[dutchess]

[GatorGirl]

Dutchess, this thread is absolutely beautiful. Thank you so much!

Hi LadyX! Thanks for the pings, I think of you often and hope you are well.

HAPPY EASTER!! GG

[firewalk]

Just came by to wish everyone a Happy Easter

[Libertina]

Beautiful, Dutchess. How Blessed is His Mercy and Salvation.

[grantswank]

EASTER FACES

While kicking stones by the bay's edge the other morning, I flashed back to
forty years ago. That rekindled one particular mind-snapshot.

It was during the civil rights days that I met Mr. Brown, appropriately
named since his skin was that color.

He walked toward me up one of those sunny avenues in High Point, North
Carolina. That was the first time we would shake hands--back in the summer
of 1962.

What an Easter face he wore. And it was genuine. No put-ons for this fellow.

In fact, Mr. Brown, deacon and trustee of St. Paul's Presbyterian Church,
was rather shy. He was a single man who tended to business, not much for
show.

However, one would never know it by his yard tucked about his tidy home.
That lawn overflowed with glory-shined flowers, flowers and more flowers.
That was the just pride of his entire neighborhood.

It was Mr. Brown who welcomed Priscilla and me to both community and
congregation. Then when we left the Carolinas in late August for more
seminary training elsewhere, it was Mr. Brown who bade us farewell.

In the meantimes, he would see that we found our ways about town, met some
of the black community leadership, and were entertained grandly in his own
dining room. He could serve up some of the most scrumptious foods
remembered.

Down through the years we kept in touch with one particular black couple
from that church. And so with that letter bridge, we kept up with Mr.
Brown's doings.

Therefore, it was with a heavy heart that I opened last week's envelope from
Eddie and Fannie to read Mr. George Brown's homegoing worship bulletin. And with that I took my time--rolling over every word, putting myself into those church pews for the service, and listening to "Amazing Grace" one more time as rendered by that very articulate, swingin' choir.

There on the bulletin's front cover was his photo--just as I had remembered
him. Mr. Brown with the Easter face--open, shining, happy and filled with
fresh hope.

With that the good Lord recently decided to scoop up Mr. Brown in his early 90s. What a bane for the rest of us. What a boon for heaven.

I wrote to the congregation to share with them how much my wife and I
revered that gentle man. Then after sealing that envelope, I tried to sum up
what it truly was that caught our hearts as we remembered George.

So now I share that capsule thought with you: Mr. Brown wore an Easter face
because He lived daily the resurrection power in an unobtrusive way. It was
not with self-conscious drama nor pious prance but with a sincere love for Jesus that Mr. Brown woke up each morning.

In that, Mr. Brown reminded me of Jesus Himself. After He rose from the
dead, He went about having breakfast on the beach with the boys, meeting
with some friends in a neighborhood house, and chatting with a couple of
pals along the Emmaus Road.

Nothing outlandish. Nothing to grab Jerusalem's headlines. But oh how real,
how necessary.

Living here in Maine’s Lakes Region, I thank God that I have discovered some Mr. Brown Easter faces--plain and simple, holy and refreshing with heaven's morning smile.

[grantswank]

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SATURDAY’S LAMENT

PETER'S CRY

It’s almost dark. I want to die.
There’s no tomorrow, when or why.
There’s nothing left, no sleep, no toss.

It’s almost dark. I want to die.
I’ll crawl inside beside His corpse
To lay my head upon the stone.

I’ll breathe my last and say “Well done”
For what it’s worth, for what it’s worth.
I have no jewels. I have but loss.

I have no crown, no property
To count as payment for earth’s stay.
My all is end. My earth’s alone.




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[grantswank]

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SATURDAY’S MEMORIES

I cannot help but think of how
He cupped His hands when smiling so
At children running toward Him free.

They’d romp and scream and climb upon
His shoulders tanned, His frame bent o’er
So they could hug His love, His smile.

But now it’s gone as if not here
At all, as if illusion spun
To tantalize, to bait, to leave

Us numb as frozen Lot’s wife cloned.
The memories are painful woes
To contemplate, a nightmare file.




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[grantswank]

SATURDAY’S ABYSS

I walked about the place where ground
Was quaked as cracked against its head
By hammer swung at fiercest speed.

The gaping slices, holes and pits were bled
As if the end of world were had.
I thought it so myself. I did.

When Friday’s marketing was spun
Into a frantic, frightening turn
We’d thought it done, time freed

Into abyss as dark as dark could spell.
I’m reeling yet. He died and then
Earth rocked and spat and yelped and slid.





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[grantswank]

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SATURDAY’S ROPE

There is a rope there hung so long
From tallest tree in wood nearby.
I saw its fabric worn dark, bent,
Reminding me of comrade gone.

How had he missed Lord’s cues so given
Each day the life to live, to breathe?
How had he slid from off the rim?
It was his choice he made o’er time.

There is a rope there hung so long
From tallest tree in wood nearby.
I wish I’d nerve to cut rope down
So loose its blood, a deed as done.

Someday I’ve promised future tense
I’ll will the courage rope to yank,
To light the flame, to see it die,
To pay its price for heinous crime.



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[Bogie]

Thank you very much Dutchess.

[Vets_Husband_and_Wife]

((((((dutchess)))))) Hope you had a wonderful Easter!!

The kids have been here TWICE, and both times we were so rushed and things were so hectic we didn't get on the computer.

I had even told them about this post..and they both wanted to see it.

So, hopefully we can do a little belated surfing this next weekend when they come to stay the night again.

God Bless you.. Vets