Forward...

 

God opens dawn's door with holy fire to our Forward-facing flight...

When reflecting on life I am so thankful we cannot return, (even if there are times and places we miss)

we only, always move forward, living not in what will be or what was, but What Is!

I hope your Saturday and weekend grants awareness of God's Grandeur...

Blessings:) 

(I have a few teen-age male 'bakers' about to take over my kitchen for a while. I better ske-daddle!

They are participating in a Men's Dessert Challenge our church is hosting tonight as part of our fall kick-off celebrations.)

The waking hour broods above

Time's over, gone-and-done

Its carriage primed to carry us

Forward. None can return

To grovel or gloat in what was

This forward-facing flight

 Adheres to Eden's changeless laws

Of morning, noon and night

 Come, all aboard and on and up

Time's one-way thoroughfare

Proceeds from Mercy's lenient cup

And who of us will dare

To challenge He who ordains it?

And who is left behind?

Not one. Life's forward-faced frigate

Cuts virgin swathes through Time 

 ...where all that we have said and done

Is scattered in its wake

This Chariot of Fire, love

Denudes with Past, our Take

And none can erase or replace

One moment-drop. A flood 

From lips and finger-tips; thus grace

 Moves forward. God is good

Janet Martin~

God's grandeur of grace moves us forward with holy, holy, holy...awe!

Here is the poem from the photo above...

God's Grandeur by Gerard Manley Hopkins

The world is charged with the grandeur of God.

    It will flame out, like shining from shook foil;

    It gathers to a greatness, like the ooze of oil

Crushed. Why do men then now not reck his rod?

Generations have trod, have trod, have trod;

    And all is seared with trade; bleared, smeared with toil;

    And wears man's smudge and shares man's smell: the soil

Is bare now, nor can foot feel, being shod.

And for all this, nature is never spent;

    There lives the dearest freshness deep down things;

And though the last lights off the black West went

    Oh, morning, at the brown brink eastward, springs —

Because the Holy Ghost over the bent

    World broods with warm breast and with ah! bright wings.