Chastened by God

Okay, maybe that sounds a little strong, but as I read Billie Jo’s post on The Bottom Line, I felt chastened by God. The best part though, is that the chastening proves how personal God is. He’s always aware of my heart, always speaking, always knowing.

Proof positive, here’s a direct quote from my journal on Monday:

“Beloved One, do not count my snow a curse–not even an inconvenience. Surrender to it. Drink its beauty. It will not last forever–like another, rarely seen facet of my personality, how I interact with my children. Recall Eden? The edict of rest, the imposed seasons from the very beginning? Isn’t the accumulation amazing? Even I am thrilled and pleased with how the tiniest freckles of winter can quickly swallow the landscape, disguising stumps and veiling steps and holes. Give me thanks in all things, my daughter!”

And then … I read this:
Exchange Winter Weariness for Crystal Treasures

On a Monday

imagesDamp clouds hug the earth.

Early rains,

Press their cheek to mud and clay.

And lift to leave the stain of

Sun kisses,

Daffodils

Hail Spring!

Cherry Blossoms

Hail Spring!

Stubborn, purple headed weeds,

Hail Spring!

Banish the winter!

Postpone the heat!

Driven by springs insatiable beat,

I begin to itch from inside-out.

Infected.

This fever a contagious malady

Soothed only by spring’s

Cool, soft, damp melody.

Morning clouds hug me close,

Press your dewy brow to mine.

Sun, plant your lips delicate, fine,

To my cheeks.

Believing Beautiful, being a part of it

images

I could sing of your love forever!
It rises, steam from snow soaked clay,
Warmed by soft rays of day.
Light dapples my lowered eyes,
And plays a joy-theme across my face.

What hell would be not to know,
From whence, from whom
This precipice of perfect emerges.
The crease between dawn and day,
Here I sit, here I am raptured.
How frail my worship seems.
It is drunk by your love, drunk by your presence.

And pleasure is found prostrate here,
In the crease between, in the budding light.
In the singleness, oneness of moment, morning, me and you.

Believing Beautiful at Haven Journal