Chilly, finally, after the unusually warm weather we’ve been having. The earth was wet from rain in the night, temperature in the high 30s, so I had bundled up, and had pulled on gloves for the trek to the lake, even though it is hard to handle Winston and the camera while wearing gloves. Lake Gregory was spectacular, and as I often do, I thought I don’t come down here enough. Before the day was over, rain pelted our woods, and our yards, and soft, watery snow fell in its typical silent way.
How did God make all this? Did He sit down somewhere–a kind of creation studio–and consider the varieties of trees, flowers, leaf shapes, stone colors, animal faces, ocean volume, sand for the deserts, whiskers and noses . . .?
I saw that several large trees have been felled near the lodge. Why? Were they diseased, or just somehow in the way or . . .? I have friends who have recently danced about with death, some even at this moment are dodging and weaving, and I have a sense of its dreadfulness, and that the cutting down of life smacks of pain and decay, and we don’t like it.
“How many want to go to Heaven today?” Nathaniel’s little five-year-old voice boomed from the upstairs area as we sat around in the living room with guests. No one answered, so that little grandson of mine asked again, “How many want to go to Heaven today?” We adults–Christians, ministers–grinned, looked at each other, and decided none of us wanted to go today. Strange, huh? Or not?
When the Garrett family came to our home on Christmas eve where we shared a meal, they brought hostess gifts, including a bouquet of fresh flowers. Most of them have wilted by now, but when I threw away some of the wasted blooms, I kept a lily stem, with both a bloom on it and two buds. All through the day I have been captivated by these beautiful flowers–both those that are ready to go back to the earth, and one that is bright and fresh.
From my computer screen this afternoon, I photographed these images. Judge Pastor is assigned to the Conrad Murray trial. While doing work about my home today I listened to the closing arguments of both the prosecution and defense.
After attending church in Rogersville on Sunday morning, my brother and I and our families traveled to the cemetery in Springfield where our mother and father (and other relatives) are buried. The late afternoon light was spectacular.
Less than an hour from Showlow, AZ. is Fort Apache–an historic settlement which includes an ancient cemetery. I walked among the tombs there today.
“The LORD make his face shine upon thee, and be gracious unto thee: The LORD lift up his countenance upon thee, and give thee peace.” Number 6:25-26
As I prepared this post, which was to be (and is) a tribute to my friend, Pam Kern, who was expected to go see Jesus today, I received word that indeed, forty-five minutes ago, she made the eternal transition.
Life…and death. The ultimate ponder.
It was appropriate–the hour I spent with my camera in Mountain View Cemetery this morning as Jerry saw to having our car serviced. It was appropriate, for after we left the cemetery we drove to Inglewood (Los Angeles) and attended the very sweet funeral of my dear friend, June Webb.
Very sweet, I said the funeral was, and it is so. They’re just sweet people, the Webbs are, and despite having lost both their father and mother in a three-week period, the four grown children have retained a noble attitude, gracious and elegant. Paul sang, accompanied himself on a guitar as he squatted down before the congregation because he had no chair, nor neck strap. “Jesus, you’re everything to me.” Softly at times, then with pathos, he raised his sincere voice so that it was almost a wail. It was perhaps the most precious song I’ve ever heard at a funeral.
So then, my post of the day is dedicated to my friends who today buried their mother.
The rose was a single one, long-stemmed, placed in a solitary fashion on the ground before a tombstone in San Bernardino, CA.