Tuesday, August 21, 2018

August is the cathedral of summer. And yet, if I sit on my chair on the upper floors and look outside my window, I see impending changes taking place on the horizon. Far in the outlying distance, over to where the mountains are, even though you can’t see them, but you know they’re there—faithful as they are; like some ancient proverb erased from the horizon by an utterly impassive sky, there lays secrets untold.

Indications of what’s to come are forming. For there, in its very own cathedral of summer stand the tall trees, canopies already changing into their muted greens and burnt reds outfits, and the morning sun is the mayor indicator of it all; for it has started the process of mellowing down, and it has already acquired that yellow tinted quality to it—muffled and hazy, so proper of the autumnal light. Yes, like children at play, we are tumbling down that old hill called 'summer' onto the new season. 


Signs, signs… the signs are all around us.  Just as with the signs representative of the turning of seasons, Christ described the many and varied conditions that would precede His return. They included such things as deception, wars, famines, disease epidemics, earthquakes and religious persecution, all culminating in an unprecedented time of worldwide calamity (Matthew 24: 3-29). 

Just before Jesus’ return nation shall rise against nation, and kingdom against kingdom, and great earthquakes shall be in divers places, and famines, and pestilences; and fearful sights and great signs shall there be from heaven. And there shall be signs in the sun and in the moon, and in the stars; and upon the earth distress of nations, with perplexity; the sea and the waves roaring; men’s hearts failing them for fear, and for looking after those things which are coming on the earth: for the powers of heaven shall be shaken. (Luke 21 v.10-11, 25-26).


Song at Sunset
by Walt Whitman 

SPLENDOR of ended day, floating and filling me!
Hour prophetic—hour resuming the past!
Inflating my throat—you, divine average!
You, Earth and Life, till the last ray gleams, I sing.
 

Open mouth of my Soul, uttering gladness,
Eyes of my Soul, seeing perfection,
Natural life of me, faithfully praising things;
Corroborating forever the triumph of things.



Monday, August 20, 2018

Knowing Jesus


“The grass withers, the flower fades, but the word of our God stands forever. A voice says, ‘Call out.’ Then he answered, ‘What shall I call out?’ All flesh is grass, and all its loveliness is like the flower of the field.” – Isaiah 40:6-8 

We are but dust
Our days are count in petals 
Our deeds like the beat of wings 
And yet… 

“Just as a father has compassion on his children, So the LORD has compassion on those who fear Him. For He Himself knows our frame; He is mindful that we are but dust. But the lovingkindness of the LORD is from everlasting to everlasting on those who fear Him, and His righteousness to children's children” – Psalm 103:13-18.




Sunday, October 9, 2016

Autumnal days


The new season is upon us now.  A rather enchanting breeze is shaking shaggy tired heads of maples and black oaks, and sassafras, willows and sugarberries are turning thin and sparse in leaves.  I love these feelings of wonder and joy so proper of the pre-autumnal season, when the land starts its needed slumber, and the atmosphere conveys this delicious tinge of winter and there is this awareness of something inexplicable, and extraordinarily glorious transpiring as your perceptions awakens to God's creative powers in Nature.  My heart doesn't love farewells, yet I still find a reflection of my soul in the vanishing of life. 

My heart embraces the hope that autumnal days bring.  I walk in the garden, and wait for the falling leaf.  October's enchantment swirls around me.  Like a grasshopper's song I hear it.  High in the maple trees its voice rings. I am a dancing autumn leaf, a locust slowly grinding the silence that October brings under a moon waning and broken, and tired with summer.  Over my soul October murmurs its benediction, while I gaze at a garden so ready to sleep.  I welcome you, autumn!

I can never seem to have enough time of my days to enjoy my little life thoroughly and deeply.  There's so much my senses want to drink-in, and feel, and hear and... live!  Days are magical.  The heat of summer has receded and cool breezes sway away the garden to a sweet sleep all day long. I hear the crows preparing their winter dwelling places somewhere deep in the woods and I want to follow them there... follow them into the woods, which these days are starting to thin out, letting extra sunshine soak its floors in light and magical goodness.

And then, it is not the moon, oh I tell you... it is the begonias enchanting my heart; still beautifying the gardens as they are, in their deep pinks and salmon shades, and my little world had deposed its summer garments and it is wearing the colors of cobbler crust of brown sugar and cinnamon. Oh I am an October child for sure! By right of birth, and by right of the soul... 


Wednesday, May 18, 2016

Letting go...


Day by day

Day by day

Strolling my gardens...

Day by day, and with each passing moment,
Strength I find, to meet my trials here;
Trusting in my Father’s wise bestowment,
I’ve no cause for worry or for fear.
He Whose heart is kind beyond all measure
Gives unto each day what He deems best—
Lovingly, its part of pain and pleasure,
Mingling toil with peace and rest.


Every day, the Lord Himself is near me
With a special mercy for each hour;
All my cares He fain would bear, and cheer me,
He Whose Name is Counselor and Power;
The protection of His child and treasure
Is a charge that on Himself He laid;
“As thy days, thy strength shall be in measure,”
This the pledge to me He made.


Help me then in every tribulation
So to trust Thy promises, O Lord,
That I lose not faith’s sweet consolation
Offered me within Thy holy Word.
Help me, Lord, when toil and trouble meeting,
Ever to take, as from a father’s hand,
One by one, the days, the moments fleeting,
Till I reach the promised land.


Words: Karolina W. Sandell-Berg, 1865 (Blott en dag, ett ögonblick i sänder); translated from Swedish to English by Andrew L. Skoog (1856-1934).