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

Of 'Almost Yesterdays' and Chalk-painting

  

Twilight has spilled its pouch of stars

A sequin-splash on velvet bars

Where the west sun gilded yon hill

With dusk before night's bluer twill

Swathed morning's mystic come-what-may

In shades of 'almost yesterday'

...and where we stared at unrolled gold

To wonder what waits to unfold

As dawn laid soft beneath our feet

The grace of time's untarnished street

Now our latest highs and lows

Are etched in Past's steadfast repose

This vale of victory and loss

Is mankind's constant albatross

Yet, in its trial-error Must

We learn to try and fail and trust

Knowing that every come-what-may

Is always 'almost yesterday'

Janet~

Sometimes I am such a fraidy-cat to try something new but I've been hearing more and more about chalk-paint so I tried it this week.
Since Annie Sloan Chalk-paint  is not available in any nearby stores I started 'googling' and found many recipes for DYI chalk-paint. With a hardware store minutes from home and someone who had tried the homemade version of chalk-paint and loved it, I decided to try it...

I/3 cup plaster of paris
1/3 cup water
mix well then add one cup paint. (use matte paint tinted to your choice of color)
stir well. this amount painted two coats on the dresser above as well as two coats on an old trunk!

Paint, let dry an hour.
Paint second coat. (Check out on-line tutorials for waxing and distressing). I used Martha Stewart clear wax after paint dried approx. 5 hours. Let wax dry overnight then sand the edges you want to distress. I used Martha Stewart antiquing wax to distress. I tried applying with brush and very little dark wax on it, wiping any excess with a damp cloth. Not totally sold on those waxes but min-wax furniture paste wax was hard and yellowy...I applied another coat of clear wax after antiquing wax dried (a few Hours) now I am waiting 24 hrs. to buff it then it is done. I cannot yet tell you how durable the paint is, but it painted beautifully smooth!

Wikem on Story-telling...take 2

Having vented at technology in my previous wikem , here is a more optimistic take…

Wikem definition here

Story-telling; Modern storytelling has a broad purview. Wikipedia

 

 Mountains and oceans

 No longer bar

Where I am

 To where you are

Our stories mingle

Half a world between

By the slight, soft, simple

Tap of a screen

And we would be strangers

In 'the way it was’

Where now our laughter

And tears blend because

…Someone discovered

By touch and click

How to place the world

At our fingertips

…and the stories we tell

Can be shared world-wide

Because someone believed

The impossible and tried

© Janet Martin

Aren't you glad? ...and like anything; it's a highway with a ditch on both sides.

Of Half-story Hollows

  So, my wikem is a day late because yesterday begged to be spent out-doors! Earth's tongue thawed and chattered like Anne of Green Gables so somebody needed to listen!

Story-telling: Stories or narratives have been shared in every culture as a means of entertainment, education, cultural preservation, and instilling moral values.wikipedia

‘It’s a vine’ they tell me

And laugh with glee

In this six-second attention-span

Society

I prefer vines

Laden with bloom

A sweet, summer honey-bee

Living-room

But this adjective-rejecting

Instagram generation

Is too distracted

For slow, star-sky rumination

…where it seems a looking-down

Prison-cell

Has replaced all that real life

Has to tell

As half-story flashes

Dash on two-by-two screens

With no time for contemplation

On what it means

© Janet Martin

I worry sometimes about what will happen to a generation that seldom 'unplugs'...

The Meaning of It

 One generation passeth away, and another generation cometh: but the earth abideth for ever.

 The sun also ariseth, and the sun goeth down, and hasteth to his place where he arose.

The wind goeth toward the south, and turneth about unto the north; it whirleth about continually, and the wind returneth again according to his circuits. Eccles. 1:4-6

 

The will of time wafts through mortal bearing

Stunning the soldier of clocks, we admit

Sometime we wonder in life’s daily wearing

What in the end is the meaning of it?

While Laughter lavishes lips we sense sorrow

Waiting, for he is no stranger to us

Beyond the ruin of Now, time’s tomorrow

Tugs where Today frames our fiddle and fuss

…and sometimes we wonder, in life’s coming-going

What, in the end is its merit or gain?

What bestows value to Time’s transient flowing

Or assures us we have not lived in vain?

Where is the crux of Hope fixed; summer-winter

Pours through Time’s vessel in vaporous vaunt

Hope ever-reaching toward Something better

Vexing the spirit while soothing our Want

What is the purpose of life’s wee-blip ration?

Soon we will slumber, like They beneath sod

Then an epiphany quiets each question

…sometimes I think we miscalculate God

© Janet Martin

If God is our Full Purpose every moment is holy.

If God is the Giver of life every moment is sacred.

If God loved us enough to send His Son for our atonement,every moment is Thank-you.

If God is for us who can be against us?

If God is our Reason every moment is a calling.

While We're Still Learning Our Lines...

(Above scene from Anne of Green Gables; Matthew's Heart Attack)

 "Did I change quickly enough?" Victoria asks anxiously after the play last night...and suddenly I find myself asking the same question as I try to keep up with Time's scene-changes. It's hard to keep fingers from trembling as we slip from one costume to the next.

While we’re still learning our lines

The Director turns the page

And rearranges the stage

To scripts and scenes untried

Her gaze never flinches as she

Unbuttons the skin we are in

And we fumble with the half-grin

Of Her constant chivalry

She is suave, brave and bold

As She purveys Her motley cast

Caught somewhere twixt Future and Past

In costumes of Growing Old

The cloth of Her moments shapes

Triumph and failure’s disguise

It is hard to recognize

Clowns in choir-capes

…where the roles of Her interplays

Are ever subject to change

As we stutter over strange

Sudden and unlearned ways

And while hearts struggle to adjust

To the New, the curtain rises

To an audience of surprises

Waiting on chairs of dust

© Janet Martin

Why Ain't It Always Summer?