Rain drops
on drenched ground
eyeglasses, face
and heart
Cracks loom
in un-even pavement
Tears spring unbidden
Artesian wells overflow
Unnoticed
I walk through this cold front
of memories, grief and healing
***
This morning I walked as usual Read the rest of this entry »
It’s late summer, 1951. We just moved from El Monte, California, to a house near Savannah, Georgia. The front yard faces the river you see in the photo above. I’m 7 ½ years old. I don’t know how to swim; a half-mile wide river flows in front of our house.
Not long after we move in, Read the rest of this entry »
Nurture peace in your heart—
Welcome and savor it
Cultivate it
Water it
Let it rest
Give it space
Take its time for your time
Wrap it around your body yourself
Your shawl becomes you—
Blue as the heavens
Green as the garden
Brown as the good earth Read the rest of this entry »
Dear Friends,
This week was a roller coaster. Highs and lows one after the other. Still, I wrote in my journal and will post some pieces later. The picture is messy. Not because it’s ugly, but because it isn’t logical or sensible.
In the midst of the ups and downs I’ve followed George MacDonald’s sonnets for May. Some keep drawing me back for another read. Not because they’re profound, but because they’re simple and speak to my heart and situation right now.
Here’s one I’ve read over and over the last few days. It comforts me during this extended, unexpected Sabbath rest.
May 26
My prayers, my God, flow from what I am not;
I think thy answers make me what I am.
Like weary waves thought follows upon thought.
But the still depth beneath is all thine own,
And there thou mov’st in paths to us unknown.
Out of strange strife thy peace is strangely wrought;
If the lion in us pray—thou answerest the lamb.George MacDonald, Diary of an Old Soul
Augsburg Fortress Press 1994
I identify with every line, every word, every nuance. Especially the contrast between what I am not and what I am. Not because of myself, but because of the way God answers me. Not in kind, but in ways only a little lost lamb understands.
Stubbornly (!), God keeps responding to the little lost lamb. Taming my anger, showing me who I am in God’s eyes. Reassuring me, like waves that keep washing up on the shore, that God is found in the depths of the ocean. Not in the wearying repetition of my human effort to make a mark on life.
Elouise ♥
© Elouise Renich Fraser, 28 May 2016
Image found at cityviewchurch.com.au
Do you want nothing but the best? If so, George MacDonald tells us exactly how to get it. My comments follow his sonnet. Read the rest of this entry »
Perfectionism is cowardly, not brave.
Have you read George MacDonald’s adult fantasy, Lilith? I couldn’t help making a connection between this sonnet, the plot of Lilith, and Easter. My comments follow the sonnet.
August 12
Thou art my knowledge and my memory,
No less than my real, deeper life, my love.
I will not fool, degrade myself to trust
In less than that which maketh me say Me,
In less than that causing itself to be.
Thou art within me, behind, beneath, above—
I will be thine because I may and must.George MacDonald, Diary of an Old Soul
Augsburg Fortress Press 1994
Today is Maundy Thursday. You’ll read this on Good Friday. I’ve been thinking this week about Jesus’ relationship with God as he drew closer to death.
Jesus laid aside many things during his brief time on this earth. Read the rest of this entry »
How is your sight? What captures your attention? Despite Emily Dickinson’s opening phrase, I don’t think her poem is a lament for lost eyesight. What do you think? My comments follow her poem. Read the rest of this entry »
MacDonald has death on his mind. Not death as a process, but death as the proper goal of life. His images are positive, though the realities he names aren’t usually welcome. My comments follow. Read the rest of this entry »
Telling the Truth 