A timid child in a fearful place
afraid of the world, with a hidden face,
surrounded by strangers and possible pain,
wanting nothing more than home again;
imagine the touch of a gentle hand,
a loving look, a promised land.

Thus almighty God, the infinite power,
comes as gentle lamb in the weeping hour.

-HJ July 19, 2009

 

My head a pathetic fogginess that I can hardly see through,
not wanting to waste the opportunity of solitude,
I strain to focus,
chart my course through cloud to clarity,
longing for truth to declare itself,
and hoping I'm able to receive it.

Though a seeker of truth
I'm a lover of learning,
Love words, but not the speaking of them.
When spoken they are lost, gone from me.

Pure truth, let fall one crystalline sparkling drop,
distill my muddy mental waters;

Pure beauty, but a glimpse I ask,
one quick clear vision;

Pure love, if I could hold for one mere second
just a corner of your hem;

Evermore remembrance
could keep me on the road.

-HJ July 19, 2009

 

The Lord has promised good to me, His Word my hope secures;
He will my Shield and Portion be, As long as life endures.
-Amazing Grace by John Newton

 

'Become what you already are,

find Him who is already yours,

listen to Him who never ceases speaking to you,

own Him who already owns you'.

By St Gregory of Sinai (13th Century)
*********************************************************

It's a dry and thirsty land and the sun beats down
on our aching heads. Tears and sweat abound.
And we long for shade and we long for rest
and we long for peace like a sparrow for its nest.
We are strangers here; we do not belong.
And we long to fly, but gravity's too strong.
So we wonder why we are stranded here
when our longings show us a grander sphere.
So we struggle on with our heavy load
(for some it's their body, this earthy abode,
for others their mind and the way it's wired,
or a sadness so deep they feel permanently mired).
Whatever our burden, we bear what we must
and help others bear until we all turn to dust.
Then the dust turns to the new life we sought all along:
You only long for the peace to which you belong.
-HJ July 12, 2009

 

Potato in Bloom

There is spinach, kale and lettuce in the garden, fresh today.
Red radishes and sorrel join the edible bouquet.
The green beans are in bud, broccoli holds a small tight head,
Swiss chard waves its bright-veined leaves, green tomatoes promise red.
The carrots almost fingerlings, potatoes now in bloom:
Stir fry, soup and salad from the garden to dining room.

Solitude

 

“Language... has created the word "loneliness" to express the pain of being alone. And it has created the word "solitude" to express the glory of being alone.” - Paul Tillich

A Serenity of Oaks

 

A Serenity of Oaks

Walk deep into the summer woods; past groves of trembling aspen go
(their chalky trunks stand straight and tall in crowds; if grown apart, they fall).
Walk on, past hawthorne, hazelnut, and plum, where saskatoon and chokecherry grow,
and when you pass the waving grass in clearings filled with sun-sweet air,
the dark majestic giants see: a serenity of oaks is there.
I know of one whose youth was hard; down near the base its bark is scarred.
And one began its life as three: a living arboreal trinity.
With strong and heavy limbs upraised there's one; it's lived a life of praise.
The last to put out leaf in spring, the tall and mighty forest king,
May you stand forever and never fall. The serenity of oaks I sing.
-- HJ June 24, 2009

"Before we can pray, "Lord, Thy kingdom come," we must be willing to pray, "my kingdom go." -Alan Redpath

 

On Feeding My Daughter's Chickens

Brave are those who face the Bantam Rooster,
Take life in hand, and pails of feed and water.
Few have the courage. Cheers to those who choose ter.
Heap scorn on cowards who run, or feel they ought ter.

The luxury of solitude, the bliss of holy silence
The drawing inward of the mind away from aural violence
The fruit of contemplation: hearing inner voices speak
Setting free the deeper, rising thoughts suppressed throughout the week
The probing knife of criticism turned upon the self
Like justice the two-edged sword- How we hate to yield it
Hold tightly to the hilt lest others wrest and turn and wield it
We gladly take the love of God, another shining sabre
We want to keep possession of, and not spare for our neighbour
So carve another private dream, an offering on the shelf

HJ May 18, 2009