Color Green's Song

"Be praised...

Look down upon this winter wheat

and be glad that You have made

Blue for the sky

and the color green

that fills these fields with praise"

~Rich Mullins

Lord, I join the color green's song. Fill me with praise for You.

Photos: taken walking our winter wheat fields...
Thank you, kind Amy, for sharing this song and praise ...

Living in His Heart

I have meandered through the city for nearly a week, but I haven’t figured out why I’ve come really, what I am doing here. This pervasive, quiet ache awakens me to what I hadn't fully known: I am lost.

True, I know the street I am staying on, the way down the cobblestone streets of the Left bank to the flat at 30 Rue Mazarine. And yes, a friend invited me, needing a friend, an ear, a heart. So I took wing, came.





Certainly, the history has stirred and the art’s deeply, profoundly, moved, but this farm girl’s walked tentatively, uncomfortably, through the haut couture of the Avenue des Champs Elysees, grown homesick for fields in the churning milieu of faces, voices, bodies of St. Michel square, kicked ball with laughing children in Jardin des Tuilleries and longed to hear the simple happiness of my own loved, far-away children.

Joining my friend on long walks along the Seine, down cobbled streets of cafes, delis, perfumers, of the Maurais, I can’t help but wonder: If I am called to go into all the world, why am I not rocking babies in an Ukrainian orphanage? Serving food in a Greek refugee camp? Building a school in Peru? What am I doing in Paris?

I’m a sparrow misplaced.

The week has nearly drawn to a close, less than 24 hours left in this city, when I see the plaque there high about the massive blue wooden doors leading into our courtyard. It’s commonplace, though passing by it is easy to miss. A plaque down the street, over the café Le Voltaire, notes the floor, the day, on which the philosopher died. The day before I had stood outside the house where Renoir had lived, now painted a shy shade of pink, in the steep, winding Montmartre neighborhood, overlooking the rooftops of the city.

But the name etched here in stone on the wall next to where I’ve slept these handful of nights makes me catch my breath. Not an artist, or a philosopher, but of a patient man who probed for meaning, wrestled a mystery, for nearly twenty years. One who fingered lines and pictures scratched in stone, the language of an empire, a civilization: the Egyptian hieroglyphics. And found the key, decoded the cipher. Understood.





My head laying in the dark loft, hand reaching up to finger centuries old beams, I pray. Can I too figure the riddle of being here, in a few short hours unravel the language of life that led me here?

My last day in Paris we do what we’ve done everyday: touch her past, taste her breads and cheeses, listen to her sounds on every street corner, violins, guitars, cellos, watch her international faces and vibrant colors.



I find an island of quiet in a monastic bookstore off Rue de Rivoli, a spray of blushing heritage roses creeping up sun-washed stone. A young nun in a long blue robe gracefully serves browsers in hushed, lilting French, her fawn eyes inviting, welcoming.



I too drift through stacks of Bibles, French titles, and back by old wooden stairs climbing up stone wall, standing in a pool of afternoon sun, I pick up a CD of hymns entitled “Eucharisteo.” I lay my hand over the word. I remember, this word to live and die by, this life key. Key.

I run a finger over “eucharisteo” like it's Braille, touching meaning. Isn’t this too a bit of deciphering why I am here, what every day means? God gives grace, we give gratitude, together we experience joy.

I take up the word, turning it over again and again in my mind, feeling its truth, as I walk across the cobble courtyard from bookstore to church. Inside, the vaulting space is still. The air feels old, the floor, holy. In the shadows of an arch’s lofty heights, I sit on a low stool and talk to God. I tell Him what little I do know. Tell Him I don’t know exactly what I am doing here in Paris, what my purpose is, what the meaning is for my time here. I tell Him that long waves across the ocean, home is loud, I am sinful, and there too I wrestle to figure what He’s writing on my days.

I tell Him I am a sparrow misplaced. Here, there. Everywhere?

A hand touches my shoulder and I look up. My friend’s found out which church we’ve wandered into, hands me St. Gervais’ welcome brochure. And the words that I happen to glance upon shimmer, flash:

“Since human beings are created as the most beautiful image and likeness of God, the monks and nuns want to pray and to meet God in the city, among its inhabitants…. In the heart of the city they are called to love, prayer, work, hospitality and silence, called to be chaste, poor, obedient, humble and joyful, all while living in the heart of the world.”

And the riddle cracks open. I walk out of the maze. The words, the world, falls open, understood. I understand.

Living eucharistically, gratefully receiving now, wherever, however, in the world that may be, one meets God. In the heart of teeming Paris. In the heart of my noisy home. In the heart of my own soul chaos.

I am here, wherever I am, because He is here.

I don’t have to get away from the people to find God; I don’t have to seek out a retreat to commune with Him. He is not confined to the prescribed, the predictable. He is everywhere. He is in the midst of the masses, the grime, the cacophony. Open-handedly receiving the gift of the present, we receive His presence, His work for us in the moment.

I read the hieroglyphics of here: While living in the heart of the world, I may live in His heart.

I turn to face my friend, look into her seeking eyes, warm face. I am here, available, present to His presence.

I’ve flown home to the heart of God.

Father, in the heart of today, let me live in Your heart. Wherever I am.

Scripture drink:
"Surely the LORD is in this place, and I was not aware of it..." Gen.28:16

Photos: taken in the heart of Paris

All Decked Out

verses from Psalm 5, a morning Psalm....


"Listen, Yahweh! Pay attention!
Can you make sense of these ramblings,
my thunder-clap cries?
King-god, I need your help.

Every morning
you'll hear me at it again.

Every morning
I lay out the pieces of my life
on your altar
and watch for fire to descend....

I, your invited guest,
am full of awe.
I enter your house, here I am
prostrate in your inner sanctum,
Waiting for directions
to get me safely through enemy ranks....

Will you welcome us with open arms
when we run for cover to you?...

You are famous, Yahweh, for taking in God-seekers,

for decking us out in delight."

~Ps. 5 (MSG)

Lord, I come this morning, laying down before You. Today, clothe me with Joy.

First

An excerpt from A Diary of Private Prayer:

"Eternal Father of my soul,

let my first thought today be of You,

let my first impulse be to worship You,

let my first speech be Your name,

let my first action be to kneel before You in prayer....

Yet let me not, when this morning prayer is said,

think my worship ended

and spend the day in forgetfulness of You."

~John Baillie

Take a Long, Loving Look

"Once again I'll go over what God has done,

lay out on the table the ancient wonders;

I'll ponder all the things you've accomplished,

and give a long, loving look at your acts."

~Ps. 77: 11-12 MSG

Saturday work: pondering ... taking long, loving looks... seeing... and worshipping Him. Preparation Day work.

Photo: countryside barn

Sunday Worship

"We taste Thee, O Thou living Bread,

And long to feast upon Thee still;

We drink of Thee, the Fountainhead,

And thirst our souls from Thee to fill."

~Jesus, Thou Joy of Loving Hearts, Bernard of Clairvaux

(at Cyberhymnal)

Thank you, Monica in Colorado, for sharing this worshipful hymn. Our voices quietly join yours.

How to Practice being Present to the Presence of God

(Part One: How (not) to Practice the Presence of God)

The mill whirs down to quiet and I open up its basin to flour, measure out kernels powdered, still warm from the grinding. I scoop a tablespoon of yeast, granules falling, scattering across countertop. Running hand along flour dusted surface, I collect these seeds smaller than faith, look through corner kitchen window, this eye out to firmament and the heavens.

Today the clouds glide high, gleaming white chariots for His ride through the skies. They make haste, billow, cast shadows in their wake. I watch.

It never ceases, this wind. It is endless, rippling through billions of wheat blades, dancing with the maple leaves all up the lane. Invariably, faithfully, this wind comes, sometimes whispering on breezes, sometimes roaring in the rush of it all; always more to say. It is constant.

But I know little of that, constancy. His inspired Word reads, “Pray constantly.” And I think, spooning honey into mixing bowl, if only I knew how to be the wind. Constant. Like the Spirit, always moved and moving, closer, onward, upward.

Life stifles under glaring sun, and I know prayers like a desperate gust, an imperceptible breath, hot and too near. Lukewarm.

Once I slept a July night in the nearness of a travel van, sweaty legs sticking, summer suffocating while I writhed. I needed wind. Opening the oven door, I went into night, searching. Toes found black surf rolling up the sand and the sky currents, wave after wave, washed cool over skin. That’s what I want, winds over water, fresh prayers, reviving, steady rhythms. And sometimes you have to move to find the wind.

So I do.

I stumble into it right there in the lulling routine of bread-making.

“Thank you, Lord, for grains of salt. For the color of this oil, sun streaming gold through its gold, the way it splashes into flour, pools into yeast foaming at the edge. Thank you, Father, for the stringy sinews attached to each bone in these fingers that scoop and pour and measure and stir…”





The wind sweeps in and I feel alive.

This is not practicing the presence of God, but the practice of waking to His presence. When I pray praise, I wake to Him who rides in on the air I breathe. That close. When, moment by moment, I attend to all that fills the now, and give thanks for it, this is to pray constantly.

“Wherever you are, be all there,” said Jim Elliot, that esteemed missionary martyred for Christ in Ecuador. Wherever you are, be entirely present to God who meets you in that space.

Too often, I don’t know how. The possibilities of problems that lurk around the next corner lure me on into worry. The pain of all that failed in the past trip me up in regret. I run ahead on the road, slamming into anxiety. I run back the path, grabbed by disappointment. I struggle to stay in the present, to be all here wherever I am. Yet attending to the beauty and bounty of each singular moment, paying attention to now by praying thanksgiving for this moment, and this moment, and this moment, I stay here. I become wind in this place, constantly present, constantly praying.

“Thank you for the warm softness of dough in hands, the tucking of this flecked goodness into pans old with history. Father, thank you for this stream of water gushing simply from a tap to wash away baking, for son who folded these dishtowels, the corners matching, folds straight.”

Is this communion unending?

“Wherever you are, be all there,” is possible as I give thanks for what is just now. This is meeting God who is the great I AM. I AM fills the present moment. I am learning that gratitude ushers into the grandeur of He who spills with glory now. Giving thanks is a way to be all here, a way to meet the I AM who is here.

But He too is the Alpha and the Omega, the One back there on the road, the One further up. He is both ahead and behind. We can rest in the memories of His past faithfulness , trust in the hope plans He has for our futures. So we are released to the joy of simply staying all here, knowing His goodness wherever this moment has us.

On a routine day in the kitchen, the clouds racing overhead, I find the sacred in the ordinary. I know wind. The practice of praying thanks for wherever I am, and whatever I have, this is to pray constantly, to meet God and live in His presence.

The bread rises, the wind blows, and I am all here, giving thanks.

Could there be more?

Part of this week's focus on prayer
(Part One: How (not) to Practice the Presence of God)

Praying His Prayer

I lay in the dark fading away and, before feet find floor, pray first because there is no other way to really begin. An ancient prayer, the one He told us to pray:

'Our Father who is in heaven,

Ours... You are all of ours (whether we acknowledge our lineage or not.) You are who we all have in common.

Our Father... we come to You, Abba Daddy, not to an unfeeling Master, but to You with a tender, Father's heart.

Our Father who is... Someone sits upon the throne, directs this cosmic play. The universe does not haplessly careen. You are.

Our Father who is in heaven... And the heavens are not a far-flung corner of the extreme atmosphere where time clips eternity. The heavens are the sky that falls around, the air that touches our skin, the medium in which we breathe, fill our lungs with. That is where Our Father is... You are close.


Hallowed be Your name.

Hallowed is Your name, holy. Keep me from profaning, belittling, treating as common, all that is holy, because of Your name. May I live without shoes, for all this -- everywhere You are-- is holy.

Your kingdom come ... not mine, not our plans, only Your kingdom come.
Your will be done... not my will, not our plans, only Your will be done. For this is the crux of living at Your feast table, of taking the cup, of following Christ.

On earth as it is in heaven... and in heaven the whole host of angels bow down and worship, give praise and thanks, crying Holy, Holy, Holy. Do I do that which is done in heaven?

Give us this day our daily bread... I trust that in this day, You'll give me what is nourishing, what I need. Keep me from chewing at tomorrow's worry, gnawing at yesterday's regrets. Today, I will simply collect the manna You've given for this day, and know that what You rain down in this day is what is best. My daily bread. Cause me to give thanks and eat what You give.

And forgive us our debts, as we also have forgiven our debtors... We are indebted to You beyond accounting. For arteries that faithfully pump, blood that endlessly courses, neurons and synapses that perfectly fire. For sun orb that rises and warms, for a Cross beam that supports the universe, for this waterfall of mercy that washes away our stubborn pride stains. There is no end to our debts. And yet You, with a Father's heart, graciously forgive the incomprehensible. How could we not forgive today?

And do not lead us into temptation, but deliver us from evil... When we follow Your leading, we are delivered from the clutches of the dark and into the wide open spaces of light.

For Yours is the kingdom and the power and the glory forever. Amen.' ... always, only, utterly Yours. Amen. So be it.


And before I've begun, I've stopped. For stop signs are but havens of soul rest.

So now, having prayed the way He told us to, I begin.

Part of this week's focus on prayer

Image: One of this farm girl's favorite by Jean Francois Millet

Thirsty for Thirst

That ball of flame rises and dries out these fields of dark earth.

Little girl patters into coming light, chirping for water, water.

I fill her cup, and a pitcher too for the tomato plants drooping from waiting pots in window sills.

We break the nightly fast with granola, the nightly soul fast with morning readings in the book of John and these words: "After this, Jesus, knowing that all things were now accomplished, that the Scripture might be fulfilled, said, 'I thirst!' "

God incarnate, thirsty. Like the whole world.
But He's parched for love.

Do I even know how dehydrated this soul is?
I pray and drink.

And He is quenched.

Praying today:

"O God, I have tasted of Thy goodness, and it has both satisfied me

and made me thirsty for more.

I am painfully conscious of my need for further grace.

I am ashamed of my lack of desire.

O God, the Triune God, I want to want Thee;

I long to be filled with longing;

I thirst to be made more thirsty."

~A.W. Tozer

Part of this week's focus on prayer

Related: Imbibe Deeply

Stop Signs

I think it was because my window was rolled down a few inches that he bothered to yell at me.

Otherwise, he may have just left it at that disgusted frown and shake of his head. But his driver’s window was cranked down too, us both looking for the relief of breezes from that sun blazing down. So when he turned north off the 4th line, down at Knapp’s corner, our dusty van barely paused there at the intersection, he didn’t even have to lean over when he hollered at me.

“There’s a stop sign there, you know!”

Color, shame, floods my cheeks. But before I can nod, mumble an apology, he and his diesel pick-up rumble off.

“That wasn’t very nice of him. You had stopped, Mom.” Joshua’s passenger seat defense tries to soothe.

“Why did that man yell that?” Hope’s turns back after the truck’s dust cloud, looking for answers.

Flustered, I carefully scan to the west, then east, then west again, before creeping forward through the intersection. And then manage a feeble explanation.

“He was concerned I wasn’t going to brake in time. That I hadn’t seen the stop sign. It scared him. And that’s fair.”

The wind blows through our open windows, our hair. In the rush of spring, I wonder if each of us replay his words again, the scene, reading his anger as fear. But maybe they don’t, their young faces silently watching the meadow slip close to the road with its petticoat of white trilliums. Maybe it’s just me thinking about stop signs nearly missed.

I’m like that. Always rushing, hardly braking in time, off again. In a hurry. So much to be done. Or so I think.

What hard stops in my life have I been driving through---or hardly pausing for?

How often am I mindfully slowing to intersect my time with God? Early, throughout, and late. Or do I barely make meaningful time at anytime in my day to commune in lingering, unhurried ways with God? Somedays, yes. Somedays, no. There are too many rolling stops.

The meadow retreats and waving fields of greening wheat lap up along the roadside. The children, hands pointing and voices sure, debate whether that farmer is planting corn way off in a field on the horizon, or if he’s drilling in beans. And it’s just me thinking about stop signs nearly missed and slowing to meet with God.

I’m listening to the prophet in a pick-up: There are stop signs here, you know. So I’ll stop and linger long in prayer.

To avoid life crashes.

Lord, if life is crashing... have I been running stop signs?
Today, it's all speeding by so fast, I simply have to stop and pray.

Part of this week's series on prayer...

Related: John Piper on Be Devoted in Prayer
Read an excerpt of Praying with the Church, Following Jesus, daily, hourly, today
Et-Tu: Schedules and Hard Stops and Permanence
Praying the Hours

Sunday Worship

Just Stop and Think with Francis Chan

We can never hear the story too often...

Let it awe us all over again.

Fifteen minutes to fall in love all over again...

We say, "Yes, God. YES!"

(My apologies... you may want to scroll again to bottom of screen and pause music.)

Bow Low

It's Saturday. Preparation Day.
Do I prepare to worship?

The Heavens declare His glory.
Do I?

I still, see, marvel.

Hushed and quiet...
Bowed low...

You are Holy, God. Holy, Holy, Holy.




(In this snip of video, Francis Chan urges us to have a high view of God, and he takes us through space to awe us at God's handiwork...You may choose to scroll to bottom of screen and pause music.)

The Profession of a Christian

Wherever we work... in fields, in kitchens, in offices, in homes, in shops....

“Do not…forget God,

but think on Him often,

adore Him continually,

live and die with Him;

this is the glorious employment of a Christian.

In a word, this is our profession;

if we do not know it, we must learn it.”

~Brother Lawrence

Today, Lord, help me learn...

Related:
How to (not) Practice the Presence of God

Light

The words in my pocket today...

Truly the light is sweet,

And a pleasant thing it is

For the eyes to behold the sun...

~Ecc. 11:7

Father, today I pray for eyes to behold the radiance of

Him who is our only Light....

(A morning filled with singular adoration.

Later, Mother's Day words and reflections...)

Uprighting the Earth

I've known she's been dying for quiet some time and (dare I confess?) no remorse has gnawed away at these insides, no aching sadness slowly draining. Just a happy relief washes over me when I think of it. Frankly, she needed to go, her demise long overdue.

Rest in peace, my Drama Queen. You who listened to the news and ranted and raved. You who dove into online theological polemics, internally wrangling wildly, blood pressure rising. You who fell captive to crisis and commotion. Adieu. I do not mourn your passing.

For I discovered your impotence. Your absolute and utter inability to effect change. You held me rapt too long, riveting my attention horizontally, on those around me. All your fuss, your finger-pointing, your flapping about, distracted me from a vertical perspective. From Him who Reigns over all.

As you, eristical one, laggardly expire, I quiet. Peace comes softly. Old rankled skin molting, new contented life emerging, I'm discovering deep, universal change comes in surprising, unexpected ways.

Not in criticism, negativity, sensationalism. But in praise.

"May the peoples praise you, O God; may all the peoples praise you. Then the
land will yield its harvest...." ~ Ps. 67:5-6

Our land will yield a good crop when the people praise. Our culture will produce bounty when we give thanks. Our nations will bear fruit when we exalt.

So will this heart.

But does gratitude, praise, worship capture anyone's imagination, vision, life? Why do we find the good, the lovely, the beautiful so... insipid? Why do we thirst for the bad, the ugly, the contentious.... and spew out the glory-worthy as bland?

Couldn't anyone use a little good news today?

Rod Dreher, a popular conservative columnist for the Dallas Morning News, and author of "Crunchy Cons," recently wrote (in the comments of this post),

"I blog about negative stuff for the same reason that newspapers aren't filled with good news: because *usually* (though not always), "good news" isn't that interesting to talk about."

I understand. I relate. It's a common consensus. Who can market gratitude, praise, good news?It is so: Good News often seems less than compelling. I too have often brushed it aside, apathetic. I pray for grace to learn new ways:

"For I am not ashamed of this Good News about Christ. It is the power of God at work..." ~Ro.1:16

Good news, praise, thanksgiving, exalting, this is the power of God at work. This is what will change our hearts. This is what will prosper our land, bless us with yield, bounty, harvest.

And, really, why wouldn't it? Because when we think on the lovely, the noble, the right, "whatever is admirable—if anything is excellent or praiseworthy" (Phil. 4:8) ... we are thinking on very God Himself:

"Sing praises to His name, for it is lovely." ~Ps. 135:3

He is lovely and all that is lovely in this cosmos reflects but the substance of Him. To think on the good is to think on God.

Yet we live in an upside-down, inverted world. We reject the praiseworthy as vapid and unremarkable. Boring. Juvenile.

And that which is scandalous, disagreeable, we find fascinating, intriguing, worthy of attention. Meriting discussion. An engagement for the intellects, the pundits. The lovely? Dismissed.

So it has always been:

"And when we see Him,
There is no beauty that we should desire Him.
He is despised and rejected by men..." ~Isa.53:2-3

We rejected Him once. Forbid we would again.

No, no grief as I bury my negativity. I'm done with my addiction to criticism, with my drama queen.

I whisper praise, this tongue's new language, and feel the land beneath my feet swell with abundance, the earth uprighted.

Loveliness, God, embraced.

:::

The Endless Praise continues....

:::

spongy hearts discovered in woods grace Nature Shelf

:::

:::

Mama's silver hair in golden light leading little hands to

pin, stitch, sew blanket

:::

:::

delicate petals carefully sketched, eyes slowing to see

:::

:::

tilling loamy earth, burying seeds, family care

:::

:::

Joy! Smile-to-smile, face-to-face!

Years of words on screens winnow a path for us to meet!

:::

:::

The Perfect Ps! They effused exuberance, warmth, vibrancy.

I couldn't soak them up enough.

:::

(Photos of Tonia and family courtesy of a very talented photographer)

In need of joy's elixir? Take a moment and click through the Gratitude Community in the sidebar's blogroll. You'll be blessed. Nothing changes the world like giving thanks.



Have you considered establishing gratitude as a personal soul fixture? Just grab a scrap of paper lying around and begin counting the blessings, with your own 1000 Endless Gifts:

Why begin your own One Thousand Gift List --(drop me a line if you do, and I'll add you to the "1000 Endless Gifts" blogroll in the sidebar-- we invite you to join the Gratitude Community! Scroll to the bottom of this post for details on how to begin and join the community)

Read the listing of the endless Gifts

Get You a Roof

Though I have never been there, I have heard it said that in Africa the proverb goes, "The beginning of wisdom is to get you a roof."

And I guess, wherever you live, it makes sense: best to hammer some rafters, bake a paddy of bricks, wrap the corrugated cardboard close. Make an abode in which to abide. Life necessitates shelter.

Both of us, this man to whom I covenanted and I, our lives of breathing began down the same hospital hall. We birthed our children too, a few decades later, in those very same starch white rooms. My sister says we'll all likely die here.

We're content with here. Here where we went to school with our dental hygenist who attends the same church as my sister-in-law, the same church as my hairdresser, who's a sister to our family doctor's nurse. It's comfortable, this shelter of a place where you know and are known.

Like a roof that's grown moss. A long shelter.

I have heard it said, and, yes, fervently believe, that "The fear of the Lord is the beginning of wisdom." And so it is.

Get you a roof.

One Who has sheltered the expanse of space before the winding up of time. A long shelter, weathered and worn and still bearing strong. One you can intimately know and by Whom you are deeply known.

Move in and watch the moss grow.

Aged velvet absorbing millenia of rains pelting down.

"
He who dwells in the shelter of the Most High...." Ps. 91:1

Lord, storms beat. Pull me under Your trusses. Be my roof.

Related: Moving In
Glad Refugees

Photo: mossy roofs of Shannon Woodward's outbuildings... the plane took the farm girl far west

Mixing in Thanks...

"The great painter boasted that he mixed all his colours with brains,

and the great saint may be said to mix all his thoughts with thanks.

All goods look better when they look like gifts."

--G.K. Chesterton, St. Francis of Assisi

And isn't that what it all is? Gifts, good gifts, from His hand. I'm learning to mix my simple life with thanks.

:::

ground beef turnovers, wrapped while steaming, ready for the field

:::

Joshua volunteering to wash up the dishes while I pack meals

:::

farmers eating food on field's hem, resting for a moment from planting food

:::

dirt and kids and fed husband and that warm feeling of being alive

:::

looking at life in the rearview mirror

:::

barren fields ready to swell with seeds, life, yield

:::

cluck of a rooster and hens, children clucking too

:::

speckled feathers, stone-flecked barn

:::

Sunday morning coming down,

Little Girl waiting in light for Daddy, shoes, church

:::

living in Light, shoes on,

pilgrimaging towards Father, Heaven, Home.

:::

In need of joy's elixir? Take a moment and click through the Gratitude Community in the sidebar's blogroll. You'll be blessed. Nothing revives a heart like giving thanks.

Have you considered establishing gratitude as a personal soul fixture? Just grab a scrap of paper lying around and begin counting the blessings, with your own 1000 Endless Gifts:

Why begin your own One Thousand Gift List --(drop me a line if you do, and I'll add you to the "1000 Endless Gifts" blogroll in the sidebar-- we invite you to join the Gratitude Community!)

Read the listing of the endless Gifts

Beauty Mirrors

She curls up on my lap in the early morning light, and whispers, "Rub my back?" And I do, and stroke her hair, and her cheek too, and as she drowses back into sleep, I sit here, looking into her face, thinking about how beauty isn't something we can touch, or apply, or purchase. It is the inner work of a soul.

We simply reflect His, mirrors.






A Poem by Sam Levenson, oft-recited by Audrey Hepburn :

For attractive lips, speak words of kindness.

For lovely eyes, seek out the good in people.

For a slim figure, share your food with the hungry.

For beautiful hair, let a child run his/her fingers through it once a day.

For poise, walk with the knowledge that you never walk alone.

People, even more than things, have to be restored, renewed, revived, reclaimed, and redeemed; never throw out anyone.

Remember, if you ever need a helping hand, you'll find one at the end of each of your arms. As you grow older, you will discover that you have two hands, one for helping yourself, the other for helping others.

The beauty of a woman is not in the clothes she wears, the figure she carries, or the way she combs her hair.

The beauty of a woman must be seen from her eyes, because that is the doorway to her heart, the place where love resides.

The beauty of a woman is not in a facial mole, but true beauty in a woman is reflected in her soul.

It is the caring that she lovingly gives, the passion that she shows.

The beauty of a woman grows with the passing years.

~Sam Levenson

Lord, today let me reflect the only true beauty. Yours.

Related:
Best Beauty Tip
Radiate Beauty
Best Beauty Tip Proven

Hat Tip: Laura in IL

Sunday Worship

He left His Father’s throne above
So free, so infinite His grace—
Emptied Himself of all but love,
And bled for Adam’s helpless race:
’Tis mercy all, immense and free,
For O my God, it found out me!
’Tis mercy all, immense and free,
For O my God, it found out me!


~Charles Wesley: And can it be that I should gain?

Photo: Forget-me-not... oh, that we might not forget...

Praise the Lord in the Assembly

If Monday morning feels heavy, a large week looming, take a moment and click a few blogs from the Gratitude Community blogroll. You'll laugh, you'll cry with the wonder of it all, you'll warm and smile and feel the heaviness slip away. Praise does that.

Thank you to those standing in the great congregation giving Him praise --- you bless and my heart sings, a spring flower blooming after a long winter...

Notes from those jotting down the Gifts:

Seeing the Abundant Giver

"This gift list has transformed the way I think and view life. Suddenly, I am thankful for dirty dishes as they are an indication of a well-fed family. The insignificant has become compelling. Beauty abounds all around. The Giver imparts abundantly and extravagantly if we but have eyes to see. ~ Angie @ Sonflower

Reality Thinking

"I’m practicing the discipline (and joy) of giving thanks in times of stress.

There was a time when I would have dismissed this idea and would have simply chalked up the practice to being nothing more than ‘positive thinking’, in a new-agey-sort-of-way. But I’ve come to see that truth be told, it’s not so much about ‘positive thinking’ as it is about ‘reality thinking.’

Recognizing the gifts from God that ooze out around us is simply facing reality isn’t it? Seeing reality. Honest to goodness I feel like for the 1st time in my life I am beginning to see things clearly. ‘Open my eyes that I may see..’" ~ Chris in Edmonton

Abiding in Christ

"After 17 years as a Christian I think I have finally understood a glimmer of what it means to abide in Christ.

This week I [studied] Col. 3:1-2...especially what it means to seek things above and set our minds on things above. I realized that all these long years that I have been battling my anger issues I have focused my thoughts and efforts on the anger...not on Christ.

Even though I knew I needed to abide in Christ and that he abides in me I didn't really understand what that meant... Well, now I do.

I need to fix my mind on HIM continually and seek those things above.

Now, I am trying to focus on blessings every time I feel frustation. I created this homekeeping/gratitude journal...I leave it out on my kitchen desk so that I don't get too busy to notice it.

I have been inspired, challenge, convicted and enlightened." ~ Laura in CA

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So give me the details: is there anything to do besides copy the graphic and start my list? Do I need to link to your list? ~Heather

A few simple thoughts to begin the 1000 Gift List:

1. Pray that He may open the eyes of our hearts

2. Begin giving thanks for the daily washing in His fountain of Gifts--just on a scrap piece of paper or in a journal--- notice and write down from the obvious to little... and begin to feel more joy, less stress, better health, more connected in your relationships, and more delight in your everyday life. Praise is what we are made for!

3. If you'd like to blog your list, feel free to use the 1000 Gifts graphic. No need to link back to this quiet place. If, however, you'd like to encourage others to join the Gratitude Community, or invite othersto boost mental and soul health by reading the chorus of praise in the Gratitude Community, you may link back to here and the Gratitude Community Blogroll.

4. If you'd like to add your blog to the Gratitude Community, we'd love to hear from you! Email me a link to your blog, and your worship will edify the body of believers.

5. If you'd prefer to quietly jot your list down in a journal, you are still warmly invited to join the community-- drop a line, and we'll just add your first name to the list, and we'll feel one with you in thanksgiving.

6. Count the endless blessings!

Have you considered establishing gratitude as a permanent soul fixture? Just grab a scrap of paper lying around and begin counting the blessings, with your own 1000 Endless Gifts:

Why begin your own One Thousand Gift List --(drop me a line if you do, and I'll add you to the "1000 Endless Gifts" blogroll in the sidebar-- we invite you to join the Gratitude Community!)

Read the listing of the endless Gifts