Thursday, December 31, 2009
Blue moon, and all is well
There, in the desert,
hides a well
so deep
that no one knows
but you and me.
And though
you have forgotten,
maybe once in a blue moon--
perhaps tonight--
you will remember,
and the water will refresh you
once again.
Wednesday, December 30, 2009
Hush
Snow falls, the dust of Heaven,
as the silent stillness comes
to hush the night.
I sit alone,and write these words
by glow of lamplight
shining on the streets below,
shining on the snow.
Monday, December 28, 2009
Fountainhead
"For true love is inexhaustible; the more you give, the more you have. And if you go to draw at the true fountainhead, the more water you draw, the more abundant is its flow.”
--Antoine de Saint-Exupery
Saturday, December 26, 2009
The time God chooses
"I am not alone at all, I thought. I was never alone at all. And that, of course, is the message of Christmas. We are never alone. Not when the night is darkest, the wind coldest, the world seemingly most indifferent. For this is still the time God chooses."
--Taylor Caldwell
Friday, December 25, 2009
The gift
True love's the gift which God has given
To man alone beneath the heaven:
It is not fantasy's hot fire,
Whose wishes soon as granted fly;
It liveth not in fierce desire.
--Sir Walter Scott
--Sir Walter Scott
A Christmas Carol
His hair was like a light.
(O weary, weary were the world,
But here is all aright.)
The Christ-child lay on Mary's breast
His hair was like a star.
(O stern and cunning are the kings,
But here the true hearts are.)
The Christ-child lay on Mary's heart,
His hair was like a fire.
(O weary, weary is the world,
But here the world's desire.)
The Christ-child stood on Mary's knee,
His hair was like a crown,
And all the flowers looked up at Him,
And all the stars looked down.
--G.K. Chesterton
A blessed Christmas to you and to those you love.
Sunday, December 20, 2009
I wish you Love
The winter winds blow cold,
the soft June breeze is far away:
much time has come and gone.
Today, as Christmas eve approaches,
have I sought and found the courage
to read once more--I could not before now--
the last words that you wrote to me:
they were so strange.
From some hidden, dark recess within you
they came forth--as a draught
laced with anger and reproach,
the likes of which, 'til then,
I had not knowledge or taste:
nor braced myself
against that which I did not foresee--
a drink to lay waste to love.
No sooner had I sipped, its bitterness
sent a chill through my veins.
The blade of your words cut deeply,
the scar remains.
Yet, in the season of our Hope,
when our God comes as a little Child,
when our God comes as a little Child,
our King brings peace to those
whose will is good and mild. And so
I wish you everything He wants for you.
Though it is true that I do not understand
I forgive, dear friend I never knew.
And I wish you Love.
Friday, December 18, 2009
After all
Wednesday, December 16, 2009
Tuesday, December 15, 2009
Monday, December 14, 2009
Sunday, December 13, 2009
Beauty
Saturday, December 12, 2009
Words
Thursday, December 10, 2009
Hold fast
Tuesday, December 8, 2009
Fire and snow
Stars in the snow
Sunday, December 6, 2009
By candlelight
"She loved the balcony, the session
of waiting for the dawn to blush,
when, in pale sky, the stars' procession
fades from the view, and in the hush
earth's rim grows light, and a forewarning
whisper of breeze announces morning,
and slowly day begins to climb.
In winter, when for longer time
the shades of night within their keeping
hold half the world still unreleased,
and when, by misty moon, the east
is softly, indolently sleeping,
wakened at the same hour of night
"Tatyana'd rise by candlelight."
--from Alexander Pushkin's Eugene Onegin
Saturday, December 5, 2009
The moving moon
Friday, December 4, 2009
Little thorn
The air was frigid tonight as I walked by moonlight to the chapel to spend an hour with the King of Heaven and Earth. The waning moon shone brightly, lighting my path so well that I easily made my way across the frosty grass. The stars were as clear as crystals in the cold night sky-- they're always clearer when it's colder-- twinkling in their places in the dark canopy far above me. How many times have I come this way? So many memories flooded my senses as I walked along carrying my little thorn to offer to Our Lord.
So many more memories crowded around me when I entered the chapel and saw Him there, in the Blessed Sacrament, in the monstrance. The little thorn pricked at me as I held it more tightly, and I swallowed hard against the narrowing in my throat. Hot tears began to well up in my eyes as I whispered a prayer that they would not fall: and they stopped. I thanked God and offered the thorn to Our Blessed Lord, even as I told Him how small it was compared to even the tiniest from His spiny crown. Even so, this thorn is the one which continues to cost me the most, so I know that it has value in His eyes. Oh dear little thorn, I love you because you remind me that there is joy even in the midst of sorrow. One day, perhaps not too long from now, you will be a beautiful rose. Our Blessed Mother is tending you, dear flower in my heart, and I can almost smell your fragrance already...
So many more memories crowded around me when I entered the chapel and saw Him there, in the Blessed Sacrament, in the monstrance. The little thorn pricked at me as I held it more tightly, and I swallowed hard against the narrowing in my throat. Hot tears began to well up in my eyes as I whispered a prayer that they would not fall: and they stopped. I thanked God and offered the thorn to Our Blessed Lord, even as I told Him how small it was compared to even the tiniest from His spiny crown. Even so, this thorn is the one which continues to cost me the most, so I know that it has value in His eyes. Oh dear little thorn, I love you because you remind me that there is joy even in the midst of sorrow. One day, perhaps not too long from now, you will be a beautiful rose. Our Blessed Mother is tending you, dear flower in my heart, and I can almost smell your fragrance already...
Souls
Thursday, December 3, 2009
Wednesday, December 2, 2009
Cold
Tuesday, December 1, 2009
Full moon
Always
"'Tis the human touch in the world that counts-
the touch of your hand and mine-
Which means far more to the sinking heart
than shelter or bread or wine.
For shelter is gone when the night is o'er,
and bread lasts only a day.
But the touch of the hand
and the sound of the voice
live on in the soul always."
--Spencer M. Free
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