I made it safely to the snow-covered prairie–a very windy trip, but uneventful. I controlled my 241 horses and raced north, arriving in good time. Praise the Lord.
All is well.
*And all shall be well and
All manner of thing shall be well
When the tongues of flames are in-folded
Into the crowned knot of fire
And the fire and the rose are one.
— T. S. Eliot, Little Gidding, Four Quartets
Well, we got more snow–how about that? Luckily I had gone out early in the morning to run errands, so I could just stay home and watch the snow fall. Thankfully, daughter #1 had cancelled her drive to Indiana for work, but she still had to drive home from downtown and that was moderately traumatizing.
The snow was really coming down when I took this picture, but the iPhone does not capture that adequately at all!
So I read poetry in the afternoon…
Oh, I do love Jorge Luis Borges!
Oh friends, never forget this:
And I thought this was funny:
So read some poetry, and just chill for awhile.
Both of my Christmas cactuses are budding, right on schedule! Isn’t that something? This made me think of Walt Whitman. I agree with him about miracles.
Why, who makes much of a miracle?
As to me I know of nothing else but miracles,
Whether I walk the streets of Manhattan,
Or dart my sight over the roofs of houses toward the sky,
Or wade with naked feet along the beach just in the edge of the water,
Or stand under trees in the woods,
Or talk by day with any one I love, or sleep in the bed at night with any one I love,
Or sit at table at dinner with the rest,
Or look at strangers opposite me riding in the car,
Or watch honey-bees busy around the hive of a summer forenoon,
Or animals feeding in the fields,
Or birds, or the wonderfulness of insects in the air,
Or the wonderfulness of the sundown, or of stars shining so quiet and bright,
Or the exquisite delicate thin curve of the new moon in spring;
These with the rest, one and all, are to me miracles,
The whole referring, yet each distinct and in its place.
To me every hour of the light and dark is a miracle,
Every cubic inch of space is a miracle,
Every square yard of the surface of the earth is spread with the same,
Every foot of the interior swarms with the same.
To me the sea is a continual miracle,
The fishes that swim—the rocks—the motion of the waves—the
ships with men in them,
What stranger miracles are there?
The other day I mentioned the story of Billy Graham going to see the dying Steve McQueen and that truly is a great story. But the even better part of all that was how the flight instructor over time converted the questioning Steve into a “born again” Christian. I know quite a few people like that flight instructor now–“ordinary” men who take Mark 16:15 very seriously in their daily lives. One such guy is Bill who was an executive at some big engineering firm. He is a piano-tuner now (in retirement) and he evangelizes quietly everywhere he goes, just talking to people. He is not ashamed of the Gospel. No sir. He sees it as his duty to spread the Word.
The Billy Grahams of this world are wonderful, but it is the Bills among us who do the real work where the rubber meets the actual road.
This is a wonderful message from John Piper on Eight Ways to Live Out Your Assurance.
And here’s a song for Monday–the great Mark Knopfler singing the great Bob Dylan:
Oh, a false clock tries to tick out my time
To disgrace, distract and bother me
And the dirt of gossip blows into my face
And the dust of rumors covers me
[Chorus]
But if the arrow is straight and the point is slick
It can pierce through dust no matter how thick
So I’ll make my stand and remain as I am
And bid farewell and not give a damn
(Meanwhile we made it to the prairie–where it has turned cold and even snowy!–and we went to church where daughter #2 and the girls became members along with a dozen others.)
We are surrounded by God’s benefits. The best use of these benefits is an unceasing expression of gratitude.
–John Calvin
Well, as soon as I said the leaves had not changed much, they started turning! We are supposed to have a cold snap this weekend, so I finished cleaning out the Florida room and moved the rest of the plants. Sadly, we did not use it much this year.
Anyway, I was talking to the boy the other day and he reminded me that I left out two very significant scenes in famous rainy movies. I was semi-horrified that I had, indeed, forgotten:
John Wayne and Maureen O’Hara in The Quiet Man (1951)…
and Robert Redford knocking the cover off the ball in The Natural (1984)…
Wonderful. But what else did I forget?
Oh, here’s a poem by Don Paterson about rain in movies!
I love all films that start with rain:
rain, braiding a windowpane
or darkening a hung-out dress
or streaming down her upturned face;
one long thundering downpour
right through the empty script and score
before the act, before the blame,
before the lens pulls through the frame
to where the woman sits alone
beside a silent telephone
or the dress lies ruined on the grass
or the girl walks off the overpass,
and all things flow out from that source
along their fatal watercourse.
However bad or overlong
such a film can do no wrong,
so when his native twang shows through
or when the boom dips into view
or when her speech starts to betray
its adaptation from the play,
forget the ink, the milk, the blood—
all was washed clean with the flood
we rose up from the falling waters
the fallen rain’s own sons and daughters
and none of this, none of this matters.
Smile, look up, repeat.
Well, I had an easy trip up and back to outstate-Illinois in my Mini Countryman, which is a speed demon on the windy prairie highway and zooms across the cornfields like the Autobahn. I do love my car.
If I ever want to fly
Mulholland Drive
I am aliveHollywood is under me
I’m Martin Sheen
I’m Steve McQueen
I’m Jimmy Dean
DN went to his conference and I helped daughter #2, who is in the large basketball phase of her pregnancy, with the prairie girls. We went to Home Depot to buy paint for a bathroom update …
…they were into it. It was a whole scene.
Back home, I got up on Sunday and met the boy and the twins at church. I had missed the week before when I was in Virginia so it seemed like forever (two weeks)–how nice to be back! Our pastor gave a really good sermon on Philippians 3:1-11 (and even made an unusual, but appropriate, reference to Mike Wazowski, which made the bud perk right up.) Where does our confidence come from? The righteousness of God that depends on faith!
As Reformation Day approaches (October 31), we sang “A Mighty Fortress is Our God”, plus a selection of 19th century and 21st century hymns, plus a mighty solo rendition of the Fernando Ortega hymn, “Give Me Jesus”–perfect.
It was a gloomy and rainy Sunday afternoon, so I opted to stay home and not go to the bud’s soccer game(s). As Mamu I am allowed to do that.
Have a good week! Here’s a poem:
And maybe it was a bar tune,
Maybe not, but there we were, hunched
over too-small desks in History 101,
all ninety-five freshmen humming—
by need not desire—every note, every verse
of Luther’s best-loved hymn, Our helper He…
the right man on our side as we scribbled,
hands almost numb, the body they may kill –
his theology of lyrics, our theology –
from age to age the same for the final question
the spirit and the gifts are ours of the final exam,
and we would win the battle, our hearts pumping
with belief, our throats thumping with crescendo:
one little word would never fell us.
–Marjorie Maddox, “A Mighty Fortress”
Well, I went to the dentist yesterday for my semi-annual cleaning. This is always somewhat stressful as one always expects the worst. But as usual I got an A+ for my dental hygiene, and I left feeling good about myself. ⭐ 🙌 I also felt very mellow as the music which had been playing in the background during my visit was all late sixties hits–“House of the Rising Sun”, “Mellow Yellow”, “Daydream Believer”, “I’ve Got You, Babe”, and even “Like a Rolling Stone”. I do not expect to be jamming to Bob Dylan at the dentist, and I’m not complaining. But, yes, a bit surreal.
I finished My Beloved by Jan Karon and thoroughly enjoyed it. It may not be Middlemarch (another study of provincial life), but these days I could not handle that. I am quite satisfied with Jan Karon.
In other news, the boy came over and gassed up my car, so I am ready to head to the prairie today for a few days with daughter #2 and the prairie girls. It has been very blustery of late 💨💨 so let’s hope I don’t blow off the highway.
And here’s a poem about dogs by Billy Collins:
The neighbors’ dog will not stop barking.
He is barking at the fence, barking at nothing,
barking at the mosquitos settling on his fur.
He is barking through the moonlight,
barking at distant sirens,
barking at squirrels he can’t see.
(“Another Reason Why I Don’t Keep a Gun in the House”)
I am back from my travels. I had a fabulous time, but the return trip was arduous. It took about 12 hours to get home because we were delayed in Baltimore–updating the software on the plane (for real?) took much longer than anticipated–modern problems. It was taxing, but daughter #1 and I made it and she even managed to retrieve Mr. Smith from the kennel three hours after closing time.
He was happy to be home and he loved the tri-corner hat chew toy she brought him from Colonial Williamsburg.
Tomorrow I will have a longer post about our visit to Virginia, but for now, this is all I can do.
*Read the poem by Wallace Stevens here.
Well, cooler weather has finally arrived! I actually wore a sweater yesterday. For this, I am thankful.
Here’s a poem about that by Robert Herrick (1591—1674):
Lord, Thou hast given me a cell
Wherein to dwell,
A little house, whose humble roof
Is weather-proof:
Under the spars of which I lie
Both soft, and dry;
Where Thou my chamber for to ward
Hast set a guard
Of harmless thoughts, to watch and keep
Me, while I sleep.
Low is my porch, as is my fate,
Both void of state;
And yet the threshold of my door
Is worn by th’ poor,
Who thither come and freely get
Good words, or meat.
Like as my parlour, so my hall
And kitchen’s small;
A little buttery, and therein
A little bin,
Which keeps my little loaf of bread
Unchipp’d, unflead;
Some brittle sticks of thorn or briar
Make me a fire,
Close by whose living coal I sit,
And glow like it.
Lord, I confess too, when I dine,
The pulse is Thine,
And all those other bits, that be
There plac’d by Thee;
The worts, the purslain, and the mess
Of water-cress,
Which of Thy kindness Thou hast sent;
And my content
Makes those, and my beloved beet,
To be more sweet.
‘Tis Thou that crown’st my glittering hearth
With guiltless mirth;
And giv’st me wassail-bowls to drink,
Spic’d to the brink.
Lord, ’tis Thy plenty-dropping hand
That soils my land;
And giv’st me, for my bushel sown,
Twice ten for one;
Thou mak’st my teeming hen to lay
Her egg each day;
Besides my healthful ewes to bear
Me twins each year;
The while the conduits of my kine
Run cream, for wine.
All these, and better, Thou dost send
Me, to this end,
That I should render, for my part,
A thankful heart,
Which, fir’d with incense, I resign,
As wholly Thine;
But the acceptance, that must be,
My Christ, by Thee.
And here’s an important reminder: “Paul teaches us how we can learn to become grateful. We become grateful by practicing it. Gratitude doesn’t start with a feeling. It starts by simply obeying the Bible’s commands to give thanks in everything. And we can start with whatever is going on in our lives right now, with our families, our work, and the people around us.”
These are great hymns to sing at the end of life or anytime. We sing these hymns regularly in my church.
So look up, be thankful, sing!
It’s October! Zut alors! Last year at this time I was in beautiful Monument Valley with the OM and daughter #1.
Guess I’ll watch The Searchers (1956) this week…
Well, we must “live in each season as it passes; breathe the air, drink the drink, taste the fruit, and resign yourself to the influence of the earth.” Who said that? Yes, of course, it was Thoreau in “Walden, or, Life in the Woods”.
Earlier in September, we were told by the Missouri Department of Conservation to be “bear aware” when hiking in the woods. So just as a reminder, here is where bears have been sighted in Missouri since 2020:
Yikes! Take care with those bird feeders and barbecues!
Here are Nine Hymn Lyrics You’ve Probably Misunderstood. We sing all these hymns in church. The author suggests that “something that was written 500 years ago can be confusing to a modern audience,” and maybe that is so. If so, “you can learn to sing these words with renewed faith as you come to better understand what they mean!”
And here’s a poem by Rainer Maria Rilke about Autumn:
dual personalities 