I am watching Charlie Brown Christmas Show on TV and for the first time this month, I feel the holiday spirit come to me. "Do you know what Christmas is all about?," Charlie asks. He then quotes Luke 2 from the Bible, then picks up his straggly pine and runs off with tree in hand - down a winding path. His pals make fun of his folly, his truth, his child-like trust. He enters his limp tree in a contest. It's pitiful, silly, yet . . when surrounded by the Christmas carols sung by his pals, even the limbs of Charlie Brown's tree lifted high upwards - the bare limbs seemed to magically respond to the praises of the children. The Truth of Christmas came alive in that straggly tree in the midst of their simple adoration.
A few days later I slipped into my favorite pew at church for the Christmas Day Sunday Service. I asked myself, "what do I adore this Christmas?" The previous weeks presented me with multiple life challenges and I was. . . well . . . tired, limp with disappointments, gripping heartaches. I laid my purse and coat next to me (along with my heartaches) and joined the choir in the singing of Joy To The World, the Lord is Come . . . reminding me that just because I felt like Charlie Brown's straggly tree, I must remember that our God is - here, today and always. I knew that Charlie's Brown's attitude and Spirit were the same
Spirit I knew and relied on.
If God can encourage me, like Charlie Brown's puny tree, and inspire me and lift high my sagging spirits like the limp limbs of Charlie's simple Christmas tree, perhaps He can lift anyone's sagging spirits. I stood and gathered my purse and wrap and walked from that moment - a moment of Truth, knowing full well what Christmas is all about: Birth of the New, Death of the Limp.
Oh . . . I dropped off my disappointments and worry-sins at the alter.
Monday, December 5, 2011
Saturday, July 2, 2011
THE WHITE SMOOTH STONE, NO BIGGER THAN A WALNUT
Summer speaks at twilight, just before the pale light slips away into the shades of evening. The searing heat lifts at sundown and I feel free to walk about my yard without the dread of heat stroke. The ground softens as the glaring sun falls westward, just about the time the cicadas crank up their nightly concert and the fireflies display their playful ways for kids five to eighty five. They own the night air until bedtime.
I walk slowly across the lawn, stopping only to slip off my sandals.
The moon beams stay high and away, yet ribbons of Light fall across my garden, waking even the sleepiest petunias. The long, lean shadows of afternoon expire and wait for the dawn where they can spread their wings across the garden wall. The scent of honeysuckle sweetens the night air. Barefoot, I tiptoe across the moon-lit grass and lift my hands up to the Light. The shy red fox, who lives in the ravine nearby, pokes his head out at dusk. Two bunnies pop and jump through the hedges. I wonder where they flop at night.
I cannot touch the ribbons of light, so I touch them with my mind I adore the sight of the glowing sky, just before the sun slips away; often I miss it while I nibble away at the day; but not this eventide. I am mindful of the quiet moments even as they tick away quickly. I want to gather up all the final daylight moments and slip them into my floppy pocket to keep them safe. I need to retrieve them so later I can roll them around in my mind and enjoy them to the fullest. Grandmothers do things like that I've found. Others count time by hours and days, Grandmothers cherish minutes that are rich and alive and delicious.
I walk toward the thin slices of sunlight, dimming on the wide horizon.
I sit down on my garden bench and feel the cool stone through my summer skirt. I lean back on my arms and tilt my face fully toward the night sky, now alive with the first stars of night. The faint glow from sunset fades as the jewels of heaven blanket the cloudless sky. I am alone but not lonely. The High Muse in me evokes rich scenes in my imagination when I am still and relaxed. I am amazed at the profound grace that flows into the serenity at sunset.
I idle near the Narrow Gate of evening because it's open. I run my hands over its beauty yet walk away. Imagination takes over and I return, as I have many times in the past, to a space in time that is my private sanctuary. The Unknowns of Life live there. I turn back to walk to the gate.
"Oh, Narrow Gate, stay open for me, soon you will close over daylight and dark hours will creep into my lone moments.
Through the curved scrolls of iron I glimpse a grand being of Light and a Kind Shadow that seemed to follow Her wherever She walked. Her dress was the colors of sunset, rich golds that bled into deep pinks and lavenders that washed into the colors of the sea. Her gown was fimy and hung loose from her shoulders to the grasses beneath her sandals.
Our eyes met as she looked through the slowly closing Narrow Gate. She reached toward me with her hand and I walked to Her to touch Her gracious hand. 'I am Summer Evening", she spoke tenderly. Her eyes spoke too even when she was quiet. "Welcome, my child,' she spoke tenderly with a bit of urgency in her voice. "I've seen you here many times," She said with reverence. I believe this is the evening you will decide to enter by the Narrow Gate," she spoke as she dropped to her knees to show me the best way to get through the Gate.
"You must enter with only your hopes and dreams, faith and Salvation," she spoke again. "Together we will Trust the Good Father to sort through your belongings and deliver then to you when needed."
Finally, after many years of hesitation to fully commit my life to the Good Father on the other side, I bent low and crawled through the strong Narrow Gate. Fully prostrate, I looked up into the Face of Summer Evening. A soft rain began to shower down upon us. "Those are the joy tears of those who have come before you," she cried. I sat up and placed my head on Summer Evening's shoulder.
"Hold me close, Summer Evening
"Please talk to me about our on-high-God
I walk slowly across the lawn, stopping only to slip off my sandals.
The moon beams stay high and away, yet ribbons of Light fall across my garden, waking even the sleepiest petunias. The long, lean shadows of afternoon expire and wait for the dawn where they can spread their wings across the garden wall. The scent of honeysuckle sweetens the night air. Barefoot, I tiptoe across the moon-lit grass and lift my hands up to the Light. The shy red fox, who lives in the ravine nearby, pokes his head out at dusk. Two bunnies pop and jump through the hedges. I wonder where they flop at night.
I cannot touch the ribbons of light, so I touch them with my mind I adore the sight of the glowing sky, just before the sun slips away; often I miss it while I nibble away at the day; but not this eventide. I am mindful of the quiet moments even as they tick away quickly. I want to gather up all the final daylight moments and slip them into my floppy pocket to keep them safe. I need to retrieve them so later I can roll them around in my mind and enjoy them to the fullest. Grandmothers do things like that I've found. Others count time by hours and days, Grandmothers cherish minutes that are rich and alive and delicious.
I walk toward the thin slices of sunlight, dimming on the wide horizon.
I sit down on my garden bench and feel the cool stone through my summer skirt. I lean back on my arms and tilt my face fully toward the night sky, now alive with the first stars of night. The faint glow from sunset fades as the jewels of heaven blanket the cloudless sky. I am alone but not lonely. The High Muse in me evokes rich scenes in my imagination when I am still and relaxed. I am amazed at the profound grace that flows into the serenity at sunset.
I idle near the Narrow Gate of evening because it's open. I run my hands over its beauty yet walk away. Imagination takes over and I return, as I have many times in the past, to a space in time that is my private sanctuary. The Unknowns of Life live there. I turn back to walk to the gate.
"Oh, Narrow Gate, stay open for me, soon you will close over daylight and dark hours will creep into my lone moments.
Don't close." Time and again, I felt the pull to enter the Narrow Gate, but feared the unknowns there - on the other side. Please wait for me.
Through the curved scrolls of iron I glimpse a grand being of Light and a Kind Shadow that seemed to follow Her wherever She walked. Her dress was the colors of sunset, rich golds that bled into deep pinks and lavenders that washed into the colors of the sea. Her gown was fimy and hung loose from her shoulders to the grasses beneath her sandals.
Our eyes met as she looked through the slowly closing Narrow Gate. She reached toward me with her hand and I walked to Her to touch Her gracious hand. 'I am Summer Evening", she spoke tenderly. Her eyes spoke too even when she was quiet. "Welcome, my child,' she spoke tenderly with a bit of urgency in her voice. "I've seen you here many times," She said with reverence. I believe this is the evening you will decide to enter by the Narrow Gate," she spoke as she dropped to her knees to show me the best way to get through the Gate.
"You must enter with only your hopes and dreams, faith and Salvation," she spoke again. "Together we will Trust the Good Father to sort through your belongings and deliver then to you when needed."
Finally, after many years of hesitation to fully commit my life to the Good Father on the other side, I bent low and crawled through the strong Narrow Gate. Fully prostrate, I looked up into the Face of Summer Evening. A soft rain began to shower down upon us. "Those are the joy tears of those who have come before you," she cried. I sat up and placed my head on Summer Evening's shoulder.
"Hold me close, Summer Evening
Tell me of your
Season's Source, whisper
secrets of the Wisdom Walk I've heard about for many years. Help me understand the Psalms and and tales of Truth Unbending," I must know, my heart aches for faith unfailing.
secrets of the Wisdom Walk I've heard about for many years. Help me understand the Psalms and and tales of Truth Unbending," I must know, my heart aches for faith unfailing.
"Please talk to me about our on-high-God
Because I need to Know . . .
I need to know why I lingered so long
by the Narrow gate
without entering.
by the Narrow gate
without entering.
"In time, you will learn all things, good and purposeful. You see, Summer Evening whispered. "I just entered by the Narrow Gate last summer, myself," she said while handing me a new copy of the Good Book and something wrapped in coloring tissue. "What's this Summer Evening," I asked.
"Everyone who enters by the Narrow Gate is given a new name so you will know when the High Father is speaking to you. It also tells you when you will minister Love in your Gate Keeping hours of duty. Flushed and weakened by such glorious news, I sat down next to Summer Evening on the Bench of Forgiveness.
My hands trembled as I carefully unwrapped the tiny gift. In my palm lay a white stone no bigger than a walnut. "It is a natural stone found deep in the sea of life," Summer Evening explained. It was gleaming white, lovely to the touch, like satin. I rolled it through my fingers and there etched in gold was my new name - Watered Garden.
"Oh, Summer Evening, that is from my favorite verse in all of scripture. I learned it long ago when I first walked with the High Father. I knew little about the spiritual life then but now I see that I have been lovingly tested for such a time as this."
"I understand, Watered Garden, for I, too, remained in the valley of instruction for many years before I was called to my assignment here at the Gate of Surrender. This Gate is my second post as I first interned at the Gate of Denial where others, fearfully and wonderfully made, resist their inheritance from God because of deep life wounds. There, I learned from the Sisters Mercy all about loving the unlovable, caring for the broken hearted, listening to the hearts of those who need forgiveness.
"All along we taught others about the sacrifice of God's Son and Redemption, the trust/power that would come to them through the unseen Spirit and the Ways of Wisdom that come only through reading and knowing Holy Script. Each is given a copy of the High Message and they live within its pages until they desire the ultimate blessing - to live on the other side of the Narrow Gate."
I held the white stone in my hand so tightly, it made a dent into my palm. I stood and smoothed my skirt, running my hand through my tangled hair. "I must look a mess," I said smiling at my new lovely friend. "Yes you do," Summer Eve said that made both of us laugh. "This is one celebration where you don't have to dress up to be accepted." She then, said through her wide smile, "I suppose you could call it a "come as you are" party."
Summer Evening then took my hand and led me down the path to the warm showers and grooming room. Large white towels and slippers, scented oils and talcum powders, were placed near my shower room. "Enjoy, Watered Garden, stay as long as you want, the waters are from a spring nearby and they never run dry."
I dropped my tattered dress and undergarments to the floor and slipped into the warm shower. I took the oil of gladness and poured it down my back and chest, finally poured it on my head and felt it flow gently down my being. I shampooed my hair with it as well, rinsing with the coconut milk nearby. For nearly an hour I let the waters wash over my body, my soul, all the while singing the songs of joy I had made up years ago.
In my Father's Will I roam
the valleys wide, the quest unknown
I the steep and rugged mountain side
Goodness, Mercy there abide
My Father, God, my Unseen Guide My Father, God, my Unseen Guide
I wrap the fluffy towel around me, slip into the white terry sandals and wrap a smaller towel around my clean damp hair. I walk into the sunlight that seems to come from no where but the moment. I am mindful I am standing in the holy light where there are no shifting shadows, no darkened corners. I see Summer Evening sitting nearby with others, all equally beautiful and graceful as she. I walk toward them and each stands to lovingly greet me. I look at Summer's face and smile, as if to say, "where are my clothes?"
She takes my hand and we walk back to the grooming room for a treat unimaginable. She opens wide the doors of a large closet filled with clothing all the colors of the rainbow, all sizes and shapes of clothing, all lovely, a feast for the eyes. "The good Father believes we must look as beautiful as our Spirits are," she said confidently. "So, now you may choose whatever you wish as your dress of holiness," she said.
I am drawn to a feminine dress that represents all the colors of a garden in Springtime. It's soft and radiant and just right for my brown hair and complexion. I pull it over my head and it falls from my shoulders much like Summer Evening's. I let my hair dry in the clear air and walk barefoot to the garden's edge where Summer Evening is now talking with others. "Are there sandals in my size?" I asked. She and the others smile. "Oh yes," she quips, "and this is a very important decision for you to make for the shoes you choose will be the shoes you will wear the rest of your life.
At that moment, I awoke, startled. "Shoes that will last forever," I whispered in the early morning light. "What am I dreaming?" I remembered the scenes of the night's dream like a movie screen had fallen before me. There was the gate, Summer Evening's voice, her dress, her counsel. And the white towels, the oil of gladness, the song I sang in the warm shower, the dress made to look like a Springtime garden. And most important, my new name, Watered Garden. I flushed at the thought of such lovely thoughts and scenes that played out like a screen play. I turned my head toward the nightstand to see the clock. I reached for my glasses and when I opened to pick up my glasses I felt something fall to my pillow.
The sun now slid across my comforter and there in the crease of the covers was small white smooth stone, no bigger than a walnut.
"Everyone who enters by the Narrow Gate is given a new name so you will know when the High Father is speaking to you. It also tells you when you will minister Love in your Gate Keeping hours of duty. Flushed and weakened by such glorious news, I sat down next to Summer Evening on the Bench of Forgiveness.
My hands trembled as I carefully unwrapped the tiny gift. In my palm lay a white stone no bigger than a walnut. "It is a natural stone found deep in the sea of life," Summer Evening explained. It was gleaming white, lovely to the touch, like satin. I rolled it through my fingers and there etched in gold was my new name - Watered Garden.
"Oh, Summer Evening, that is from my favorite verse in all of scripture. I learned it long ago when I first walked with the High Father. I knew little about the spiritual life then but now I see that I have been lovingly tested for such a time as this."
"I understand, Watered Garden, for I, too, remained in the valley of instruction for many years before I was called to my assignment here at the Gate of Surrender. This Gate is my second post as I first interned at the Gate of Denial where others, fearfully and wonderfully made, resist their inheritance from God because of deep life wounds. There, I learned from the Sisters Mercy all about loving the unlovable, caring for the broken hearted, listening to the hearts of those who need forgiveness.
"All along we taught others about the sacrifice of God's Son and Redemption, the trust/power that would come to them through the unseen Spirit and the Ways of Wisdom that come only through reading and knowing Holy Script. Each is given a copy of the High Message and they live within its pages until they desire the ultimate blessing - to live on the other side of the Narrow Gate."
I held the white stone in my hand so tightly, it made a dent into my palm. I stood and smoothed my skirt, running my hand through my tangled hair. "I must look a mess," I said smiling at my new lovely friend. "Yes you do," Summer Eve said that made both of us laugh. "This is one celebration where you don't have to dress up to be accepted." She then, said through her wide smile, "I suppose you could call it a "come as you are" party."
Summer Evening then took my hand and led me down the path to the warm showers and grooming room. Large white towels and slippers, scented oils and talcum powders, were placed near my shower room. "Enjoy, Watered Garden, stay as long as you want, the waters are from a spring nearby and they never run dry."
I dropped my tattered dress and undergarments to the floor and slipped into the warm shower. I took the oil of gladness and poured it down my back and chest, finally poured it on my head and felt it flow gently down my being. I shampooed my hair with it as well, rinsing with the coconut milk nearby. For nearly an hour I let the waters wash over my body, my soul, all the while singing the songs of joy I had made up years ago.
In my Father's Will I roam
the valleys wide, the quest unknown
I the steep and rugged mountain side
Goodness, Mercy there abide
My Father, God, my Unseen Guide My Father, God, my Unseen Guide
I wrap the fluffy towel around me, slip into the white terry sandals and wrap a smaller towel around my clean damp hair. I walk into the sunlight that seems to come from no where but the moment. I am mindful I am standing in the holy light where there are no shifting shadows, no darkened corners. I see Summer Evening sitting nearby with others, all equally beautiful and graceful as she. I walk toward them and each stands to lovingly greet me. I look at Summer's face and smile, as if to say, "where are my clothes?"
She takes my hand and we walk back to the grooming room for a treat unimaginable. She opens wide the doors of a large closet filled with clothing all the colors of the rainbow, all sizes and shapes of clothing, all lovely, a feast for the eyes. "The good Father believes we must look as beautiful as our Spirits are," she said confidently. "So, now you may choose whatever you wish as your dress of holiness," she said.
I am drawn to a feminine dress that represents all the colors of a garden in Springtime. It's soft and radiant and just right for my brown hair and complexion. I pull it over my head and it falls from my shoulders much like Summer Evening's. I let my hair dry in the clear air and walk barefoot to the garden's edge where Summer Evening is now talking with others. "Are there sandals in my size?" I asked. She and the others smile. "Oh yes," she quips, "and this is a very important decision for you to make for the shoes you choose will be the shoes you will wear the rest of your life.
At that moment, I awoke, startled. "Shoes that will last forever," I whispered in the early morning light. "What am I dreaming?" I remembered the scenes of the night's dream like a movie screen had fallen before me. There was the gate, Summer Evening's voice, her dress, her counsel. And the white towels, the oil of gladness, the song I sang in the warm shower, the dress made to look like a Springtime garden. And most important, my new name, Watered Garden. I flushed at the thought of such lovely thoughts and scenes that played out like a screen play. I turned my head toward the nightstand to see the clock. I reached for my glasses and when I opened to pick up my glasses I felt something fall to my pillow.
The sun now slid across my comforter and there in the crease of the covers was small white smooth stone, no bigger than a walnut.
Let Freedom Ring and ring and ring . . .
Who are the Free and the Brave?
As I freely write, I am freely safe in my home studio, cool and calm. I give no thought to hand grenades or misstepping on hidden land mines. There are no blood-crusted sleeves on my linen white shirt. My jacket is not putrid because of the sweat and grime of my unwashed under arms. My sappy habit of grumbling about the grinding heat will not be tolerated by me, now, never. Slap! Slap!
Free, I am, only because of the Brave. Who are the Brave who gift me with their sacrificial service to our America. I ask myself, would I be brave enough to push through enemy troops, ambush evil, leap onto grenades to save friends, countrymen . . . and women?
When it comes to protecting our nation and sacrificing all for America's people, the Brave in the dark trenches, on the war front must be celebrated at all costs. Nothing compares to the Brave to make us free , except for God who holds the Brave in His Loving Hands. Why, dear God, must so many return homeland robed with the flag of Dedication, Mercy and American Purpose? Today, I wrap my prayers around the sloping shoulders of parents and wives and husbands and children, all who mourn their Brave Ones.
Oh yes I am Free, only because of those who are Brave.
With High Regard and All Heavenly Protection to our Soldiers, the Brave, the Holy Ones of God. Because of the Brave, I am free, indeed. Linda Wilson, 7/2/11
As I freely write, I am freely safe in my home studio, cool and calm. I give no thought to hand grenades or misstepping on hidden land mines. There are no blood-crusted sleeves on my linen white shirt. My jacket is not putrid because of the sweat and grime of my unwashed under arms. My sappy habit of grumbling about the grinding heat will not be tolerated by me, now, never. Slap! Slap!
Free, I am, only because of the Brave. Who are the Brave who gift me with their sacrificial service to our America. I ask myself, would I be brave enough to push through enemy troops, ambush evil, leap onto grenades to save friends, countrymen . . . and women?
When it comes to protecting our nation and sacrificing all for America's people, the Brave in the dark trenches, on the war front must be celebrated at all costs. Nothing compares to the Brave to make us free , except for God who holds the Brave in His Loving Hands. Why, dear God, must so many return homeland robed with the flag of Dedication, Mercy and American Purpose? Today, I wrap my prayers around the sloping shoulders of parents and wives and husbands and children, all who mourn their Brave Ones.
Oh yes I am Free, only because of those who are Brave.
With High Regard and All Heavenly Protection to our Soldiers, the Brave, the Holy Ones of God. Because of the Brave, I am free, indeed. Linda Wilson, 7/2/11
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