Dear Lucy, Though We Miss You So

Deut.29:29 (the theme verse for Lucy's funeral message)

“The secret things belong to the LORD our God, 

but those things which are revealed belong to us 

and to our children forever, 

that we may do all the words of this law.

John 11:25-26

Jesus said to her, “I am the resurrection and the life. 

He who believes in Me, though he may die, he shall live.

 26And whoever lives and believes in Me shall never die. 

Do you believe this?”

Today Lucy would have turned 56...

Mom, my sisters and sister-in-laws who were free to come

as well as one of her closest friends,

had a precious time sharing a potluck lunch around her table.

The absence of Lucy bustling about the kitchen making sure

everyone had more than enough to eat or drink

was keenly felt by all💔🙏

Thank-you everyone, for your loving messages and prayers!

They truly make all the difference.

Dear Lucy...

You've slipped beyond the realm of days

And though we miss you so

And our hearts still ache in ways

Only love can bestow

We do not want to question He

Who grants each breath we draw

But rather, trust His Sov'reignty

With humble, thankful awe

You've slipped beyond the realm of years

But left behind the part

We cherish with laughter and tears; 

A memory-filled heart

And though love's scenes are bittersweet

Because we miss you, dear

We thank God, as grief and joy meet

For hope's unfailing cheer

You've slipped beyond the realm of Time

And though we miss you so

Faith grants us visions of a clime

Where no tears ever flow

No fear or pain can enter where

Your Soul has been set free

To worship God in perfect prayer/beyond earth's care

For all eternity

You've slipped beyond our touch and sight

But death is not in vain

For Jesus conquered death with Life

We die to live again

So, though we mourn, what joy to know

That death is not the end

Dear Lucy, though we miss you so

Soon we will meet again

Janet💕

Ps. 103:15-19

As for man, his days are like grass—

he blooms like a flower of the field;

16when the wind passes over, it vanishes,

and its place remembers it no more.

17But from everlasting to everlasting

the loving devotion of the LORD

extends to those who fear Him,

and His righteousness to their children’s children—

18to those who keep His covenant

and remember to obey His precepts.

19The LORD has established His throne in heaven,

and His kingdom rules over all.

Be Still, My Soul

Farewell's Shadowlands

Oh, the undeterred momentum of moments no one can faze

It sparkles through our bearing to a world of yesterdays

It vexes rhyme-dazed poets and Duty's proprietors

As it hastens new morning through noon and dusk's gaping doors

Where, in the wake of choices that we make in its brief chase/grace

Remains the part that never stays yet no one can erase...

The above ditty was suddenly inspired from part of a 

conversation with Hubby this morning, who called

in the beginning/middle of the poem below,

begun after starting the fire, morning devotions

between putting supper in the crockpot,

filling empty bird feeders,

answering messages, texts and emails,

and other sundry domestic dues,

 while trying not to panic as

 I gaped at the clock that boldly declared

that the topic I began writing about

(daybreak's hello) in the waking hues of today

has long since ceased to be...

already part of farewell's shadowland!

but, in the afore mentioned conversation 

Hubby asked me if I ever think of everything

I could accomplish if I didn't write.

I guess none of us can see the hidden 'scale' within,

 where we weigh (hopefully) the eternal value of how we fill

fleeting moments!

Oh, how often I am torn between lyrical cadence

and domestic prudence 😔😅

...because what we do is so brief

yet so eternal!

Dawn, like an unplumbed well of ink

Unstoppers gold-gray, blue and pink

The tranquil tides of night soft-wane

Unveiling berths of mirth and pain

Beneath the tolling of a bell

Unfurling shadows of farewell

The halo of hello is brief

Harbinger of pleasure and grief

Like ripples of a pebble tossed

Dawn disappears; its advent lost

In hues and dues that rose then fell

To fuel shadows of farewell

How subtle spills life’s epitaph

A world where echoes weep and laugh

Composed from the momentous surge

Where daybreak and hello soon merge

Like melted mist, intangible

With long, deep shadows of farewell

Present, where past and future meet

Beckons reckonings, bittersweet

How careful-prayerful we should weigh

Think-ink, that fuels do-and-say

Soft spilling from our lips and hands

To dwell in farewell's shadowlands  

© Janet Martin

Ps. 121

I will lift up my eyes to the hills—

From whence comes my help?

2 My help comes from the Lord,

Who made heaven and earth.

3 He will not allow your foot to [a]be moved;

He who keeps you will not slumber.

4 Behold, He who keeps Israel

Shall neither slumber nor sleep.

5 The Lord is your [b]keeper;

The Lord is your shade at your right hand.

6 The sun shall not strike you by day,

Nor the moon by night.

7 The Lord shall [c]preserve you from all evil;

He shall preserve your soul.

8 The Lord shall preserve[d] your going out and your coming in

From this time forth, and even forevermore.

A Beautiful Life-Jim Reeves

In March...

I've been muddling away at this poem, 

originally begun to celebrate the first day of spring,

but life and love made this a slightly 

more drawn out inspiration/celebration

of moody March!

We've had a bit of everything weather can throw our way

on these first few days of spring!

Below, first day of spring

fourth day of spring...

(sorry for the 15-beat lines, a bit more awkward to find

a rhythm while reading it, but sometimes no matter how I try to change it

a poem has a will/spill of its own!)

A medley of photos that helped inspire some of the lines...

In March cocky robins return, dressing lips and souls in smiles

In the sky a yellow lantern mellows weather-beaten isles

In the dell the brook is swirling, overflowing matted bonds

Every south-faced nook uncurling spring’s first frilly, chilly fronds

Hark! within the heart of farmers hymns of hope begin to hail

Ho, the Zephyr is a charmer flirting with quick-tempered gale

While on lawns with burlap patches brittle Leaf turns somersaults

Winter yawns, then sharply catches his breath; snowflakes whirl and waltz

In March, woodlands draw attraction as temperatures start to climb

Sugar shacks bustle with action like a mall at Christmas time

Where visions of maple syrup on pancakes lure young and old

Winter-worn hearts start to cheer up as tongues lap up maple-gold

Laundry-lines, long stiffly laden, lilt with linen acrobats

Afternoon is like a maiden with arms full of purring cats

Outdoor chairs, bereft of power start to beckon books and tea

Where the air is like a bower hosting birdsong symphony

…as a surge of holy hunger for the smell and feel of earth

Makes the gardener feel younger in worlds on the verge of birth

Plots are vicariously planted at the first sun-tickled breeze

Thoughts are eagerly enchanted with flowery fantasies

In March, iron-colored coppice blushes as bud-bands are loosed

The crow raises raucous praises as he coasts from roost to roost

The sky is a blue decanter pouring sunbeams, warm and sweet

Whilst the ire of Old Man Winter rallies troops bound for defeat

In March, delight is smitten, oft, with refurbished fortitude

One day the wind is kitten-soft, the next, a brute, gruff and rude

But, in March joy is undeterred, whatever forecasts may bring

Because in March the calendar carries winter into spring

© Janet Martin

For lo, the winter is past, 

The rain (snow?) is over and gone.

Song of Solomon. 2:11

(maybe not quite over and gone in Ontario, but soon!)

Unparalleled Relinquishment

In the course of my prayer this morning,

 what-ifs suddenly tried to force their way in,

seeking to overthrow trust with doubt, faith with fear!

Lord, you know all!

My parents, my husband and my children are in Thy faithful care!

'what a privilege to carry everything to You in prayer'

What unparalleled relinquishment,

what peace,

 to release to God

 full control!

...and then, this is today's devotion!

Thank-you Lord

Help me Lord, where unknowns tarry, to trust Your unfailing hand

Though your way is oft contrary to the purposes I planned

Help me not to dread tomorrow or to fret its mystery 

Keep me from stooping to borrow sorrows that may never be

In life's course of love and learning, testing courts of heart and soul

Help me to release my yearning to the peace of Your control 

Janet Martin

A morning sky like this makes me think of this hymn...

Still, Still with Thee

Lyrics by Harriet Beecher Stowe

1 Still, still with Thee, when purple morning breaketh,

When the bird waketh, and the shadows flee;

Fairer than morning, lovelier than daylight,

Dawns the sweet consciousness I am with Thee.

2 Alone with Thee amid the mystic shadows,

The solemn hush of nature newly born;

Alone with Thee in breathless adoration,

In the calm dew and freshness of the morn.

3 Still, still with Thee! as to each newborn morning

A fresh and solemn splendor still is given,

So does this blessed consciousness, awaking,

Breathe each day nearness unto Thee and heaven.

4 When sinks the soul, subdued by toil, to slumber,

Its closing eyes look up to Thee in prayer;

Sweet the repose beneath Thy wings o'ershading,

But sweeter still, to wake and find Thee there.

5 So shall it be at last, in that bright morning,

When the soul waketh, and life's shadows flee;

O in that hour, fairer than daylight dawning,

Shall rise the glorious thought, I am with Thee.

Amen.

Beyond Words

Whether our children are babies, adolescent,

teen, or adult a mother's love

is beyond spelling...

fierce and tender,

firm and gentle,

sweet and staunch,

watchful and brave,

forever and ever

I told Victoria that the poem I posted last week isn't really her 'official'

birthday poem, but every time I try to put my love into a poem

I am at a loss for words...

How does one spell the holy, humbling

deeps of love ?!

Dear mothers, you know that 'feeling', right?

As you look at your children, no matter their age

and you are rushed through with a tidal wave of

compassion, concern and thankfulness...

Mother's love is a language

commonly penned with the domestic ink

of cooking and baking,

cleaning and laundry,

and little extra-touches to make home

a gentle, orderly and happy place

that says

'I love you'

Victoria chuckled at the over-tanned smiley faces garnishing

one of our suppers last week...

It transcends tender thought

It defies utterance

It strains but yet has never wrought

Perfected eloquence

It fills a treasure trove

Where ink-penchant runs wild

But cannot tame to words, the love

Mother has for her child

It evades wistful rhymes

Medley of smiles and tears

And prayers to fill ten-thousand times

The cannikin of years

It gapes in grasping sighs

Through hold and letting go

It glints, like hints of paradise

Caught in a flake of snow

To write a mother’s love

Seems to elude Her pen

While evoking cries of 'enough

To try and try again'

To temper onto page

The ocean of the soul

To grant a glimpse of age to age 

Where wordless poems roll

 

© Janet Martin

3 John 1:4

 I have no greater joy than to hear 

that my children are walking in the truth.

Dear Lucy...Perfected At Last

After this poem was written, I realized that it was in a sense a reply to

some of the last words shared by Lucy on Instagram...

Today marks six months since she left this world.

(the photo was taken from her front porch)

Pen cannot fan to flame again,

 the span of spent Septembers

But it can kindle fires from tender tinder of thought

Where sanguine scenes still warm a heart-shaped hearth of glowing embers

And spill into the silence,

 bouquets of forget-me-not

Pen cannot lure to life again 

that which is dead and buried

But it can keep alive a memory that else would fade

I see you waving from your porch; and yet, your voice is carried

Not on Time’s winds of change

 but from a doorway Heaven-stayed

Pen cannot write/right away the wrongs

that love is bound to weather

But, like a splash of sunshine it can pen a hymn of cheer

To bind love’s wounds with syllables that weave a kind of tether

That draws us close together

 until Time’s mists disappear

Pen cannot press away the pangs

that sweeten joy with sorrow

Ten-thousand poems cannot write away the loss of one

You were a poem penned by God not to keep, but to borrow

Perfected at last; not by Time, 

but by faith's triumph won

Love forever,

Janet Martin

Ps.138:8 KJV

The LORD will perfect that which concerns me;

 Your mercy, O LORD, endures forever; 

Do not forsake the works of Your hands.

My heart still aches beyond words 

and our Heavenly Father still comforts with His words.

He is faithful.

Ps. 145:13-14 NIV

The Lord is trustworthy in all he promises
    and faithful in all he does.[c]
 The Lord upholds all who fall
    and lifts up all who are bowed down.

Because The Heart Is Prone To Fear...

The heart is prone to fear

The eye to what it sees

Without God’s Word to commandeer

How gullible are these

The ear is how we hear

With voice we speak and sing

Without God’s Word to enrich cheer

How hollow noises ring

From minds, thought is unfurled

The hand follows, with deed

Without God’s Word, to gain the world

Still cannot sustain need

Bodies are born to die

Dust-to-dust, the Soul’s gown

Without God’s Word, hope is a lie

And knowledge but a clown

The Soul, God-breathed, endures

Beyond mortality

Faith in God and His word secures

Its holy destiny/victory

Headlines spew hateful wrath

And forecasts, dark and grim

God’s Word is a Light to our path

No woe/foe its glow can dim

Better to trust the Lord

In all we do not know

Because the power of His Word

No force can overthrow

The heart is prone to fear

Fear blinds us to the hills

Where God draws flaming chariots near

With peace His Word instills

The heart is quick to yield

To fear and dread and doubt

God's Word is both a sword and shield

None can survive without

© Janet Martin

Eph.6:13-17 BSB

13Therefore take up the full armor of God,

 so that when the day of evil comes, 

you will be able to stand your ground, 

and having done everything, to stand.

  14Stand firm then, 

with the belt of truth buckled around your waist, 

with the breastplate of righteousness arrayed, 

15and with your feet fitted 

with the readiness of the gospel of peace.

  16In addition to all this, 

take up the shield of faith, 

with which you can extinguish all

 the flaming arrows of the evil one. 

17And take the helmet of salvation 

and the sword of the Spirit, 

which is the word of God.

Blessed Assurance

My Anchor Holds

To Think, Dear Day...

Today, the canvas of each and every lifetime!

Matt.6:34

Therefore do not worry about tomorrow, 

for tomorrow will worry about itself. 

Each day has enough trouble of its own.

A stampede of Duty-dues assaulted my waking senses

threatening to thwart awareness to the whisper of mercy-renewed

and thus, reply of gratitude...

Yesterday I was visited by two little girls...

(dolls and outfits including shoes, handmade by local Talent)

oops, I mean four!! 😂

My granddaughter and my sister Lucy's granddaughter...

(where a few times I replied to the bittersweet title of Gram, um, Janet)

They giggled when I told them they made my dream come true...

a little home by the mountains and a lake!

Day...such a little word for all it unfurls

of troubles and triumphs and giggle of girls...

To think, I sometimes suppose you as common at first glance

Where opportunity is new, preceding consequence

Where the dictation of demands can consume praises owed

For it is not by human hands your favour is bestowed

To think I sometimes dare to state your mist as mine, somehow

And I am apt to underrate your mien of Here-and-Now

Where you are always caught between what was and waits to be

A sacred stage set with each scene that begets history

To think, sometimes the part I/eyes see can blind my finite gaze;

On the brink of eternity, the trail you blaze conveys

A fleeting caravan of fellowman from Here to Where

You yield your dust of Season-span to He who put it there

To think sometimes I rise without a rush of gratitude

For what none can surmise because of God’s mercy renewed

Where beauty you unfold is but a little foretaste of

The end of you, when we behold the Mystery of love

To think, I sometimes miss the wonder of your holy ground

Because the thunder of what is unfurls its sight and sound

To think, dear day, sometimes I suppose you as Duty’s toll

Rather than the highway hosting the carriage of the soul

© Janet Martin

a sacred stage set with each scene that begets history...

Roly-polies...leftover pie-pastry tradition! 

And today's devotion!