Answers

Prayer
Eliza M Hickok

I know not by what methods rare
But this I know, God answers prayer.
I know that He has given His Word,
Which tells me prayer is always heard,
And will be answered, soon or late.
And so I pray and calmly wait.
I know not if the blessing sought
Will come in just the way I thought;
But leave my prayers with Him alone,
Whose will is wiser than my own,
Assured that He will grant my quest,
Or send some answer far more blest.

Eliza M. Hickok, “Prayer,” The Best Loved Religious Poems, ed. James Gilchrist Lawson, New York: Fleming H. Revell Co., 1933, p. 160

Ezra Taft Benson (1899-1994) memorized this poem as a boy growing up in Idaho and he used to quote it from time to time when he became a church leader. I always enjoyed hearing it.

take off your shoes

Earth is crammed with heaven,
and every common bush is on fire with God;
but only he who sees takes off his shoes;
the rest sit around it and pluck blackberries.
Elizabeth Barret Browning

I take my camera on my walk each day, but I just can't capture the way the sun reflects on the leaves and the grass. It's like diamonds.
There are some other things I wish I could capture.
The feel of the breeze at the perfect temperature.
And the scents. Today there was sweet jasmine, fresh mowed grass and woodsy piles of leaves and pine needles.
And the sound of the birds who greet each day so exuberantly.
It really is a bit of heaven right here on my street.

Invincible Summer

In Florida, we don't see much change around us as the seasons go by, but I was in northern Virginia earlier this month and signs of spring were everywhere. It started with noisy birds at dawn. Little flowers coming up through the grass. Buds opening into new leaves and flowers on trees. A fresh scent in the air.

Watching all this brought to my mind Camus' statement, “In the middle of winter I at last discovered that there was in me an invincible summer.”

Then I started to wonder if I had an invisible summer within me, and what it might be.

One thing I know I can always count on is my family and friends. For love, encouragement and help you couldn't find any better support group.

But abundant love and kind intentions isn't enough to really be an invincible summer. My dearest ones are totally there for me the best they can be, but sometimes it just isn't what I need. All people have their own needs... they get busy... they don’t always understand...

Occasionally I think I know how Abraham Lincoln must have felt when he said, "I have been driven many times to my knees by the overwhelming conviction that I had no where else to go. My own wisdom, and that of all about me, seemed insufficient for the day."

My problems are nothing compared to what Lincoln faced, but I do know that when there's no where else to turn, we always have help through prayer.

No matter what might be going on around us, what might be disappointing, painful or troubling, there is a completely reliable source of help. We can find it in the midst of any winter, no matter how dark or cold. That is Jesus Christ. For love, mercy, kindness, wisdom, strength, peace, help, hope. He is the Invincible Summer. He is just a prayer away.

I love this hymn.

Where Can I Turn For Peace?

Where can I turn for peace?
Where is my solace
When other sources cease to make me whole?
When with a wounded heart, anger, or malice,
I draw myself apart,
Searching my soul?

Where, when my aching grows,
Where, when I languish,
Where, in my need to know, where can I run?
Where is the quiet hand to calm my anguish?
Who, who can understand?
He, only One.

He answers privately,
Reaches my reaching
In my Gethsemane, Savior and Friend.
Gentle the peace he finds for my beseeching.
Constant he is and kind,
Love without end.

Emma Lou Thayne, b. 1924© 1973 IRI

Happy Valentine's Day

Love ever gives.
Forgives, outlives.
And ever stands with open hands.
And while it lives, it gives.
For this is love's prerogative --
to give and give and give.

John Oxenham 1852-1941

A favorite poem

This is a favorite poem by Emily Dickinson.

Hope is the thing with feathers
That perches in the soul,
And sings the tune without the words,
And never stops at all.

And sweetest in the gale is heard;
And sore must be the storm
That could abash the little bird
That kept so many warm.

I've heard it in the chillest land,
And on the strangest sea;
Yet, never in extremity,
It asked a crumb of me.