"Love is the deepest in what Love has 'loved into being.'"
~ George Macdonald (Lilith)
The waves broke on shore that morning and our footfalls broke fresh sand and somewhere amidst the rhythmic tides I fell into His stride. And He slowed His pace and I fell in line and we (He and me) we whispered of her and of them and I asked again, "Are You sure?" Nine.
He asked if I remembered His friend, Mr. Macdonald, and, "Yes, surely I remember Your friend for certainly I am a fan. Why?" I asked.
"When Mr. Macdonald laid pen to paper and spoke of Love loving into being, I thought of you. I thought of your family, of your nine. For rightly you know that I have loved you into being . . . "
I choke back a sob for how did I not know? How did I not see? Mr. Macdonald had to explain it to me?! How did I not see?
Love has loved me into being . . . as wife and mother, as Christ follower, I am simply loved into being!
And this family?
So deep, so very deep as the Lover has loved every fiber into being. And the heavy burden lifts and I breathe light with lungs bursting with my Lover's air.
He reminds of another friend, a certain Mr. Robert Frost, and he too has taught me well ~
These lovely flowers I give
Prune ye My vines and fig trees,
With care My flowerets tend . . .
When the sun shines brightly
Tend flowers that God has given
And keep the pathway open
That leads you on to heaven.
But, my fine fellow, Mr. Frost, has one not told you that NINE flowerets lay in my garden? Nine to tend with care?
Mr. Frost, what say you if this novice gardener lays wasted and exhausted and it is only high noon? And what to do when the flowerets spring thorns by a cruel world and green thumbs lay marred and scarred by crimson red?
Oh but, Mr. Frost knew and so do I, that the Son certainly shines brightly in gardens that have been loved into being. And novice gardeners lay wasted and bloodied hands into the hands of the Master Gardener and at high noon our Master steps about the garden and the rivers do deeply flow and I drink heavily of those living waters.
And I wonder? Have I ever really loved another that I have not wept over?
On the backside of deep tears lies a reservoir of Love and I lay back and am covered in the waters of Love.
And on that early morning my feet raced on, laying footprints in the sand but my spirit waded out into the deep side of this One we call Love.
Race on my friends or more rightly so, wade on, into the deep side of Love.
~ George Macdonald (Lilith)
The waves broke on shore that morning and our footfalls broke fresh sand and somewhere amidst the rhythmic tides I fell into His stride. And He slowed His pace and I fell in line and we (He and me) we whispered of her and of them and I asked again, "Are You sure?" Nine.
He asked if I remembered His friend, Mr. Macdonald, and, "Yes, surely I remember Your friend for certainly I am a fan. Why?" I asked.
"When Mr. Macdonald laid pen to paper and spoke of Love loving into being, I thought of you. I thought of your family, of your nine. For rightly you know that I have loved you into being . . . "
I choke back a sob for how did I not know? How did I not see? Mr. Macdonald had to explain it to me?! How did I not see?
Love has loved me into being . . . as wife and mother, as Christ follower, I am simply loved into being!
And this family?
So deep, so very deep as the Lover has loved every fiber into being. And the heavy burden lifts and I breathe light with lungs bursting with my Lover's air.
He reminds of another friend, a certain Mr. Robert Frost, and he too has taught me well ~
These lovely flowers I give
Prune ye My vines and fig trees,
With care My flowerets tend . . .
When the sun shines brightly
Tend flowers that God has given
And keep the pathway open
That leads you on to heaven.
But, my fine fellow, Mr. Frost, has one not told you that NINE flowerets lay in my garden? Nine to tend with care?
Mr. Frost, what say you if this novice gardener lays wasted and exhausted and it is only high noon? And what to do when the flowerets spring thorns by a cruel world and green thumbs lay marred and scarred by crimson red?
Oh but, Mr. Frost knew and so do I, that the Son certainly shines brightly in gardens that have been loved into being. And novice gardeners lay wasted and bloodied hands into the hands of the Master Gardener and at high noon our Master steps about the garden and the rivers do deeply flow and I drink heavily of those living waters.
And I wonder? Have I ever really loved another that I have not wept over?
On the backside of deep tears lies a reservoir of Love and I lay back and am covered in the waters of Love.
And on that early morning my feet raced on, laying footprints in the sand but my spirit waded out into the deep side of this One we call Love.
Race on my friends or more rightly so, wade on, into the deep side of Love.
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