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.