Thanks for stopping by, whether you got here by a link or hitting "next blog" -- I am glad you are here. I've also done some writing on homeschooling, and what I learned thinking I was teaching.

Sunday, April 22, 2012

I Can’t Say It Any Better

But, let me try.

It’s not as if I haven’t been writing these past few days – writing is a way of breathing to me. But as I have written, I can hear myself ask: “So, what is your point?” 

The facts are today promises to be another lovely Texas day. Today, I have my health, and I know I have my daily bread. Moreover, today, I have the security of not living in a war zone, like the Sudan, and of having the refuge of a loving husband, a home, family and friends. And the future of the free world does not depend on my decisions today.

Where am I going with this?
This is an Ebenezer kind of day – as have the previous five days. Everywhere I have looked, for several days, color delights. And this has been the stopping point for several meditations.

Why can’t I get beyond this?

I could say I feel guilty -- Some folks have no respite to simply sit, think, and soak in all that is good in being alive.  But if truth be told, I can’t get on paper what my eyes are seeing – what I am feeling.  Others have said it better!

So . . .

When a thing has been said and said well, have no scruple. Take it and copy it. Anatole France (1844-1924)

Just for today – if what I see had a voice it might sound like a poem or a violin concerto. The poet Rilke wrote that if the beauty of spring could be heard, it would resound all over.

Everything is blooming most recklessly; if it were voices instead of colors, there would be an unbelievable shrieking into the heart of the night.  ~Rainer Maria Rilke, Letters of Rainer Maria Rilke

And the composer Vivaldi heard this melody two centuries before the poet wrote, and made it a part of four memorable violin concertos. (Spring)

Solomon concisely expressed what I see:

See! The winter is past; the rains are over and gone. Flowers appear on the earth; the season of singing has come, the cooing of doves is heard in our land.
Song of Songs 2:11,12

  So did T.S. Elliot:
            APRIL is the cruellest month, breeding 
            Lilacs out of the dead land, mixing 
            Memory and desire, stirring 
            Dull roots with spring rain. (The Waste Land )
Earlier in the month, tornadoes ripped through Dallas – almost unimaginable as I enjoy this morning.  So, Shakespeare captured the disquiet that competes with my joy when Proteus declared:

". . . The uncertain glory of an April day;
Which now shows all the beauty of the sun,
And by and by a cloud takes all away." The Two Gentlemen of Verona (I, iii, 84-87)

Today, its beauty teaches me I am just one creature in a confounding creation, whose origin, conclusion and daily unfolding are in the hands of a God whose power and purpose keeps the stars; yet, He knows the number of my hairs, and how many more spring days I will enjoy. (Isaiah 40:26, 46:3-5;Psalm 139)

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