The Sweet Harvest

First Picasso, now Van Gogh. I know. But they're famous for a reason. I read that this amazing piece was painted toward the end of Van Gogh's life, as he looked at death more closely. I always hoped that he was looking at this wheat field, at the final harvest, so to speak, through the parables of Jesus. I also read that he knew those parables. That's encouraging to me, but what a burden of work he had built up by the end of his life. I hope he had a place to lay that burden down and know his life's work would not be for nothing.

We all hope to see the fruit of our labor. But all the things we work so hard for will one day be gone, as will we, unless what we sow is seed sown into a higher field, a greater kingdom, a place that never fades away, a place that receives its harvest like a mother receives her children. Do you ever just feel like going home? Well, let's go. And let's tell everyone where we're going, shining with hope, like children who miss their home. Let's overflow the mighty and loving arms of the God who first sowed us in the fruitful earth.

Power and Light

Small bud of wheat,
you sway glowing among a million,
a bulb of light and heat,
to highlight the hillside kingdom.

Your purpose is forever sweet,
even into the night,
by the rays of a lowering sun,
kissing you golden
with life.

::


Jesus also said, “The Kingdom of God is like a farmer who scatters seed on the ground.  Night and day, while he’s asleep or awake, the seed sprouts and grows, but he does not understand how it happens.  The earth produces the crops on its own. First a leaf blade pushes through, then the heads of wheat are formed, and finally the grain ripens.  And as soon as the grain is ready, the farmer comes and harvests it with a sickle, for the harvest time has come.”
- Mark 4:26-29 NLT

Day

This Is The Day

You are the Morning Star,
the true light of the whole world,
yet within my shadowy little soul,
my four walls and a window,
you are the gentle light falling in,
spreading slowly along the corners,
highlighting the shapes of things,
casting a merciful light upon me,
I need only pull back the shade,
let in the light of your day,
and be glad
in the new life you have made.

::

This is the day the Lord has made.
    We will rejoice and be glad in it.
Please, Lord, please save us.
    Please, Lord, please give us success. 
Bless the one who comes in the name of the Lord.
    We bless you from the house of the Lord. 
The Lord is God, shining upon us.
    Take the sacrifice and bind it with cords on the altar. 
You are my God, and I will praise you!
    You are my God, and I will exalt you!

Give thanks to the Lord, for he is good!
    His faithful love endures forever.

- Psalm 118:24-29

But you aren’t in the dark about these things, dear brothers and sisters, and you won’t be surprised when the day of the Lord comes like a thief. For you are all children of the light and of the day; we don’t belong to darkness and night. So be on your guard, not asleep like the others. Stay alert and be clearheaded.

- 1 Thessalonians 5:4-7 

The steadfast love of the Lord never ceases;
    his mercies never come to an end; 
they are new every morning;
    great is your faithfulness.

- Lamentations 3:22-23 

Write Your Name In The Air

In this interesting post I found, Light Writing With Picasso, by Jared Ragland, we're given a little peak into the revolutionary work of photographer, Gjon Mili, and an artist named Pablo Picasso, from 1949. These photographs inspire me and draw their own burning question within me -

Pablo Picasso light drawing. Photo by Gjon Mili.

Who is taking our picture? These photos of Pablo Picasso creating art with a little flashlight have always amazed me. But unlike the beautiful image that gets burned into that film or ultimately read into a hard drive, where do we find the man behind it now? We make our mark in this world, but for what, for who, and for how long? I hope when you smile for your picture, when you sign your name upon the fading page of your life, that you will know the name of the Photographer, your Keeper, the Name above all other names. Philippians 2:9,10

Smile

Write your name in the sand,
little man.
Write your name in the sand.
Spin your sparkler in the air.
Make your art blaze -
then disappear.
You’ll be blessed if you capture
what Picasso could.
We’ll be blessed if we get captured.
The air always swallows up the light.
The tide sweeps in like the night.
Flash your face to the sky,
little child,
and smile.

::

How do you know what your life will be like tomorrow? Your life is like the morning fog—it’s here a little while, then it’s gone.
- James 4:14

What is mankind that you are mindful of them,
human beings that you care for them?
You have made them a little lower than the angels and crowned them
with glory and honor.You made them rulers over the works of your hands;
- Psalm 8:4-6

Dear November

Life is short. Play in the leaves...

Oh November,
how you swung me off to bed,
swirled me softly
like a furled leaf falling,
then tossed me to the quilt & said,
"Dance with me
until it's too dark to see.
Grow old, red and gold with me,
in a sea of leaves,
up to our knees,
and I'll give you Winter
to rest your head."

Take Heart

Take heart,
little corner of the world,
tiny window in the night.
Save your dreams
beneath your pillow
and your faith
in a heart small and bright.

::

I have told you all this so that you may have peace in me. Here on earth you will have many trials and sorrows. But take heart, because I have overcome the world.

- Jesus,  John 16:33

The Psalm of Our Hearts

Do you remember someone singing to you when you were small? I am so blessed with memories of my mother singing me to sleep at night. I still know the lullabies she sang to me. Does your heart know its Psalmist? Does it know the love that is its eternal fortress? King David knew the sweet songs of his father in the solitude of grazing pastures. This life is fading away, but I believe what the writers and singers of the Psalms believed, what poets like Henry Wadsworth Longfellow believed. There is a love, a song, that endures the passing of life, and a father who never forgets his little ones.

I originally began writing this poem for my daughter when she started growing out of my lap, but I soon realized it was more a poem about me, and all of us, growing out of the lap of God.

When You Were Small

When you were small,
when your whole belly fit inside my palm,
when your home was in my lap,
and my arms were your refuge,
and your little crown of curls
fit perfectly beneath my chin,
oh child dearly loved,
I knew no garden,
no kingdom,
no embrace
could keep you in.
So I had to let you go
and go you did.
But just return to me,
call for me,
and I will hear.
I’ll reach for you,
I’ll die for you,
I’ll make the world disappear.
Fall into my arms
even as you die,
and know my love,
everlasting,
like your first lullaby.

::

God is our refuge and strength,
    an ever-present help in trouble. 

Therefore we will not fear, though the earth give way
    and the mountains fall into the heart of the sea, 

though its waters roar and foam
    and the mountains quake with their surging.

...The Lord Almighty is with us;
    the God of Jacob is our fortress. 

- Psalm 46:1-3,7

...I have you fast in my fortress,
And will not let you depart,
But put you down into the dungeon
In the round-tower of my heart.

And there will I keep you forever,
Yes, forever and a day,
Till the walls shall crumble to ruin,
And moulder in dust away!

- The Children's Hour, Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

My Hand Upon My Mouth

If you're at all like me, you have a wavering self-image that sways from one extreme to another, depending on your circumstance and surroundings. One day you're unique and special to the point of egotism, and another day, shaken to reality to the point of believing you're no more than a speck on the map, a brick in the wall. We just can't see clearly. We can't see ourselves within the scope of the whole world, let alone God's universe. 

I love that as we waver, as we float in and out of the picture, one man stands there, the same, yesterday, today, and tomorrow. And not only is he standing there, but he made everything on which you stand, on which you place all your trust. If you doubt it, just ask him.

Or read the book of Job. Wow. I'm thankful for our pastor's message on Job yesterday. Like he said, it's like jumping into the deep end of the Bible. But I can't wait for Psalms. I think that book is going to feel like God's strong right arm pulling me out of the deep water. As it should, right?
You can listen to what my pastor, Tim Theule, had to say about it here.

My own words are here about what God had to say to Job. The words were heavy on my heart. And the irony of it isn't lost on me.

My Hand Upon My Mouth 

Let me place my hand upon my mouth
like a little stone upon my grave
and let it read
no thing about me
but only the life that you gave.

Let me place my hand in your hand
like the little child you dearly love
and let me say
nothing, and stay
in the presence of my dear Lord.

::

“Behold, I am insignificant; what can I reply to You?
I lay my hand on my mouth.
“Once I have spoken, and I will not answer;
Even twice, and I will add nothing more.”

- Job 40:4-5

Surely goodness and lovingkindness will follow me all the days of my life,
And I will dwell in the house of the Lord forever.

- Psalm 23:6