538. The three great elemental sounds in nature are the sound of rain, the sound of wind in a primeval wood, and the sound of outer ocean on a beach. ~Henry Beston

November 4, 2014 by nataliescarberry

Let the rain kiss you.
Let the rain beat upon your head
with silver liquid drops.
Let the rain sing you a lullaby.
~Langston Hughes

At dawn today the yard was steeped in a still grayness awaiting the fulfilled promise of rain. Hours later the grayness darkened as if it were twilight and the outside lights came on again. With the darkness fierce winds rushed in against the backdrop of rumbling thunder in the distance, and huge tree limbs like those found in a primeval wood bowed to forces bigger and stronger than they. It was a day when early November was slipping deeper into autumn with ominous overtones. Sensing stormy peril the yard cats sought shelter early on instead of enjoying their usual playful antics, and as the rain drew nigh they were already slipping into the “arms of Morpheus” in which to sleep, perchance to dream of better times. Then drop by drop by drop, drip, drip, drip the rain began to fall, and as it kissed the ground, I too began to doze off in my chair but not before I smelled its fragrance and heard the sound of sanctity in it, the holy sound of Him who faithfully makes the rain fall.

…rejoice in the Lord your God, for He has given you the autumn rains because He is faithful… ~Joel 2:23 ✝

** Image via Pinterest

529. Music expresses that which cannot remain silent and that which cannot be put into words. ~Victor Hugo

October 26, 2014 by nataliescarberry

If I were not a physicist,
I would probably be a musician.
I often think in music.
I live my daydreams in music.
I see my life in terms of music.
I get most of my joy  in life out of music.
~Albert Einstein

My heart, O God, is steadfast, my heart is steadfast; I will sing and make music. ~Psalm 57:7 ✝

518. It is necessary to find the infinitely large in the infinitely small, to feel the presence of God. ~Pythagoras

October 15, 2014 by nataliescarberry

Winter is an etching,
spring a watercolor,
summer an oil painting,
and autumn a mosaic of them all.
-Stanley Horowitz

Before one season passes into another, some of what has been comes along with the new blessings and before long the coming one begins easing its gifts into place. For example ripening rose hips are a part of winter’s etching, roses are a continuing bestowal of springtime’s watercolor epic, the now sighing-in-the-wind ornamental grasses appeared on summer’s brush-stroked canvas, and little purple asters aswarm with bees are securing their place in autumn’s developing mosaic, a mosaic not too different from the section of a pieced quilt like the one in the photo.

…the discipline of blessings is to taste
each moment, the bitter, the sour, the sweet
and the salty, and be glad for what does not
hurt. The art is in compressing attention
to each little and big blossom of the tree
of life, to let the tongue sing each fruit,
its savor, its aroma and its use.
~Marge Piercy

Praise be to the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, who has blessed us in the heavenly realms with every spiritual blessing in Christ. ~Ephesians 1:3 ✝

** Image is a piece of a Barbara Olson quilt pinned on Pinterest

511. Let your life lightly dance on the edges of Time like dew on the tip of a leaf. ~Rabindranath Tagore

October 8, 2014 by nataliescarberry

Only when you drink from the river of silence
shall you indeed sing. And when you have
reached the mountain top, then you shall climb.
And when the earth shall claim your limbs,
then you shall truly dance.
~Kahlil Gibran

Where Does the Dance Begin, Where Does It End?

Don’t call this world adorable, or useful, that’s not it.
It’s frisky, and a theater for more than fair winds.
The eyelash of lightning is neither good nor evil.
The struck tree burns like a pillar of gold.

But the blue rain sinks, straight to the white
feet of the trees
whose mouths open.
Doesn’t the wind, turning in circles, invent the dance?
Haven’t the flowers moved, slowly, across Asia, then Europe,
until at last, now, they shine
in your own yard?

Don’t call this world an explanation, or even an education.

When the Sufi poet whirled, was he looking
outward, to the mountains so solidly there
in a white-capped ring,
or was he looking

to the center of everything: the seed, the egg, the idea
that was also there,
beautiful as a thumb
curved and touching the finger, tenderly,
little love-ring,

as he whirled,
oh jug of breath,
in the garden of dust?

~Mary Oliver

May God give you heaven’s dew and earth’s richness… ~Genesis 27:28a ✝

**Image via Pinterest

470. The soul can split the sky in two and let the face of God shine through. ~Edna St. Vincent Millay

August 28, 2014 by nataliescarberry

Christianity sees plants and flowers as created by God
to show forth and share with humans
the divine goodness, beauty and truth – the purpose of all Creation.
In this flowers may be enjoyed simply and directly in themselves
as showing forth God’s goodness and beauty,
or more fully, as archetypes, signatures, symbols,
and bearers of legends, mirroring the revealed articles
of Christian faith – thereby serving as means
for their teaching, recollection, contemplation and celebration.
~John S. Stokes, Jr.

Mary’s Gold they were called and the “golden gifts” of Calendula were offerings to the Virgin Mary by the poor who had not actual gold to give her. In the late Middle Ages some of the churches started designing actual gardens devoted entirely to Mother Mary. Marigolds and other flowers associated with her were planted in the Marian Gardens. Those flowers represented significant events in Mary’s life as well as her virtues, and the purpose of the gardens was to provide a place for worshippers to meditate and pray. All gardens or any flowery place for that matter seem to me to be an excellent setting for prayer, praise, and contemplation. So with my little photographic collage of summery yellow flowers, I’m offering up a piece of written text by John O’Donohue as a Celt’s food for thought this week.

May you recognize in your life, the presence, power and light of your soul. May you realize that you are never alone, that your soul in its brightness and belonging connects you intimately with the rhythm of the universe. May you have respect for your own individuality and difference. May your realize that the shape of your soul is unique, that you have a destiny here, that behind the façade of your life there is something beautiful, good, and eternal happening. May you learn to see yourself with the same delight, pride, and expectation with which God sees you in every moment.

I meditate on your precepts and consider your ways. ~Psalm 119:15 ✝

“Holy, holy, holy is the Lord God Almighty. With all Creation I sing: Praise to the King of Kings. You are my everything, and I will adore you!”(From Revelation Song by Phillips, Craig, and Dean)

469. The ripest peach is highest on the tree. ~James Whitcomb Riley

August 27, 2014 by nataliescarberry

This is the blessing for a ripe peach:
This is luck made round. Frost can nip
the blossom, kill the bee. It can drop,
a hard green useless nut. Brown fungus,
the burrowing worm that coils in rot can
blemish it and wind crush it on the ground.
Yet this peach fills my mouth with juicy sun.
~A verse from a poem by Marge Piercy

Abracadrabra! Hinkety, pinkety! Jiggity, jog! Poof! Oh wouldn’t it be lovely if with such a simple incantation we could go back in time to a place where one of our life’s greatest treasures lie! For me it would be a place filled with the sights and sounds of the sea, the fragrances of beautiful flowers, the tastes of luscious fruits, and the magic of innocence. That place would always be my childhood home in southern California where sanctity fell from on high and oozed up from the ground, and the air was charged and ripe with God’s goodness.

It was when I read this verse today that the poet’s words actually took me back for the briefest of moments to that time and place. For you see in our backyard we had a large peach tree, and I remember so well reaching up, grabbing one, though it might not have been the highest, and eating it with joyful abandon, letting the “juicy sun” drip right down from my mouth. And then there were my mama’s peach pies!!! My oh my oh my but they were the best I have ever eaten!

The land produced vegetation: plants bearing seed according to their kinds and trees bearing fruit with seed in it according to their kinds. And God saw that it was good. ~Genesis 1:12 ✝

“Holy, holy, holy is the Lord God Almighty. With all Creation I sing: Praise to the King of Kings. You are my everything, and I will adore you!” (From Revelation Song by Phillips, Craig, and Dean)

459. The happiest man is he who learns from nature the lesson of worship. ~Ralph Waldo Emerson

August 17, 2014 by nataliescarberry

“Grace unfolds with every breath You’ve blown, Lord…”

“The praise we sing is on the breath you breathed in us…”

“So it is our hearts beat out the rhythm of a love song…”

Why I Wake Early

Hello, sun in my face.
Hello, you who make the morning
and spread it over the fields
and into the faces of the tulips
and the nodding morning glories,
and into the windows of, even, the
miserable and crotchety–

best preacher that ever was,
dear star, that just happens
to be where you are in the universe
to keep us from ever-darkness,
to ease us with warm touching,
to hold us in the great hands of light–
good morning, good morning, good morning.

Watch, now, how I start the day
in happiness, in kindness.

~Mary Oliver

Let everything that has breath praise the Lord! Praise the Lord! Psalm 150:6 ✝

Thank you, Lord Jesus, that you save, you heal, you restore, and you reveal Your Father’s heart to us! May I dwell in Your holy presence and praise Your name for all that you have given and done.

446. Petunia, you are a jewel of the dawn; your horn is thick and bright as the morning. ~Steve Gunther

August 4, 2014 by nataliescarberry

Petunia, you raise your face
and trumpet your song to the midday.
Your song is delicate and frail.
Your green fingers tremble in the smile of the eye
like the hum of a bee lost in the torpor of your kiss.

Your head nods with the gentle breeze.
You are at peace.
Your color is your happiness.
Petunia, open your eye,
spread your fragile smile to the moon.

Your petals drink in the night,
the cool air sits on you
weightless, trickling
from your fluted flowers,
from your fingers.

~Excerpted and adapted verses from a poem by Steve Gunther

My heart is steadfast, O God, my heart is steadfast; I will sing and give praise. Awake, my glory! Awake, lute and harp! I will awaken the dawn. ~Psalm 57:7-8 ✝

Sweet Jesus, fill us with the mercy You bled and draw us back unto Yourself!

438. God gave you a gift of 86,400 seconds today. Have you used one to say “thank you?” ~William A. Ward

July 27, 2014 by nataliescarberry

Whatever be the depth of woe
Along the path that I must go,
I’ll sing my song—
My song of joy for all the love
That’s lavished on us from above,
And count no loss of treasure-trove
When things go wrong.
I’ll sing the sunlight, and the bright
Soft smiling stars that gem the night;
For gifts of good
That God hath spread along my way,
The lilt of birds in tuneful play,
The harvests full and flowers gay,
The whole day long
I’ll sing my song
Of gratitude!
~John Kendrick Bangs

The passage of Scripture below is not a suggestion. It’s a mandate. It’s not meant for only the good times. It’s meant for this day and every day no matter what comes our way. It doesn’t say to hang our heads in defeat or wring our hands in worry or fear when the world is harsh and times are tough. It says to rejoice and be glad in the day. Why? Because life is a gift and it’s holy, every breath is a gift and it’s holy, we are meant to be a gift to the world and we are holy. Being holy means not being defined by what comes against us, but to come into that which is holy and good within us. Joy can be found in every day, not because life is always good but because God is. Lest any who read this think me naive or the survivor of a “charmed” life to believe these things, let me allow that I’ve endured my fair share of “dark nights of the soul,” I’ve been in the black abyss and climbed out, I’ve felt death’s sting in the loss of some I’ve loved, I’ve known heartbreak and tragedy, I’ve known defeat and failure, I’ve experienced chilling betrayal, and I’ve lived with chronic pain for nearly 50 years. But, hear this, the Giver of life has never left me to walk those bitter paths alone, even during the times when I turned my back on Him. So when He asks me to make a joyful noise unto Him, I can and shall do naught but gratefully oblige.

This is the day the Lord has made; let us rejoice and be glad in it. ~Psalm 118:24 ✝

Thank you, Lord Jesus, that you save, you heal, you restore, and you reveal Your Father’s heart to us! You have captured me with grace and I’m caught in Your infinite embrace! Like Saint Hildegard Lord, may I too be a feather on your holy breath and spread, like seeds, the gospel abroad.

417. The bee is more honored than other animals, not because she labors, but because she labors for others. St. John Chrysostom

July 5, 2014 by nataliescarberry

Today the summer has come at my window with its sighs and murmurs; and the bees are plying their minstrelsy at the court of the flowering grove. Now it is time to sit quite, face to face with thee, and to sing dedication of life in this silent and overflowing leisure. ~Rabindranath Tagore

Veiled in this fragile filigree of wax is the essence of sunshine, golden and limpid, tasting of grassy meadows, mountain wildflowers, lavishly blooming orange trees, or scrubby desert weeds. Honey, even more than wine, is a reflection of place. If the process of grape to glass is alchemy, then the trail from blossom to bottle is one of reflection. The nectar collected by the bee is the spirit and sap of the plant, its sweetest juice. Honey is the flower transmuted, its scent and beauty transformed into aroma and taste.   ~Stephanie Rosenbaum

The careful insect ‘midst his works I view,
Now from the flowers exhaust the fragrant dew,
With golden treasures load his little thighs,
And steer his distant journey through the skies.
~John Gay

His labor is a chant,
His idleness a tune;
Oh, for the bee’s experience
Of clovers, and of noon.
~Emily Dickinson

Eat honey, my child, for it is good; honey from the comb is sweet to your taste. ~Proverbs 24:13 ✝

**Images via Pinterest

Sacred Touches

Life is a time of purpose and anointed blossoming…

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