May 2015

"Children are the wishing people," Elysia says. I pause, thinking how true this is. I want that.  I want to be one of the Wishing People. 

May 15, 2015

                                           

       Anthony wakes up from his nap, his face flushed with sleep and his gold-brown hair tousled.  He  climbs into our rocking chair next to the window. It is windy today, the tree tops bending low and the lake ruffled with waves.

     He glances out the window-  Look! A sailboat!  A sailboat! !   We watch it float and skim across the sunlit water... it's the first we've seen this season, and it's beautiful;  the fresh white sails against the deep blue water and the clear blue sky.

      For, lo, the winter is past, the rain is over and gone;

  The flowers appear on the earth; the time of the singing of birds is come...

          Song of Songs 2: 11-12 

     

May 14 2015

                                                              May 14
    
     Chloe and Elysia are riding round and round on their bicycles, singing madly at the top of their lungs:  

Hark the herald angels sing, 

Glory to the newborn King!     

Peace on earth and mercy mild, 

God and sinners

Reconciled.

It sounds glorious and natural, their innocent singing with the background noise of their wheels on the deck and the summer wind in the tree tops.

They are His children, the same as I am.      I want to live every day with this truth on my lips and in my heart and mind.



      For thou, Lord, art good, and ready to forgive; and plenteous in mercy unto all them that call upon thee.
                            P s a l m    86:5
     

May 12 2015

                                                              May 12

      Drip. Drip. Drip. The thoughts circle in, one by one at first, but then in dank, dark clouds. They drip with fear, harsh voices chanting pain.

 You aren't enough.  Everything you do is wrong. Everything you've ever done is wrong.
You've failed. You'll fail again. 


I feel waves of anger, self - righteousness exploding outwards, making excuses; excusing myself. Self-soothing words come next.


 You haven't done too badly, considering where you came from. You could be worse. You're actually not too bad. Look around.  Look for someone a little bit more selfish than you are; see? You are going to be okay. Just keep one step ahead and you'll be alright. 


                  A part of me pulls back and watches; the attack, the counter-attack. Studies the tactics. Makes notes. Calculates. This part knows what I really need.    


Surrender. 

To who? 

To the One you're hiding from, in the thin - walled boxes of your mind. 

Surrender? I'm scared... these walls are all I have. 

               All thy strong holds shall be like fig trees with the firstripe figs: if they be shaken, they shall even fall into the mouth of the eater.               N a h u m   3:12

                 It's a promise. Can I live this moment,  surrendered to my Father? I need Him. I know it with my mind and my body and my soul. Can I live this? 

O my Father- let me live like the One you sent to die for me.

May 3 2015

                                                          May 3
            This spring the small, thin leaves on all the birch trees are so beautiful that they look like a thousand thousand new-green blossoms.  The pond has melted at last, and the ice on the lake is almost gone. Grebes call, with their harsh voices, and seagulls wheel high overhead.

             Lie on the dock, lie quiet and still, see the blue of the sky reaching on, blending with the distant mountains.

        Eleanor,  busiest of all, trips hither and yon,  touching, seeing, wondering- her dark eyes more beautiful than anything in the whole world and her sweet round cheeks still made for kissing.      Soft butter dripping down mussels on the barbecue, and two girls learning to ride bicycles together.

        I want to seize the joy, snatch it, wrest it from the moment and save it forever but I can't. Savour this moment. Christ the Lord is Risen today- Today!

    And because of Him I have hope of heaven.

 

April 2015

           

                                                      April 2015
                Victoria, golden in the sunshine, standing on a hilltop; beauty amid beauty.       Birch trees, slanting spring sunlight,  children laughing on a mighty swing. 
   
        And to crown it all, Victoria, my sister; sweet and womanly, with the tang of spruce in her blood;  King's-Daughter, crafted for love and for war. I thank God for you, and see His glory in your face.


          For the Lord God is a sun and shield: the Lord will give grace and glory: no good thing will he withhold from them that walk uprightly.              
                       P s a l m   84:11

Other Novembers

     I remember walking under old ironwood pines, planted in straight lines and running parallel to the even older stone walls; mossy and tumbled but still beautiful even in their disarray.   The pines hummed and whispered with the lightest breeze, and we would braid their long  supple needles into whips, slashing the air as we walked.
       There were peacocks living up in those hills, in secluded groves where you would happen upon a gorgeous banyan tree, long smooth limbs reaching out, waist high, for twenty or thirty feet- a perfect seat to rest on.      
      There was an old home foundation, with coconut palms planted around it, looking a little out of place in the middle of the rolling, grass-covered green hills. You could see for miles, down through every shade of green, down to the brown desert grass, down to the blue ocean with whitecaps and the occasional whale frolicking  amidst them.
        Let's buy this place, we said. Let's live here always and never leave. And in a way, it happened- memories like unending green hills, deep blue oceans of memories, will always be there,  and can't be taken away.