News Reports of the Shooting a Newtown Elementary School
Our wounds come at first breath
In the blood of a garden at rest
Toil cursed upon our commute
Commissioned to die in our youthHope like a blanket will be
At the coming He will set us free.
There are virtually no words to describe the news today. Is this our culture, our time, in which history will judge. I’m sad for all those involved today, God be with those families.
I’d like you to meet one of our local seniors, Malone Kaak, who came out to our farm a few weeks ago for his senior photos. As I mentioned on a previous senior photo shoot post I don’t normally do senior photos, but this was my other exception for the year. Malone was a great sport and put up with everything we threw his way, I’m sure for his mama’s sake, since moms are really the point of doing senior photos anyway, right. There is one thing I know, moms love photos of their kids. I love the last shot of the two of them sitting on the swing together, that ended up being one of my favorites of the afternoon.
To me one of the many great lines written in the book of Psalms is this four line poem from Psalm 139.16:
Your eyes saw my unformed substance;
in your book were written, every one of them,
the days that were formed for me,
when as yet there was none of them.
All of our stories are different, individually crafted by God, but Malone has a great story of perseverance in a world of uncertainty. A story I have related to well over the last few years. If you want to read more about Malone just head over to his mom’s blog and start back a few years into the archives. God has an exact plan for each of us, down to the exact day, and on this day, it was for us to share the afternoon with Malone.
15′ Kite At Annual Kite Festival in Blackpool (UK) by David Nightingale
I came across this poem by John Newton in a book I was reading the other day and had to share it. John Newton is the pastor, write, and poet who’s more famous lyrical writing came when he wrote the hymn Amazing Grace. In the theme of sophistication through simplicity, this poem is amazing. Only four lines, and yet so profound.
Were I but free, I’d take a flight,
And pierce the clouds beyond their sight,
But, ah! like a poor pris’ner bound,
My string confines me near the ground.
I love that. Such a symbol of how we want to live our lives sometimes, let me free of this thing that has me tied down to the ground, yet if we were released, we would crash and burn. Sometimes those things that make us feel tied to the ground are the things that God uses to hold us up. I can think of so many things over the years I thought, if I just could get rid of this or quit that it would allow me to do other things, and more times than not, I was in that place or situation for a good reason.
photo credit from 500px by David Nightingale at http://500px.com/photo/1295537
The more I try to learn and understand how prose and poetry works, the more I realize that I can’t recapture the the years of ignoring virtually all literature from my childhood. It’s like starting in grade school again and working your way up, only now you don’t have time to do so because of bills and life and work and school and family and so on. This part of literature now gets relegated to learning a tiny snippet then when another writer (Lenard Sweet in this case via Viral) points out how important poetry is, then picking it back up again and learning a little more. I’ve done this for almost 5 years now, and I’m not sure I’ve learned a whole lot, but I’ve learned more than if I never picked up poetry at all.
Lenard Sweet in his book Viral spends a great deal on the importance of poetry in one chapter, and then goes on to show how much the Google generation has rejected this form of literature (and mine too for that matter), to replace it with the world of images and graphics. But the more our world, culture, and societies as a whole forget how to write in cursive, the more we should continue to write in cursive ourselves, lest we forget the power of words. Same goes with poetry, and especially in our churches!
If you are a Christian, no matter how much you try, you can’t get away from the fact that God’s way of communicating with us is in words, and the greatest poetry ever written is found in Scripture. It’s no wonder. Poetry, in one form, is a way to say something that can’t be said in words, and much of Scripture is just that, too great for words. There are countless examples, but I like the this reason from the book of John… “If I have told you earthly things and you do not believe, how can you believe if I tell you heavenly things?” (3.12). The Spiritual world of God uses poetry for a good reason, it helps to explain the unexplainable, something that needs a parable to show its depth.
I love short poems that are easily digestible at this point, it will take me years to work up to appreciating Shakespeare, but here Emily Dickinson explains the power of a book.
There is no frigate like a book
To take us lands away,
Nor any coursers like a page
Of prancing poetry.
This traverse may the poorest take
Without oppress of toll.
How frugal is the chariot
That bears the human soul!~Emily Dickinson
It just conveys so much more meaning to compare the power of a book to a warship of immense power and beauty. Much like a product of my generation, I know my weakness in understanding literature is the image. Being a photographer for so long, the image is what I created through capturing light, not an image in my mind through capturing words read. Trying to relearn how words express their own images, without the need for a graphic is quite hard in the 21st century, I can’t imagine how hard it will be in the 22nd century, but it doesn’t mean we shouldn’t try.
![Project 365 [Day 218] Deborah Finishes the 144th Quilt Block](http://scottfillmer.files.wordpress.com/2012/07/3sf_4676.jpg?w=960 "Project 365 [Day 218] Deborah Finishes the 144th Quilt Block")
Project 365 [Day 218] Deborah Finishes the 144th Quilt Block
This box of blocks from back in 2000 came from cleaning out our attic, something we have been trying to do for the past 6 years. Along with the blocks we found this poem, Ode To My Wife the Quilter, by an Unknown Author.
She learned to quilt on Monday
Her stitches all were very fine.
She forgot to thaw out dinner,
So we went out to dine.She quilted miniatures on Tuesday,
She says they are a must.
They were really quite lovely,
But she forgot to dust.On Wednesday it was a sampler,
She says stripling’s fun.
What highlights! What shadows!
But the laundry wasn’t done.Her patches were on Thursday-
Green, yellow, blue and red.
I guess she was really engrossed
She never made the bed.It was wall hanging on Friday,
In colors, she adores.
It never bothered her at all,
The crumbs on the floors.I found a maid on Saturday,
My week is now complete.
My wife can quilt the hours away,
The house will still be neat.Well it’s already Sunday,
I think I’m about to wilt.
I cursed, I raved, I ranted,
The MAID has learned to QUILT!
Today is the first day of Spring (the Spring Equinox)! For some reason, a day I look more forward to each year, but this year, I wanted to commemorate the day with a poem. I make no claims whatsoever to be any kind of a decent poet (see prior attempts), but I do make attempts from time to time. This is one I started in the middle of winter, when it was dark and dreary, and all I wanted was to see some sun and a little bit of warmth in the air. I was writing in anticipation when I would be able to shoot this image above, which I took on Sunday of our Dogwood tree.
I was told off and on in photography that if you have to explain a photo it isn’t very good. I’m not so sure that counts for some forms of writing, since many genres I need plenty of explanation to understand. The first half of the poem is very very loosely formed in an iambic tetrameter as my others have been, in counter rhyming verse, going back and forth between nature and scripture. The back and forth is supposed to be between our current here and now, and the second coming. Looking forward to the time of the new heaven and the new earth, a time when Christ will come back like a Spring, waiting to arrive. I think of that time much like I do Spring after a long winter, the anticipation of Christ’s Second Coming after a long cold winter.
I really wanted to “finished” poem and post it on the first day of Spring, but as with life, so many things got in the way. It still feels unfinished to me, a rough start to something that needs much more work. Kind of like life. So for what it’s worth, here it is:
Spring is coming, ‘or the daffodils say it’s true
Spring is coming, where the frost gives way to the dew
No one knows that day and hour
Still light moves on in full power
The bluebirds fill their boxes full
Where legends of the dogwoods ruleSpring is coming, where the winter must resume it’s queue
Spring is coming, for darkness is a light with you
We are pure at it’s arrival
At once we see him in his all
The seam of light begins the prize
And the meadow grass now gives riseSpring is coming, where the night is bright as the day
Spring is coming, the very stones cry out and pray
The time as yet to have appeared
His glory is joy and revered
When pure beauty colors our eyes
We know summer is set to riseSpring is coming, so stay awake and do not snooze
Spring is coming, rejoice in knowing the Good News
Where the city of our God shines
He will establish in the pines
A beauty that has no ending
And winter that has no begginingSpring is coming now.
In the city of God
There is a river
Where streams are made glad
Though the earth gives way
And the mountains trembleSpring is coming now
And is to be praised.
Let creation rejoice
to the ends of earth
that this is our GodSpring is coming now
So be still and know
Our God is with us
He won’t forsake us
Let Zion be gladSpring is coming, where the frost gives way to the dew
Spring is coming, just for you.
If you have some favorite Spring poems I would love to read them, send them on over or leave a comment below.
I took this photo above from a painting that one of the kids in Uganda painted at Bethany Village Orphanage, and it just reminded me of this poem written by the Puritans around the time of World War I (1918). I found this poem from a collection of files I put together several years ago. I just love how the poem, the painting, and it’s painter go together so well.
The Valley of Vision
Lord, High and Holy, Meek and Lowly,
You have brought me to the valley of vision,
where I live in the depths but see you in the heights;
hemmed in by mountains of sin I behold your glory.Let me learn by paradox that the way down is the way up,
that to be low is to be high,
that the broken heart is the healed heart,
that the contrite spirit is the rejoicing spirit,
that the repenting soul is the victorious soul,
that to have nothing is to possess all,
that to bear the cross is to wear the crown,
that to give is to receive,
that the valley is the place of vision.Lord, in the daytime stars can be seen from deepest wells,
and the deeper the wells the brighter your stars shine;Let me find your light in my darkness,
your life in my death,
your joy in my sorrow,
your grace in my sin,
your riches in my poverty,
your glory in my valley.Amen
If I timed this right, and that’s a stretch but it should be close, we are flying over Egypt right about now looking out over the Saharah Desert. The shot above is what we should be looking at right this very moment as we cross over from the Mediterranean Sea into the great land of Egypt. No, I don’t have wifi on the airplane unfortunately, I just, for once, planned ahead. I’m not really sure why this point in the trip has significance to me, perhaps because after all this preparation we are finally over the continent of Africa, but if you are looking at the photo above and thinking, there’s nothing there… that’s sorta the point. Nothing, for miles, hundreds of miles, except sand. All I could really think about was how in the world did the Israelites wonder around in the desert for 40 years? No wonder they were ready to kill Moses at that point.
Getting to this point in the trip keeps me thinking about being stuck between two worlds, the western world and all it offers is now so far behind us, yet we sit on a plane, which is basically our own civilization and culture, while we look out over a land that Moses walked across some 4,000 years ago (give or take a few). Another 4-6 hours and we will land in Rwanda, then Uganda, and leave the culture we know and understand behind for the next week or so. From then until we leave we will be known as the Mazunga who came to visit.
I’m a terrible poet, but this view and this flight across the desert, where so many thousands and thousands of people flown before today, deserves to be written about at some point. I know, at least for me, I’m excited that we have finally crossed over into Africa.
Then he said, “I am God, the God of your father. Do not be afraid to go down to Egypt, for there I will make you into a great nation. I myself will go down with you to Egypt, and I will also bring you up again… Genesis 46:3.4
I love that God has called out this land from the beginning, and I am now able to see it as none of the Israelites could have ever imagined, from 40,000 feet up in the air. Looking forward to some sleep on the ground in another 6-8 hours or so. Till next time.
I think it has literally taken me a few years to adjust to Sunday being a work day, and I have grown to absolutely love late Sunday afternoons after all the services and meetings are over. It’s one of those few times during the week I get (usually) a few quiet uninterrupted hours to spend with Deborah watching a game or to read. A while back on the recommendation from Piper on the Role of Poetry in the Christian Life I picked up the book A Sacrifice of Praise, An Anthology of Christian Poetry in English from Caedmon to the Mid-Twentieth Century (yes, I seem to just find books with long titles). I came across this poem by Chesterton, with a short title, called The World State I thought I would share below.
Oh, how I love Humanity,
With love so pure and pringlish,
And how I hate the horrid French,
Who never will be English!The International Idea,
The largest and the clearest,
Is welding all the nations now,
Except the one that’s nearest.The compromise has long been known,
This scheme of partial pardons,
In ethical societies
And small suburban gardens—The villas and the chapels where
I learned with little labour
The way to love my fellow-man
And hate my next-door neighbour.
I love the subtle in your face presentation of the “second greatest commandment” here found in Matthew 22. There is just something about the Brits and the French that make me laugh and I can hear this poem being read aloud in a British pub somewhere like The Eagle and the Child in that awesome British accent. Chesterton was a poet, writer, and literary critic in the very early 1900′s and was friends with H.G. Wells, Bernard Shaw, and others. He also wrote, among many other things, Saint Francis of Assisi.
The photo of the day today comes from my back yard, as it was being clobbered by wind and rain. This photo sort of summed up the day in some respects. We had two unexpected calls by two different doctors for Deborah, neither of which I was all that excited about, it was cold and obviously poured, for most of the day… and then…
We went to our Ash Wednesday service (my first that I can ever remember as an adult Christian). At this moment I am trying to figure out how to mentally unpack what just happened.
My emotions were on edge from the day already but sometimes just being able to worship with raw emotions allows the Holy Spirit to have an impact. Brian led worship with a song I hadn’t heard yet (apparently everyone else has) by Tomlin from Passion called “Spirit Fall”, written by Jason Ingram, Louie Giglio, Kristian Stanfill and Daniel Carson, which has some incredible energy with a room of 500 people singing…
Oh, come
Magnify the Son
Savior of the world
The hope for everyone
After an incredible message from Genesis through Luke led by Josh (podcast will be up tomorrow), followed by the “imposition of ashes”, Allen closed with this prayer called The Valley of Vision.
Lord, High and Holy, Meek and Lowly,
You have brought me to the valley of vision,
where I live in the depths but see you in the heights;
hemmed in by mountains of sin I behold your glory.Let me learn by paradox
that the way down is the way up,
that to be low is to be high,
that the broken heart is the healed heart,
that the contrite spirit is the rejoicing spirit,
that the repenting soul is the victorious soul,
that to have nothing is to possess all,
that to bear the cross is to wear the crown,
that to give is to receive,
that the valley is the place of vision.Lord, in the daytime stars can be seen from deepest wells,
and the deeper the wells the brighter your stars shine;Let me find your light in my darkness,
your life in my death,
your joy in my sorrow,
your grace in my sin,
your riches in my poverty,
your glory in my valley.Amen
Sometimes it’s just hard to explain to how God works during corporate prayer and worship, but God was there, waiting for us to bring our worries and cares to Him. As explained by Josh tonight, today started a journey that walks down into and across a long valley and eventually ends up at the peak, the resurrection. I feel right now like I literally have no idea what is going to take place in our house over the next 7 weeks leading up to Easter, but I hope to look back at Easter and see that this night was one of those nights you just want to remember, even if the day wasn’t what you hoped for.
