Telling the Truth

connecting the dots of my life

Tag: Sonnets

January 24, 2016

a little lazy peace | From an Old Soul

robert burns

Last week George MacDonald was on top of the world! Surveying his life’s inheritance, at peace with his Maker, and entering into “liberty’s divine expanse.” Now the tone shifts abruptly. Things don’t seem as rosy as they were yesterday. My comments follow.

August 2

It will be so—ah, so it is not now!
Who seeks thee for a little lazy peace,
Then, like a man all weary of the plough,
That leaves it standing in the furrow’s crease,
Turns from thy presence for a foolish while,
Till comes again the rasp of unrest’s file,
From liberty is distant many a mile.

George MacDonald, Diary of an Old Soul
Augsburg Fortress 1994

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January 17, 2016

my life’s inheritance | From an Old Soul

Sunrise, dawn-kinnoull-hill-river-tay-scotland-5051757749

~~~~~Dawn sunrise from Kinnoull Hill above the River Tay, Scotland

I can’t help it! Abandoning George MacDonald is not a possibility. So today we’re embarking on his August sonnets. He’s still talking with his Lord, though from a slightly different perspective. As before, his conversations with God include striking images, personal struggle, Read the rest of this entry »

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January 10, 2016

Living upon thy air | From an Old Soul

“Living upon thy air.” The air God gives me with each breath. Air that binds me to you by way of Christ, the Lord of life. Not with ropes, chains, locks, or any number of good deeds to prove I deserve special treatment.

MacDonald’s last two sonnets for July are Read the rest of this entry »

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January 3, 2016

Living in thy realities | From an Old Soul

I want life to follow my way,  truth, my notions about how things are or should be. I’m not alone. My comments follow George MacDonald’s sonnets. Read the rest of this entry »

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December 27, 2015

Love’s Knowledge | From an Old Soul

Can we reason or debate our way to the truth about ourselves and God? George MacDonald doesn’t think so. My comments follow.

July 27

The love of thee will set all notions right.
Right save by love no thought can be or may;
Only love’s knowledge is the primal light.
Questions keep camp along love’s shining coast—
Challenge my love and would my entrance stay;
Across the buzzing, doubting, challenging host,
I rush to thee, and cling, and cry: Thou know’st.

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

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December 20, 2015

I love thee for I must | From an Old Soul

Have you ever prayed  for healing? Here’s a challenging entry from George MacDonald’s Diary of an Old Soul. My comments follow.

July 26

Some say that thou their endless love hast won
By deeds for them which I may not believe
Thou ever didst, or ever willedst done:
What matter, so they love thee? They receive
Eternal more than the poor loom and wheel
Of their invention ever wove and spun.
I love thee for I must, thine all from head to heel. Read the rest of this entry »

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December 6, 2015

In my dead moments | From an Old Soul

Do you recognize this tactic? I do. My comments follow.

July 24

My soul this sermon hence for itself prepares:–
“Then is there nothing vile thou mayst not do,
Buffeted in a tumult of low cares,
And treacheries of the old man ‘gainst the new.”—
Lord, in my spirit let thy spirit move,
Warning, that it may not have to reprove:–
In my dead moments, master, stir the prayers.

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

What’s on MacDonald’s mind as he begins this sonnet?

Restlessness. He doesn’t like the stillness, the apparent absence of God. Read the rest of this entry »

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November 29, 2015

The soul’s nest | From an Old Soul

July 22 – 23, Diary of an Old Soul

Sometimes, perhaps, the spiritual blood runs slow,
And soft along the veins of will doth flow,
Seeking God’s arteries from which it came.
Or does the ethereal, creative flame
Turn back upon itself, and latent grow?—
It matters not what figure or what name,
If thou art in me, and I am not to blame.

In such God-silence, the soul’s nest, so long
As all is still, no flutter and no song,
Is safe. But if my soul begin to act
Without some waking to the eternal fact
That my dear life is hid with Christ in God—
I think and move a creature of earth’s clod,
Stand on the finite, act upon the wrong.

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

Soul-weariness. I know it well. A kind of spiritual torpor. Listlessness. Is it sloth? Maybe. I’m not sure. It creates hunger in me. Hunger to trace down the source of this lassitude, this inability to move within my spirit for or against anything.

Sometimes I try to ‘make it happen.’ Searching for anything that will jolt my connection with God and with others. Wake me up. Give me a reason to live, a reason to write, a sense of contentment or even happiness.

I know my life is ‘hid with Christ in God,’ but it’s hidden so well that I can’t seem to find it right now. Is this depression? World-weariness? Older age seeping into my veins? Molasses running cool instead of warm?

Where’s the fire I long to feel? Am I burning out? Are my best days behind me? Is it going to be like this forever?

I can think of a thousand ways of describing it. But none of it takes me anywhere.

All I know is that God dwells in me no matter how I feel right now. I don’t blame God, and I can’t blame myself. This is just the way it is right now. Like it or not.

In fact, this is a pretty restful place. “God-silence.” A bit like Sabbath rest. Is God resting too? I like the idea of being a little bird in God’s nest. I like being here, not worrying about where the worms are coming from for my next meal, or what I’ll do today. God seems to be taking care of that…so far. I think I’ll take a little nap.

On the other hand, I wonder what it would be like to leave the nest.

I have an idea! I could practice my flutters for a few days, and learn to sing a little bird song! I’m sure God wouldn’t mind if I take a tiny solo flight to spread cheer and good will. It would really perk me up to know I’m making a difference!

What did you just say? I shouldn’t do this? I don’t belong to myself? My life isn’t my own? And if I do something impulsive like this, I’m just “a creature of earth’s clod?” Made out of a lifeless lump of clay? About to crash-land?

What do you know about it? Who do you think you are? God?

© Elouise Renich Fraser, 28 November 2015

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November 22, 2015

All things are shadows | From an Old Soul

July 21, Diary of an Old Soul

All things are shadows of the shining true:
Sun, sea, and air—close, potent, hurtless fire—
Flowers from their mother’s prison—dove, and dew—
Every thing holds a slender guiding clue
Back to the mighty oneness: hearts of faith
Know thee than light, than heat, endlessly nigher,
Our life’s life, carpenter of Nazareth.

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

* * *

This sonnet makes my heart sing.
As wonderful as nature is,
with its “slender guiding clues,”
One rises above all others.
More than a shadow of shining truth,
The heart of every flower or drop of dew,
holding all things together,
Life of my life: “carpenter of Nazareth.”

I can’t help asking why? Why this man Jesus, carpenter of Nazareth, who lived for so few years on this earth? Why this man on his way to death from the beginning? Not known for being beautiful or easy to follow. Why this carpenter of Nazareth?

I’m not given to rational answers or apologetic reasoning. Yet without this carpenter of Nazareth in my life, I would have no life.

Without him I would see shadows,
but not the “shining true” within the shadows.
I would miss the “slender guiding clues” that point beyond.
Beyond the sun, sea and air;
beyond the flowers, doves and dew
to One who is closer and dearer than light and heat,
breath of my breath—“carpenter of Nazareth.”

A carpenter, vulnerable as am I. Not visibly glorious like a sunset, or majestic like galaxies spread over the universe. Vulnerable. Like a newborn infant, a flower or dove. Vulnerable like a frightened child, a painfully self-conscious teenager, a clueless young adult or new parent, a jaded war-weary adult, or an aging senior citizen.

Vulnerable to what? Being mocked, loved, rejected, abandoned, hated, ignored, disbelieved, understood, misunderstood, sick, hungry, thirsty, weary, sad, forsaken, fed up, angry, passionate, stalked, watched, betrayed, arrested without cause, convicted in a mock trial, beaten, paraded as a criminal, strung up to die.

He wasn’t a power-monger; he lived a human life and dealt with his human situation as one of us. A carpenter of Nazareth doing his best to remain faithful to God who gave him life and a seemingly impossible mission.

He showed us what to do and what not to do, how to be and how not to be. He showed us the way home and the way to die, and offered to walk with us.

I know him because he first knows me. His life tells me so.

© Elouise Renich Fraser, 21 November 2015

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October 29, 2015

When thou art far away | From an Old Soul

When are you most alive? That’s the puzzle George MacDonald is chewing on in today’s sonnet. His answer is unexpected. Read the rest of this entry »

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