Forty Days of Mercy + + +
Our reflections, our images of who we are, have become marred
distorted, nearly impossible to see our faces now,
with the ripples of fear stealing
one important principle –
loving our neighbor
as ourselves.
And who is our neighbor?
Everyone.
Poetry and Image © Copyright 2017, ancient skies
For many churches in the Christian tradition, today is Ash Wednesday.
The common scripture passage is from Joel 2: 1-13 with words that say:
But now, now, says the LORD,
Come back to me with all your heart. . .
Return to the LORD, your God,
for he is all tenderness and compassion,
slow to anger, and rich in steadfast love.
We need to know this ~ not just on this one day of the year ~
but on every day ~ at every moment of our lives.
Whenever we feel separate from the Divine Source ~
it is not God who has left us ~ but we who have strayed
from our source of love and compassion.
Our God is earnestly inviting us to come back into a
full relationship in order that we might be deeply loved, cherished,
and provided for our every need.
Even as whole nations…
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From Light of Christ
The mystics keep telling us that the goal of that prayer and the goal of that hidden life which should itself become more and more of a prayer, is “union with God.” We use that phrase often, much too often to preserve the wholesome sense of its awe-fulness. For what does union […]
via CHRISTMAS WITH EVELYN UNDERHILL: The Example Of The Christ Child — The Value of Sparrows
**Photo taken by Natalie of a friend’s Christmas tree;
text image via Facebook; collage by Natalie
May the music in you sing on in beauty ~ ~ ~
“Abstract Violin in Oils” by Tammy Burnett
such subtle perfections
artisanal mastery
working the secrets
of varnish and wood
honeyed resonance
sweetening centuries
convex and concave
caressed from cured
maple and spruce
a refinement of forms
yielding nuances
new to the musical ear
bright and brilliant
of timbre and tone
and yet fragile and
too much afflicted by
indifferent march of
indelicate time
we are old
born of stock
long since
gone to the grave
we are better
and also the worse
for our age
we have outlived
the best of our
beautiful songs
blessed and cursed
all at once by
the same flawless
fingers of genius
uniquely aware of
how lovely a sound
could be made
by a life
“The older the violin, the sweeter the music.”
– Augustus McCrae in Lonesome Dove
(A modest tribute to the master Italian luthiers: Stradivari, Guarneri, Amati, and Bergonzi)
A young woman sat in the darkness of the Tenebrae service one Good Friday many years ago and watched as the candles were extinguished one by one. There had been many months of struggle as she wrestled with her doubts in faith. Over the past several years she had fallen away from the faith of her childhood. She doubted that the stories of the Bible could be true . . . yet, she was continually drawn to the person of Jesus Christ. Who was this Jesus? Why had he left such a great influence on so many people over the years? How was it that his followers throughout the ages had self-lessly created so many helping organizations around the world? . . . schools, hospitals, social agencies, world hunger relief programs . . . all because of following Jesus.
People like Mother Teresa made a great impression on this woman…
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Blessed pondering ~ ~ ~
Thank you to Soul Gatherings ❤
Though we travel the world over to find the beautiful,
we must carry it within us or we find it not.
~ Ralph Waldo Emerson ~
______________________
This is so gentle and soothing for a cold January night.
Thank you, Sacred Touches ❤
The night is darkening around me,
The wild winds coldly blow…
~Excerpt from a poem
by Emily Brontë
The world is resting without sound or motion,
And behind the oak tree the sun goes down
Painting with fire the spires and the windows
In my tree-shaded neighborhood.
Beyond calm streets pastures lie
Silvered with haze as fruits still fresh with bloom,
And the birds weave in flight across the zenith
On a sudden aerial loom.
Into the garden peace comes back with twilight,
Peace that since noon had left the remains of purple phlox,
Heavy-headed asters, the late roses
And the swaying spent hollyhocks.
For at high-noon I heard from this same garden
The far-off murmur as when gales are coming;
Up from the south and down from the north beating
Their stormy music like a drum;
And then hysterical sirens shattered
The brittle winter air,
To say that fierce…
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Many miles away there’s a shadow
on the door of a cottage
on the Shore of a dark Scottish lake.
~Sir Walter Scott
Let there be a cottage….a real cottage…a white cottage, embowered with flowering shrubs, so chosen as to unfold a succession of flowers upon the walls, and clustering round the windows through all the months of spring, summer, and autumn—beginning, in fact, with May roses, and ending with jasmine. Let it, however, not be spring, nor summer, nor autumn—but winter, in his sternest shape. This is a most important point in the science of happiness. And I am surprised to see people overlook it, and think it matter of congratulation that winter is going; or, if coming, is not likely to be a severe one. On the contrary, I put up a petition annually, for as much snow, hail, frost, or storm, of one kind or other, as…
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Healing Soul Streams 