Mercy's Perpetual Providence

‘If I could turn back time’, she said

‘I’d return to that place’

But moments do not reimburse

Or barter with their grace

Mercy’s perpetual providence

Moments; brief yet benign

And only in our looking back

Do we see their design

How miniscule the offering seems

In tick-tock allotment

How easily Time spills its reams

Without acknowledgement

But oh, the tempo of that tide

When gathered in the past

Returns oft to remind us how

Moments slip by so fast

‘If I could turn back time’, she said

‘I’d return to that place’

Oh, treasure carefully the Now

Ere new moments give chase

© Janet Martin

My daughter lost a friend she knew briefly and oh, so dearly! They counseled together at camp for 3 weeks and kept in touch through letters. Yesterday this girl’s life of up-hill moments ended tragically and far too soon!

In her Facebook tribute to Jess, Melissa used the words, ‘if I could turn back Time and return to that place’…

This poem spoke to me today...

Sometime

May Riley Smith (1842?–1927)

SOMETIME, when all life’s lessons have been learned,
And sun and stars forevermore have set,
The things which our weak judgments here have spurned,
The things o’er which we grieved with lashes wet,
Will flash before us, out of life’s dark night,
As stars shine most in deeper tints of blue;
And we shall see how all God’s plans are right,
And how what seems reproof was love most true.
And we shall see how, while we frown and sigh,
God’s plans go on as best for you and me;
How, when we called, he heeded not our cry,
Because his wisdom to the end could see.
And e’en as prudent parents disallow
Too much of sweet to craving babyhood,
So God, perhaps, is keeping from us now
Life’s sweetest things, because it seemeth good.
And if sometimes, commingled with life’s wine,
We find the wormwood, and rebel and shrink,
Be sure a wiser hand than yours or mine
Pours out this potion for our lips to drink.
And if some friend we love is lying low,
Where human kisses cannot reach his face,
Oh, do not blame the loving Father so,
But wear your sorrow with obedient grace!
And you shall shortly know that lengthened breath
Is not the sweetest gift God sends his friend,
And that, sometimes, the sable pall of death
Conceals the fairest bloom his love can send.
If we could push ajar the gates of life,
And stand within, and all God’s workings see,
We could interpret all this doubt and strife,
And for each mystery could find a key.
But not to-day. Then be content, poor heart!
God’s plans like lilies pure and white unfold.
We must not tear the close-shut leaves apart,
Time will reveal the calyxes of gold.
And if, through patient toil, we reach the land
Where tired feet, with sandals loosed, may rest,
When we shall clearly know and understand,
I think that we will say, “God knew the best!”

Air-brushed Perfection

 After the potpourri of weather we had at the end of last week one can ski for literally miles on works of unframed art!

How fondly He must move the sky

To know what thus ensues

As wind and rain and snow and sun

Earth’s dormant dell imbues

This canvas blooms with raw design

Original and rare

Where elements and God align

His brush, nothing but air

He startles slopes with naught but thought

Should I remove my shoes?

To tread these master-pieces wrought

Of silvers, whites and blues?

We cannot dream such works as this…

Free-falling filigree

In swirling, twirling twist of mist

Earth touts His majesty

…and we like daily strangers come

To marvel at His thought

Where handiwork of season-song

Spills to man’s plebeian plot

Our labor, clad with common care

Dons a divine purport

We serve the One who moves the air

In grand, un-fathomed art

© Janet Martin

Mercy's Door

Above our heads sky-glory spreads

And we can never comprehend

The height and depth and breadth of it

Like God’s great love which has no end

Cradle of moon and stars and sun

Canvas of morning, noon and night

We imitate but cannot paint

The fullness of its dark and light

Above its fathoms hangs a door

From it a loving Savior knocks

Upon our heart; His voice implores

Lest we wait past the tick of clocks

Above our heads His goodness weeps

In grace unmeasured and unbound

Oh, how He longs that we should seek

While grace and pardon may be found

Heaven’s free offering, an ark

Beckoning from Time’s transient shore

Ah, pity he who pounds the dark

After God closes Mercy’s Door

© Janet Martin

Time is like a gracious ark

God's mercy is its door

Heed the invitation 'come'

...soon time will be no more!

I'm Glad for Prayer

…praying for my Dad again this morning. The DR. prefers we visit him when he returns home. He is still in ICU but they hope to move him soon.

I’m glad for prayer

That mystic stair

Where word of thought

Reaches God’s throne

Then as we plead

He fills our need

And whispers,

‘We are not alone’

I hope somewhere

In someone’s prayer

As they make hopes

And wishes known

Perhaps, kindly

They’ll think of me

And lay my name

Before His throne

© Janet Martin

Let’s face it; we all need it! Prayer.

Submission, Love and Happiness

(Well, happiness might be a drink sometimes;)

Submission is the letting go

Of things held, not in hands but hearts

Without it we will never know

The perfect peace that God imparts

Love; manifold, grand mystery

Perplexing pauper, prince and priest

We cannot its true fullness see

Until we make ourselves the least

  

Happiness is not a drink

Or fate’s elusive destiny

Happiness is found, I think

In living's moment-melody

Laughter, under-rated bliss

Ah, how can we enjoy it more?

Submission, love and happiness

It seems, are at its very core

© Janet Martin

After putting this book down for a while because suddenly I was reading a few other books, I have returned to it, reading it slowly so I don’t miss a thing…

“You either see beauty or you do not”, said Peter in a sermon.

“If you do not, no amount of argument can make you see it”

Peter's life is an example of submission and the fruits thereof.

Want a good laugh today? Today's YDP will surely at the least stir a chuckle!

Submission is not outward conforming, but inward transforming

My Grandmother reminded me more than once that until we fully submit our will to God we can never be fully happy!


 He has shown you, O mortal, what is good.
    And what does the Lord require of you?
To act justly and to love mercy
    and to walk humbly with your God.
 Micah 6:8
 

Staring Through a Window on a February Afternoon

The sky-line falls and rises like the tempo of a tune

Where wind stampedes, an obscure tyrant vexing tattered pine

The valley yearns for sparkle of a sun-warm afternoon

With children running barefoot ‘neath the curling merlot vine

The hillside slopes toward the sallow span of waning day

No laughing lover strolls this winter-stricken solitude

Surreal the fancy of spring’s darling apple-blossom May

Where February walks in gray, a maiden plain, subdued

The blustering battalion of sleet-snow-squall regiment

Is in sore need of furlough; we encourage its retreat

How long will Time insist on emptying its discontent

In fresh volley of vandals shod with ice upon their feet?

The doggerel of daisy day-dreams dangles daringly

Beyond the frosted window-pane against the snarling air

Are silver sun-swept seashores but fine fairy frippery?

I’ve heard spring-peepers serenade the dusk, but where, oh where?

The skyline falls and rises; what a moody madrigal

But I am not a damsel in distress nor prone to fret

The horse and rider in the sky is preordained to fall

Thus I know that its steel facade will spill its violets yet

© Janet Martin

Perspective

Bit of a chuckle just now as Victoria lay on the kitchen floor and said, ‘from this angle it could be summer, cause all I can see is green on the tree. No snow!’

We are having a snow day in the area with buses cancelled; not much snow so far. My hunch is it’s more of a ‘hockey day’ than a snow day. I know some places that are letting their guys quit early to catch the game in Sochi between Canada and the U.S.A.

It’s not so much the thing that is

As how we choose to look at it

Circumstance is but the half

We can sing the blues or laugh

Everything lasts 'just a bit'

Life is what we make of it

© Janet Martin

This is not intended to be glib but relating to our trite complaining grounds…I know some people who are dealing with life’s big stuff one step at a time and even what they can make of it hurts. ((hugs/prayers))

...off to watch the game;) 

When the River Runs Free Again...

When the river runs free once more

And herds roam clover-clad rill

When Queen Ann’s lace trims with dainty grace

Fence-row, hollow, field and hill…

When the river runs blue again

Laughing in glimmer so glad

When its song ice-gripped is unchained from its crypt

To pleasure the day-dreaming lad

When the river runs winding and wild

Splashing its way to the sea

When willow and sedge lures lovers to its edge

To revel on heaven’s green knee

When the river runs rampant, released

Washed of winter’s cold remains

The world will be sweet with the dance of bare-feet

And youth running wild in our veins

© Janet Martin