Returing home late last night from a hurried trip to Northbrook, IL for the funeral of Bernice Brandel--a lovely trip by car both ways!--we were happy to wake up at Hembygden, our cabin in Wisconsin, this morning.
Through the early hours of the day we were putsing, which we love to do--Alyce in the kitchen preparing for Judy and Bob coming in tomorrow and me fixing the railing on the walkway down to the lake. Then we went grocery shopping in town.
After lunch it was nap time for me, a delicious two-hour siesta on the living room sofa--a blessed waste of time, as a historic Christian saint once spoke of prayer itself. We are forever short of time, it seems, in the living of our lives. And part of the reason may well be that our spirits are slaves to calendars and clocks. So, consequently, are our bodies.
When given time to be free of all that for awhile there is no reason not to nap. With nothing ahead demanding (or inviting?) my attention, why not? It was indeed delicious--and rewarding. I'm already looking forward to another one tomorrow.
Take the hint, friend, whoever and wherever you are. Wasteful or even impossible as you might think it to be, give your brain and body a rest. The world around you not only can wait. It will, too, and you'll feel better when you face it refreshed.
For more reflections check links at Home
About Me
- James R Hawkinson
- White Bear Lake, MN, United States
- Nearly seventeen years into retirement, I am enjoying the opportunity to share thoughts and life experiences on a regular basis. This blog is part of a larger personal website at www.rootedwings.com. Your comments, thoughts, and life experience responses are not only invited but welcome!
Companions
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Alyce and Jim
Lest We Forget
Are we forgetting
the things that remain?
One often wonders
in looking around.
A child, leaving church
was in a quand’ry,
not concerning faith
but concerning sports.
‘It is a bummer,’
he said ruefully,
‘The Vikings are on
during my game time.’
Innocent enough,
as boys tend to be.
Yet it made me sad
and broken in heart.
Where is life, really?
What are we teaching
our children to think
subliminally?
O Lord God of Hosts,
come down within us,
lest yearning for life
we fail to find it.
Renew our passion
to gather ‘round you,
lest we all forget
where true glory waits.
JRH
1/31/10
the things that remain?
One often wonders
in looking around.
A child, leaving church
was in a quand’ry,
not concerning faith
but concerning sports.
‘It is a bummer,’
he said ruefully,
‘The Vikings are on
during my game time.’
Innocent enough,
as boys tend to be.
Yet it made me sad
and broken in heart.
Where is life, really?
What are we teaching
our children to think
subliminally?
O Lord God of Hosts,
come down within us,
lest yearning for life
we fail to find it.
Renew our passion
to gather ‘round you,
lest we all forget
where true glory waits.
JRH
1/31/10
Outside and In
Outside in the night
a lamp shines
on a single pole
in an empty lot
behind our home.
Humanly speaking
its lone beam
is hardly enough
to explain the warmth
I feel on waking.
Yet borne by Spirit
and filter’d
by prisms of color
created elsewhere
it fuels my soul.
Who should be so blest
as to know
and feel what I do
time and time again
when light breaks through.
Inside it is morn,
time to wake
and offer God praise
with kindred spirits
who understand.
Night never prevails.
Sing it now!
Rise, shine, be thankful,
for your redemption
is drawing near.
JRH
8/11/98
a lamp shines
on a single pole
in an empty lot
behind our home.
Humanly speaking
its lone beam
is hardly enough
to explain the warmth
I feel on waking.
Yet borne by Spirit
and filter’d
by prisms of color
created elsewhere
it fuels my soul.
Who should be so blest
as to know
and feel what I do
time and time again
when light breaks through.
Inside it is morn,
time to wake
and offer God praise
with kindred spirits
who understand.
Night never prevails.
Sing it now!
Rise, shine, be thankful,
for your redemption
is drawing near.
JRH
8/11/98
Grandchildren
You stand there, in space and time,
not unlike seedlings budding,
planted by streams of water.
Living out of your own roots
you too carry the Word.
No random selves, you were each
born to fulfill some promise,
no matter how soon or late.
In clearly diff’rent stages
You still bear similar marks.
Trunk and bark and leaves diff’ring
do not mask the common grain
that grows new rings ev’ry year.
Who knows in time how God works
to bind such layer’d wonders?
Ever taller and deeper,
in whatever loam God plants,
one sees a whole new promise.
Be not each your own, alone,
But care for others and earth.
You must sow the seed you are
and see your lives in common,
lest fear or pride deceive you.
You were born for godly things,
to stand tall and grow and bless.
JRH
12/7/03
not unlike seedlings budding,
planted by streams of water.
Living out of your own roots
you too carry the Word.
No random selves, you were each
born to fulfill some promise,
no matter how soon or late.
In clearly diff’rent stages
You still bear similar marks.
Trunk and bark and leaves diff’ring
do not mask the common grain
that grows new rings ev’ry year.
Who knows in time how God works
to bind such layer’d wonders?
Ever taller and deeper,
in whatever loam God plants,
one sees a whole new promise.
Be not each your own, alone,
But care for others and earth.
You must sow the seed you are
and see your lives in common,
lest fear or pride deceive you.
You were born for godly things,
to stand tall and grow and bless.
JRH
12/7/03
Pass It On!
Our inheritance flows
like a fresh, clean stream
from the heart of God.
Who knows where it begins
or finally ends
in oceans of time?
Whatever we may say
is inadequate
to trace it clearly,
except that God once gave
and still is giving
out of love for us.
We are never worthy
to receive or share
the fruits of such grace!
No wonder we long now
to offer God thanks,
"Thanks for ev'rything!"
And, after the off'ring,
to reach, teach, and love
those yet without hope.
JRH
The Covenant Companion
June, 1991
like a fresh, clean stream
from the heart of God.
Who knows where it begins
or finally ends
in oceans of time?
Whatever we may say
is inadequate
to trace it clearly,
except that God once gave
and still is giving
out of love for us.
We are never worthy
to receive or share
the fruits of such grace!
No wonder we long now
to offer God thanks,
"Thanks for ev'rything!"
And, after the off'ring,
to reach, teach, and love
those yet without hope.
JRH
The Covenant Companion
June, 1991
Roots exist forn the wings that propel them into life as we know it.
Wings exist to magnify the creative power of roots within them
Wings exist to magnify the creative power of roots within them