Recorded as part of a Christmas cantata about 20 years ago.
Merry Christmas
Saturday, December 24, 2011
Thursday, December 15, 2011
Rocks from the Riverbed
“When the whole nation had finished crossing the Jordan, the Lord said to Joshua, ‘Choose twelve men from among the people…and tell them to take up twelve stones from the middle of the Jordan…and put them at the place where you stay tonight.’ So Joshua called together the twelve men he had appointed… and said to them, ‘Each of you is to take up a stone…to serve as a sign among you. In the future, when your children ask you, ‘What do these stones mean?’ tell them that the flow of the Jordan was cut off before the ark of the covenant of the Lord…these stones are to be a memorial to the people of Israel forever.’” Joshua 4:1-7
From the riverbed of my life,
I will pluck stones,
A stone of gratitude for my very existence,
A stone for His redeeming love,
A stone representing His guiding hand,
A stone for his sustaining grace.
A stone for comfort in sadness,
A stone for times of great joy,
A stone for all of His good gifts,
A stone because He himself is The Rock.
When my family gathers next time, they may find a pile of rocks as a centerpiece in the middle of the dining room table. There may be some whispering to each other as they try to determine if Mom has finally lost her marbles or become as dumb as a box of rocks.
But surely one of the little ones will say, “Uhhh….Grandma….what is that pile of rocks doing on your table!?”
And I will talk to them about Joshua and the twelve men and say, “These are rocks from the riverbed of my life. They represent the times when God held back the flood of danger or evil which could have swept me away. I want you to know that He is the Rock on which I stand.”
Sunday, December 4, 2011
Looking Across
Friday evening, I drove from western New York back to northern New York on I-90 (the Thruway) and I-81. As I left the Buffalo area, I drove on a stretch of I-90 which parallels Genesee St. and is close enough that traffic on I-90 can be seen from Genesee and vice versa.
As I looked across to Genesee St., I also looked across six decades of my lifetime. I could see a car in the 1950s traveling away from Buffalo. I had been in the city visiting grandparents and was riding in the back seat of my parents car on the way home to Town Line Rd. which divides Lancaster and Alden. I peered out the side window of the car at the lights of the vehicles on the Thruway. Who are those people? Where are they going? What are their lives like? Will I be traveling there someday?
A few miles further on I-90, and I could see ponds. When I was a child there were gravel pits in that area. My parents would take us swimming in the gravel pits on hot days after my Dad got home from work. I could sit at the water's edge and hear the sounds of the traffic whizzing by on I-90. People about whom I knew nothing passed in proximity.
I did not know that the 66 year old me would be traveling that highway having been to western New York to work on settling my uncle's estate. I did not know that he would be the last in his generation to depart, leaving me as the oldest member of my family of origin. I did not know any of the joys and sorrows that I would experience in those intervening years. I did not know enough to be either excited or fearful. So much, both good and bad, was beyond my view and beyond my ability to even imagine.
About half-way between 6 and 66, I wrote the following:
I ponder the "what ifs" of my life,
The wide range of possibilities,
A broad spectrum
From disaster
To spectacular.
I recount the "supposes" of my life,
The infinite complexities,
Puzzle pieces,
Some dovetailing,
Other in hopeless tangle.
I indulge in a dream of "if onlys,"
Those happy coincidences
That propel one,
Soaring upward,
To grand success.
I shudder at life's "near misses,"
Those frightening times
When something unspeakable
Was inches
Or seconds away.
I bow in gratitude to Him,
Whose all-powerful hand
Has in the maze
Pointed and pushed
And protected.
I cannot see tomorrow. I do not know if I have decades left. I do not know if I will travel a road parallel to the one I am currently traveling. But, I continue to trust in the powerful hand to point, push and protect.
As I looked across to Genesee St., I also looked across six decades of my lifetime. I could see a car in the 1950s traveling away from Buffalo. I had been in the city visiting grandparents and was riding in the back seat of my parents car on the way home to Town Line Rd. which divides Lancaster and Alden. I peered out the side window of the car at the lights of the vehicles on the Thruway. Who are those people? Where are they going? What are their lives like? Will I be traveling there someday?
A few miles further on I-90, and I could see ponds. When I was a child there were gravel pits in that area. My parents would take us swimming in the gravel pits on hot days after my Dad got home from work. I could sit at the water's edge and hear the sounds of the traffic whizzing by on I-90. People about whom I knew nothing passed in proximity.
I did not know that the 66 year old me would be traveling that highway having been to western New York to work on settling my uncle's estate. I did not know that he would be the last in his generation to depart, leaving me as the oldest member of my family of origin. I did not know any of the joys and sorrows that I would experience in those intervening years. I did not know enough to be either excited or fearful. So much, both good and bad, was beyond my view and beyond my ability to even imagine.
About half-way between 6 and 66, I wrote the following:
I ponder the "what ifs" of my life,
The wide range of possibilities,
A broad spectrum
From disaster
To spectacular.
I recount the "supposes" of my life,
The infinite complexities,
Puzzle pieces,
Some dovetailing,
Other in hopeless tangle.
I indulge in a dream of "if onlys,"
Those happy coincidences
That propel one,
Soaring upward,
To grand success.
I shudder at life's "near misses,"
Those frightening times
When something unspeakable
Was inches
Or seconds away.
I bow in gratitude to Him,
Whose all-powerful hand
Has in the maze
Pointed and pushed
And protected.
I cannot see tomorrow. I do not know if I have decades left. I do not know if I will travel a road parallel to the one I am currently traveling. But, I continue to trust in the powerful hand to point, push and protect.
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