Beside my cottage door it grows,
The loveliest, daintiest flower that blows,
A sweet briar rose.
At dewy mourn or twilight’s close,
The rarest perfume from it flows,
This strange wild rose.
But when the rain-drops on it beat,
Ah, then, its odors grow more sweet,
About my feet.
Offtimes with loving tenderness,
Its soft green leaves I gently press,
In sweet caress.
A still more wondrous fragrance flows
The more my fingers close
And crush the rose.
Dear Lord, oh, let my life be so
Its perfume when tempests blow,
The sweeter flow.
And should it be Thy blessed will,
With crushing grief my soul to fill,
Press harder still.
And while its dying fragrance flows
I’ll whisper low, He loves me and knows
His crushed briar rose.
author unknown to me..
Sometimes a terrible (mine) picture is more about feelings than perfection. As I write this my heart is welling up with gratitude for several things and yet breaking for other things. Bee Man is out of commission right now and I have just spoken to him. I ponder right now on the surgeons and nurse’s that commit to seeing after the well-being of people.. day-to-day dealing with stuff and seeing so much that I would be grossed out by, having to see the yuck and contending with those that are torn up and in pain. To the very young doctor, that I don’t know,but only observed as you, checked my husband out in the ER, I thank you for your dedication for wanting to keep people alive. For striving to do the right thing and living with integrity of heart. My heart cries in thankfulness..and yet it conflicts with the voices I hear of late, that are trying to demean others and inciting slander and yet claiming to be people of faith and people of love. I am not hearing the love, I am not feeling the love, I am feeling only the sting of words. This morning I read.. The servant of the Lord must be gentle.. 2 Timothy 2:24. That gentleness will be demonstrated in your everyday actions, in your speech. God help us to see where we are off. Yes, sticks and stones can break bones, but words really hurt too…
that i hear
crying in the wilderness
crying for help…
hordes of demonic figures
move in the night
portraying to be
turn a blind eye
stick my head
in the sand?
to awake from stupor
of a world
This frosty morning as I went out to check up on my favorite cat, I discovered that Riley had a bird pinned down in the clutches of her paws. I immediately went into, “ok”, this is not going to happen mode and told her to drop the bird. Well, not quite in that manner, I may have looked like a wild-eyed woman who was not going to see a bird die. I was able to distract her, probably caused Riley to fear for her life and was more than ready to run inside the house. As the little bird sat on the cement patio, I observed a rapid heart-beat. I bent down to stroke its little head and it continued to sit there paralyzed by fear. I was not sure what was going on. I decided to move it onto a big flat rock and grabbed one of my husbands worn out cotton gloves for it to sit on. When I picked it up there was a little blood and instead of causing it anymore fear I laid it on top of the glove. I prayed for the bird and spoke words of kindness to it and left it alone in hopes of seeing it fly away. When I went back out to check up on it, it remained on the rock and I told it to go, you are strong and it flew towards our fence.
It sat there for a few minutes and again I coaxed it and said you can fly, you are strong, and at that moment it flew off and away. I don’t know the outcome, but I tried my best to protect and make it feel loved and secure.