christmas poetry

for some reason, i like to read poetry at Christmas. well, as my friend deaver pointed out, i like poetry all year. but really Christmas poetry is my favorite. there is just something about the birth of our Savior in such abject humility and strangeness that transcends prose. the imagery of light piercing the darkness in such a quiet unnoticed way that bespeaks the literary form of poetry...

john blase (at thebeautifuldue.wordpress.com) is one of my favorite modern poets. and i read this poem this morning and can't stop thinking about it...

String Bright the Gray

John Blase
 

You are the lights
of the everyday world.
 
Signs that goodness is not
destined to be defeated.
 
But to shine you must daily,
Jacob-like, grapple with God.
 
Refuse to let go every time.
Every time wrest the wounding
 
heat from his hands so you can
flare the old words worn smooth
 
and so string bright the gray with
your burning belief.

may this Christmas eve find you stringing bright the gray with your burning belief... may it find me doing the same.

 

 

mysterious ways...

i hope you had a chance to read the story about this chaise lounge and my sweet friend sharon. we decided that it might give out too much information that really wasn't my story to tell and so i have removed it because the last thing i would want is for this fabulous story to end up telling things that aren't my story to tell. so if you want to hear the whole story, you can ask me. or sharon. and we will tell you how GREAT God is and how He is always doing a thousand things... even from a photo of a chaise lounge....

(the rest of this story has been removed. but i left the poem and Scripture verses in. because they are really really good ones to read...)

God Moves in Mysterious Ways by William Cowper (1731–1800)

God moves in a mysterious way,
His wonders to perform;
He plants his footsteps in the sea,
And rides upon the storm.

Deep in unfathomable mines
Of never failing skill,
He treasures up his bright designs,
And works his sovereign will.

Ye fearful saints, fresh courage take,
The clouds ye so much dread
are big with mercy, and shall break
In blessings on your head.

Judge not the Lord by feeble sense,
But trust him for his grace;
Behind a frowning providence,
He hides a smiling face.

His purposes will ripen fast,
Unfolding every hour;
The bud may have a bitter taste,
But sweet will be the flower.

Blind unbelief is sure to err,
And scan his work in vain;
God is his own interpreter,
And He will make it plain.

(my addition. apologies to willy cowper)

He takes my simple photo shot in jest,
and uses it to spur;
an answer to a prayer is blessed,
as is this story when it is heard.

ephesians 2:7-10 (the message)
Now God has us where He wants us, with all the time in this world and the next to shower grace and kindness upon us in Christ Jesus. Saving is all His idea, and all His work. All we do is trust Him enough to let Him do it. It’s God’s gift from start to finish! We don’t play the major role. If we did, we’d probably go around bragging that we’d done the whole thing! No, we neither make nor save ourselves. God does both the making and saving. He creates each of us by Christ Jesus to join Him in the work he does, the good work He has gotten ready for us to do, work we had better be doing.

i love a poet...

where has wendell berry been all of my life? off writing beautiful things like this is the answer to that question...

“If you could do it, I suppose, it would be a good idea to live your life in a straight line – starting, say, in the Dark Wood of Error, and proceeding by logical steps through Hell and Purgatory and into Heaven. Or you could take the King’s Highway past appropriately named dangers, toils, and snares, and finally cross the River of Death and enter the Celestial City.

But that is not the way I have done it, so far. I am a pilgrim, but my pilgrimage has been wandering and unmarked. Often what has looked like a straight line to me has been a circle or a doubling back. I have been in the Dark Wood of Error any number of times. I have known something of Hell, Purgatory, and Heaven, but not always in that order.

The names of many snares and dangers have been made known to me, but I have seen them only in looking back. Often I have not known where I was going until I was already there. I have had my share of desires and goals, but my life has come to me or I have gone to it mainly by way of mistakes and surprises.

Often I have received better than I have deserved. Often my fairest hopes have rested upon bad mistakes. I am an ignorant pilgrim, crossing a dark valley. And yet for a long time, looking back, I have been unable to shake off the feeling that I have been led – make of that what you will.

~ Wendell Berry, Jayber Crow

thank you wendell berry for summing up my life so eloquently. i am also an ignorant pilgrim, crossing a dark valley, making bad mistakes, yet continually finding surprising grace and fairest hopes, all the time having an unshakable feeling of being led. that sums up this past year. all the other past ones. and i bet all the ones to come. lead on... i am stumbling through the dark to that still small light.

the real work...

The Real Work
by Wendell Berry

It may be that when we no longer know what to do
we have come to our real work,

and that when we no longer know which way to go
we have come to our real journey.

The mind that is not baffled is not employed.

The impeded stream is the one that sings.

“Love is what carries you, for it is always there, even in the dark, or most in the dark, but shining out at times like gold stitches in a piece of embroidery. ” 
― Wendell Berry, Hannah Coulter

“You have been given questions to which you cannot be given answers. You will have to live them out - perhaps a little at a time.'
And how long is that going to take?'
I don't know. As long as you live, perhaps.'
That could be a long time.'
I will tell you a further mystery,' he said. 'It may take longer.” 
― Wendell Berry, Jayber Crow

some poetry on an overcast friday...

And The Greatest

by john blase thebeautifuldue

Until your tears have fermented

they are only water,

easily mistaken for raindrops.

But should you endure the season

your grief might turn to wine,

your sadness might become

the spirit others will travel

far and wide to taste.

Know that the season is often long,

the weather harsh and inappropriate. 

There are no guarantees.

Only hope, wait, and see remain.

And the greatest of these is hope.