"I shall concede my life's triumph

to growing old triumphantly,

victoriously old."

~Dr. Frank Crane

(and me too)

John Q.

One always risks one's pride when declaring excitement over information just discovered. When one is of a certain age it is expected that great stores of knowledge have been accumulated. Well
Dear Reader, I can only declare that I love learning and so pass on to you this day something that delighted my proverbial sox off and was quite unknown before this day.

John Quincy Adams was a hymn writer! Marvelous!
He also played the flute.

It has been said that he was one of the most brilliant of US Presidents. Certainly he was one of the most religious. He himself stated that he read the Bible each morning for an hour. Typically, he alternated the language in which he read it. Not your common man, John.

Living in the very heavy shadow of his illustrious father, growing up as he did under public scrutiny as the president's son, serving his country all his life, not to mention being a husband and father, he would have been a man tested along so many lines and in so many ways throughout his years. He rose above crushing defeats yet in all this he trusted and praised his God.

Here, a statement of faith of the trusting, obedient child and pilgrim, John Quincy Adams.

Send forth, O God, Thy light and truth,

And let them lead me still,

Undaunted, in the paths of right,

Up to Thy holy hill.

Then to Thy alter will I spring,

And in my God rejoice;

And praise shall tune the trembling string,

And gratitude my voice.

O why, my soul, art thou cast down?

Within me why distressed?

Thy hopes the God of grace shall crown;

He yet shall make thee blessed.

To Him, my never failing Friend,

I bow, and kiss the rod;

To Him shall thanks and praise ascend,

My Savior and my God.

And the Words Leaped Off the Page and Into the Heart

And every time it happens there is fresh surprise and delight.

Being in the heat of a grievous battle at the moment, spiritual in nature, not of our own making and not without future consequences, there is a continuous heaviness. And with the heaviness comes a perplexity that refuses to allow the mind to rest. Hence day trudgings and long night seasons with the weariness that walks along side like an unshakable shadow.

But its the Lord's Day. Again. One must put on one's "Sunday Face" and go out the door.

First, as is the habit of a lifetime, devotions.

Once again dear dead Archbishop Cranmer met me with his 'freshly' written collect. So simple in wording, so dynamic in scope.

Almighty and everlasting God,

which dost govern all things in heaven and earth;

mercifully hear the supplications of thy people,

and grant us thy peace all the days of our life.

Govern: to rule by right of authority as a sovereign does; to exercise a directing or restraining influence over; guide; hold in check.

All: the whole of with reference to quantity, extent, duration, amount or degree; the greatest possible; every.

It always comes down to the same Job-ean point: Is God who He says He is? Are His promises trustworthy? All the days? This Day?

It can once again be summed up with that precious Yea and Amen from J.B. Phillips:

He is our God and only the God who is our inescapable contemporary. Immanuel, God with us.

Always. Only. Enough.

Mercy covers.

January Joys

It matters not what is happening in and around my life, wars and rumors of wars or other distresses, seed catalogs can put it all to rights.

The arrival of seed catalogs in January is as dependable as Spring itself.
The cheer and good hope they bring makes the heart beat faster and at the same time feeds the soul.

The first pages looked at are those with sweet peas. No matter the size of a garden plot, sweet peas are one essential. For me, sweet peas, lavender and roses are the gardening trinity.

Sweet pea seed is the first ordered. Papa always planted the peas - edible and flowering - in February. I try to follow his pattern when possible. There were the years of high mountain living where snow could still be on the ground in June. When it melted finally, sweet peas were planted. Often they bloomed into October when the new snows arrived.

But this year, this very day I ordered my seeds for Spring, sweet pea seeds that is.

Always there is a package of Chatsworth from that great house in Derbyshire. They are a soft lavender, great in size, dependable bloomers and wonderfully fragrant. They are to me about as perfect as as anything can be in the garden.

So with seed ordered, I am reminded that we have a future and a hope and not just in the garden only. Always the garden points to the Unseen, Heavenly things.

And the heart sings.

"Behold the Birds of the Air...

...their main aim is to obey the principle of life

that is in them

and God looks after them.

Jesus says that if you are rightly related to Him

and obey His Spirit that is in you,

God will look after your 'feathers'."

~Oswald Chambers

The Decline and Fall of Sunday Dinner

In the long ago misty past, early Sunday morning found Grandma in the kitchen and mama setting the table with Grandma's best china and silverware - on a table cloth, of course. All was in readiness for our return from morning worship service.

Aromas of wonderfulness greeted us as we returned home. Dinner was served. I mostly remember chicken offerings. But what ever form it took it would be done to perfection. Grandma was that sort of cook. We all sat around the table in the dining room. Daddy at the head of the table and Grandma on his right hand. She always sat with her knees pointing to the kitchen and at a moment's notice was up and getting whatever was required. The blessing would be given, and Dad would begin filling the plates one by one and passing them down the table. There was quiet conversation, mostly by the older folk. More often that not, guests were included round the table. It was nearly always a pleasant time. The only firm words were for behavioral issues concerning us children.

Now we travel through the years to our own Sunday table during our Mennonite-farm years.
We raised much of our own table fare, meat included. Dinner most often was a fall-apart roast beef with the spuds, carrots and onions cooked together with the meat and oh, so flavorful. Those were the Halcyon Days and sweetly memorable.

From there we moved to the city. The Dad was now a Youth Pastor. The children were teens or nearly so. More often than not, other teens joined us at table. Always in those days there were evening church activities too. The days were full. The menu now consisted of tuna sandwiches on flannel bread with chips, pickles and Pepsi.

Many changes through the years as locations and cast of characters changed. Now it is mostly we two. And yesterday, as we sat at plastic tables surrounded by noisy slurping strangers, I looked at our Polish dogs on buns and remembered. And then laughed at the evolution of Sunday Dinner.

Memories are lovely things though, aren't they? And yes, the Polish with catsup, onions, sweet pickle relish and a bit of 'kraut are tasty, if not the remembered elegant fare on china plates with loved ones gathered round.

One can even give thanks for a Costco 'dinner' served up on paper and eaten with plastic fork and knife.

(photo from Costco, via Google:)

Wonders That Make Me Smile