Threads

Seconds are the slender threads of sacred moments.

Moments weave into hours, forming the warp and waft of our days.

Over time, days collect into weeks, months, and eventually years. They become our past.

We overload our schedules and forget to pace. We bolt from one activity to the next and fail to savor the epochal strands of time. We live as if we are spectators instead of participants and contributors. We consume, consume, consume - distracted and busied in a world without constraint. We are pulled toward this cause, that group, this need, that event.

Computers, radios, and televisions draw us relentlessly to consume insatiably, their information. They implore us to places where we are dominated and directed by external voices (some familiar, others alien). Rather than defining and directing the course of our own lives we submit, by default, to the urgings of others. How do we protect and guard, esteem and honor - the seconds that form minutes and the hours that braid our days into rich treasures. The cords of connection are opportunities to reward a good deed, deposit encouragement, develop intimacy, bask in stillness, listen to the chirp of birds - the laughter of children, foster a smile, release hope, support a need, unravel a wound, surrender a hurt, and unleash the power of forgiveness in kindness and grace.

Some days, this hurry-up world demands we disregard even the utter simplicity and significance of breath - the value of a pause, the innocence of silence.

This span we call time - the cluster of scattered seasons fused by fragmented conflicts and disagreable pain mixed with joyful encounters and tender tempos - precipitously summon and frame our vision. The strands may be tied by a gossamer ribbon unfurled in the wind, or a thick rope tied to heavy anchors.

Some of the things we do everyday... some thoughts we may have uttered a hundred times... a task we could do with our eyes closed, echo the uneventful and mundane. Yet, every second, every minute, every hour, entwines within potential: pivotal arcs - not trivial consequences.

Almost without notice, a rhythmic stitch repeatedly constructs the moments that weave your legacy... and mine. Dare we neglect the threads or this vital tapestry? Is it not our duty to redeem the time?

© Silent Mornings

Leveraging

The word “leverage” stirs up negative feelings for me. It reminds me of when people have used their power against me and sometimes that reminds me of money and loss. But the word itself isn’t moral or immoral, good or bad.

We all experience moments when life ends up in a slump and it’s more than the normal ebb and flow. Perhaps personal relationships have been challenged; profitability in your business has spiraled downward; matters that affect you deeply have gone awry; unjustly hardships have been imposed upon you, and so on. You may continue to engage on all these fronts, but even so, everything seems to decline, awkwardly and quickly. You sigh. Is an “end in sight” you wonder?

Our human nature, being what it is, may cause you to shrug, pout, and give up. But is despair a viable option?

I live at the top of a hill and have found it difficult to ride my bike up the steep incline. It’s not just me, but about everybody – no matter their age or physical fitness. I used to criss-cross the road but a few wild drivers in the neighborhood dampened my enthusiasm for that option. Walking your bike up the hill seems a bit “retarded,” but that’s what I end up doing. Then, I heard about hybrid “power-assisted bikes” – you still pedal, but when the going gets a little tough, you kick in that boost from the bike’s onboard energy pack! Wheeee, and you’re no longer battling that steep grade but feeling like you've donned spandex with a “Tour de France” attitude taking over!

What if, we applied this same “power assist” to our frustrations. Instead of complaining, moaning, and groaning, what if we leverage life’s many rise and fall junctures?

Rising seems good when the bank account gets fatter, but not so good when the hill is steep. Falling is great fun when you’re on a water slide, but not such a happy experience when the stock market plunges. It’s really about perspective and, yes… “leveraging.”

What if, then… we used this power or ability to act and influence people, events, decisions and maximize them for good. Instead of looking at the dismal, challenging, difficult situations of life, we implement that age-old philosophy of “turning a lemon into lemonade!”

What if instead of a complaint, we complemented… instead of griping, we grappled… instead of being enervated, we’re excited. What if our “power assist” is really a “posit-assist.” The word “posit” means to place, put, set; expect, dream, consider. What if we lay down a premise that is counter to the negatives we experience?

What if we dare instead of doubt? We go instead of give up. We exceed instead of escape? What if the problems, messes, and disappointments became opportunities – ways to imagine, to obtain favor, and to do good?

What if we basked in the delight of God, Himself, and let Him take care of the schemers and the wicked devices of man? Proverbs 12:2

© Silent Mornings

Mariel

She lay there, frail – anemic-looking, actually - her fingers twisted around an old tissue – one she used every now and then to wipe her nose. Her skin was sallow, her face sunken - the soft fleshy areas eclipsed by the bony structures. Her eyes, a pale blue, seemed vacant - yet they cried out. They appeared to say: “I see you… I know you are there. Do you know I am here?”

Despite this ”knowing,” we remained in silence.

She could speak, but chose to remain voiceless.

I wondered, as I sat there beside her, what her back-story was. The nurses and doctors came in, left, came back in. They attended to the machines, the drips, the tubes, but never to her… almost as though it was forbidden to engage with her… to care for “her” and not just her “condition” and medical needs.

I knew her name: Mariel. The hospital chaplain had given it to me when I was asked to pray for her.

(Mariel, where are you? How can I pray for you? What do I pray for you?)

“Lord, help me.” (Let her know that you care… that for some odd reason, you have sent me, a complete stranger, to sit with her in these last tenuous hours she is to occupy the canvas we call earth.)

“Mariel?”

She glanced slightly in my direction.

“The Lord is near.”

Her look was quizzical, mixed with hunger.

“Do you know Jesus?”

Her chest rose and a slight sigh passed through her lips.

“Lord, does she know you? What does she need in this exact moment of time?”

“Me… she needs Me.”

“Mariel, Jesus loves you – will you receive His great gift of love for you? Ask Him to forgive you… restore you… redeem you… reconcile you?”

It seemed like too many words… too many thoughts for one as ill as she, to comprehend.

This enervated woman, in her late eighties, who had not spoken for 3 months now looked at me with piercing eyes, and said. “yes… yes.”

We prayed a short prayer confirming her assent to God’s great provision. She sighed again – deeply this time - releasing what seemed a lifetime of sorrow and grief. With her eyes now closed she gave the tiniest squeeze to my hand, and then… Mariel slipped into eternity.

A weak woman who had occupied a hospital bed a split nano-second ago, was transported sound and unbroken into the arms of Love, Himself: the One who is indescribable, incomprehensible, and irresistible. The One whose love is limitless, whose goodness is endless, whose mercy is measureless, whose grace is unending.

The monitor went flat. The medical people swarmed the room. No resuscitation. They asked me to leave.

I pulled out my cell phone and called the chaplain. I inquired if he knew any family to call. He didn’t; and said that none of the hospital staff knew of family, either. Grief engulfed me. I slipped to the hard, cold floor of the hospital corridor and wept.

A few days later, after some diligent research, I discovered Mariel’s son. At first, despite the fact that he now knew that his mother was dead… no longer here... he firmly declined to speak with me.

I waited… did not hang up.

“You just don’t know… (his voice crackling, agitated), what we went through.”

“You’re right; I don’t,” I replied.

Silence. Several interminably long seconds passed.

I could hear noise in the background. He was “shushing” someone, asking that they leave the room he was in.

I waited.

A few moments passed, after which I guess he took note of my sincerity, relented, and spoke again. His voice unsteady, he began to unfurl an erratic and tragic story of family distress and despair.

Mariel had made some egregious decisions over her lifetime. The impact of them created a sorrowful outcome for many - for a daughter (dead from neglect while still an infant), another daughter who committed suicide when a teenager, and a son (the one with whom I now spoke) - a man whose inner turmoil had filled the notebooks of many psychiatrists and whose lament had never been shared with a non-professional.

And here I came - unexpected, interrupting, pressing in to a volatile situation. (Little did I know… but God did.)

The conversation went for three hours. Few words. Many tears. Much prayer.

Sam met this same Jesus Mariel came to know before the vapor of her life was no more.

He has called me a few times since our initial conversation. There are things he will need to work through, but his journey is toward peace, toward redemption.

Mariel now lives where there is no more pain, no more sorrow, no more tears. What a privilege to squeeze her hand before she left.

© Silent Mornings

Suspended

Suspended in the stillness of the hidden moments, His goodness is like shafts of light where haunting weights plummet into the abyss as pockets of calm reverence draw you upward to His presence. Plunge deep into the Rivers of God where His sustaining grace paints pictures of resilient, irrepressible, freedom - where you emerge - penetrated by love, swaddled in His goodness.

© Silent Mornings

A Tale of Two Cities: A Calendar Speaks

Like Echoes:

At first, a whisper - then a thunderous sound;
It seems to me, I'm breaking new ground.

Absorbed in my doings, new ventures unfold.
Destiny awaits, fresh chapters will be told.

Like Fireflies:

Illuminating a heart, that once, was weary;
Harboring days - some quite dreary

Weights that were searing,
Seem now, to be steering.

What fabric was woven into those connections?
What structures formed, merging reflections?

Like Dandelions:

While seeds may have blown, revived ones will be sown.

Steady, anchored, my face tipped toward the sun
The wind in my path, new pastures: how fun!

Further ground to plow, things God will allow.
Skyscrapers no more -- the desert, my floor.

Like Moving:

The journey ongoing, I'm ready for more;
In fact... I'm so close, that I'm about out the door.

Ride on, I say. Ride on.

© Silent Mornings

Mailboxes

Through the digital age, electronic communications can dispatch a message - unbounded and unrestrained - with incredible expediency and immediacy. On your device, you can compose a note in Waukegan, Illinois, and within literal seconds, it can be opened in Sydney, Australia. Sure, it's efficient, but it can never replace the wonderful discoveries found in the old-fashioned mailbox. Whether you pull down a door or unlock a lid, finding a treasured letter from a friend, holds within it, a rich storehouse of good tidings.

While our mailboxes are often crammed with those never-ending, ever-consistent bills, stuffed between a plethora of "junk" mail - should our fingers rest upon one - even one, soft, hand-addressed linen envelope, holding within its folds, a personal message; we thrill.

Today may be the only day you have to influence destiny: yours - another's. What is the legacy you want to leave behind for a parent, a sibling, a mentor, a friend?

If you were to spend even a few moments pondering the idea, what part of destiny might you impart today? Sure, you could tap it out in an eMail; but pause, won't you, maybe five minutes, tops. Pull out a pen, an envelope, a stamp... and touch personally, intimately, and kindly –– through an encouraging word, an uplifting remark, an inspiring quote –– the heart of someone you appreciate, cherish, or adore. With practice, you might enjoy ten, fifteen, thirty minutes, or more, where you can deposit destiny into someone's life. Maybe they'll do the same for you. It might even make the world a nicer place


© Silent Mornings

Paddling Toward

Low Tide - Half-Moon Bay on the Pacific Ocean.

The sun makes its descent as waves stretch beyond the horizon.
Seagulls circle in the distance.
Fit with proper oars, a canoe lightly punctuates the silence.
Stroke, stroke...
Executed perfectly to maintain a straight course.

The soft breeze - willowy in this spacious, unconstrained atmosphere
Lends to the solitude.
I stand quietly on the shore.
Mesmerized by the play of light washing over the crimson canvas,
I am speechless.

Color merges with her luminescent muse:
The sky.
Reciprocating each hue, reflected in the ocean's current,
Every streak blends in untarnished harmony.
The frequency of Heaven orchestrates this repose.
Restoring, resonating...
A lightly syncopated rhythm heralds both present and past.
I keep waiting for Handle's Messiah to present its rhapsodic strains.

This lush tapestry unfolding before me is too magnificent for words.
Soon, twilight will cease, and the ocean -
Tranquil, yet attended -
Will be indistinguishable from the sky.
The waves will still ripple, the tide will flow -
Continuously...
Ebbing forward and back, forming feathery foam on the sandy shoreline.
My toes will squeal with delight.
The water, as long as I remain there,
Will glide up my ankles then slide downward.
All the while,
The ocean will unceasingly surge and retreat.

As quietly as the sun evanesces beyond a hushed horizon,
Unannounced; the moon will spill its gauzy beams of light.

I linger awhile longer as saltwater - a scent like none other - impregnates the tranquil night air.
Eventually, I break from my solitude, pack up my camera, and head to the van.
Replete with images - both in my mind, and now on film,
These memories will never vanish.
Over time, they may dim, but
Their remnant is found here - in this image...
One placed here - for your pleasure -
Where you too, might choose to
Form your own reflections.

Tarry awhile, won't you...
Wrap it around your own journey.
Allow a new wave to break forth.

© SilentMornings

The Window of Destiny

Y O U

You were loved before you were you.

You are the reverberations fulfilling His dream from eternity past... the frequency of Heaven penetrating Earth, embodied in His likeness and image. You were fore-known and predestined to embrace the reality of your comme il faut - your becoming.

The landscape of your destiny and the incredible greatness of your horizon - all determined in His passionate embrace, are unlimited ~ sealed by the dictates of the Hope of Glory.

Click here for more information Jeremiah
and here Psalm 139

Eirenepoios

In Greek, "eirenepoios" means peacemaker.

“Blessed are the peacemakers, for they shall be called sons of God” (Recorded words of Jesus - Matthew 5:9.)



Each of us can choose to herald peace...allow it to flow through us much as the layered tones and muted shadings of light and dark fuse themselves amongst these multi-colored leaves.

Will we - created by each stroke of the Master's hand, memorably different from one another in hue and saturation, in personality and temperament... be viewed as the gentle brushwork of His heart within our culture? Will we live out our uniqueness in harmony and grace, or will we be like broken limbs and torn leaves whose withered beauty resists time and torrent resulting in our collective demise.

In unity there is strength.

"Real strength never impairs beauty or harmony, but it often bestows it; and in everything imposingly beautiful, strength has much to do with the magic." ~ Herman Melville

Whether

Whether we walk through a unclouded, sun-washed day, or one drenched by torrential storms... whether the day is filled with warm breezes or one that is freezing cold buffeted by fierce winds... whether our bellies are full or empty... whether we are sad or glad... whether the bank account is full or depleted - we can all respond to the call of God... draw into the unexpected places of His presence... allow His word to precede our thoughts, petitions, and longings. We must remember: it is He who seeks us. We must be attentive to His Spirit - stretched out in His grace... listening in the quiet repose of our soul. Breathing in - the Spirit of God - allowing space for His love to flow into our heart... and breathing out His goodness to those around us.

Sehnsucht

Sehnsucht (a German word meaning intense, ardent longing).

Mine is an inconsolable yearning for God’s presence – an ardent longing that pierces into the core of my being. I bow before Him now, pouring my vial of worship over Him. I draw from the well of His presence. He is my heart’s innermost longing - my heart’s deepest desire. When I seek Him with my whole heart... wait patiently for Him... search for Him... pursue Him... He will be found in me.


I desire fresh oil, Lord - pouring from Your secret place. I am refreshed in Your presence. Saturate me, envelope me, cover me. Sustain me with Your love. I am love sick. Enlarge my heart. Fill me with hope. Transform me. I am strengthened in You. I am enriched by You. I delight in You and You in me. Wash over me with Your love.

O gracious One - lover of my soul - how I love You and long to be with You. To be in the place of silent communion - where even thought basks on the breath of the wind - there is a call to intimacy. Let your peace rest gently upon my spirit, Oh, Lord. Would that others know you as I do; yet deeper still. My soul waits upon You, my God.

“For I know the plans that I have for you,” declares the LORD, “plans for welfare and not for calamity to give you a future and a hope. ‘Then you will call upon Me and come and pray to Me, and I will listen to you. ‘You will seek Me and find Me when you search for Me with all your heart. ‘I will be found by you,’ declares the LORD…‘ Jeremiah 29:11-13

Sphragizo

Hike a short distance up Union Creek along the upper Rogue River near Prospect Oregon and you'll witness the striking beauty of the Rogue Gorge.

Initially formed by the regurgitation of Mount Mazama in the Cascade Mountain range and her red hot flow of smoldering lava spewing out of a gigantic caldera, this volcanic eruption also created one of the world’s natural wonders - Crater Lake National Park.

The magnificently sculpted lava tubes – some miniscule, others massive – are a puzzling labyrinth of cavernous intricacy. Some pierce to the surface, others hide underground. Relying on the magnitude of winter’s melting snow, the turgid waters course violently, spinning rocks and pressing small pebbles into the notched walls of the Gorge.
Restless white foam splashes playfully against ferns and mossy rocks, then mysteriously, the frigid waters are swallowed into an underground maze of friction as the river is diverted through bends and chutes, only to waken anew, under the canopy of sugar pines and giant evergreens blanketing the fertile forest floor.

The river makes her mark on the rock.

In much the same way, certain life experiences mark us along our passageways.

The Greek word “Sphragizo” means to set a seal upon, mark with a seal. The dictionary defines “marked” as: set aside, designated, signifying ownership, keep.

Sometimes it is tragedy or sorrow that marks us for a season – perhaps even a lifetime. Sometimes we work to achieve a goal, complete a task, are applauded for an accomplishment, or acquire an inner satisfaction of joy by overcoming an obstacle. These too can mark our path.

In similar ways, love, encouragement, and grace mark our paths in distinctive ways.

Although we cannot make claim to it’s origin, the imprint of a “divine seal” upon our lives proclaims our identity in concert with the immutability and authority of a God who oversees all things, who shapes, builds up, and conforms us to higher purposes – things that lie beyond our present understanding.

The constant assurance of such a loving, intimate investment is both astounding and incomprehensible, except that mysteries do seem to unlock and revelation liltingly cascades upon the elegant ribbons of grace. If we seek discovery for why we are marked thusly – why we are sealed until the day of redemption - we will surely find ourselves (created in/imprinted with His image), to also be called His children. To this understanding and assent, our heavenly Father sets His seal. Forever after, we are hedged-in to the foundation of a love that stands sure; and somewhat serendipitously, we know we are His.

Having given us the Spirit in our hearts as a pledge - marked by inheritance and redeemed as God’s own possession, we give glory to the One who created us... loves us with an everlasting love... and has brought us out of the darkness into the light.


Like the mighty rushing waters along the Rogue Gorge, gazing upon it’s inlets and coves, we are sheltered under the wings of His outstretched arms – instruments of love bathed in pools of peace. Here, we receive both the rare and the common… we love the unlovely… we embrace change… we are nurtured and strengthened in faith... we are reinforced, restored, refreshed… . In this place is where we are as much alive to freedom as we are anchored in hope.

Life: A Kaleidoscopic Mosaic

The ribbons and patterns of relationships form an intricate mosaic that we, in our humanity, are inadequate to controvert.

We find ourselves shaped and molded by piercing revelations steeped in everyday encounters. Such penetrating stirrings may arouse the galleries of ambrosial longing - or, they may pummel our hearts into a naked millpond where we lay frozen in bewilderment.

In either place, we must contemplate and mine the hidden treasures that bid our soul. We must not hasten either cry: neither trumpet nor lament; neither emote in regret nor languish in sorrow. Rather, understand each offering... embrace each interaction... as a compliment to the underpinnings of our destiny.

It may be - as we gaze reflectively, metered through life's delicate rhythms - that there... deliciously entwined by a mysterious kaleidoscope of expression, that we unclothe the irresistible choreography and spellbinding intrigue of hope. ...there, where we abandon ourselves to the crescendos, dicrescendos, and the ambiguated complexities of intimacy.

Gawkishly, we may find ourselves unconstrained - except by the reverberations of love. Or, conversely, we may be swept into the wretched sadness of pain or despair. Nonetheless, and most assuredly, we must never view ourselves as impoverished, only sustained... in humility, remarkably anchored to the never-ending, uninterrupted pulses of generosity and kindness.

In this pause, as unfettered silence tethers us to grace; mysteries are unlocked... wonderment is unveiled. There... in stillness, we unbend (yet again), as the hushed notes of friendship and peace populate our soul.

"Every experience God gives us, every person He puts in our path, is the perfect preparation for a future only He can see." Corrie ten Boom Read about this Heroine of Faith

Leafy Waifs Drift in the Serpentine

Another gorgeous piece of eye candy from Bill Miller of Miller Canoes - shot on eastern Canada's Serpentine River.

Nictau Ice

Streaks of blue light penetrate sheets of ice in Nictau, New Brunswick, Canada's minus 30 degree weather. Shot by my camera-toting friend, Bill - a third-generation canoe builder and founder of the world-famous "Fiddlers on the Tobique."
(Image artistically modified in Photoshop-CS3 by Fade to Black.)

Learn more about Bill here:
Saltscapes

Fall's First Blush in Peaceful Meadow

Llama Ranch - Murphy

Dead or Alive?

DOA: An acronym most often used in hospital emergency rooms meaning: "dead on arrival."

Death: finality?
No.
We are birthed in death.

Is such a statement conflict or truth?
A conundrum? A paradox?
Yes.

We live to die and die to live.

The Dead Sea has an inlet but no outlet. Nothing lives in the Dead Sea. Despite the tributary that flows into it, every year a little more of it evaporates.

To produce life, passageways must be both nurtured and released.
As with us; we must both possess and lavish that which cascades into us onto another.
We must give. We must receive.

Are you? Do you? Will you?

If so...
Dead on arrival might actually be something to embrace, after all... .

The Quiet Places

There's a space inside each of us - a place we inhabit separately, autonomously, from the world around us. This place is unconstrained from the influence, pressures, and resulting fissures created through activity, media, friends, and loved ones. This solitary place - this untilled moor - whose tracks, while rich, may lay barren - yet uninhabited by boundless treasure. This is where the Spirit whispers to the deep places of our inner being. This place is where new light dances freely on the crest of our soul. It's vitality flows from the headwaters... pools on the outer banks... and probes the deep places, transforming our souls. This place is where revelation innocently yet powerfully invades us. In this place we are awakened, refreshed, and renewed. We travel to places of wholeness we can never find in the frenetic distractions of a world disquieted by busyness. If we abandon and surrender - fully yielded to it's bouquet - permitting its scent be spilt as a balm, our capacity for more resplendent moments will begin to envelop us. We will be heartened. We will be en-couraged. Saturated by peace, we will luxuriate in this pause. We will be released to hope and to faith. As we are painted peace in these quiet places, we will be restored, and love will be our sanctuary.

Photo Attribution: MNC - my precious daughter

...in believing

Stand in the ways and see and ask for the old path, where the good way is and walk in it; then you will find rest for your souls. Jeremiah 6:16

Therefore I say to you, whatever things you ask when you pray, believe that you received them, and you will have them. Mark 11:24

On Track

...by no means do I count myself an expert in all of this, but I've got my eye on the goal, where God is beckoning us onward—to what lies ahead. I'm off and running, and I'm not turning back... focused on that goal, toward every treasure God holds out. Do you have something else in mind? ...something less than total commitment? Be assured - God will clear your blurred vision—you'll see it yet! Now that we're on the right track, let's stay on it. Phil 3:13-16

"Every event of our lives is birthed in the meticulous, dynamic, and resolute intention of a God who is zealously, piercingly, and vigilantly devoted to seeing us pursue our destiny." Bejeva Likeian

“Live with intention. Walk to the edge. Listen hard. Practice wellness. Play with abandon. Laugh. Choose with no regret. Appreciate your friends. Continue to learn. Do what you love. Live as if this is all there is.” Mary Anne Radmacher

Yosemite's Golden Glaze

What caption might you apply?

Is this little chipmunk praying? ...offering you something? ...hoping it's feeding time? ...wanting you to plop the latest 'best seller' in his paws? Or ???

BOOKS: You Simply Can't Have Too Many

Books: The quietest and most constant of friends... the most accessible and wisest of counselors... and, the most patient of teachers.

The LongSword Winery Tasting Patio

In the rich fertile lands of the Applegate Valley - replete with vineyards tucked under the gentle slopes of the Cascade and Siskiyou Mountain ranges - I happened upon this charming tasting patio while en route to historic Jacksonville. I took great delight in their signature labels - especially a sweet dessert wine called, "Conversation" and another - "Accolade" (on the order of a delicate champagne).

Shrouded American Woman

Ancient thoughts sweep furtively through a pensive soul.

Double Vision?

Autumn's Applause

I try not to think about raking up the leaves and what a mess the landscape is until they're bagged up - but rather... consider that every fallen leaf can whisper in my ear - not merely the greatness of Creation, but of The Creator. May this season - when the trees have their wardrobe change - bring blessing to you and your loved ones.

Bronzed Basin

Fish Lake - Rogue River National Forest

I Stand Alone

Sometimes - like this singular tree set apart in the forest - our inclination is to stand alone. Possibly we need time to step away from the crowd and the madness of life. ...time to slow down... time to listen to our inner self, and commune in Spirit, and time to simply, breathe-in quietness and peace.

At other times, we may separate out of pain and woundedness. Yet, brokenness, disconnectedness, and detachment can interrupt healing. This is why divorce is so devastating. Healing comes through relationship not apart from it.

Community, unity, reconciliation, and humility is the atmosphere in which we find wholeness - where we step into rugged, uncomfortable territory and reclaim what went missing... release judgments... find forgiveness... restore what was fragmented... and ultimately, renew our lives through fresh vision and thanksgiving.

Bright Lights

I recently attended a concert under the stars and thought about how great musical artists (when viewed on stage, under bright lights and thunderous sound effects), seem "bigger than life."

In contrast, some 2000 years ago, the "son of man" came to earth in simplicity and humility. When he returns, all nations will witness his coming in the clouds with great power and glory. The Shofar (trumpet) will sound and he will gather those who believe in Him from the four winds - from one end of heaven to the other (Mt.24). All nations and tribes will witness this event. Billions of angels will burst into the earth's atmosphere and the brightness of His being will be more awesome than any light show you've ever seen - on the earth and in the sky.

Nature's Cathedral

This bubbling stream is a natural cathedral chiseled in a rock bed worn smooth by constant pressure. It filters light through fresh streams and invades cracked spaces to bring life... much like our journey: sometimes turbulent, sometimes peaceful.

Ethereal Forest

Blackness Invaded by Light

Blind billows
Bruise

Brilliant beams
Break

Sylphlike shafts
Streak

Sun's splendor ~
Spectacular


© Bejeva Likean

Interruption

Sit a while... peruse a book... chat with a friend... contemplate wonder and the mysteries of life.

He Stills the Storms to a Whisper ~ Ps 107:29

God moves in a mysterious way
His wonders to perform;
He plants His footsteps in the sea,
And rides upon the storm.

His purposes will ripen fast,
Unfolding every hour:
The bud may have a bitter taste,
But sweet will be the flower.

Blind unbelief is sure to err,
And scan His works in vain:
God is His own interpreter
And He will make it plain.

Henry Cowper, eighteenth-century Poet

Stand of Trees (Prospect)

If you looked straight across - eye level - at this raging river it would appear daunting. But, looking from above, it almost appears as a gentle stream. Much in the same way, if we view life's problems by looking down upon them, they will have less power over us. Perspective gives us a fresh lens.

Tree-lined Path of Graves

Fern Maple in Fall Colors

Ghostly Trees I & II

Ancient Rock Man [Plasticized]

Lithia Park Pathway (Photo Watercolor)

Silken Petals

Bruised Edges
Lightly Grace
Silken Petals.
Her Dulcet Nectar
Remains...