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Showing posts from July, 2024

Grief

Sometimes the news comes quick. Sometimes the news comes slow. No matter how or when it comes, grief travels in the wake of the news. Grief is heavy, weighty, a burden, especially when it involves someone deeply loved. Grief is not meant to be carried alone. It’s too heavy and may last a while—and that’s ok. That’s what family and friends are for, to share the load. Jesus stood outside the tomb of his friend and wept but He did not weep alone. It was a deep, human moment. “ Blessed are those who mourn, for they shall be comforted ” (Matt 5:4). If anyone knows how we feel in grief, it’s Him. But His grief did not linger long, as at the mention of his name, Lazarus came forth. We are not meant to dwell in grief, but should leave room enough for it. Let it run its course. Like the song says, “ Every Storm Runs Out Of Rain .” Another song says, “ The storm We will dance as it breaks The storm It will give as it takes And all of our pain is washed away Don't cry or be afraid Some things...

Update

First, let me say “thank you for your patience.” My work schedule has not been kind and my health is not what it once was. I am obviously not writing as much but hope to get that machine running again soon. I’ll get to the health stuff another time. I’m just getting old, that’s all.  Second, though I’m working, I’ve not stopped filling out applications, trying to re-enter higher education. Something promising is on the horizon, but time will tell.  Third, I get my hearing aids next week. 30% hearing loss in both ears. Tinnitus never stops. I blame the Foo Fighters concert I went to a few years back (was near deaf for 3 days). Actually, it’s hereditary, so now it’s my time. Speaking of hereditary, I still have all my hair to the envy of my dad and uncle.  I have a project I’ve been working on, but I’ll share that in another post.

The Literature of Nature

 “Where is the literature which gives expression to Nature? He would be a poet who could impress the winds and streams into his service, to speak for him; who nailed words to their primitive senses, as farmers drive down stakes in the spring, which the frost has heaved; who derived his words as often as he used them—transplanted them to his page with earth adhering to their roots; whose words were so true and fresh and natural that they would appear to expand like the buds at the approach of spring, though they lay half smothered between two musty leaves in a library—aye, to bloom and bear fruit there, after their kind, annually, for the faithful reader, in sympathy with surrounding Nature.” Henry David Thoreau, “Walking” (public domain)

Beautiful

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 I love the summertime clouds 

RIP Shelly

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 You were a pioneer 

Happy 4th!

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