Story: Chapter One

Chapter One

 

There once was an orphanage, set back in the hills that rolled along the base of the Cascading Mountains. Distant and far off the beaten track, there were tales of travelers who had never made it that far. Oh, they were always heard from again, it wasn’t that. But they would have a quizzical look when the journey was mentioned, and were seen to roll an eye when the destination was brought up.

Now the orphanage was not the type one imagines. Not dull white with peeling paint and grubby children hanging out of windows, nor even uniformed, clean rows of unsmiling urchins on concrete steps. Not hardly. The orphanage at the foot of the mountains was a glorious affair, castle-like, with parapets and gleaming marble floors, pillars carved with golden birds, a silver basin filled with sweet, clean water in every well-appointed room. And children, of course, everywhere! All ages, with all the colors of hair and eyes and skin children are known to come in.

Unlike their fine surroundings, though, there was not the air of aristocracy or idleness about the place. No lounging in chaises with fans and barely concealed yawns, no wiling away of senseless hours. Rather, travelers coming closer noticed the trimming of hedges, picking of fruit, painting, repairing, stacking, filling. The drawing of water, swing of a hammer. The sounds of singing come over the air between the large trees all around, and in their shade rest the young ones, being held or bandaged or whispered to by smiling older children. A sense of peace envelopes, so no matter the ordeal or the length of the journey, the traveler always soaks in the beauty while making their way to the open door. The grand front entrance stood ajar always by day, and the smells of old oak and the patina of years greeted any hands that traced its smooth carving.

Deep inside, past carpeted halls, gleaming chandeliers, vaulted ceilings and stacks of volumes in the library, fine furniture and desks, the din of murmuring voices could be heard. Around a marble table in the center room, the planning room, sat ten or so adults and older children in various poses. A stack of paper had fallen to one side, and the voices were raised. Finally, a gentleman of some twenty-eight or nine years stood and rapped on the table, hard, but when this garnered not a glance, reached into a nearby wardrobe. He pulled out a small bell, that when struck, made a sound much louder and more musical than an observer would expect. In the reluctant silence that ensued, he stated clearly, “We will get no further in this way. We must proceed in a manner that respects the lord of the house. Each one will prepare a recommendation and will be given an audience. We will adjourn for today.”

Chapter 2

Life I Love You, All is Groovy

Simon and Garfunkel live is wafting beautifully through my speakers and the poignancy is a physical ache, of memory, and my eyes keep senselessly watering. I wipe tears away and more come down.
I finally bought the album on iTunes as I haven't been able to find mine for years. By years...I mean I started listening to the tape when I was 14 in my blue bedroom downstairs, and bought the cd sometime in my early 20's.
So I think it's the lost years coming up at me out of the mist that are causing emotion.

Shadowy former self, smiling and remembering me to one who lives there. She once was a true love of mine.

*        *        * 

 My summer break from blogging was not intentional; simply enforced by no time, especially time alone. If you can write while someone is saying, "Mom. Mom. Mom.....MOM!!" every two minutes, more power to ya. Bless their sweet young souls.

In short, my year "off" from teaching has led into another year of not teaching, well, school anyway. The year had good places and rough places, and mostly I realized just how terribly tired and sick to death of everything I was. And that it takes a long time to get over that -- and you can't regulate it.
So this year I am gearing up to teach piano and voice lessons, which I have sure had a lot of myself, and have taught before, and though it's a lot of work, I am the boss of myself.

Today is Friday, after a long weekend of trying to go camping with varying levels of success...or no success if you count that both kids were sick, Dylan had to work one of the days, we had one evening together as a family, the batteries would not work so we were cold and in the dark, and I had to leave early with one of the kids and spend 3 straight hours in Hinton Emergency with no chair in the room. THAT SAID, it was a wonderful time, peaceful, with mountains all around and the smell of the camping trailer (which I adore). Also I was giddy with the sense that no one could find me there. HA hahaahahahaha!! That is the BEST feeling ever, for me. I was seriously giggling uncontrollably for awhile the first night, so happy to be free.

Everything worked out, kids are getting better, the first school week drawing to a close. Yesterday I had so much to do I was working from 7 am to 11:30 pm and dropped exhausted into bed. And five minutes later I was out on the couch playing Plants vs Zombies, because that game is addictive and should be banned in all states and provinces. :-/

This year will be much busier, as I have at least 20 students coming to my home or me driving to theirs. That will be good, because I need structure or I'll be wandering in a music, writing and reading haze without a clue, speaking to trees and butterflies and catching snowflakes on my tongue for long unknown stretches of time.

*          *          *

 

When I listen to Simon and Garfunkel the world sometimes seems too full, and life too long. The faces of people I've known and memories spin away and I'm left wondering why, why do we feel so much and lose so much? Why are longing and loneliness constant companions............

Sail on, silver girl, sail on by,

 your time has come to shine, all your dreams are on their way.

 See how they shine!

 Ohh if you need a friend, I'm sailing right behind.

 Like a bridge over troubled water I will ease your mind. 

When I listen to Simon and Garfunkel, the world sometimes seems so small, and life too short. The people I love and the memories of their kindness leave me wondering and breathless with the sweetness of the lives we share. And poetry and music are friends that draw colors on all the world.

 

And for my next film...

I would like to direct, or act in, or watch at the very least, a new film version of The Portrait of a Lady by Henry James. At long last I watched the 1996 film with a young Nicole Kidman and a malicious, balding John Malkovich. He does a great job at evilness.

The movie broke my heart, truly. But I'd like to see it done again, because there is too much art in it, and not enough simple life. And the little things that were changed were unnecessary. Kidman was spectacular; the entire cast was perfectly first rate. I couldn't believe the acting chops that were present: Christian Bale, Viggo Mortensen, Martin Donovan, Barbara Hershey, Mary-Louise Parker, Sir John Gielgud.
I was glad to see it, but like I said it was heart-breaking, and I don't use the term lightly. Harder even to read, and reading first is fairly necessary. Not reading the book first would be the difference between eating a grapefruit whole and peeling, slicing, and sprinkling sugar on one. Rather messy and frustrating versus delectable and dripping juiciness.

A modern version wouldn't work. I doubt it. The shaping factors would not be the same; the plot needs the period it is set in. And yet (which is why the novel is known as classic literature) the insights, the manipulation, the disappointment with what a rotten oyster the world turns out to be sometimes...very modern themes. The tragedy is the loss of Isabel's potential, and the loss of her life's opportunity to love and be loved. What a perfect trap is set by others when they slowly draw her in with what looks like an open door. Her marriage turns out not to be an adventure, not even an escape, but a hideous, malignant trap.

A woman today would not live in such fear, would she? Not so easily trade her dreams for cheap and lifeless baubles? She would simply laugh, or yell or scream, and run away wouldn't she? Or perhaps not? The power of Isabel's own ability to choose was the lock and the key and the cage. All in one, and one for all.

The ending of the novel leaves a reader positively gasping for air, as she returns to Rome and maybe to Osmond...? Or was it to Pansy only...I haven't read any critical literature on the subject. I really can't understand it totally. The ending of the film was rather different, and I'm not sure I liked it as much. A portrait, yes, of self-knowledge and awareness. But it was only a portrait, with no action, and it left you not gasping but simply wondering what was next. In this case brevity was certainly not the soul of wit. It was as if Polonius had a hand in it indeed...more matter with less art would serve The Portrait well.

(But I loved it! I'll watch it again. Once a week for a year? Or until some genius reinvents it?)

Poems and Such

Lots of ideas but not a real blog post this time, just a smattering of poems that have come to me lately.
They need to be distilled perhaps but they are who they are for now.

Thanks for reading if you do; it's always good to be grounded by the sounding board of other's ideas and thoughts!

At That Age

It’s not teenagers,

But the twenty-something’s that should bear

the grimace of society.

Teens hunger and thirst, they struggle and bend,

Emotive, restless, straining toward.

20’s sit smug in pools of stagnant ambition,

Mouths open like baby birds for warmth and food and approbation

Tossing no longer jacks or colored balls but ideas back and forth

Stretched out on couches like the Enlightenment’s elite

Noshing on lattes and relevant ethics

While their parents, with aching smiles, stand beside.

Nothing for them but bland replies,

Whose backs were bent at 20 forging paths

With delicate dreams

and pocketed coins to pay the rent.

 This is (obviously) about my own introspection and selfish tendencies in my early twenties. And also about what I see around me from time to time.

Night Falling

Sometimes the moon is just right,

Over the house

A crisp crescent the cow jumped over

And the sounds of the music are just right,

Slow, steady, moody and blue

 

The evening sky pale through dark leaf-lace

Luminous, colorless, grey-scudded clouds

And the garden lamps glow on

The evening shower that passed

Minutes ago

Leaving drips on dim flowers

Musky in the gathering dusk

 

And the moon is just right,

When you look up,

The night’s soft arms are folding

‘Round colors of grey and white

 

It’s a good time to be alone and breathe

In the voluminous air of the night.

 This one I wrote quickly on my phone memo-pad one evening after a rain shower as I was walking into the house. The moon was perfect, and the radio still coming from the car speakers fit the mood exactly.



Free

I’ll rent a space, where they race snow machines over high fields, and swings go up and down too high to hear the recess bell.

I’ll climb a tree in the dark, where they can’t find me and wouldn’t think to look. Or wander through the pitch black where the noise of an animal, probably wild, doesn’t scare me as much as going back.

I’ll take a walk in an odd direction, and in the space between being lost and being gone too long I’ll feel the joy of heedless breezes that come from anywhere.

I’ll climb some stairs to a grey haven, an attic room with a rectangle of window and just a bed and a wood floor.

I’ll bend to buttercups with my child self, little girl with no care too large to hold out and drop on the world.

I’ll pay my rent when it is due. In the space between I’ll hide from you.

This one also dropped out of my head in a hurry. Sometimes I like these better than the ones I tweak and puzzle over for an interminable length of time. The fast free verse stream-of-consciousness poems don't win prizes, though.


 

Disappointment

 

Tin taste and lead

Grey stone swallowed

And stuck

Long white hallways

End in space

Pace the miles

Drift right and left\ backward/ forward

A sneeze dies behind the nose

 

Burst into laughter once

Glitter in the eyes

A caked-on smile

A wait-a-while

 

Burnt smell and dead

Fish in the pan

Not fried

Not half alive

Indelible

Print inside

On the live wire

Pulled out

Frayed, splayed

 

Push the whole mess off the counter.

Push      the      whole

Green, purple, and some red. Same as the dead. And guns going off all day in my head.

 

 

 

(Quick! Call a psychiatrist! Ha ha!) This is a strange one but I love the way it pulls the angst out of my soul. I read it now and then for catharsis.

 

Bye for now!

 

FREEDOMMM!! (Part 2)

Last week I wanted to talk about freedom, expressing my deep desire for it. This desire seems to make me different than many women I know. Rather than seeking security, routine, home fires and white picket fences, I tend to pull the other direction, feeling stifled by these (admittedly wonderful) things. Here's a short list of the more typical comforts I find a tad suffocating:

Doing the same routine every day. Please, can every day be different?

Having my home and furniture decorated and set up beautifully. Sigh. I do want this. But not that badly. If it was perfect I would change the furniture arrangement and paint something the next day.

Staying home. Well, this year I've liked it, for sure. But generally the best feeling is going somewhere, anywhere. Hitting the road.

Meal plans. I've tried, I see the benefits, and I go crazy knowing what I'm going to eat. I want daily inspiration, and a microwave that thaws meat instantaneously!!

Enough about me! The ME MONSTER! There's like a thousand "I's" in the last paragraph. So we've established the abnormality of my gypsy-like nature. Good enough.

GOD. I know Him. I believe Him. I trust His Word. (okay, ignore the "I"s for a second)

Does He want to trap me, bind me up in misery, keep me from Freedom?

I KNOW He isn't like that, but yessss.... it does feel that way at times. The life of a believer in Christ seems like an endless obligation to church programs and meetings and stuff that should be done. Plus, you can't do it grudgingly, nope, gotta have a cheerful attitude and a right spirit! The healthy ones who learn to set boundaries and do what they are able to do, cheerfully, yeah, good luck to those guys. Eyebrows raise. Heads shake. Lips, they purse. "No, don't ask so-and-so, they've got boundaries." Like it's contagious. The Lazy Disease.

So yeah, I feel like God's got it in for me through my church obligations. I can't succeed here, all the time, and the failure is haunting. I WANT to be available and be able to serve with a happy smile, but the reality is DIFFICULT. I go, but there are shrieking voices in my head, and the smile is made of paper, glue, and pink markers.

Does God want me to feel like this? Is it a kind of perpetual testing? Keep trying by fire until some gold survives? Is it a punishment? Penance for past sins? No, that's not true. I know Him well enough to know that is not His Way.


FREEDOM. I think God loves it.

Isaiah 58 is where I go again and again to be challenged and shaken up.

"Is it a fast like this which I choose, a day for a man to humble himself ?Is it for bowing one's head like a reed And for spreading out and ashes as a bed? Will you call this a fast, even an acceptable day to the Lord?

Is this not the fast which I choose,

To loosen the bonds of wickedness, to undo the bands of the yoke,

And to let the oppressed go free

And break every yoke? (vs 5-6)

 

Not to spend our energy on looking spiritual, but to set people free.

 

 

Isaiah 61 tells of the coming Savior who is bringing freedom. And in Luke 4:17-20, the prophecy is powerfully fulfilled.

"And the book of the prophet Isaiah was handed to Him. And He opened the book and found the place where it was written,
 

'The Spirit of the Lord is upon Me,

Because He anointed Me to preach the gospel to the poor.

He has sent me to proclaim release to the captives,

And recovery of sight to the blind,

To set free those who are oppressed, to proclaim the favorable year of the Lord.'
 

And He closed the book, gave it back to the attendant and sat down; and the eyes of all in the synagogue were fixed on Him."

 

The Pharisees and teachers of the law had decided who they thought Jesus was. Maybe you have, too. But when He shows up in your life, when you see Him, it doesn't matter anymore.

Your eyes are fixed on Him.

 

He came and died for freedom.

 

"If you continue in My word, then you are truly disciples of mine; and you will know the truth, and the truth will make you free." John 8:32

 

"It was for freedom that Christ set us free; therefore keep standing firm and do not be subject again to a yoke of slavery." Galatians 5:1

 

 

It's pretty clear...freedom is stamped all over everything God writes and does and plans for. I know one thing comes through loudly: He didn't come and die and rise again so we could be a slave to church programs.

Is it the programs' fault? Not really. The bondage is in my mind and heart. Am I really free?

 

James calls the "perfect law" the "law of liberty". And that if I walk in that, I will be blessed in all I do.  (1:25)

 

I don't think I quite have it yet. The struggle is still raw and deep, and I can't go on walking in this disconnect. Desperate for the freedom I see and yet feeling bound up and whipped like a circus performer.

 

HOW DID WE GET HERE?

 

If I'm not free I can't untie anyone else. I can shout at them and tell them what to do, I can bounce around in my chair, but I can't cut the bonds.

 

"To set free those who are oppressed."

 

I don't have it yet, but one thing is Really Clear, and that is...

 

The truly free have the ability to set others free.

 

THINK about that.

 

I want to be the one running around on the battlefield lifting up the fallen, breaking into where the captives are and setting them free. Not on my face in the mud just wishing and wishing it was all over.

 

So that's Freedom Part 2, "from the Christian perspective". God is very much for freedom, and I think He planted the desire in my heart. Not so I would run away from Him, but so I would have such a thudding heart that I would not be content with slavery, and would run like a paint-streaked, bloody Braveheart into the thick of the mess, yelling for freedom.

 

By My Spirit, says the Lord.

 

Yep, that pretty much sums it up.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 



 





 

 

 

 

Freedom!!

"FREEDOMMMM!!!" cries William Wallace and his army of Scotsmen in Braveheart, defending their land and their lives.

I find the blood and sword-clashing mayhem in the movie hard to watch, but I resonate with its theme. In my life to this date, I would say freedom has been the strongest desire of my soul. From long solitary walks across field and woods as a child, to my love of airplanes as a teen, to the pull of the open road today, I want to be free. The tie-downs of modern society wear me out, maybe more than most.
Part of my struggle with teaching has been the rigidity, the insistence, the bells and the deadlines and the slavish consistency that goes into making the whole thing work. Some may think we do better in the idealistic conditions of measured hours, measured assignments, measured paces along clean floors, but I beg to differ. It does work, but it's a soul-killing business. At least for me. How do we train free, independent, deep-thinking young men and women by making them ask to use the bathroom all day long? And we wonder why they don't know their own minds when they get out of high school? Hmmm. I wonder why we all want to live in little boxes in little mazes with bells and line-ups for the rest of our miserable lives. Lab rats, all!

Ok I admit that is a bit extreme. My personal views on schooling are skewed a bit left of center, that's the truth. Let's leave this particular soapbox for now.

"You cannot parcel out freedom in pieces because freedom is all or nothing." -Tertullian 

"Freedom is the oxygen of the soul." - Moshe Dayan

I love to see a motorcycle at the gas station. The heady smell of leather and exhaust makes my head spin. Though I don't ride, the image of a motorcycle heading down the highway is one of freedom. A child in a field of flowers, like Heidi with the goats in the mountains, is freedom. A jet leaving a high ribbon of white against the blue is freedom. Horses running, powerful and beautiful - free.

What images evoke the word 'free' for you?

     .......camping in the wilderness
     .......mountains
     .......travel far away
     .......a cup of coffee alone with a book in a quiet café
     .......the call of a loon across the lake


I believe all people desire freedom. For some it is just a quiet house and room to breathe, for others it's a chance to do what they love. What binds us?
Necessity, and need.
Fear.
Expectation.
Things we own, that own us.

"Freedom lies in being bold." - Robert Frost

Music makes people feel free; it is a freedom in the mind. The same task that would be done as drudgery can be accomplished with spirit and ingenuity to the beat of a favorite song. Saying what we think is a type of freedom which we generally deny ourselves as we get older. We become wise, we say, but in reality the price exacted for speaking we are no longer willing to pay. Wisdom is born of experience and is more often cynicism's child than insight's.
What I'm saying is we call ourselves wise when we are really just careful - careful not to expose ourselves to any blame or hurt. Self-preservation at the expense of everything else.

I am trying to be more bold, like I was in younger days. The straining toward freedom cannot be fully realized here, on earth, though we can live with more boldness and passion.

"The most important kind of freedom is to be what you really are. You trade in your reality for a role. You give up your ability to feel, and in exchange, put on a mask." - Jim Morrison

Oh Jim Morrison I wish you were alive, and we could talk! You said it well. What I know of your life, however, is a travesty of freedom taken too far. Your wild and insatiable appetite for it made rock legend. To die at age 27 from drug and alcohol abuse...this is not freedom.

"Seek freedom and become captive of your desires. Seek discipline and find your liberty." - Frank Herbert

I think you're on to something there, Frank, though your name I do not know.
Those who express themselves with reckless abandon burn themselves out like comets or meteors entering the atmosphere of earth. A bright and searing light, then emptiness. And so freedom has its dangerous edge. But I still long for it.

If you see a woman with a face painted blue shouting "freedoomm!!" in the grocery store parking lot, that's me, and I've gone too far.

"Freedom is the only law which genius knows."                        - James Russell Lowell

 

.  

 

 

Reap the Whirlwind

They sow the wind...

I've had this phrase going 'round in my mind for a couple of weeks, and recalled that it was from the book of Hosea.

"They sow the wind and reap the whirlwind. The stalk has no head; it will produce no flour. Were it to yield grain, foreigners would swallow it up."    Hosea 8:7

Sow the wind, and reap the whirlwind.

Poetic, evocative. You can see the imagery; a hand sowing seeds into air, the crazy, howling twister approaching.

This phrase has been used for book titles, poems, songs, speeches -- both in and out of Christian circles. Many people quote these lines with no idea they come from the Bible, much less the context of the prophet Hosea and the Israelites who were spending themselves on idols, and still expecting the blessing of God.

But for here and now, how to understand the meaning? It can't be divorced from the original intent, a warning to people that their striving was leading to nothing, and even worse than nothing. The biblical people were expecting their God to come through for them, while they bowed to the neighbor's idols and basically did as they pleased.

A wind is nothing; it buffets, you feel it against your face, but it can't be seen or grasped. A wind is an emptiness. It blows where it wants. Who can direct it? 'Who Has Seen the Wind', writes W.O. Mitchell in his title, one of my favorite novels. Sowing the wind means sowing nothingness into air.

The whirlwind.... much different. A terrible force - a destruction that leaves chaos and scattered ruin as it passes. The power of the whirlwind belies the fact that it is wind, made up of only wind...of nothingness, of emptiness pushed. Little puffs of air, in tremendous synchronization. A whirlwind wreaks havoc.

In what ways do I sow the wind?

It's easy to look at society in general, to point fingers at aimlessness and the empty trappings of materialism.

"You have planted much, but harvested little. You eat, but never have enough. You drink, but never have your fill. You put on clothes, but are not warm. You earn wages, only to put them in a purse with holes in it." Haggai 1:6

Small, meaningless acts that may add up to horrible consequences. I think of our endless upgrading of computers and cell phones, and of the huge piles of discarded technology I've seen in pictures or documentaries. Children in China and other places burning holes in their fingers and lungs while separating the salvageable with vats of acid. A teenager in Somalia sifting with a stick through smoking circuit board remains to find a piece worth selling. The air above and the rivers above and below, a conduit of toxicity. When will we see the whirlwind? It grows in menacing strength over scenes like this all over the world.

Depressing, isn't it? Not exactly the cheery winds of Mary Poppins, or even the magical cyclone of The Wizard of Oz. But  I'm not thinking so much of the environmental storm clouds the world over -- though they are significant.

In what ways do I sow the wind?

I can sidestep the question by thinking closer to home. Those I know who I have watched, with a sinking heart, sowing the wind. Some reaping their own personal whirlwinds of pain, some who have the shadow of it over them. A useless and finger-pointing sort of business it would be to discuss. It does seem to make some people feel better to scrounge through the scattered remains of a life in a whirlwind's wake, poking and looking for reasons and holding up scraps of sins. What good is that? And if I haven't sounded a warning, who am I to shake my head after the destruction passes by?
How do I know the real story, the one I couldn't possibly understand even if I did know it?

In What Ways do I Sow the Wind?

So, back to a more personal (uncomfortable) level.

Empty conversation where I could be speaking life and truth.

So many times I hear my voice saying words that just stuff the air, as feathers in pillows. I meet someone, and tell them nothing that will save their soul. I keep my treasures under wraps, like rings turned backward on a royal hand. Tramping the water into mud underfoot, instead of holding it out to cracked lips.

"It's just not the right time." "I don't really know them". "They probably know already." "They've already made their choices; and rejected mine." "I have to work with these people."

Eternity waits. The blind man thanks Jesus for not making light conversation when he cried out for mercy. "Son of David!!"

I've been blind. Now, I see. Jesus I'm definitely not, but I can see.

Wasted time where I could be investing it wisely in things that count.

Entertaining myself. Stupid games are fun. I do need to have some fun, everybody does.
How long? What could have been carved into stone while I sifted sand through my hands?

I avoid fixing problems because it feels so futile. I don't know where to start! And the finish line is broken or obscured, and there doesn't seem to be anyone else running. I stop in the race and look around. It's lonely and meaningless. Household tasks I've put off for years. I sit down in the track and trace shapes in the sand.
.....The sands of time speed on.

When the Glass Runs Out

Sometimes I'm just tired, really, truly exhausted, and we all know life has a way of sucking us dry, day by day. A good rest can be the best use of time possible now and then!
There are a lot of messages out there to just take it easy, to relax, you deserve it. And once in a while it's good advice to take.

But what are we doing with our lives? Are we simply animals, to sleep, to wake, to feed, to procreate, to have the best day possible until the next holiday comes around? Is that it??!



Wow. If it is, 'tis misery. I can't be satisfied with that. I would be very like Van Gogh. Pursued by too much emotion and striving into madness, and worse. I don't know enough about his life, but I think I understand some of the agony and ecstasy. Always a dark corner, an obstruction of the light, searching, finding, trying, failing.
Beautiful starry, starry nights. Ragged men in ragged clothes. Too much life, in life, for it to be a futility, a grasping of wind.

If I sow the wind, giving way to meaningless words, empty work and endless entertainment, bowing low to the rituals of pleasure and profit, of town and country, what then?

There are days when that is enough.
Today, obviously, is not one of those days. It may be good to keep me busy, so that my thinking is so wrapped in the cellophane of urgency that I ship it off heedlessly and never unwrap it or set it out to observe. It's a rainy day. I was meant to be mowing the grass today...see, it's the fault of the rain.

I do know from observation, history and my own little life that trouble is stacked up bit by bit and then crashes down suddenly. The Bible is full of
wisdom, and warns often to avoid the fury of the whirlwind and live with eyes upward, watching what we sow daily take root and grow into a healthy, edible stalk of grain. When I don't know where to start and the sands of time seem to be running out way too fast, I will look at this hour.

Those who sow the wind, will reap the whirlwind. It strikes fear into me while at the same time there is hope, because I know Who holds the future, and I know Who holds my hand.

"Whoever sows to please their flesh, from the flesh will reap destruction; whoever sows to please the Spirit, from the Spirit will reap eternal life." Galatians 6:8