Monthly Archives: May 2015

The Fist

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Oh, how I love Mary Oliver’s poetry, and this one that Ivon posted yesterday just took my breath away on this early Sunday morning. Enjoy!

ivonprefontaine's avatarTeacher as Transformer

Mary Oliver has a way of starting with an idea and then she shifts it so well. She asks questions that provoke more questions than certain answers. Wouldn’t the heavens not have shaken their fist? I think about the ways that the heavens could shake their fist, but Nature does not.

There is patience. What are the little with which the heavens speak of peace. They are countless and, when I open my heart, they find me so easily.

How do the heavens invite us as they open up and invite?

There are days

when the sun goes down

like a fist,

though of course

 if you see anything

in the heavens

in this way

you had better get

 your eyes checked

or, better, still,

your diminished spirit.

The heavens

have no fist,

or wouldn’t they have been

shaking it

for a thousand years now,

 and even

longer than that,

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728. There is a garden in every childhood, an enchanted place where colors are brighter, the air is softer, and the morning more fragrant than ever again. ~Elizabeth Lawrence

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Poetry is a rich, full bodied whistle,
Cracked ice crunching in pails,
The night that numbs the leaf,
The duel of two nightingales,
The sweat pea that has run wild,
Creation’s tears in shoulder blades.
~Boris Pasternak

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Well, perhaps not every child had such a garden in their childhood, but I wish they had. I did, but the enchanted place was actually all the blocks around our house more than just a single garden. Nevertheless, Lawrence’s description fits my childhood perfectly. For, you see, in southern California where my life began, flowers grow everywhere, and many of the houses, like ours, which were perpendicular to the Pacific Ocean had car-width alleyways behind them. While many of the backyards were filled with all kinds flowers, the fences along the alleys were covered oftentimes with sweet pea vines. So strong an imprint did those images and scents make on my mind, heart, and soul that the memory of them hasn’t faded, not even a smidgen, for the fifty years I’ve been gone from there. Had I known 20 years ago that sweet peas would grow here, I would have started sowing their seeds when I first took up gardening. But it wasn’t until a few years ago that I stumbled across a packet of sweet pea seeds in a nursery and thought what the heck. Why not give ‘em a try?! And guess what? They have done fairly well the years we’ve gotten a good amount of rain and the temperatures haven’t gotten too warm, too quickly. Et voilà! Today sweet peas are abloom on my back fence again! And the halcyon days of my childhood have been flooding the foreground of my memory the livelong day. My oh my, but those were wondrous and wonder-filled times!

By helpful fingers taught to twine
Around its trellis, grew
A delicate and dainty vine;
The bursting bud, its blossom sign, Inlaid with honeyed-dew.

Oh, some may choose, as gaudy shows,
Those saucy sprigs of pride
The peony, the red, red rose;
But give to me the flower that grows Petite and pansy-eyed.

 Thus, meditation on Sweet Peas
Impels the ardent thought,
Would maidens all were more like these,
With modesty–that true heartsease–
Tying the lover’s knot.
~Excerpted verses from a poem
by Hattie Howard

Follow God’s example, therefore, as dearly loved children and walk in the way of love, just as Christ loved us and gave Himself up for us as a fragrant offering and sacrifice to God. ~Ephesians 5:1-2   ✝

727. All things seem possible in May. ~Edwin Way Teale

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If it’s drama that you sigh for, plant a garden and you’ll get it.
You will know the thrill of battle fighting foes that will beset it.
If you long for entertainment and for pageantry most glowing,
plant a garden and this summer spend your time
with green things growing.
~Edward A. Guest

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O such a commotion under the ground,
When March called, “Ho there! Ho!”
Such spreading of rootlets far and wide,
Such whisperings to and fro!

“Are you ready?” the Snowdrop asked,
“Tis time to start, you know.”
“Almost, my dear,” the Scilla replied,
“I’ll follow as soon as you go.”

Then “Ha! Ha! Ha!” a chorus came
Of laughter sweet and slow
From millions of flowers under the ground,
Yes, millions beginning to grow.

“I’ll promise my blossoms,” the Crocus said,
“When I hear the blackbird sing.”
And straight thereafter Narcissus cried,
“My silver and gold I’ll bring.” “

And ‘ere they are dulled,” another spoke,
“The hyacinth bells shall ring.”
But the violet only murmured, “I’m here,”
And sweet grew the air of spring.

Then “Ha! Ha! Ha!” a chorus came
Of laughter sweet and low
From millions of flowers under the ground,
Yes, millions beginning to grow.
~Ralph Waldo Emerson

For as the soil makes the sprout come up and a garden causes seeds to grow, so the Sovereign Lord will make righteousness and praise spring up before all nations. ~Isaiah 61:11   ✝

**Image via Pinterest

726. All of earth is crammed with heaven and every bush aflame with God, but only those who see take off their shoes. ~Elizabeth Barrett Browning

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Even a stone, and more easily a flower or a bird,
could show you the way back to God, to the Source, to yourself.
When you look at it or hold it & let it be
without imposing a word of mental label on it,
a sense of awe, of wonder, arises within you.
Its essence silently communicates itself to you
and reflects your own essence back to you.
~Eckhart Tolle

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Some time in March here in this part of the world the garden begins its ascent out of winter’s “vale of grief.” By the time March has gone, the flowering quince has already quit, the daffodils have departed, the tulips have been toppled, the crocus have concluded their blooming, and the hellebores have halted their show. April brings more delights, but after it has gone, the foxgloves have fallen by the wayside, the peonies have been pummeled by the rain, and the hyacinth have handed over their pink and blue scepters. And somewhere amid all that other splendor, the jasmine climbed, the penstemons’ purple bells appeared, and wisteria fell from on high while white bridal wreath spirea cascaded daintily down long, arching branches where bees and bright butterflies searched for flowery nectar. All the while, the crescendos of spring’s symphony were increasing, and the blankets of cold, laden with death were slowly but surely being consumed by spring’s warming nights and days. Then as the music of spring reached it frenzied rhythms, the melodious strains mounted garden walls and pushed past garden gates to fill busy streets where mankind pursues its harried madness. And there her music captured the inclined ears of some to draw them into her web where for eons she has recanted the magical mystery of life, ever hopeful and opulently abundant. So loudly does springtime declare the glory of God, in fact, that it’s hard to believe that anyone who is not deaf or blind could disclaim God’s existence for it’s His unmistakable voice that calls out from every stone, every leaf, every flower, every insect, every bird to the inheritors of Eden.

The heavens declare the glory of God; the skies proclaim the work of His hands. ~Psalm 19:1   ✝

**All images via Pinterest are of species named Eden; collage created by Natalie

725. Difficult times require difficult decisions. ~Jim Bunning

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The struggle of life is one of our greatest blessings.
It makes us patient, sensitive, and Godlike.
It teaches us that although the world is full of suffering,
it is also full of the overcoming of it.
~Helen Keller

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Last year was an exacting and troublesome one for me in several ways. Fortunately now that my knee has been replaced, one of the stressful, problematic issues has been successfully resolved. However, in it’s stead another health issue that had been under control for the last half of the year, has raised its ugly head again and gone to an even more distressing level. For decades I’ve been dealing with a neurological disorder called Restless Leg Syndrome. And since in the last few weeks it as been very difficult for me to manage this disorder, I’ve made an appointment today with a new neurologist, but I couldn’t get in to see him until the end of the month. Until then I am and more than likely will continue to get little sleep or be able sit at anything for very long. As a result, I’ve not been able to read many, if any, of your posts for a while now and until this issue improves or is resolved that will sadly continue. I am, however, going to try to continue posting something each day and will do that as long as I am able to; I will also try to answer any comments I get about my posts in a timely fashion. In the meantime, I hope you take good care of yourselves and please know that I am, at least, browsing through your posts as they appear in my inbox even if I am unable sit long enough to hit “like” or comment on them. The Lord, as always, will be with me on this difficult and exhausting journey, and I pray that I will be up to par soon so that I am able to re-engage with each and every one of you. In the meantime, love and hugs to you all, my little band of wonderful readers and followers, Natalie

Has anyone else ever noticed how the colors of life just sort of seem to fade from your days when things become emotionally and physically arduous? Perhaps that’s why I love flowers so much. When all else is gray and gloomy, their bright, colorful faces shine still in the dark days and nights of the soul.

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So do not fear, for I am with you; do not be dismayed, for I am your God. I will strengthen you and help you; I will uphold you with my righteous right hand. ~Isaiah 41:10 ✝

**Images via Pinterest

724. Earth, thou great footstool of our God, who reigns on high; thou fruitful source of all our raiment, life, and food; our house, our parent, and our nurse. ~Isaac Watts

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So will I build my altar in the fields,
And the blue sky my fretted dome shall be,
And the sweet fragrance that the wild flower yields
Shall be the incense I will yield to thee.
~Samuel Taylor Coleridge

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All those days
you felt like dust,
like dirt,
as if all you had to do
was turn your face
toward the wind
and be scattered
to the four corners
or swept away
by the smallest breath
as insubstantial—
Did you not know
what the Holy One
can do with dust?
This is the day
we freely say
we are scorched.
This is the hour
we are marked
by what has made it
through the burning.
This is the moment
we ask for the blessing
that lives within the ancient ashes,
that makes its home
inside the soil
of this sacred earth.
So let us be marked
not for sorrow.
And let us be marked
not for shame.
Let us be marked
not for false humility
or for thinking
we are less
than we are
but for claiming
what God can do
within the dust,
within the dirt,
within the stuff
of which the world is made,
and the stars that blaze in our bones,
and the galaxies that spiral
inside the smudge we bear.
~Jan Richardson

“Or speak to the earth, and let it teach you; and let the fish of the sea declare to you. “Who among all these does not know that the hand of the Lord has done this… ~Job 12:7-9    ✝

*Image via Pinterest