Love’s secret is always lifting
its head out from under the covers,
“Here I am!”
~Rumi, as interpreted by Coleman Barks
Morning’s first light
kisses the day to wakefulness
and announces Yahweh’s presence.
See it!
Feel it!
Taste it!
Touch it!
Hear the secrets
the dawn has to tell!
~Natalie Scarberry
The whole earth is filled with awe at your wonders; where morning dawns, where evening fades, you call forth songs of joy. ~Psalm 65:8 ✝
In everyone’s life, at some time,
our inner fire goes out.
It is then burst into flame
by an encounter with another human being.
We should all be thankful for
those people
who rekindle the inner spirit.
~Albert Schweitzer
This is a bit of a strange post for Mother’s Day, but then there are those who say I am a bit strange, and truth be told, I might be. And I normally don’t post more than once a day, but while what happened today was fresh in my mind, I decided to go ahead with it. I’ve written several posts now about my childhood in which I’ve talked about how wonderful it was, and it truly was. In one of them, however, I also added that like all else in life, it was not without hurtful events, some of which came about because of my mother. Then in caring for mom who suffered from dementia at the end of her life, things became very arduous and wounding. As a result, since then I’ve prayed over and over again that the Lord would help me forgive and forget as much as possible and help me replace the bad “stuff” with remembrances of the happy and good times. Okay, I’m sure by now you all are asking yourselves, where is she going with this? How could this possibly have anything to do with ice cream as her lead and photos indicate? Funny, how the Lord works sometimes, isn’t it?! Well you see, it goes like this: while eating strawberry ice cream today, memories of my Mother’s unequaled, homemade ice cream flooded my mind with memories of the joy and happiness that was a part of life most of the time at my mother’s house. My mom was THE very best cook in the whole wide world. That’s why over the years, my friends were always thrilled to get an invitation to her house. In fact, I sometimes wonder if my husband married me because of who I am or because of my mom’s mashed potatoes. Well, that’s neither here nor there; I really just wrote this to thank the Lord for what happened with the ice cream today and to wish all of you a Happy Mother’s day. Even if you, who are reading this have never birthed a child, I wish you the same because everyone mothers other people in one way or another at times. And as for old Albert Schweitzer’s words, he was right in a way; it was a sort of a fire that had gone out, and though the encounter was with ice cream instead of another human being, it helped, maybe not to rekindle as much as to work, some healing in my inner spirit.
“‘Each of you must respect your mother and father, and you must observe my Sabbaths. I am the Lord your God. ~Leviticus 19:3 ✝
**Images via Pinterest; collage created by Natalie
Is there a green too green
Is there a wet too wet
In a land that has
suffered long, a drought.
Is there a heaven too high
Is there a ground too low
In a world that has
suffered much, for a Savior
Is there a Father too loving
Is there a God too merciful
In a heart that has
suffered long, afflictions
Shake not your fists at the heavens
Shake not your fists at the world
Seek instead the One
who came to make a way for all
through the wilderness
through the darkness
through the confusion
through the suffering
~Natalie Scarberry
The grasslands of the wilderness overflow; the hills are clothed in gladness. ~Psalms 65:12 ✝
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!
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,
View original post 48 more words
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
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 ✝
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
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
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
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
With those long luxurious lashes this girl should model for maybeline. Pronghorn hanging out in Pronghorn territory west of Laramie, WY.
“Listen to your life. See it for the fathomless mystery that it is.
Touch, taste, smell your way to the holy and hidden heart of it
because in the last analysis all moments are sacred moments
and life itself is grace.”
~ Frederick Buechner
Sacred Touches 