Telling the Truth

connecting the dots of my life

Tag: George MacDonald

the mother’s hand

This sonnet captured my heart last Friday. In my comments I’m imagining what George MacDonald might  have heard and seen in his mind’s eye as he wrote. Read the rest of this entry »

by the feet

George and Louisa MacDonald with their 11 children
plus eldest daughter Mary’s fiancé

Maybe it’s my age. Or the ever-present reality of death in our media-saturated world. I’m grateful for these words from George MacDonald. Good Friday invites me to consider death with my eyes wide open.

March 21 and 22

O Lord, when I do think of my departed,
I think of thee who art the death of parting;
Of him who crying Father breathed his last,
Then radiant from the sepulchre upstarted.—
Even then, I think, thy hands and feet kept smarting:
With us the bitterness of death is past,
But by the feet he still doth hold us fast.

Therefore our hands thy feet do hold as fast.
We pray not to be spared the sorest pang,
But only—be thou with us to the last.
Let not our heart be troubled at the clang
Of hammer and nails, nor dread the spear’s keen fang,
Nor the ghast sickening that comes of pain,
Nor yet the last clutch of the banished brain.

George MacDonald, Diary of an Old Soul,
© 1994 Augsburg Fortress Press

Here, as in an earlier entry, MacDonald thinks about the four children he has lost to death. He longs to be with them. No one where they are now can possibly love them as he does.

Yet as great as his fatherly love is, he would “die of grief to love you only so.” That is, from afar. From this side of death.

He notes that his Lord is “the death of parting.” This gives him hope; the distance between him and his children will end someday.

He imagines that the resurrection, as wonderful as it was, still left Jesus with pain in his hands and feet. The bitterness of death was removed, yet “by the feet he still doth hold us fast”—with his “smarting” hands. Death isn’t the last word; nonetheless, it’s painful. It leaves scars, and empty seats around the table. The deathly silence of missing voices.

Because of this, MacDonald vows to hold Jesus’ “smarting” feet just as tightly as Jesus holds him. As though glued to each other. Inseparable. It’s the only way he can imagine making the journey from this world to the place where his children have gone.

And there’s one more challenge. No matter how much he tries, he can’t hold fast to Jesus’ scarred feet all by himself. His holding on depends on the strong, scarred hands of Jesus holding him. Lest he stray from the path.

Jesus has been through his death. Four of MacDonald’s eleven children have been through theirs. Now it’s MacDonald’s turn, and he knows he won’t make it unless Jesus holds his feet “to the last.”

“But by the feet he still doth hold us fast.”

© Elouise Renich Fraser, 3 April 2015, Good Friday
Edited on Good Friday, 30 March 2018
Photo found at georgemacdonald.info

Fallen Threads

Do you ever second-guess your writing? I do. Take a look at this George MacDonald sonnet about writing. My comments follow. Read the rest of this entry »

“Gloriously wasteful, . . .”

Do you fall in love with gorgeous sunsets and starry skies? Here’s a sonnet from George MacDonald that talks about this and more. I’ll comment at the end. Read the rest of this entry »

“Gather my broken fragments…”

Here’s an excellent reading for today. It’s George MacDonald’s sonnet for February 29. I know, this isn’t a leap year. It is, however, appropriate for the end of any day, week or month of the year. Including February! So here it is, with my comments following. Read the rest of this entry »

Is that You at the door? | Dear God

Dear God,
I ended my last letter with a question: “When I go to the door to open it to You (the stranger), how will I know it’s You?” I’ve been puzzling over my question all week. Read the rest of this entry »

“Yestereve, Death came. . .”

This week I’ve been thinking about death, including my own.  My mother and one of my three sisters, Diane, died in February.  Mom died in 1999 from complications following a stroke.  Diane died in 2006 after living with ALS for ten years.  Both were polio survivors of a 1949 polio epidemic.  Their death anniversaries are within a few days of each other.

When George MacDonald wrote the two sonnet-prayers below, he had death on his mind.  His coming death–whenever that might be.  He had already lost four of his eleven children to death.  My comments are at the end.

January 27 and 28

Yestereve, Death came, and knocked at my thin door.
I from my window looked: the thing I saw,
The shape uncouth, I had not seen before.
I was disturbed—with fear, in sooth, not awe;
Whereof ashamed, I instantly did rouse
My will to seek thee–only to fear the more:
Alas!  I could not find thee in the house.

I was like Peter when he began to sink.
To thee a new prayer therefore I have got—
That, when Death comes in earnest to my door,
Thou wouldst thyself go, when the latch doth clink,
And lead Death to my room, up to my cot;
Then hold thy child’s hand, hold and leave him not,
Till Death has done with him for evermore.

George MacDonald, Diary of an Old Soul,
© 1994 Augsburg Fortress Press

The first stanza has a slightly nightmarish quality.  MacDonald addresses God.  He describes what happened the night before, how he responded, and how distressed he became when he couldn’t find God in his house.  Perhaps his ‘house’ refers to himself?  In any case, MacDonald names his greatest fear:  that God won’t be present at his death.  Perhaps God abandoned him or forgot him?  Or decided not to come?  He doesn’t say.

In the second sonnet he’s thinking about Jesus’ disciple Peter and his bold decision to walk on water—before beginning to sink.  MacDonald decides to pray a new prayer, and wants to be certain God hears it.  His voice is now direct, bold and concrete.  He knows exactly what he wants God to do!  In fact, it seems that in the act of praying his new prayer he finds his voice, his identity and his courage to name and face the enemy.

I’m struck by how conversational MacDonald’s prayers are.  They’re sometimes childlike, despite his great learning and vast vocabulary.   Almost effortlessly, he weaves formal and informal prayer into his daily thought-life.  Finally, I love his ‘new prayer.’  I can imagine praying it, or something like it, for myself.  I was going to say “praying it someday,” but that might be foolish.  Like MacDonald, I know death is coming but I don’t know when.

© Elouise Renich Fraser, 9 February 2015

“. . .Thou art thou, and here am I.”

I’m surprised at feelings I’ve had since I began writing Dear Dad letters.  Sometimes I’m afraid I’m trying to get something from Dad that he can’t give me.  I don’t think I am.  I definitely feel I’m ‘out there,’ in the driver’s seat without a finished roadmap, uncertain where this will lead.

Most surprising, though, Read the rest of this entry »

“Thou in my heart hast planted…”

Longwood Meadow Gardens Entrance/Exit - November 2014

It’s November.  My husband and I just finished a hike through the meadow at Longwood Gardens Though the weather forecast promised warm afternoon sun, it’s gray, cold  and misty.  On a whim, I ask my husband to take a picture of this sign. Read the rest of this entry »

“There breathes not a breath…”

Three of my favorite devotional authors loved and were loved by children:  Amy Carmichael, George MacDonald and Oswald Chambers.  They seemed to understand life from a child’s point of view.

I want to be a child forever! Read the rest of this entry »