Scribblings / Warblings / Daubings
A little bird across the street has spent the last hour examining, fluttering up against, and being thwarted by a mirrored window on the Siskin building.
Little bird, there is a very great world behind you if you will only turn around and away from yourself.
My wife and I heard this song while volunteering at Passion, and were encouraged by it; having received the new Passion cd in the mail today, we were encouraged all over again. Thinking about a fellow from our church who might easily be discouraged right now, and praying for him, thought I’d record it and post it for him and others to hear…
Sometimes – David Crowder* Band
Sometimes every one of us feels
Like we’ll never be healed
Sometimes
Sometimes every one of us aches
Like we’ll never be saved
Sometimes
When we’ve given up
Let Your healing come
When there’s nothing left
Let Your healing come
‘Til we’re rising up
Let Your healing come
Where you go, we will follow
Where you go, we will follow
It’s Your love that we adore
It’s like a sea without a shore
We’re lost in You, we’re lost in You
It’s Your love that we adore
It’s like a sea without a shore
We’re lost in You, we’re lost in You
Sometimes
Sometimes it’s like we’ll never atone
For all the love that we’ve known
Sometimes like in a smile or a song
When you feel it come
And that feeling’s gone
It flies
When we’ve given up
Let Your healing come
When there’s nothing left
Let Your healing come
‘Til we’re rising up
Let Your healing come
Where you go, we will follow
Where you go, we will follow
It’s Your love that we adore
It’s like a sea without a shore
We’re lost in You, we’re lost in You
It’s Your love that we adore
It’s like a sea without a shore
We’re lost in You, we’re lost in You
Don’t be afraid
Don’t be afraid
Just set your sail
And let’s risk the ocean – there’s only grace
Let’s risk the ocean – there’s only grace
Let’s risk the ocean – there’s only grace
Let’s risk the ocean – there’s only grace
Time is a wicked instrument of torture, as it always has plenty of Itself.
Only God gets it right the first time.
God moves in a mysterious way,
His wonders to perform;
He plants his footsteps in the sea,
And rides upon the storm.Deep in unfathomable mines
Of never failing skill
He treasures up his bright designs
And works his sovereign will.Ye fearful saints, fresh courage take,
The clouds ye so much dread
Are big with mercy, and shall break
In blessings on your head.Judge not the Lord by feeble sense,
But trust him for his grace;
Behind a frowning providence,
He hides a smiling face.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 work in vain;
God is his own interpreter,
And he will make it plain.
i thank You God for most this amazing
day: for the leaping greenly spirits of trees
and a blue true dream of sky; and for everything
wich is natural which is infinite which is yes(i who have died am alive again today,
and this is the sun’s birthday; this is the birth
day of life and love and wings: and of the gay
great happening illimitably earth)how should tasting touching hearing seeing
breathing any – lifted from the no
of all nothing – human merely being
doubt unimaginable You?(now the ears of my ears awake and
now the eyes of my eyes are opened)
History is not … a cookbook offering pretested recipes. It teaches by analogy, not by maxims. It can illuminate the consequences of actions in comparable situations, yet each generation must discover for itself what situations are in fact comparable.
As if you could kill time without injuring eternity.
When my sister and I were very young, any game we would play together pitted us against an imaginary team, a brother and sister dubiously named The Kumquats.
Now, for the very first time, I intend to devour my enemies.
Paint. Daub. Stroke. Brush. Board. Canvas. Canvass. Cover. Coat. Stain. Veneer. Pigment. Chroma. Tint. Tones. Oil. Acrylic. Tempera. Watercolor. Rouge. Blush.
Random associations with painting; I’m challenged by Brooke to write a poem around a fascinating word discovered in my reading tonight: pentimento. It’s when an underlayer of paint is visible beneath layers of paint atop it, as when an artwork is painted over with another image. Spiritual metaphors? I think so. Especially as “pentimento” is Italian for “repentance”…
Now I’m wondering if there is a way for me to write one poem over top another, as painters may. Hmmmm.
thegreatknock 