Like a Song...

Christ of the Breadlines
Fritz Eichenerg


Like a Song...

U2

Like a song I have to sing
I sing it for you.
Like the words I have to bring
I bring it for you.

And in leather, lace and chains we stake our claim.
Revolution once again
No I won't, I won't wear it on my sleeve.
I can see through this expression and you know I don't believe.
Too old to be told, exactly who are you?
Tonight, tomorrow's too late.

And we love to wear a badge, a uniform
And we love to fly a flag
But I won't let others live in hell
As we divide against each other
And we fight amongst ourselves
Too set in our ways to try to rearrange
Too right to be wrong, in this rebel song
Let the bells ring out
Let the bells ring out
Is there nothing left?
Is there, is there nothing?
Is there nothing left?
Is honesty what you want?

A generation without name, ripped and torn
Nothing to lose, nothing to gain
Nothing at all
And if you can't help yourself
Well take a look around you
When others need your time
You say it's time to go... it's your time.
Angry words won't stop the fight
Two wrongs won't make it right.
A new heart is what I need.
Oh, God make it bleed.
Is there nothing left?

Poetry Wednesday

Memory Eternal

Today on this gray, blustery, cold Tuesday, we remember a good man and a dear friend departed this life much too soon. As our day demands us to continue on with our mundane tasks, we do so with heavy hearts knowing that those close to us are suffering, weighed down with grief over their loss; and we mourn with them. May the Lord God remember His servant Roger in His kingdom now and ever and unto ages of ages. And if you have a moment, we beseech you to offer a prayer for Roger's wife of nearly forty years, Denise; his sons, J.J., Steve, and Mike; their wives Jessica, Cris, and Andrea; his grandchildren Harrison, Owen, and Payton. Precious Braddy family, know you are in our thoughts and prayers and that we love you.

O God of spirits and of all flesh, Who has trampled down death and overthrown the Devil, and given life to Thy world, do Thou, the same Lord, give rest to the soul of Thy departed servant in a place of brightness, a place of refreshment, a place of repose, where all sickness, sighing, and sorrow have fled away. Pardon every transgression which he has committed, whether by word or deed or thought. For Thou art a good God and lovest mankind; because there is no man who lives yet does not sin, for Thou only art without sin, Thy righteousness is to all eternity, and Thy word is truth.

For Thou are the Resurrection, the Life, and the Repose of Thy servants who have fallen asleep, O Christ our God, and unto Thee we ascribe glory, together with Thy Father, who is from everlasting, and Thine all-holy, good, and life-creating Spirit, now and ever unto ages of ages. Amen.

Orthodox Prayer for the Departed

In Case You Were Wondering

What exactly are we doing when we are not visiting flower farms, apple orchards, pumpkin patches, or hiking at  state parks? Well, here is just a glimpse.

Thomas and I have been taking a four-week knitting class every Tuesday evening and he has declared knitting to "be kind of cool." My favorite moment at last week's class (which I must add consists of us and two other women) was when he asked the rest of the group whether they had ever watched Sesame Street which I find funny in itself and then especially so because I don't think he has ever watched Sesame Street, not on tv anyway. Still haven't gone digital. 

The princess ate her first whole banana with a lot of supervision. Besides pointing at anything she wants, Mrs. McGoodles has begun to take a few steps and has also begun to demonstrate some fine dance moves to such classic hits as "Old McDonald."

So yes, there was some more potty in pans, tea pots, and even the homemade play-dough but these two volunteered to help me with this task. Molly, this may be Priscilla or Mary's beaded headband. I'll put it in the bag of stuff you left behind. Elliot put it on and declared himself a princess. 

Russell rivaling Bono as "The Fly."

Elliot with a little improvisation on his classic "Pirate" face.

So Lu Lu Bird eats everything, except cottage cheese. She is loving her beans and rice in this picture. Also she often coos, "Ma Ma Ma" but there also exists the loud, "MA!!!" and I think, "Dear God, she is yelling at me too."

Thomas and I have been focusing on watercolor painting for our main school lesson for the last two weeks. We have used just three colors (red, blue, and yellow) and have been painting on a nearly saturated piece of heavy duty paper. The goal has been to experience "pure color."

And finally, over the course of the last two months, Thomas and I have been working on memorizing this quote from Dostoevsky, and we finally have it down pat. Now what to do for November and December. I am thinking of a portion of the Luke 2 passage. Any suggestions?

And that's it in a nutshell. A peaceful and blessed week dear friends.

The Morns Are Meeker Than They Were

I feel an intense pleasure of awakening before the sun; of seeing a glimpse of his temperate light through the bare trees outside my window while clutching a mug of coffee in my already skin cracked hands; of standing for a mere minute in solitude before launching into the bustle of my morning routine while listening for tiny steps descending the stairs begging to be given attention; of crossing myself and whispering a prayer to commence my day; of experiencing the brisk air from a window I neglected to close the evening before despite the fact the heat has been switched on. Oh how I love summer, the consuming heat, the air drenched with humidity, the liberty to fling open doors and windows and rush outside, the arousing to action it kindles within me. Yet autumn with its unique beauty and its gentle movement from life to death woos me to journey inward, beckoning me to bury these temporal cares that often vex and seem insurmountable so that with God's grace they might die and something beautiful might rise out this wanting soul, desperate for more of Christ and less of me.

Forgive me if this poem has been offered here before; I have a tendency to forget and repeat. This poem just makes me happy. 

The Morns Are Meeker Than They Were

Emily Dickinson

The morns are meeker than they were,

The nuts are getting brown;

The berry's cheek is plumper,

The rose is out of town.

The maple wears a gayer scarf,

The field a scarlet gown.

Lest I should be old-fashioned,

I'll put a trinket on.

Poetry Wednesday

Scenes from hiking with daddy at Scott County Park last Saturday after mommy whimpered out a plea for a couple hours to clean. She received several. Thanks honey!