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!

________
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!