On Our Passage to the Ultimate

Time’s heyday in gray garb of mist

Wakens a world cold-shower kissed

But we don’t really mind the rain

When it is near spring-time again

From Saturday to Saturday

Winter like life, soft-seeps away

…and Time, beneath the great command

Of He who weighs and pours its sand

Spills Saturday across earth’s brake

Where morning is a summer lake

And we, upon its week-washed banks

Linger to give God humble thanks

For we did not escape His care

And walls that last Heyday were bare

Are decked with sundry memories

Where Time is laid to rest in these

A week-to-week-to-week façade

That ultimately leads to God

© Janet Martin

It is good we cannot see

Into Time’s certain soon-will-be

But oh, that we may claim the peace

Of He whose care will never cease

Yes, it's good we don't know who will have the fender-bender when(last week), 

which day the roof will leak(the other day), 

or which day the puck-in-the-eye will send us to emerg. for half-a Saturday (a month ago) This is not as serious as it appears ...a 2cm cut needed a pressure band-aid because it wouldn't stop bleeding;-)

  

Jason Tippetts speaks of peace

Peace I leave with you; my peace I give to you. Not as the world gives do I give to you. Let not your hearts be troubled, neither let them be afraid. You heard me say to you, ‘I am going away, and I will come to you.’ If you loved me, you would have rejoiced, because I am going to the Father, for the Father is greater than I.

— John 14:27-28

 

Peace is Christ’s distinctive gift—not money, not worldly ease, not temporal prosperity. These are at best very questionable possessions. They often do more harm than good to the soul. They act as clogs and weights to our spiritual life. Inward peace of conscience, arising from a sense of pardoned sin and reconciliation with God, is a far greater blessing. This peace is the property of all believers, whether high or low, rich or poor.

— J. C. Ryle

 

Wishing your a Peace-full Saturday

Once-a-week

Come, kind and whistling wanderer and do not fade too fast

Ere on the palm of all-is-calm our give and take is cast

Summer-incognito, paradise and planned demand

Come, once-a-week companion, tug our toes into your sand

Now Laughter is a lark above white winter’s stormy sighs

And Worry is a glove we let slip to soft-lipped good-byes

Love’s Longing is the flavor of a long, slow cup of tea

Where Love is soft-rewarded every once-a-week by thee

Your center-folds are cereal-spilled and cinnamon-bun sweet

Your patrons are the people that fill Duty’s solemn seat

But once-a-week you tweak your expectations just a tad

And make allowances for happiness, Saturday-glad

© Janet Martin

Whether its a tea-party in the snow, a teeny shopping excursion, a new recipe or simply slow-syrupy pancakes Victoria and I try to add a 'Saturday-glad' to each one because Saturdays, after all, only come once-a-week! ;-))

Saturday Kisses

Click on images to enlarge

 A few weeks ago I shared Our Favorite Chocolate Cake Recipe(one of my quick go-to's) *Here is another. I started mixing it while Saturday was feeling soft and slow, then suddenly wh-o-o-o-sh! it was gone. After multiple interruptions I returned to finish mixing and baking it just before supper.

Dog-eared lists twist Time’s prudence and passion

Vexing the hours of Saturday’s ration

This weekly portion of slow-exhale bliss

Tempers toil’s edges; sweet Saturday- kiss

Now Mundane-ness dons a friendlier hue

Don’t you love Saturday-eyes; sky-wide blue?

Don’t you love how her skirt shimmers and swirls

Where moments are music and women are girls?

…and Time is a treasure melding to  our hearts

Beautiful pictures that loving imparts

 Once every week Edict lowers her gaze

And soft- kisses cheeks with Saturdays

© Janet Martin

*p.s. Mrs. Abner (Almeda Martin) the lady who submitted the recipe in this book, is my aunt. She is not well right now, suffering from leukemia, and I know she would sincerely appreciate your prayers!

Gold-diggers...two versions

 Click on image to enlarge...

morning spilled 
in gold puddles 
before a hungry cloud 
ate the sun

(I have a feeling the cloud will spew it back onto the sky eventually)

Soft, soft upon the stirring prow of Now the ‘won’t and will’

Of Unknown, wrapped in pink and blue begins unraveling

Where yester-dusk blushed on the hills and sealed its rendering

Behind closed doors of nevermore, now untried mercies spill

Kissing our weary blind-spots with a whisper of hello

And gifting us with opulence of opportunity

The rush of something special, though our gaping gaze can’t see

Breaks wide, a mercy-miracle upon this cursed plateau

…and we, armed with the grace of God and prospect’s polished spade

Are greeted by a host of hope-buds waiting for the touch

Of something special ere they fall prey to Past’s steadfast clutch

Fresh from the Hand of mercy, memories wait to be made

© Janet Martin

What will we fill our pockets with today? 

With or without intention

Memories are being made...

We are hosting our annual super-bowl get-together tomorrow so along with some prep-work,

and mundane awesomeness I hope to add a splash of 'something special'. I don't know yet what it will be so it's time to start digging...

Have a blessed Saturday!

p.s.
same poem with different lines breaks for those who prefer a less lyrical read... 

Soft, soft upon the stirring prow

of Now the ‘won’t and will’

Of Unknown, wrapped in pink and blue

begins unraveling,

Where yester-dusk blushed on the hills

and sealed its rendering

behind closed doors of nevermore,

Now untried mercies spill

Kissing our weary blind-spots

with a whisper of hello

and gifting us

with opulence of opportunity

the rush of something special,

though our gaping gaze can’t see, 

breaks wide

a mercy-miracle upon this cursed plateau

…and we, armed with the grace of God

and prospect’s polished spade are greeted

by a host of hope-buds waiting

for the touch of something special

ere they fall prey

to Past’s steadfast clutch,

Fresh from the Hand of mercy,

memories wait to be made

© Janet Martin