Lifegiving Moments.

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Still and quiet, the whispers drift towards me, borne on placid lake waters.

Sunlit glimmers, pearlized soft blue and pink waters are picture framed in the squared wood lookout of the old bird watcher’s hide. Breathless, I gaze enthralled, the intense beauty unreal.

Startled I turn. I’m not alone. Joined by an old man, his face weathered as the wood beams. We speak in quiet tones of heron and egret, of terns and the ever-present grebe. We don’t look at each other as we speak, our gazes entrapped by still water, the play of light, and the gliding, skimming shapes of birds.

We speak of grandchildren, of I pads and smart phones, of the few still able to partake of the immense beauty of such golden moments.

River walk.

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The water it can teach you, if you linger so
Tell you of the secrets it learned so long ago.
Tell you how in flowing, rough rocks it wears away,
How to surf the rapids like a child within at play.
It does not try to force its way when stones obscure its course
It flows around, soft yielding, born from a humble source.
First born in the creation, preceding even light
It’s learnt in all its flowing not to put up a fight.
Transformed and recreated, cleansed and born afresh
It’s cycle oft repeated, it journeys on at rest.
T’was there at the creation, still it with us bides,
A glorious acquisition with all its waves and tides.
It dwells also within us, within each living thing
It cleans, refreshes, binds us, to all the earth as kin.
So listen to God’s waters, as they play a soothing tune,
And yield to higher purpose, of earth and man and moon.

We come to understand Him through the things that he made.

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God is the ultimate artist, and, as we come to know Van Gogh, Rembrant, etc. through studying their works, so we can come to know God through His creations. Every flower, bud, tree, every creature great and small, the sun, moon and stars teaches. Even the vast nothingness of infinite space speaks of the emptiness without Him.

The artist is know by his creations. It could have been dull, boring, monochrome. Instead He made it diverse, brilliantly coloured, with millions of varieties, each interlocked, depending on each other. An artist of precision He balanced each element, each atom, with exact care to sustain life. He set us here, within His vast environmental sculpture to explore, to live, to learn for ourselves to create the good.

God is never boring. Life is one amazing voyage of discovery if we open our eyes to see it.

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It’s the little things that make life wonderful.

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I woke delighted this morning to see lights dancing through my curtain (the sun rises behind a large tree outside my window). It reminded me of the beauty and diversity of creation, the small things God incorporates to make our lives more beautiful and joyous.

For me the infinite diversity and beauty of creation and our ability to appreciate it are some of the greatest proofs of his existence. Evolution cannot explain our appreciation of beauty. It has no practical purpose in our survival, but I’m so glad of its enrichment.

Magic picture

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There’s a picture in my kitchen that’s magic don’t you know,

It daily changes hues and tints, my pleasure to bestow.

Capturing the hills and trees it renders in its might

The fleeting moods of sky above, the glow of glorious light.

Entrancing in its sunset, bedecked with jewels by night

I gasp when doing dishes, surprised by glorious sight.

You guessed it is a window that frames the vivid theme

Creation of a God who loves to render such a scheme.

 

Redemption.

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Colour decked, the marbled skies entwine in splendid hue
And echoed in the earth below a rendered scarlet dew.
All earth besmirched with war and pain while heavens gaze on down
“T’was given to the hand of man,” God answers with a frown.
“And rendered up upon that day, he hands it back to Me,
E’en sky above, polluted, foul, which once was wild and free.”
The sins of man recorded here and buried in the clay
The skull, the bone, that once were fair, in dead abandon lay.
The blood soaked down within the soil, the dirt, the filth, the grime,
A thousand belching factory’s smoke eclipse the sun’s dim shine.

And man, what has become of him, the first creations prize,
He’s turned away to hate and sin, from truth he’s turned to lies.
“But see,” God says, on looking down, “some jewels within this flock
Of anguished souls intent on gain, still cling unto the rock.
They shine and glimmer in the dark and round them shines a light
That though the darkness press it hard continues in the night.
In them a seed, though thinly sowed, a hope that lies within,
That to the promise, stained in blood, they set their hopes to win.
To these brave few shall dawn a day when dark is turned to light
For all the evil then shall flee the day I join the fight.”