Like a Singing Bird

"I'm not sure what I should hope for ", 

said the woman who just buried her mother 

and the year before her 30-ish year old daughter 

and a few years before that her husband 

meanwhile still reeling with sorrow over the death of another daughter, unexpectedly! 

"I'm not sure ...", said the grief-weary mother/grandmother

when the Dr. told her a few weeks ago 

that 'hopefully' these intense chemo treatments 

will get rid of the cancer in her bowels 

so she can then have a hysterectomy 

and 'hopefully' recovery!...

Please, please join in prayer for this woman(her name is Audrey)
and her family who have suffered SO much loss!

"Hope springs eternal in the human breast", 

a line in the Casey at the Bat poem that rings true in a whole lot more than sports events!

...and a God-timed post from Ann. Why God Doesn't Heal People We Love?

There beats within, like a caged Thing

A warrior’s wing of squadron might

Its vestal wraith fires, fuels faith

And fits the fighter for the fight

There pulses in vessels of skin

Something akin to God; this dust

An escadrille where mortal will

Suffers through drills that succour Trust

There soars through stars and sorrow-bars

To Holy God from lowly worm

A cry to He who calms the sea

And throws His life-line through the storm

…and This IS Hope; how could we cope

Without God’s grace to under-gird

Prayer meets its Mark, Light shatters dark

Hope spreads its wings, sings like a bird

© Janet Martin

And hope does not put us to shame, 

because God's love has been poured out into our hearts 

through the Holy Spirit, who has been given to us.

Romans 5:5

 

Oh Lord, may we, as You did in Gethsemane, cry "not my will but Yours be done!" 

knowing Your reply is for Your glory!

Amen

and an oldie but a goodie by Kitty Wells

The Earth and Its Fullness Thereof...

Brantley's other set of grandparents farm on the shores of the Bay of Fundy...

I admit, though rural Ontario is stunning in Autumn,

Nova Scotia, you win! 

although, much like here 

the sumac seems to be the main color torch in autumnal vistas

The earth, it is the Lord's

Its grand fullness thereof

Spills like a fount from hills and rills

In testaments of Love

Love's deathless cadence rings

From springs of Living Word

While earth and its fullness thereof

Spills mercies undeterred

Faith sets its sight upon

What eye cannot attest

The earth and its fullness thereof 

Makes God's might manifest

Then praise the Lord of hosts

For all that we behold 

Is begotten, not of our boast

But from the God of old

...the earth, it is the Lord's

Its awe-and-wonder-trove

Runs our visage through and through

With testaments of love

Janet Martin

 Photo Credit: Robyn C. aka Daddy

The earth is the LORD'S, and the fulness thereof; 

the world, and they that dwell therein.

Ps.24:1

So much 'fulness of earth' to delight in this time of year...

more about this later 'kay?

Off to pick/pic and pull the final gifts of fresh fall fullness!

Parsley, zinnia seeds, apples, cabbage, squash!

Don't those words set a rainbow of delight in thought's panorama?!

More captivating 'fulness thereof' pics here on my friend Monica's  latest post.

Goodness of Morning...

 Looks like another beautiful day! 

After the brute that battered us a few days ago

we are glad with fresh fervor for mornings like this!

But as for me, I shall sing of Your strength; 

Yes, I shall joyfully sing of Your lovingkindness in the morning, 

For You have been my stronghold 

And a refuge in the day of my distress.

Ps.59:16 NASB

Sometimes it whistles and sometimes it croons

Sometimes it moans, moody gray

Sometimes it crows like a rooster, where soon

Noon sweeps its newness away

Sometimes its harmonies meld, blush and gold

Sometimes it broods, blue and wild

Sometimes its kisses are bullish and cold

But always it’s pure as a child

Sometimes its startles our sleepy-eyed gaze

Sometimes it kindles anew

Zest for the quest of life’s best well-worn ways

Commonplace labor to do

Noble anointing, time’s fresh free-for-all

Stoked with appointments galore

Nothing quite rivals the hours that fall

Like morning, time’s never-before

© Janet Martin

Of October's Prose

Of poems on parchment

Of reed-stippled ponds

Of teasels on easels

Of frost-brittle fronds

Of paintings on canvas

Of endless blue sky

Of sienna stanzas

Where summer-songs lie

Of beggar and borrower

Not set apart

All eyes feast on flowers

And *blaze of leaf art

Of wind-tousled tassel

On corn-tinseled sweep

Of purple smoke-spiral

O’er woods half asleep

Of farewells, breathtaking

Of hellos soon lost

In wind-wassail shaking

The tress of tree-tops

Of silver-sage stages

Of garden’s repose

Ah, these are the pages

Of October’s prose

© Janet Martin

* Autumn lovers in this area are a little color-famished this year;
not much blaze.
Mostly just hazel-bronze with here and there a "look, look at me" tree!

Of Present Push and Pull #2

We are thankful

Life’s push and pull

Poised upon perhaps

Keeps us guessing

At the next thing

Pressed into our laps

It might be sweet

And kitten-soft

We'll pet its purring mew  

Until it scratches,

Bites and claws

Then we'll want something new

And we'll be glad

That what we had

Wore out its welcome, oh

And broke the ice

For something nice

-er, at least we hope so

Sometimes the tears

For far-fled years

Blind us to Here and Now

Until we see

How swift the plea

Of season stills the plow

Forbid we miss

The full of This

Arabesque, shimmer-kissed

Where present push and pull

Soon lulls

And new push-pulls insist

This montage of

The laws of love

Oft leaves us awed and vexed

Caught in between

All that has been

And what will happen next

© Janet Martin

Of Easel and Wine Press

My, what a fretwork of artwork we hold

Frames filled with claims, lent by God

Glimmers of cobalt and shimmers of gold

Tickle Time’s trembling facade

Ah, what an awesome Invitation, This

Rife with life’s breath-by-breath ‘oh’

Showers and flowers and hours we miss

And some we kiss once and let go

Duty is beauty in common disguise

Thank He who sends it each day

Savor the flavor where soon noon-day’s Prize

Like footprints in sand wash away

Well, well, we say, then the gray of goodnight

Brushes from sight, window-scapes

Thought traces places naught erases quite

It sips wine pressed from yester-shapes

What are we making of this holy haste ?

Eyes and ears, mouths, fingertips

Say, what will season the vintage we taste

When we lift thought’s glass to our lips

Darling, the arbor is heavy with grapes

Autumn insists on its due

Ah, something stirs; it blurs brawny landscapes

Shattered by silver and blue

© Janet Martin