Prophet, Priest and King,

My Lord, my Life, my Way, my End,

Accept the praise I bring.

_______

Johannes Vermeer, "Delft"

Dumbfounded Praying, Harold M. Best, Wifp&Stock Pub., Eugene Oregon

John Newton, Olney Hymns

     

It would cure anybody to walk over the hill every morning 

as I do before sitting down to write, 

with the spruces on either hand and the green meadows beyond.  

I tramp along thanking the Lord for a life so sweet.

~ L. M. Montgomery

The image is of the Willamette Valley, Oregon by Lynnette Austen McMinn

Used by her kind permission.

This may not be LMM's Prince Edward Island, but it the country of my childhood and is deeply fixed in my soul!  Because of that I understand Maud's sentiment.  

We may be kindred spirits, Maud and I.

When it is the one ruling, never-ceasing desire of our hearts, 

that God may be the beginning and end, 

   the reason and motive, 

      the rule and measure, of our doing or not doing, 

         from morning to night; then everywhere, 

            whether speaking or silent,

                whether inwardly or outwardly employed, 

              we are equally offered up to the eternal Spirit, 

             have our life in Him and from Him, 

            and are united to Him by that Spirit of Prayer 

which is the comfort,      

the support,      

the strength and security of the soul, 

travelling, by the help of God, 

through the vanity of time into the riches of eternity. 

Let us have no thought or care, 

but how to be wholly His devoted instruments; 

everywhere, 

and in everything, 

His adoring, 

joyful, and 

thankful servants!

~William Law 1686-1761

_____

Image by Julia Valovich

Names and Naming

"What's your name, child?"

The child hesitated for a moment.

"Will you please call me Cordelia? she said eagerly.

"Call you Cordelia!  Is that your name?"

"No-o-o, it's not exactly my name,

but I would love to be called Cordelia.

It's such a perfectly elegant name."

My grandmother was a critic of names - "a good, washable name" was her phrase meaning of course something that would stand when tested by time.   

Names are important, crucial even.  

They are identity.  

They make a statement, an impression.

They place one in History.

There has been a bit of family sport of late 'naming the baby'.  There is one more little one to enter our circle before years' end.  This we already know, the child is known to be a male child. He will make a quartet with the little boy-cousins that preceded him this year. (What fun is that?  Think summers to come!)

The parents of this child, have decidedly strict views where names are concerned.  'It must be strong, a bold name" says the dad - and rightfully so.  The surname name to which it will be affixed is a strong one.  The given name cannot have negative connotations or connections to unpleasant people known.  It cannot be close in sound to names already present in the family - too many of those we have! 

So far, so good.

At the recent family gathering some of us sat with the mom handing out our offerings.  An great-auntie began writing a list. A great-uncle, a teacher by profession, made practical suggestions like 'think of when he'll be in junior high.'

Our circle took on the form of a parlor game.  As is our usual, there were raised voices talking over one another along with much hilarity. The expectant mom sat with her usual calm and grace putting up with our nonsense and giving reasons 'why not' to most suggestions.

But when it all comes down to the appearance on this planet, the parents will look into the face of this little one and give him the name he will carry out into the world in years to come.

It really doesn't matter what that name will be, though I do hope it won't be too odd or goofy.  Still, at that point in time, this little one, with his new name will gain status, person-hood. 

This child will not be a mere gathering of parts and working systems as scientists would state.  No,  He is/will be a child, created in the image of a Creator God.  In his little face, there will be echos, glimpses seen of those from which he comes.  He will possess a place in History, ours and the world's.

As Time continues, he will touch many lives and make his mark on the world. I've no doubt it will be a proper and positive one.  That is how he will be trained by his godly parents.  For this, we have already prayed.

Exciting business, isn't it? This is continuum.  This is prophecy fulfilled.  Here  are promises for the future in sweetest form.

When he comes, this little one, it matters not really, what he will be called.  We will all have our pet names for him, that you can count on. 

He will become a most welcomed addition to the family.

And he will be deeply loved by all. 

That is something we do easily and well.

_______

Quotation of course, from Anne of Green Gables, L. M. Montgomery

Uncles

Uncles are important people in a child's life.  For myself, mine I knew only from a distance.  Our children had a bit more contact with one of theirs at least.  He, being gentle and spoken and fun loving was a favorite.  There was nothing he could not do.  He was always a willing participant in the kid goings on. He is remembered fondly by all.

At the recent family gathering there was this precious 'flash-back' moment.  

Of all that was happening, of all the big folk around, it was The Uncle, also gentle and soft spoken that got down to kid size, and with long Uncle arms was able to snitch ripe berries for all from the other side of the fence.  

It is true, they all could have walked through the nearby gate and picked berries for themselves.  

But what is the fun in that?

New Mercies

The morning glories are finally, in bloom once again. I say finally because this year in this new garden space of mine, the bed where they were planted was well turned and well fertilized.  The extra richness of the soil made full, lush growth - beautiful leaves.  Now I know, for blossom production lean soil is the better way. Just a little garden tip for free, that. 

 We love morning glories. Each new day brings fresh new trumpets.  They always delight and surprise.  You can never be certain of the color of the day's bloom or location on the vine where they will appear.  That is why they ever remind me of our Lord's mercies which are 'new every morning.'

This year's arrival of the blossoms came to highlight the happenings of our days.
Yesterday we were finally - and again 'finally' is used in emphasis - called to sign the last papers on the sale of our former cottage.  We knew, of course, that this mercy would take place.

What we could not have known nor did we expect new mercies.  Graces too, for that matter.  The Hidden Hand orchestrated schedules so that we not only were able to meet the new owners, but were able to sit at a table together while all the papers were explained and signed by the four of us.

Their names are Peter and Kate.  Isn't that perfect?  Already they seem to fit in.  This is their first home.  They are thrilled with it, with all that had been done, with all that formerly said it was ours.  Kate loves the garden too.  We talked quite a bit about that.  She especially loves the honeysuckle as it drapes over the dining room window.

There is now a sweet, curly-hair toddler in this home where toddlers were commonplace!  He will put his own marks on the place, literally as well as figurative no doubt. That delight me.

By the time our paper-signing ended we felt like friends.  We know where Peter works, that Kate is a stay-at-home mommy who is in tune with her surroundings specifically and who rejoices in life in general.  Kate asked about the wall upstairs where the grand and great grand children's names had been stenciled.  Seems they left ghost images behind the over-painting I had done.  I apologized for not having re-checked.  But no, she was happy to see them, to know about them and thought it great to have such in her own home.

All these small mercies made easy the turning over our memory-filled home to others.  Perhaps the best was at the last.  As we left, young Kate said "Do stop by whenever you're in town.  Please know that you are always welcome." 

Talk about mercies in the daily small and mundane!

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morning glory image by Tom Clark, tomclarkblogspot.com

Just A Thought

Do the work that's nearest,

Though its dull at whiles,

Helping when you meet them,

Lame dogs over stiles;

See in every hedgerow

Marks of angel's feet,

Epics in the pebble

Underneath your feet.

These lines from Charles Kingsley though few, are full of sweet imagry and bringing attention to things I love as well as offering brief hints of duty.

It is always good to be reminded to do the work nearest, dull or otherwise..  "the next thing" as Amy Carmichael wrote..  "the day of the small things" mentioned by the prophet Zechariah.

But country stiles and hedgerows, these are English things of delight and charm offered as poetic imagery for our actions and surrounding.

Pebbles I know well.  Pebbles I collect.  These form special collections of our travels and noteworthy family moments. These are common bits and pieces of our world.

Kingsley offers the reminder to walk attentively so as not to overlook angel footprints, to walk thoughtfully over ancient pebbles in the way, stones of remembrance.

Then there is the matter of lame dogs.  These take many forms in our lives- or can if you stretch the point which I seem to be doing.

Not profound theology here, I confess, but hopefully, Dear Reader, you will find something to reflect upon This Day.

May your day bring you a lame dog or two who needs your gentle compassion. 

And may your day contain more of angel footprints than pebbles, unless the pebbles are epic!

The Shoe's On The Other Foot Now

While I'm understanding this, I must admit to not liking it one bit.  Oh, what shoe?  What other foot you ask?

Well, here goes.  In our lives, and long they be, in our years as lay people, speaking church-wise, we have never had a beloved pastor announce from the pulpit that he was leaving.

In our forty years of ministry, we were the ones that announced and left. Certainly there would have been those in each situation that were glad to see the back of us.  Yet there were always those who shed tears of disbelief and then of farewell.

Like I said, now I understand.

A while back I posted about our search for a church home the dear little church we had finally found.  I shared about the fine young pastor who preaches the Word with clarity, power and oh so much grace.  Today, this young man we have come to love, admire and appreciate so very much, announced he would be leaving.  

We have attended his church for only a few short months.  We are heart broken and can only imagine the devastation his long term parishioners feel.  He has pastored this flock for 8 years.  That's a goodly record in this day and age.

All this adds to the puzzlement we have felt in these recent months of relocating.  What we will do, where we will attend in the weeks ahead we haven't a clue.  We have come to so appreciate the Lutheran way, but that has been in great measure because of the spirit, leading and preaching of the pastor.

I can say that, while we are oh so sad at his going, we feel blessed to have been privileged to sit under his ministry.  We have learned much.  What is more, his teaching has been so needful, refreshing and healing 'for such a time as this' in our pilgrimage.

Pastor Kris is a most gifted and choice young man.  He has a brilliant mind and an uncommon spirit. He has the gift of teaching, that is evident.  He has a sweetness and gentle wit and manner. There must be amazing things ahead for him and his family.  I pray so. Our thoughts and prayers are for him and his young family.  Those prayers will continue long after he has left our scene.  We can only, heavy hearts notwithstanding, wish him the Lord's very best and future ministries filled with  the richest blessings.

For us, well, I do feel we are at a bit of a crossroads once again.  After our long months of church searching we have begun to feel settled.  And after the long months of medical drama, this week, the specialists confirmed that there is nothing in recent reports to cause concern, and in fact nothing that indicates the need for further diagnostic tests, scans etc. It was even stated that the Man Himself could look forward to productive years ahead.

For that last bit, we know that no human expert can make that call, yet it all does give one pause!  What might be ahead for us all?  

Future plans are still secret.
The secrets are yet to be revealed to us.  
But we do know the One Who holds the secrets, Whose plans they are. And in that we rest.
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Photography by Mitzi Schindele