The air is like a butterfly
With frail blue wings.
The happy earth looks
at the sky and sings.
~Joyce Kilmer
I will exalt you, my God the King; I will praise your name for ever and ever. Every day I will praise you and extol your name for ever and ever. Great is the Lord and most worthy of praise; His greatness no one can fathom. ~Psalm 145:1-3 ✝
Who is the happiest of men? He who values the merits of others,
and in their pleasure takes joy, even as though t’were his own.
~Johann Wolfgang von Goethe, German writer and Politician
One of my fellow bloggers commented today about the beauty in one of my posts and said she needed the joy. It was such a blessing to know that I had spread some joy in the life of another. So tonight I thought I would share some thoughts about joy. And since this week is A.A. Milne’s birthday I decided to use some illustrations from his book to help do that. Milne was the English author who brought so much joy not only to children but also to those of us fortunate enough to have read the Winnie the Pooh stories to our children.
Joy is not in things; it is in us. ~Richard Wagner, German composer
The sun does not shine for a few trees and flowers, but for the wide world’s joy. ~Henry Ward Beecher, Congregational minister
Sometimes your joy is the source of your smile, but sometimes your smile can be the source of your joy. ~Thich Nhat Hanh, Vietnamese Monk and Writer
He who has never looked on sorrow will never see joy. ~Kahlil Gibran, Lebanese born American philosophical Essayist, Novelist, Poet
Joy is the net of love by which you can catch souls. ~Mother Teresa, Missionary
Joy delights in joy. ~William Shakespeare, English Dramatist, Playwright, Poet
But let all who take refuge in you(God) rejoice; let them ever sing for joy. Spread your protection over them, so that those who love your name may exult you. ~Psalm 5:10-12 ✝
Because they are primeval, because they outlive us,
because they are fixed, trees seem to emanate a sense of permanence.
And though rooted in earth, they seem to touch the sky.
For these reasons it is natural to feel we might learn wisdom from them,
to haunt about them with the idea that if we could only read
their silent riddle rightly we should learn some secret vital
to our real, our lasting and spiritual existence.
~Kim Taplin
Before the sun fell over the edge of the world yesterday, it painted its recently traversed path with reddish-pink and mauve streaks. In between the streaks were smaller golden rays that eventually blended into the pinker bands of light. As these streaks shot up to the sky’s pinnacle, they oozed deliciousness through the open spaces in one of my favorite trees. It’s a sycamore tree directly across the street from our house, and it’s so old that most of its bark has fallen away. When it has, as it has now, lost most of its floppy brown leaves the tree’s strange fruits are more visible as area its long, slender alabaster arms, arms that seem to reach up and caress the heavens’ spacious blue lagoons. Another thing I love about this particular tree is that in winter’s chilling winds its clattering branches seem to whisper prophecies of another spring’s birthing beneath the soil in silent chambers waiting for the prompting of the sun’s warmth on lengthening days and spring rains.
I’m the first one to admit that sometimes I’m hard pressed on difficult days to find reasons to be joyful, but I’m learning to look expectantly as well as long enough to find some measure of God’s glory in the day at hand. When dealing with a run of painful days as I am now, it becomes not only more challenging but also more necessary. The Holy Spirit within is the protector of one’s spiritual flame as well as a guide, and so if one turns inward to look for an appointment of grace, he/she will find what’s needed to press upward and onward. On this day that spark of relief and mercy was found in the beauty of a tree.
This is the day that the Lord has made; let us rejoice and be glad in it. ~Psalm 118:24 ✝
There is music in the meadows, in the air…
Leaves are crimson, brown, and yellow…
There is rhythm in the woods,
And in the fields, nature yields…
~Excerpts from LYRIC OF AUTUMN by
William Stanley Braithwaite
It was 1947 when Johnny Mercer borrowed lines from a French song to create the lyrics to his unforgettable melody, AUTUMN LEAVES, a song I find myself singing, at least the parts I remember, almost every year as I tear November’s page off the calendar. Why? I don’t know. The words just seem appropriate when autumn’s persistent winds, wild with leaves, blow wide open the final month’s portals, and this year’s opening was no different. November’s yet in place blustery gales did in fact sweep December onto its throne. Once seated, the 12th month opened under bright, sunny skies, but by noon day one had become shrouded in unending shades of gray. When night fell, there were few, if any, remaining leaves on the redbud and willow at the back of the yard. The beneficiaries of these as well as the oak’s leaves when they fall are the big island bed and my secret garden in the north corner. So now not only can my voice be heard singing autumn’s anthems, but wherever these tinted tidbits lie, I’ll be able to hear them crooning their embracing ballads of promise. And theirs, songs different from the ones in springtime, pledge warmth and declare they’ll keep my plants safe during the bitter, stone-cold days of winter. But wait, things like trees and leaves sing? Really? As a matter of fact, according to some Scriptural references and to those of us who listen carefully, they do!
The Lord reigns…Let the heavens rejoice, let the earth be glad; let the sea resound, and all that is in it. Let the fields be jubilant, and everything in them; let all the trees of the forest sing with joy. ~Psalm 96:11-12 ✝
The moment one gives close attention to anything,
even a blade of grass, it becomes a mysterious, awesome,
indescribably magnificent world in itself.
~Henry Miller
Against the backdrop of “red leaf and the gold” ornamental grasses shift and sigh in autumn’s chilling winds, and as they do, they add to the landscape an ethereal element with their airy flower panicles, fluffy seed plumes, and striking seed heads. Even after the initial onslaughts of freezing temperatures, grasses continue to grace the landscape with “fringe accents” by adding subtle colors, assorted textures, and the dimensions of motion and sound. Throughout winter’s “vale of grief,” undaunted by the cold, they capture and play with whatever light is available, and in their animated swayings they speak of life and give us something “that glimmers in the sleep of things.” And best of all, the lack of heaviness in their lyrical swishing motions along with their visible seed formations remind us that what’s happening is not an end but instead merely the onset of another beginning.
When He(G0d) thunders, the waters in the heavens roar; He makes clouds rise from the ends of the earth. He sends lightning with the rain and brings out the wind from His storehouses. ~Jeremiah 10:13 ✝
Man becomes aware of the sacred because it manifests itself, shows itself,
as something wholly different from the profane.
In each case we are confronted by the same mysterious act–
the manifestation of something of a wholly different order,
a reality that does not belong to our world,
in objects that are an integral part of our natural “profane” world.
~Mircea Eliade, Romanian historian, writer, and professor
Although I dearly wish it were, the statue in the photo is not in my garden. She is one of several scattered around our city’s Botanical Gardens. The captivating sculpture in her quiet reverie and reverence is not unlike a “be” verb in that she expresses a state of being, and I think she does it ever so engagingly. In fact, when I look at her, especially her bowed head, I get the feeling I’m observing someone deep in contemplative prayer. Given that, I’m always a little reluctant at first to move in too close for fear of disturbing her petitions. William Faulkner said that “the aim of every artist is to arrest motion, which is life, by artificial means and hold it fixed so that a hundred years later, when a stranger looks at it, it moves again since it is life.” How successful then was the artist who crafted this bronze “lady of the garden!” I’ve always sensed life and movement in her, and as an admiring observer, I am moved inwardly in her presence. Her movement is not flamboyant; instead it is more of a faint in and our movement of breath. Another thing that fascinates me about the statue is that there is a warmth in her presence even on bitterly cold, wintry days. It’s a kind of glowing warmth that speaks of life, holy and not in the least profane.
Sing to Him, sing praise to Him; tell of all His wonderful acts. Glory in His holy name; let the hearts of those who seek the Lord rejoice. Look to the Lord and His strength; seek His face always. ~1 Chronicles 16:9-11 ✝
The richness of the rain made me feel safe and protected;
I have always considered the rain to be
healing–a blanket–the comfort of a friend.
Without at least some rain…I yearn
for the vital, muffling gift of falling water.
~Douglas Coupland
It’s apparent after yesterday’s post that I love everything about the phenomenon of rain–the sound of it, the sensual feel of it, the look of it, the smell of it. But when it comes to rain, it is not simply a love affair in the heart. It is a worshipful adoration I feel deep down in my soul. Especially after the long of absence of rain from my world, it is extremely comforting and reassuring to hear the “pitter-pattering” sounds of it falling on the ground, on the rooftop, on the window panes. Watching it makes me feel as though I’m witnessing, first hand, cascading miracles; listening to it washes through my being like a healing balm that quiets the disturbing sense of separateness from the sacred; the “sweet tears of heaven” cannot even be ignored in my sleep.
Praise the Lord! Autumn’s rain has furthered Spring’s promise. Rejoice. The evidence of God’s faithfulness has blanketed the land. Rejoice. God’s in His heaven and our Savior sits at His right hand. Rejoice. The Creator of heaven and earth adores and watches over all that He has made. Rejoice.
This is the day which the Lord has made; let us rejoice and be glad in it. ~Psalm 118:24 ✝
Every vine climbing and blossoming
tells of love and joy.
~Robert G. Ingersoll
If your soul is indeed alive, you come to realize that like all else in Creation, vines tell also of the nearness of God and the way that He wraps His arms around His children in order to keep them close to Him. Simply put, whether acknowledged by all or not, mankind is inextricably linked to the Maker of heaven and earth, and because of His supporting and sustaining provisions our souls are eventually drawn into His holy web of life and the Light. C. S. Lewis said that “Jesus was either a liar, a lunatic, or who He said He was.” Mr. Lewis’ soul and mine have trusted Jesus to be who He said He was. Thus I rejoice when He, the Messiah, tells me:
“I am the bread of life.”
“I am the light of the world.”
“I am the gate for the sheep.”
“I am the good shepherd; the good shepherd gives his life for the sheep.”
“I am the resurrection, and the life.”
“I am the way, the truth, and the life.”
“I am the true vine.”
Return to us, O God Almighty! Look down from heaven and see! Watch over this vine, the root your right hand has planted, the son you have raised up for yourself. ~Psalm 80:14-15 ✝
*The flower in the photo is Thunbergia Grandiflora (commonly called Bengal Clock vine or Sky Flower vine)
Of all God’s gifts to the sighted man,
color is the holiest, the most divine, the most solemn.
~John Ruskin
To the sighted man color is emphatically holy, but I believe the sanctity of it goes deeper than the eye. Deep within the human soul color is recognized as tidings from the Father of our world and the message is twofold. Color is a hallowed melody meant not just for the eyes but for the ears as well. Pablo Picasso touched on this when he asked, “Why do two colors, one put next to the other, sing?” He couldn’t explain it nor can I, but there are color combinations that compose the sweetest of songs. Pink and blue is one of those duos, and together they pen a heavenly harmony reminiscent of sapphire skies streaked with luscious pink ribbons of light.
The Lord reigns, let the earth be glad; let the distant shores rejoice. ~Psalm 97:1 ✝
This is my Father’s world
He shines in all that’s fair,
In the rustling grass I hear Him pass,
He speaks to me everywhere.
~Lyrics from This is My Father’s World by Maltbie D. Babcock
What a glorious morning! When I raised the shade, my eyes were met with a delicious light pouring down on a corner of the garden. And it was light not born of the intense heat of past months but instead of the crisp coolness of a 59 degree autumnal equinox morn. Zephyrs were ruffling leaves, and they were shouting hallelujahs in praise of the Lord’s Sabbath and yesterday’s rain. Ancient Eden’s unmistakable holy voice reverberated in the air, and all of us, creature and man alike, recognized it and rejoiced. The “special air of melancholy and magic” typical of September’s opus rose louder and louder as the light moved southward across the yard frosting everything in its wake. Yahweh’s glory breathed new life into wilted leaves, faded blossoms, and weary bones as the light moved as sweetly as a bow across the strings of a Stradivarius in slanted increments across the yard.
“Arise, shine, for your light has come, and the glory of the Lord rises upon you.” ~Isaiah 60:1 ✝
*Thanks to Annette Lepple for the great description of September that I quoted above.
Sacred Touches 