Saturday, December 31, 2011

Turn Your EYES upon JESUS

What shall I post to send the old year out and bring the new year in?

One of my quirky, little habits is to type songs out as I go through difficult times; it helps me to meditate on the truths of God and although I know this hymn is not particularly theology rich, I found myself singing it over and over again as life's challenge's barraged our home this year.  It seemed to fit perfectly with the scripture I kept coming back to... "Be still, and know that I am God." 

At the center of all things is relationship.  First, and foremost, our relationship to God.  So elementary, yet so easily forsaken during trials if emotional nonsense is allowed a footing.  I had for so many years felt emotionally unconstrained and dishoveled in the mire of life.  I find it is at that place that Satan tempts me, at the end of each trial it always comes down to this question, "Do I trust you, are you who you say you are? Can I rest in a future unknown in the arms of a God all-powerful?  What be my choice? Obedience or disobedience? Do I stand in Truth or retreat with Error filled?"

Oh soul are you weary and troubled no light in the darkness you see? There is light for a look at the Savior And life more abundant and free

Turn your eyes upon Jesus
Look full in His wonderful face
and the things of this world will grow strangely dim in the light of His glory and grace.

Through death into life everlasting He passed and we follow Him, there
Over us sin no more hath dominion, for more than conquers we are.

Turn your eyes on Jesus, and Look full in his wonderful face,
and the things of earth will grow strangely dim in the light of his glory and grace

His Word shall not fail you he promised believe him and all will be well; then go to a world that is dying His perfect salvation to tell

Turn your eyes upon Jesus
Look full in His wonderful face
And the things of earth will grow strangely dim in the light of His glory and grace
And the things of earth will grow strangely dim in the light of His glory and grace

 For because [Jesus] has suffered when tempted, he is able to help those who are being tempted.  Therefore, holy brothers, you who share in a heavenly calling, consider Jesus... And we are his house if indeed we hold fast our confidnece and our boasting in our hope.
-Hebrews 2,3

Tuesday, December 27, 2011

Book Favorites of 2011

A couple of weeks ago I started a post, it won't be published, it was lists of 2011- what I'd read was one of those lists- I compiled it before I checked my shelves and notes.  This list is almost identical to that brain storm.  My thought, if it stuck in my brain, I must have liked it a lot.  I was reading, "Wordsmithy", my Christmas gift from E., and Pastor Wilson had a line in there that went something like - go for tonnage, something will stick.  That made me laugh- my tonnage is down from last year, I've been a bit busy, but is considerable more than my first set of mothering years, so at least I am headed in the right direction.
  1. Joseph and Judah - Dr. Warren Gage is E.'s teacher at Knox - he excavates truth in a mind twisting manner. This was a class text for E. last year, and he chose it as one of our personal studies, we are doing a study at church on it this January; it was also the Bible lesson for Summer Camp.  This book humbled me and really made me hungry to know how God and His grace and love is hidden in the stories of His Word.  I grew up in the church, I though I'd heard all the ways to look at the story of Joseph- No  I had not, not even close. 
  2. He is there, and He is not Silent - Francis Schaeffer is a wonderful writer and has a life that backs up Christian community like few others.  I read several books from both Francis and Edith Schaeffer this year, this is my favorite - practically every page has something underlined and some pages are almost entirely underlined. 
  3. Loving the Little Years - Lizzie Jankovic rivals and might have usurped Paul Tripp's Shepherding a Child's Heart which has been my go to book for years on loving little one's well.  I have a post of my favorite quotes on Loving the Little Years.  This book is amazing, Lizzie Janovic's writing style is enchanting - three things I hope will never dislodge from my brain- "Fat souls are more important than clean floors", "This is the new normal",  and "Obedience brings freedom and joy" which I have added to my obedience explanation for little ones - a talk I have quite often.
  4. Through New Eyes - James Jordan's solidified and explained thoughts that I had never been able to my finger on but knew I believed.  I really enjoy his discussion on chiaisms in a few sections.  This  book is in the neighborhood of GKC's Orthodoxy. a great read- Definitely on my "Read-it again and again" list.
  5. The Baptized Body - Dr. Peter Leithart discussion of children and their part in the body of Christ transformed my thinking, it deepened my resolve and humbles me as a discipler of the young ones in Him, I read this as we were preparing to baptise our grand-one, C., I am convinced that God works in little ones in a mystical, yet, concrete way that is soul changing and life bearing, a thought that I had, unfortunately, not dwelt on nearly enough.  Love this book, we read it, then I listened to it and re-read it while I listened.  This is a must read!
  6. Collected Poems- Richard Wilbur/Beyond Stateliest Marble, the Passionate Femininity of Anne Bradstreet- Doug Wilson/The Tenth Muse - Anne Bradstreet - O.K. - surprise -I love poetry and can't decide my favs -book  # 10 is a practicum book on poetry.  But these books were so enjoyable - probably because I naturally connect them to family.  My K. was awarded the Anne Bradstreet character award at her school, I loved Anne Bradstreet before that, she was an amazing writer, and yet, so centered in truth, she counted her role as wife and mother, as who she was; LOVE THAT!  The Tenth Muse - was therefore a gift for K. for her B-day - our copy is a recopy of the original,  it has Anne's handwritten poetry and letters to her kiddos, how cool is that? Beyond Stateliest.. is a wonderful biography of Bradstreet... Collected Poems of Wilbur - It's always on the nightstand bookshelf and I just love his poetry - one of my favorite poems, is of course,  "The Writer".
  7. The Art of Divine Contentment - Thomas Watson.  Mark Twain says a classic is something everyone wants to have read, but not to read.  This classic compels to be read.  Every time I began to read it, I felt that tingle, at the end of my nose, that reminded me tears were forth coming- and my heart was weighted with the fact that He is indeed the center of all things.
  8. Bless This Food - Julia Pitkins, Karen and George Grant.  The Grants have a whole series of these life books, this one is wonderful, love the encouragements, prayers and poems. My favorite recipes are the sweet potato casserole, angel biscuits and Beef shirtsleeves (I tweaked it a little to add E.'s favs - it was a Father's day dish). It is a great little cookbook for celebrating special days throughout the year- the normal ones, and B-days and holidays that I had never thought of celebrating.  I must admit when I first got it, after reading through it, I lamented to E. that there were so many great ideas I had missed out in preparing during K's little years - so disappointing. This book started me thinking about creating, its a great template... and now has my additions all in the margins - it spurred growth in our family traditions and I'm determined that our grands - will enjoy my better late than never learning curve.
  9. Tremendous Trifles - G.K. Chesterton is witty, funny, and the fact that the items he writes about are nonsense is charming. This book's chuckle factor is delightful.   
  10. The Roar on the Other Side- Suzanne Rhodes is an amazing poetry teacher, this book has wonderful exercises, poetry and most of all a great hook - you will love the first line.
 I have several more books - I'd love to put in this list, but then it wouldn't be a top ten. (If you're counting this is actually a top 12 - but then again - whose counting)

Thursday, December 22, 2011

Giving thanks

My mom went in for heart surgery on Tuesday, they were going to put shunts in and clean out the blockage, which was everywhere, it was dangerous.  Funny thing happened on the table though, when the Doc got in there all the block places were no where to be found. God had answered prayers and healed my mom's heart.

It amazes me, how very personal, our God is, He guides us to the place to hold things loosely and then so often, gives them back, in that process we see the gifts of life through new eyes.

I am quite sure, that I will never understand the greatness and utter goodness of God until I see Him face to face.  When I think of how He works in each of our lives, my kiddo's life, my family's life, other brothers and sisters, and what of the christian that are in Iraq, Iran or Afghanistan right now?  How is it that He is the closest person to each of us and holds the world together at the same time?

Cowper's words come back to me from the Hymn God Moves is a Mysterious Way

Judge not the Lord by feeble sense
But trust Him for His grace...

God is His own interpreter
And He will make it plain.

Friday, December 16, 2011


Evening, December 15

“And lay thy foundations with sapphires.”

— Isaiah 54:11

Not only that which is seen of the church of God, but that which is unseen, is fair and precious. Foundations are out of sight, and so long as they are firm it is not expected that they should be valuable; but in Jehovah’s work everything is of a piece, nothing slurred, nothing mean. The deep foundations of the work of grace are as sapphires for preciousness, no human mind is able to measure their glory. We build upon the covenant of grace, which is firmer than adamant, and as enduring as jewels upon which age spends itself in vain. Sapphire foundations are eternal, and the covenant abides throughout the lifetime of the Almighty. Another foundation is the person of the Lord Jesus, which is clear and spotless, everlasting and beautiful as the sapphire; blending in one the deep blue of earth’s ever rolling ocean and the azure of its all embracing sky. Once might our Lord have been likened to the ruby as he stood covered with his own blood, but now we see him radiant with the soft blue of love, love abounding, deep, eternal. Our eternal hopes are built upon the justice and the faithfulness of God, which are clear and cloudless as the sapphire. We are not saved by a compromise, by mercy defeating justice, or law suspending its operations; no, we defy the eagle’s eye to detect a flaw in the groundwork of our confidence—our foundation is of sapphire, and will endure the fire.

The Lord himself has laid the foundation of his people’s hopes. It is matter for grave enquiry whether our hopes are built upon such a basis. Good works and ceremonies are not a foundation of sapphires, but of wood, hay, and stubble; neither are they laid by God, but by our own conceit. Foundations will all be tried ere long: woe unto him whose lofty tower shall come down with a crash, because based on a quicksand. He who is built on sapphires may await storm or fire with equanimity, for he shall abide the test.

Spurgeon, C. H. (2006). Morning and evening : Daily readings (Complete and unabridged; New modern edition.). Peabody, MA: Hendrickson Publishers.

Our eternal hopes are built upon the justice and the faithfulness of God, which are clear and cloudless as the sapphire. ... for he shall abide the test.

A sure foundation, our only hope, came as a babe to save His people from their sins.  How beautiful.

Thursday, December 15, 2011

The Hymn by John Milton

It was the winter wild,
While the heaven-born Child
All meanly wrapt in the rude manger lies;
Nature in awe to Him
Had doffed her gaudy trim,
With her great Master so to sympathize:
It was no season then for her
To wanton with the sun, her lusty paramour.

Only with speeches fair
She woos the gentle air
To hide her guilty front with innocent snow,
And on her naked shame,
Pollute with sinful blame,
The saintly veil of maiden white to throw,
Confounded that her Maker's eyes
Should look so near upon her foul deformities.

But He, her fears to cease,
Sent down the meek-eyed Peace;
She, crowned with olive green, came softly sliding
Down through the turning sphere,
His ready harbinger,
With turtle wing the amorous clouds dividing;
And waving wide her myrtle wand,
She strikes a universal peace through sea and land.

Nor war, or battle's sound
Was heard the world around:
The idle spear and shield were high uphung,
The hooked chariot stood
Unstained with hostile blood,
The trumpet spake not to the armed throng;
And kings sat still with awful eye,
As if they surely knew their sov'reign Lord was by.

But peaceful was the night,
Wherein the Prince of Light
His reign of peace upon the earth began:
The winds with wonder whist
Smoothly the waters kist,
Whisp'ring new joys to the mild ocean,
Who now hath quite forgot to rave,
While birds of calm sit brooding on the charmed wave.

The stars with deep amaze
Stand fixed in steadfast gaze,
Bending one way their precious influence,
And will not take their flight,
For all the morning light,
Or Lucifer that often warned them thence;
But in their glimmering orbs did glow,
Until their Lord Himself bespake, and bid them go.

And though the shady gloom
Had given day her room,
The sun himself withheld his wonted speed,
And hid his head for shame,
As his inferior flame
The new-enlightened world no more should need;
He saw a greater sun appear
Than his bright throne, or burning axletree could bear.

The shepherds on the lawn,
Or ere the point of dawn,
Sat simply chatting in a rustic row;
Full little thought they then
That the mighty Pan
Was kindly come to live with them below;
Perhaps their loves, or else their sheep,
Was all that did their silly thoughts so busy keep.

When such music sweet
Their hearts and ears did greet,
As never was by mortal finger strook,
Divinely-warbled voice
Answering the stringed noise,
As all their souls in blissful rapture took:
The air such pleasure loth to lose,
With thousand echoes still prolongs each heavenly close.

Nature that heard such sound,
Beneath the hollow round
Of Cynthia's seat, the airy region thrilling,
Now was almost won
To think her part was done,
And that her reign had here its last fulfilling;
She knew such harmony alone
Could hold all heav'n and earth in happier union.

At last surrounds their sight
A globe of circular light,
That with long beams the shamefaced night arrayed;
The helmed Cherubim,
And sworded Seraphim,
Are seen in glittering ranks with wings displayed,
Harping in loud and solemn quire,
With unexpressive notes to Heaven's new-born Heir.

Such music (as 'tis said)
Before was never made,
But when of old the sons of morning sung,
While the Creator great
His constellations set,
And the well-balanced world on hinges hung,
And cast the dark foundations deep,
And bid the welt'ring waves their oozy channel keep.

Ring out, ye crystal spheres,
Once bless our human ears,
If ye have power to touch our senses so;
And let your silver chime
Move in melodious time,
And let the base of heav'n's deep organ blow;
And with your ninefold harmony
Make up full consort to th' angelic symphony.

For if such holy song
Enwrap our fancy long,
Time will run back, and fetch the age of gold,
And speckled Vanity
Will sicken soon and die,
And leprous Sin will melt from earthly mould;
And Hell itself will pass away,
And leave her dolorous mansions to the peering day.

Yea Truth and Justice then
Will down return to men,
Orbed in a rainbow; and, like glories wearing,
Mercy will sit between,
Throned in celestial sheen,
With radiant feet the tissued clouds down steering;
And Heav'n, as at some festival,
Will open wide the gates of her high palace hall.

But wisest Fate says No,
This must not yet be so,
The Babe yet lies in smiling infancy
That on the bitter cross
Must redeem our loss;
So both Himself and us to glorify;
Yet first, to those ychained in sleep
The wakeful trump of doom must thunder through the deep;

With such a horrid clang
As on mount Sinai rang,
While the red fire and smouldering clouds outbrake:
The aged Earth aghast,
With terror of that blast,
Shall from the surface to the centre shake;
When at the world's last session,
The dreadful Judge in middle air shall spread His throne.

And then at last our bliss
Full and perfect is,
But now begins; for from this happy day
The old Dragon under ground,
In straiter limits bound,
Not half so far casts his usurped sway;
And wroth to see his kingdom fail,
Swinges the scaly horror of his folded tail.

The oracles are dumb,
No voice or hideous hum
Runs through the arched roof in words deceiving.
Apollo from his shrine
Can no more divine,
With hollow shriek the steep of Delphos leaving.
No nightly trance or breathed spell
Inspires the pale-eyed priest from the prophetic cell.

The lonely mountains o'er,
And the resounding shore,
A voice of weeping heard and loud lament;
From haunted spring, and dale
Edged with popular pale,
The parting genius is with sighing sent;
With flow'r-inwoven tresses torn
The Nymphs in twilight shade of tangled thickets mourn.

In consecrated earth,
And on the holy hearth,
The Lars and Lemures moan with midnight plaint;
In urns and altars round,
A drear and dying sound
Affrights the Flamens at their service quaint;
And the chill marble seems to sweat,
While each peculiar Pow'r forgoes his wonted seat.

Peor and Baalim
Forsake their temples dim,
With that twice-battered God of Palestine;
And mooned Ashtaroth,
Heav'n's queen and mother both,
Now sits not girt with tapers' holy shine;
The Lybic Hammon shrinks his horn,
In vain the Tyrian maids their wounded Thammuz mourn.

And sullen Moloch fled,
Hath left in shadows dread
His burning idol all of blackest hue;
In vain with cymbals' ring
They call the grisly king,
In dismal dance about the furnace blue;
The brutish gods of Nile as fast,
Isis and Orus, and the dog Anubis haste.

Nor is Osiris seen
In Memphian grove or green,
Trampling the unshowered grass with lowings loud:
Nor can he be at rest
Within his sacred chest,
Nought but profoundest hell can be his shroud;
In vain with timbrelled anthems dark
The sable stoled sorcerers bear his worshipped ark.

He feels from Juda's land
The dreaded Infant's hand,
The rays of Bethlehem blind his dusky eyn;
Nor all the gods beside
Longer dare abide,
Nor Typhon huge ending in snaky twine:
Our Babe, to show his Godhead true,
Can in His swaddling bands control the damned crew.

So when the sun in bed,
Curtained with cloudy red,
Pillows his chin upon an orient wave,
The flocking shadows pale
Troop to th' infernal jail,
Each fettered ghost slips to his several grave;
And the yellow-skirted Fayes
Fly after the night-steeds, leaving their moon-loved maze.

But see, the Virgin blest
Hath laid her Babe to rest,
Time is our tedious song should here have ending:
Heav'n's youngest-teemed star

Hath fixed her polished car,
Her sleeping Lord with handmaid lamp attending;
And all about the courtly stable
Bright-harnessed Angels sit in order serviceable.

But wisest Fate says No,
This must not yet be so,
The Babe yet lies in smiling infancy
That on the bitter cross
Must redeem our loss;
So both Himself and us to glorify;

And then at last our bliss
Full and perfect is,

This is remininscent of Cowper's lines-

Behind a frowning providence
He hids a smiling face...

Blind unbelief is sure to err,
And scan His work in can;
God is His own Interpreter,
And He will make it plain.

Isn't it amazing that a young girl trusted God when it looked as if her world would fall apart.  Heriosm is found in the most unlikely of places.  And of course, the Hero of all heros lie in her arms.

Saturday, December 10, 2011

Signage around the house...

I am buried in laundry right now, I've gotten so busy making sure everything was done so we could enjoy the Advent season, laundry kind of slipped away from me.  I walked by a little sign I picked up a couple weeks ago and had to chuckle.
I like cheesy little signs and post 'em round the house, well mostly in the kitchen and laundry room, but I have a couple other places, too.  Here are my two favs-

Laundry - Ironing out Life's Wrinkles One Shirt at a Time.

In Our House
We do Second Chances
We Say Prayers
We Do Loud Really Well
We Give Hugs
We Do Love
We Are Family
But my very, very favorite:

Just Another Day in Paradise 

Tuesday, December 6, 2011


What virtue, or what mental grace
But men unqualified and base
Will boast it their possession?
Profusion apes the noble part
Of liberality of heart,
And dullness of discretion.

If every polish'd gem we find,
Illuminating heart or mind,
Provoke to imitation;
No wonder friendship does the same,
That jewel of the purest flame,
Or rather constellation.

No knave but boldly will pretend
The requisites that form a friend,
A real and a sound one;
Nor any fool, he would deceive,
But prove as ready to believe,
And dream that he had found one.

Candid, and generous, and just,
Boys care but little whom they trust,
An error soon corrected?
For who but learns in riper years
That man, when smoothest he appears,
Is most to be suspected?

But here again a danger lies,
Lest, having misapplied our eyes,
And taken trash for treasure,
We should unwarily conclude
Friendship a false ideal good,
A mere Utopian pleasure.

An acquisition rather rare
Is yet no subject of despair;
Nor is it wise complaining,
If, either on forbidden ground,
Or where it was not to be found,
We sought without attaining.

No friendship will abide the test,
That stands on sordid interest,
Or mean self-love erected;
Nor such as may awhile subsist
Between the sot and sensualist,
For vicious ends connected.

Who seek a friend should come dispos'd
To exhibit, in full bloom disclos'd,
The graces and the beauties
That form the character he seeks,
For 'tis a union that bespeaks
Reciprocated duties.

Mutual attention is implied,
And equal truth on either side,
And constantly supported;
'Tis senseless arrogance to accuse
Another of sinister views,
Our own as much distorted.

But will sincerity suffice?
It is indeed above all price,
And must be made the basis;
But every virtue of the soul
Must constitute the charming whole,
All shining in their places.

A fretful temper will divide
The closest knot that may be tied,
By ceaseless sharp corrosion;
A temper passionate and fierce
May suddenly your joys disperse
At one immense explosion.

In vain the talkative unite
In hopes of permanent delight?
The secret just committed,
Forgetting its important weight,
They drop through mere desire to prate,
And by themselves outwitted.

How bright soe'er the prospect seems,
All thoughts of friendship are but dreams,
If envy chance to creep in;
An envious man, if you succeed,
May prove a dangerous foe indeed,
But not a friend worth keeping.

As envy pines at good possess'd,
So jealously looks forth distress'd
On good that seems approaching;
And, if success his steps attend,
Discerns a rival in a friend,
And hates him for encroaching.

Hence authors of illustrious name,
Unless belied by common fame,
Are sadly prone to quarrel,
To deem the wit a friend displays
A tax upon their own just praise,
And pluck each other's laurel.

A man renown'd for repartee
Will seldom scruple to make free
With friendship's finest feeling,
Will thrust a dagger at your breast,
And say he wounded you in jest,
By way of balm for healing.

Whoever keeps an open ear
For tattlers will be sure to hear
The trumpet of contention;
Aspersion is the babbler's trade,
To listen is to lend him aid,
And rush into dissension.

A friendship that in frequent fits
Of controversial rage emits
The sparks of disputation,
Like hand-in-hand insurance-plates,
Most unavoidably creates
The thought of conflagration.

Some fickle creatures boast a soul
True as a needle to the pole,
Their humour yet so various
They manifest their whole life through
The needle's deviations too,
Their love is so precarious.

The great and small but rarely meet
On terms of amity complete;
Plebeians must surrender,
And yield so much to noble folk,
It is combining fire with smoke,
Obscurity with splendour.

Some are so placid and serene
(As Irish bogs are always green),
They sleep secure from waking;
And are indeed a bog, that bears
Your unparticipated cares
Unmoved and without quaking.

Courtier and patriot cannot mix
Their heterogeneous politics
Without an effervescence,
Like that of salts with lemon juice,
Which does not yet like that produce
A friendly coalescence.

Religion should extinguish strife,
And make a calm of human life;
But friends that chance to differ
On points which God has left at large,
How freely will they meet and charge!
No combatants are stiffer.

To prove at last my main intent
Needs no expense of argument,
No cutting and contriving
Seeking a real friend, we seem
To adopt the chemist's golden dream,
With still less hope of thriving.

Sometimes the fault is all our own,
Some blemish in due time made known
By trespass or omission;
Sometimes occasion brings to light
Our friend's defect, long hid from sight,
And even from suspicion.

Then judge yourself, and prove your man
As circumspectly as you can,
And, having made election,
Beware no negligence of yours,
Such as a friend but ill endures,
Enfeeble his affection.

That secrets are a sacred trust,
That friends should be sincere and just,
That constancy befits them,
Are observations on the case,
That savour much of commonplace,
And all the world admits them.

But 'tis not timber, lead, and stone,
An architect requires alone
To finish a fine building
The palace were but half complete,
If he could possibly forget
The carving and the gilding.

The man that hails you Tom or Jack,
And proves by thumps upon your back
How he esteems your merit,
Is such a friend, that one had need
Be very much his friend indeed
To pardon or to bear it.

As similarity of mind,
Or something not to be defined,
First fixes our attention;
So manners decent and polite,
The same we practised at first sight,
Must save it from declension.

Some act upon this prudent plan,
Say little, and hear all you can.
Safe policy, but hateful
So barren sands imbibe the shower,
But render neither fruit nor flower,
Unpleasant and ungrateful.

The man I trust, if shy to me,
Shall find me as reserved as he,
No subterfuge or pleading
Shall win my confidence again;
I will by no means entertain
A spy on my proceeding.

These samples for, alas! at last
These are but samples, and a taste
Of evils yet unmention'd
May prove the task a task indeed,
In which 'tis much if we succeed,
However well intention'd.

Pursue the search, and you will find
Good sense and knowledge of mankind
To be at least expedient,
And, after summing all the rest,
Religion ruling in the breast
A principal ingredient.

The noblest Friendship ever shown
The Saviour's history makes known,
Though some have turn'd and turn'd it;
And, whether being crazed or blind,
Or seeking with a biass'd mind,
Have not, it seems, discern'd it.

O Friendship! if my soul forego
Thy dear delights while here below,
To mortify and grieve me,
May I myself at last appear
Unworthy, base, and insincere,
Or may my friend deceive me!
-William Cowper

I love the last three stanzas of this poem.  Friendships I particularly think of at this time of year, are those that have run long and deep through time, and difficulties and joys of life.  They are a blessing, a root of sorts, for our lives.  Our kiddos are growing up, two sets of our sweetest and dearest family friends, had big new this season as one kiddo got engaged and one headed to the mission field.  Oh my, my - how is it that life goes so fast, and truly what a dear delight it is to have sweet friends.

The noblest Friendship ever shown
The Saviour's history makes known,
Though some have turn'd and turn'd it;
And, whether being crazed or blind,
Or seeking with a biass'd mind,
Have not, it seems, discern'd it.

What a blessing it is to have friends to walk the through joys and sorrows.  And of course, when friends are few, and aches of life weigh on our shoulders and in the lines of our faces
- our Saviour's love is all the more discernable to us.

Friday, December 2, 2011

Merry Little Christmas

and sharing
Time slows down.
Talks and Readings,
Laughter and Old Movies
Kiddos and friends collected
God's gifts are good, all of them.
We celebrate the gift of His coming,
Stitching names on new one's stockings
With a swelling grocery bill and waist-lines,
Frosted sugar cookies and Merry Hot Chocolate
Music play as candles and a faux fireplace flickers
Tthe Nativity and Candles are center - on our coffee table
By remembering ...
and enjoying...
To Him
Glory is given
enjoyment by enjoyment.

Merry Christmas to all because He is our  All in all.