Here in the death of Christ I live

>>>>++<<<<

R e s o l u t e

Chestnut Hill Cemetery

Salisbury, North Carolina

>>>>++<<<<

In Christ alone my hope is found
He is my light, my strength, my song
This cornerstone, this solid ground,
Firm through the fiercest drought and storm.

What heights of love, what depths of peace,
When fears are stilled, when strivings cease!
My comforter, my all in all
Here in the love of Christ I stand.

In Christ alone, Who took on flesh,
Fullness of God in helpless babe!
This gift of love and righteousness,
Scorned by the ones He came to save.
'Til on that cross as Jesus died,
The wrath of God was satisfied
For ev'ry sin on Him was laid
Here in the death of Christ I live.

There in the ground His body lay,
Light of the world by darkness slain
Then bursting forth in glorious day,
Up from the grave He rose again!
And as He stands in victory,
Sin's curse has lost its grip on me
For I am His and He is mine
Bought with the precious blood of Christ.

No guilt in life, no fear in death
This is the pow'r of Christ in me
From life's first cry to final breath,
Jesus commands my destiny.
No pow'r of hell, no scheme of man,
Can ever pluck me from His hand
'Til He returns or calls me home
Here in the pow'r of Christ I'll stand.

> Keith Getty / Stuart Townend <

>>>>++<<<<

Blessed be the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ,

which according to his abundant mercy hath begotten us again

unto a lively hope by the resurrection of Jesus Christ from the dead,

To an inheritance incorruptible, and undefiled, and that fadeth not away,

reserved in heaven for you,

Who are kept by the power of God through faith unto salvation

ready to be revealed in the last time.

I Peter 1:3-5

>>>>++<<<<

Happy Resurrection Sunday

You heard no noise

>>>>++<<<<

P o w e r   P l a y

North Carolina

Late Winter 2016

>>>>++<<<<

A great Hope fell

You heard no noise

The Ruin was within

Oh cunning wreck that told no tale

And let no Witness in

The mind was built for mighty Freight

For dread occasion planned

How often foundering at Sea

Ostensibly, on Land

A not admitting of the wound

Until it grew so wide

That all my Life had entered it

And there were troughs beside

A closing of the simple lid

That opened to the sun

Until the tender Carpenter

Perpetual nail it down --

> Emily Dickinson <

>>>>++<<<<

Happy Saturday

And now we are here

>>>>++<<<<

W i t h   A   B r o k e n   W i n g

Elmwood Cemetery

Columbia, South Carolina

>>>>++<<<<

We have done what we wanted.
We have discarded dreams, preferring the heavy industry 
of each other, and we have welcomed grief
and called ruin the impossible habit to break.

And now we are here.
The dinner is ready and we cannot eat. 
The meat sits in the white lake of its dish. 
The wine waits.

Coming to this
has its rewards: nothing is promised, nothing is taken away. 
We have no heart or saving grace,
no place to go, no reason to remain.

> Mark Strand <

>>>>++<<<<

Happy Friday

The welcome of small particulars

>>>>++<<<<

A   S i g h t   T o   B e h o l d

Allegheny Cemetery

Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania

>>>>++<<<<

Not vistas, but a home-sized landscape,
beloved rooms storied, painted, lived.
A farm bought with a painting
and a ten dollar personal check.
And almost from the beginning,
the intention to pass on
what an artist sees, what artists make.
A parcel of land, a vast legacy.

Admire the houses, barns, outbuildings,
and studios, uniformly Venetian red.
Respect the visible sweat work of stones
laid in walls and foundations, terraces and walks.
Admire the sunken garden, the wildflower meadows,
the path through thick woods to the fishing pond.
Walk through the farm envisioned by artists.
Admire the home artists made.

Or you can step from a museum’s polished floor
across a carven, gilded threshold
into the farm reimagined in brushstrokes.
From that wooden bridge over there,
hear those three women’s tinkling laughter?
Over there the other way, see
the black dog panting near the youngish man
lifting stones into a half-built wall?

Step out of the frame again, and be
enveloped in birdsong and dapple.
Feel the welcome of small particulars:
the grove beside that boulder,
the white horse tied in front of that barn.
With eyes made tender, see
those elms, from shadows on the grass
to the highest leaves’ shimmer.

With your friends, lovers, family, stride
across this chromatic broken brushwork.
Sit a minute at the granite picnic table
with the artist’s daughters, dressed in summer white.
You can daub this earth, so lyric, so gentle,
from the limited palette of your own love right now.
Any place you care for can hold an easel.
Everything around you is beautiful plein aire.

> Marilyn Nelson <

>>>>++<<<<

Happy Thursday

And the sky opens

>>>>++<<<<

A r c h i n g   O n

Armory Park

Salem, Massachusetts

>>>>++<<<<

THERE ARE MORNINGS

Even now, when the plot
calls for me to turn to stone,
the sun intervenes. Some mornings
in summer I step outside
and the sky opens
and pours itself into me
as if I were a saint
about to die. But the plot
calls for me to live,
be ordinary, say nothing
to anyone. Inside the house
the mirrors burn when I pass.

> Lisel Mueller <

>>>>++<<<<

Happy Wednesday

Will I ever be able to sing

>>>>++<<<<

O n   t h e   U p   a n d   U p

Green Mount Cemetery

Baltimore, Maryland

>>>>++<<<<

I worried a lot. Will the garden grow, will the rivers

flow in the right direction, will the earth turn

as it was taught, and if not how shall

I correct it?

Was I right, was I wrong, will I be forgiven,

can I do better?

Will I ever be able to sing, even the sparrows

can do it and I am, well

hopeless.

Is my eyesight fading or am I just imagining it,

am I going to get rheumatism,

lockjaw, dementia?

Finally, I saw that worrying had come to nothing.

And gave it up. And took my old body

and went out into the morning,

and sang.

> Mary Oliver <

>>>>++<<<<

Happy Tuesday

My desire to bring roses

>>>>++<<<<

I n   M e m o r y   E v e r g r e e n

Woodridge Memorial Park

Lexington, South Carolina

>>>>++<<<<

My flowers are reflected
In your mind
As you are reflected in your glass.
When you look at them,
There is nothing in your mind
Except the reflections
Of my flowers.
But when I look at them
I see only the reflections
In your mind,
And not my flowers.
It is my desire
To bring roses,
And place them before you
In a white dish.

> Wallace Stevens <

>>>>++<<<<

Happy Monday

How matchless the grace

>>>>++<<<<

C r o s s   M y   H e a r t

Laurelwood Cemetery

Rock Hill, South Carolina

>>>>++<<<<

Far dearer than all that the world can impart

Was the message that came to my heart

How that Jesus alone for my sin did atone

And Calvary covers it all

Calvary covers it all

My past with its sin and stain

My guilt and despair Jesus took on Him there

And Calvary covers it all

The stripes that He bore and the thorns that He wore

Told His mercy and love evermore

And my heart bowed in shame as I called on His name

And Calvary covers it all

How matchless the grace when I looked in the face

Of this Jesus my crucified Lord

My redemption complete I then found at His feet

And Calvary covers it all

How blessed the thought that my soul by Him bought

Shall be His in the glory on high

Where with gladness and song I'll be one of the throng

And Calvary covers it all

Calvary covers it all

My past with its sin and stain

My guilt and despair Jesus took on Him there

And Calvary covers it all

> Mrs. Walter G. Taylor <

>>>>++<<<<

There is therefore now no condemnation to them which

are in Christ Jesus, who walk not after the flesh,

but after the Spirit.

For the law of the Spirit of life in Christ Jesus

hath made me free from the law of sin and death.

Romans 8:1-2

>>>>++<<<<

Happy Sunday

Then all is still

>>>>++<<<<

S o m e t i m e s   I   S i t s   A n d   T h i n k s

Kensico Cemetery

Valhalla, New York

>>>>++<<<<

Again the woods are odorous, the lark
Lifts on upsoaring wings the heaven gray
That hung above the tree-tops, veiled and dark,
Where branches bare disclosed the empty day.

After long rainy afternoons an hour
Comes with its shafts of golden light and flings
Them at the windows in a radiant shower,
And rain drops beat the panes like timorous wings.

Then all is still. The stones are crooned to sleep
By the soft sound of rain that slowly dies;
And cradled in the branches, hidden deep
In each bright bud, a slumbering silence lies.

> Rainer Maria Rilke <

>>>>++<<<<

Happy Saturday

Heap up emerald masses

>>>>++<<<<

A   W o r d   I n   L o v e ' s   L a n g u a g e

Erica and Dagny :: May 2016

Peak, South Carolina

>>>>++<<<<

They go, the early flags, the gory maples --
so too the daffodils & Lenten roses.
Other petals swirl & nights warm.
 
Buds thicken and cast shadows:
in a thunderstorm
I almost forget the ice that was.
 
Narcissi suckle watery paths;
meadows heap up emerald masses.
How green & I want to delight
 
except this undertow -- it pulls so fast
passing before I recognize it --
like souls in Dante who can’t see the present,
 
white lilacs curdle in pre-summer heat.
The parade I barely noticed was beginning
is already halfway down the street.

> Tess Taylor <

>>>>++<<<<

Happy Friday