Upon the withered stem

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G r a v e   C a g e   D e t a i l

Ruff Chapel Methodist Church

Ridgeway, South Carolina

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And if tonight my soul may find her peace

in sleep, and sink in good oblivion,

and in the morning wake like a new-opened flower

then I have been dipped again in God, and new-created.

And if, as weeks go round, in the dark of the moon

my spirit darkens and goes out, and soft strange gloom

pervades my movements and my thoughts and words

then I shall know that I am walking still

with God, we are close together now the moon's in shadow.

And if, as autumn deepens and darkens

I feel the pain of falling leaves, and stems that break in storms

and trouble and dissolution and distress

and then the softness of deep shadows folding, folding

around my soul and spirit, around my lips

so sweet, like a swoon, or more like the drowse of a low, sad song

singing darker than the nightingale, on, on to the solstice

and the silence of short days, the silence of the year, the shadow,

then I shall know that my life is moving still

with the dark earth, and drenched

with the deep oblivion of earth's lapse and renewal.

And if, in the changing phases of man's life

I fall in sickness and in misery

my wrists seem broken and my heart seems dead

and strength is gone, and my life

is only the leavings of a life:

and still, among it all, snatches of lovely oblivion, and snatches of renewal

odd, wintry flowers upon the withered stem, yet new, strange flowers

such as my life has not brought forth before, new blossoms of me --

then I must know that still

I am in the hands of the unknown God,

he is breaking me down to his own oblivion

to send me forth on a new morning, a new man.

= D.H. Lawrence =

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Happy Thursday

And waiting died

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M u c h a s   O s s e o u s

Magnolia Cemetery

Augusta, Georgia

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On the Plains of Hesitation

bleach the bones of countless millions who,

at the dawn of victory,

sat down to wait --

and, waiting, died.

= George W. Cecil =

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Happy Wednesday

Water is water

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T h r e e   T o e s   T o   T h e   W i n d

Folly Beach

Charleston, South Carolina

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Well, art is art, isn't it?

Still, on the other hand, water is water.

And east is east and west is west

and if you take cranberries and stew them like applesauce

they taste much more like prunes than rhubarb does.

Now you tell me what you know.

= Groucho Marx =

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Happy Tuesday

A debtor to life

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F a d i n g   N o t   A w a y

Elmwood Cemetery

Columbia, South Carolina

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So long as my spirit still

Is glad of breath

And lifts its plumes of pride

In the dark face of death;

While I am curious still

Of love and fame,

Keeping my heart too high

For the years to tame,

How can I quarrel with fate

Since I can see

I am a debtor to life,

Not life to me?

= Sara Teasdale =

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Happy Monday

To make a wretch His treasure

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P e a c e   O f f e r i n g

Bonaventure Cemetery

Savannah, Georgia

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How deep the Father's love for us
How vast beyond all measure
That He should give His only Son
To make a wretch His treasure.

How great the pain of searing loss
The Father turns His face away
As wounds which mar the chosen One
Bring many sons to glory.

Behold the Man upon a cross
My sin upon His shoulders
Ashamed I hear my mocking voice
Call out among the scoffers.

It was my sin that held Him there
Until it was accomplished
His dying breath has brought me life
I know that it is finished.

I will not boast in anything
No gifts, no power, no wisdom
But I will boast in Jesus Christ
His death and resurrection.

Why should I gain from His reward?
I cannot give an answer
But this I know with all my heart
His wounds have paid my ransom.

= Stuart Townend =

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Behold, what manner of love the Father hath bestowed upon us,

that we should be called the sons of God:

therefore the world knoweth us not,

because it knew him not.

I John 3:1

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Happy Sunday