Key of promise, come, O Messiah, Promised one: To open every eye sin blinds, To loose the prisoner from his binds, To open each lock of despair, To free us from each heavy care, And then be found at last, Inside our heart's lock clasped, As we in yours are ever treasured With greatest love …
Madeline L’Engle in her book WinterSong writes, “As we move into Advent we are called to listen, something we seldom take time to do in this frenetic world of overactivity. But waiting for birth, waiting for death—these are listening times, when the normal distractions of life have lost their power to take us away from …
Continue reading ‘Tis the Season: Eight Devotionals, Poetry, and Picture Books for Christmas
We soar above the foam-lapped shores and wind-wrinkled water Into blue autumn skies and brilliant sunshine. As we rise above the clouds, the sun smiths the ocean Into beaten metal that gleams against the shore. The coast becomes a distant curve, ribboned by white beaches. The clouds roll by in piled white and hide the …
The birds are just waking up In the dark of predawn As we head to the airport To fly with the sun. And when I come back from Dropping the travelers off, I meet a small earthworm Who’s just taking off. As I walk to my door, The crickets are choiring, The birds are conspiring, …
I will have a garden, Even if it’s small, Will till the ground That winter hardens Until my plants grow tall. I will grow a garden, Even when it’s hard, And raise my seeds And weed these weeds In my little yard. I will give my garden: What it blooms and bears This year—and bear …
Continue reading Southern Diamonds—Seven: “I Will Have a Garden”
The treetops are black, Backlit by purple-white lightning That ripples across the night. Then comes low, distant thunder, As if the night is mumbling, Clearing its throat with its rumbling. A chime clangs in the dark Like a ship’s bell in a storm, Heralding something, perhaps to warn. The treetops are black, Backlit by purple-white …
Blackberry brambles bud At the edge of the woods, And up from the grass Miniature primroses Unfurl butter-pale petals. Every evening this spring Seems to hold surprises— At the edges of wild and at The tips of our toes From the path to entice us. Do you also find surprises around every corner in springtime? …
The road rises and falls ahead of me, Dusty gray asphalt shouldered by the Pale burnt orange of summer grass That whispers dryly as I pass. Down the center of the road between the pines, I notice how the mustard double lines Match the nodding goldenrod and Black-eyed Susans that stand Tall along the highway’s …
Insect rhythms rise and saw Beneath a half-moon midnight sky— Here a steady cricket’s chirping whir, There a syncopated shaker or an Intermittent washboard whisk. The invisible ensemble revels In jazzy solos and calls and responses, Weaving countless lines into a warm blanket Of song without a breath of silence— Incessant until the inscrutable conductor …
“It’s hard to resist, isn’t it?” “Yeah, I always walk by the plant section when I’m in here. I’m tempted to buy plants, even in the dead of winter when I know they’ll freeze.” We both laugh at ourselves and then push our buggies our separate ways along the grocery aisle. I wasn’t kidding, though. …
