April 22, 2011
Happy Good Friday and Easter! I will be back Monday. In the meantime here is a poem by Gerard Manley Hopkins, one of my favorites:
Pure fasted faces draw unto this feast:
God comes all sweetness to your Lenten lips.
You striped in secret with breath-taking whips,
Those crooked rough-scored chequers may be pieced
To crosses meant for Jesu’s; you whom the East
With draught of thin and pursuant cold so nips
Breathe Easter now; you serged fellowships,
You vigil-keepers with low flames decreased,
God shall o’er-brim the measures you have spent
With oil of gladness, for sackcloth and frieze
And the ever-fretting shirt of punishment
Give myrrhy-threaded golden folds of ease.
Your scarce-sheathed bones are weary of being bent:
Lo, God shall strengthen all the feeble knees.
April 14, 2011
Because I am blessed beyond belief and sometimes I forget that, too.
March 17, 2011
Picture totally unrelated to content.
I have said several times this year in a more unofficial capacity that my “word” (or “words” in my case) of the year is “Be Present.” It’s something I’m not always good at, and something upon which I know I can improve (that awkward sentence brought to you by Grammar Rules: How Not to End a Sentence With a Preposition) .
With that in mind, I found this quote today and it is perfect, perfect, perfect and I am going to do something pretty with it and put it up in my house. I will assuredly take pictures of this process and post them for the world (my three readers) to see.
“Patience is a hard discipline… it asks us to live the moment to the fullest, to be completely present to the moment, to taste the here and now, to be where we are. When we are impatient, we try to get away from where we are. We behave as if the real thing will happen tomorrow, later, and somewhere else. Let’s be patient and trust that the treasure we look for is hidden in the ground on which we stand.”
March 15, 2011
It’s long, but so worth it.
A List of Praises
by Anne Porter
Give praise with psalms that tell the trees to sing,
Give praise with Gospel choirs in storefront churches,
Mad with the joy of the Sabbath,
Give praise with the babble of infants, who wake with the sun,
Give praise with children chanting their skip-rope rhymes,
A poetry not in books, a vagrant mischievous poetry living wild on the
Streets through generations of children.
Give praise with the sound of the milk-train far away
With its mutter of wheels and long-drawn-out sweet whistle
As it speeds through the fields of sleep at three in the morning,
Give praise with the immense and peaceful sigh
Of the wind in the pinewoods,
At night give praise with starry silences.
read more »
March 10, 2011
… ‘There’s nothing great
Nor small,’ has said a poet of our day,
(Whose voice will ring beyond the curfew of eve
And not be thrown out by the matin’s bell)
And truly, I reiterate, . . nothing’s small!
No lily-muffled hum of a summer-bee,
But finds some coupling with the spinning stars;
No pebble at your foot, but proves a sphere;
No chaffinch, but implies the cherubim:
And,-glancing on my own thin, veined wrist,-
In such a little tremour of the blood
The whole strong clamour of a vehement soul
Doth utter itself distinct. Earth’s crammed with heaven,
And every common bush afire with God:
But only he who sees, takes off his shoes,
The rest sit round it, and pluck blackberries…
—Book Seven, Aurora Leigh – Elizabeth Barrett Browning
It is Lent, after all.