by Robert Frost
Her hardest hue to hold.
But only so an hour.
So Eden sank to grief,
Nothing gold can stay.
Nothing Gold Can Stay by Robert Frost Nature's first green is gold, Her hardest hue to hold. Her early leaf's a flower; But only so an hour. Then leaf subsides to leaf, So Eden sank to grief, So dawn goes down to day.
Nothing gold can stay.
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I find no mention of any of the Twelve disciples between the crucifixion and the resurrection. On the longest day of their lives, they went home knee deep in grief, dropped into the oblivion of exhausted sleep, and woke to a dawn when it dawned on them afresh that all the horror was not a nightmare but the truth. He was dead. And now, what was truth? The paradigm of their hopes and dreams-the wave of wonder they had ridden into the city days before, to the rhythm of "Hosanna" - had shifted, shattered, and their hearts were pierced by the fragments of their broken dreams. If they heard, "It is finished," they didn't grasp the meaning dripping from that marred mouth. They only knew their own terrible loss. It was finished. He was gone. Life as they had hoped it would be faded to black. Only one sentence in Luke 23:56 describes that Saturday, "On the Sabbath they rested according to the commandment..." and even this verse seems to to be describing the women who were waiting for their chance to live their love for Him one more time by spice and ointment lovingly applied. The silence regarding the other followers, "the Twelve," is deafening. Perhaps it was for them a day even darker than the one before, if that were possible. As they rested, the reality of Friday's darkness must have settled over them like a shroud. In many "Christian circles," the Saturday of Easter weekend has become a day of reprieve from the gloom of "Good Friday" if we have even paused to consider the depth of that dark day. When Saturday dawns, with golden sunrise and spring green glory blanketing the warming hills, our minds turn to Sunday, because we know what is next. We hear the phrase, "It's Friday, but Sunday's coming." So, the blinding glory of the resurrection of Jesus took them completely by surprise...(off guard?!!) The preposterous wonder of this truth knocked them into a new paradigm, and they never got over it!! I think if we want to live in the audacious reality of Jesus resurrection, -really live in it!- we might need to linger a bit longer in the truth of what life without Jesus looks like. I think Saddest Sabbath Saturday is a holy day worth considering. Today, walk a little slower. Look back to the darkness of Good Friday. Dare to inhale the fear and pain and abandonment of that terrible day. Pause. Even though you know Sunday is coming, give yourself to this day's interlude of grief and loss. Be fully present in this saddest Sabbath Saturday. HumminB first posted on Word Wanderings, Saturday of Easter weekend, 3/26/16
I came upon the note quite by accident…I was delivering a card in the office of our Children’s Ministry director at the church, and there it was, in plain view. Such a simple message, so packed with love. I knew “Mes Ann” would treasure it always. I left the note on her desk, of course, but I carried the memory of those words with me. And while I know the little scribe meant Miss Ann, the poignant misspelling spoke to my heart on some complicated days. Mess Brenda, I love you. It seems extravagant beyond belief, To be a mess, and to be loved. Wouldn’t that be a note to cherish above all others? But there is One who whispers this very truth in my disbelieving ear. And His message is written long and clear in His Book, page after page of promise and Presence and prodigal love. This funny scrawled message with the smudged letters is the Bible in five words: Mess Brenda, I love you. The message is for you too. Go ahead; try it on for size. Put your name there, between the mess and the love – Mess_______ I love you. How does that sound? How does that feel? Wrap that message around your heart, hold it tight, and on the hardest days, remember. You are a mess. And you are loved. You are so, so loved. HumminB
My world breathes morning prayers, Wordless longings sigh and rise. Every wisp a tendril rising heavenward, My world breathes morning prayers. HumminB
I am deeply grateful for today's life lesson refresher course and I want to shout a thank you across the meadow-creek-cemetery-road that separates me from my teacher... thank you, thank you... But a nasty cough has limited my speech to a rasp, and even if I had my voice, I'm not sure I could find the words I would need to carry my gratitude across the cultural gap between us. So for today I will settle for my settled place on the porch, my own place of pause between bouts of hard pulling which many may never see. But Jesus, you see, and you sit quietly with me, here at my end-of-row resting place. And some days, when I'm pulling hard, and it seems like all roots and clods, and uphill both ways, I hear you singing. humminB
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