There will come soft rains and the smell of the ground, And swallows circling with their shimmering sound;
And frogs in the pools singing at night, And wild plum trees in tremulous white,
Robins will wear their feathery fire Whistling their whims on a low fence-wire;
And not one will know of the war, not one Will care at last when it is done.
Not one would mind, neither bird nor tree If mankind perished utterly;
And Spring herself, when she woke at dawn, Would scarcely know that we were gone. ~Sara Teasdale “There Will Come Soft Rains”
…one of man’s purposes is to assist God in the work of “hallowing” the things of Creation. By a tremendous heave of the spirit, the devout man frees the divine sparks trapped in the mute things of time; he uplifts the forms and moments of creation, bearing them aloft into the rare air and hallowing fire in which all clays must shatter and burst. ~Annie Dillard from Pilgrim at Tinker Creek
The fire burst the house and let it slam flat down, puffing out skirts of spark and smoke.
The crash. The attic smashing into kitchen and parlour. The parlour into cellar, cellar into sub-cellar. Smoke and silence. A great quantity of smoke. Dawn showed faintly in the east. Among the ruins, one wall stood alone. Within the wall, a last voice said, over and over again and again, even as the sun rose to shine upon the heaped rubble and steam: “Today is August 5, 2026, today is August 5, 2026, today is…”
O! my heart now feels so cheerful as I go with footsteps light In the daily toil of my dear home; And I’ll tell to you the secret that now makes my life so bright— There’s a flower at my window in full bloom.
It is radiant in the sunshine, and so cheerful after rain; And it wafts upon the air its sweet perfume. It is very, very lovely! May its beauties never wane— This dear flower at my window in full bloom.
Nature has so clothed it in such glorious array, And it does so cheer our home, and hearts illume; Its dear mem’ry I will cherish though the flower fade away— This dear flower at my window in full bloom.
Oft I gaze upon this flower with its blossoms pure and white. And I think as I behold its gay costume, While through life we all are passing may our lives be always bright Like this flower at my window in full bloom. ~Lucian Watkins“The Flower at My Window”from Voices of Solitude
Details of the life of poet Lucian Watkins are few: a black man born in 1879 in Virginia, educated as a teacher, a writer and poet, then served as a U.S. Army Sergeant during WWI in the Philippines and France, dying of an unknown illness in Fort McHenry hospital in 1921.
He leaves behind only a handful of poems, including the one above.
Among the sparse information available about Lucian are three letters written by him. This was a young man who earnestly wanted to have both a writing career and a “bread-winning vocation.” He describes feeling compelled to compose poetry, no matter what else he accomplishes.
The obvious challenges he faced – –as a black man looking for a suitable place to live in Illinois so he can attend a college where there are no other people of color nearby, –as a veteran of a most horrific war, –as a creative mind trying to find a way to make a living.
He writes passionately about the aspirational purity of a white flower outside his window. Its bright radiance represents what he longs for in his own life.
From his letter to President Bissell of Bissell Colleges in Effingham, Illinois in 1919 after President Bissell is unable to assist in finding him a place to live, having suggested that the war veteran might consider “doing light housekeeping” – essentially live as a servant in a white household:
“About this matter of a boarding place. While I had hoped to obtain board with a member of my own race in Effingham, I had not thought it imperative that I should do so. I feel sure that there is enough Christianity in Effingham to provide that a brother-stranger in their midst shall not die of hunger.
What would Jesus do?
It seems that some places in the south they rise more readily to our American ideal of democracy than in the North and Middle-West. ‘The Richmond Planet’ of Richmond, Va., states that ‘right here in Richmond, the capital of the late Confederacy, colored soldiers are welcomed to aristocratic Westhampton, and with no sigh of racial discrimination or antipathy to their being there.’
What is the matter with Illinois?
I am not sure as to what your question involves. We shall talk it over when I arrive. There must be a way that is just and that will be good for all concerned. Very respectfully, signed Lucian B. Watkins“
**This man was not only a poet. He was a statesman.**
And a few months later, to the Editor of Crisis Magazine, the publication for the NAACP:
I have tried my best to forget poetry since being here – this with the hope I could the better prepare for a sure-enough bread-winning vocation. But the spell is on me again. With me, this thing is a madness. I hope you understand me, as it is really a painful matter that I have never expressed to anyone before. I have always felt that people can never know as to what this fever means.
Had I the world to give, I would give it freely for my ability to concentrate my mental and physical forces on real money-earning work as I seem compelled to do in the making of a quatrain. Now unless I can get away from this verse-making obsession, I must fail in everything, because success as a poet means very little, in a material way, even for those who are called masters in the art.
I hope you will pardon me for this much of your time I have taken.
Though Lucian Watkins’ life was cut short by an unknown illness, and his portfolio of poetry is small, he is nonetheless a gift to generations of future poets and readers.
This black artist did not let the inevitable rainfall in his life discourage his world view; he himself is radiant with illumination, showing a budding cheerfulness. His work reminds us:
Something as simple as observing a resilient flower outside our window can help heal painful hurts and fulfill our deepest longing.
Something as basic as seeing life through different perspectives or lenses can make all the difference in how we feel about our existence.
In his writing, Lucian Watkins draws a thin line between joy and sorrow, embracing joy in a simple white flower in full bloom — before it, as will we all, fades away.
From this low-lying valley; Oh, how sweet And cool and calm and great is life, I ween, There on yon mountain-throne—that sun-gold crest!
From this uplifted, mighty mountain-seat: How bright and still and warm and soft and green Seems yon low lily-vale of peace and rest! ~Lucian Watkins “Two Points of View”
Flower gleam and glow let your power shine make the Clock reverse bring back what once was mine What once was mine Heal what has been hurt change the fate’s design Save what has been lost bring back what once was mine what once was mine ~Healing Song from Tangled
Not much to me is yonder lane Where I go every day; But when there’s been a shower of rain And hedge-birds whistle gay, I know my lad that’s out in France With fearsome things to see Would give his eyes for just one glance At our white hawthorn tree.
. . . .
Not much to me is yonder lane Where he so longs to tread: But when there’s been a shower of rain I think I’ll never weep again Until I’ve heard he’s dead. ~Siegfried Sassoon“The Hawthorn Tree”
All day I try to say nothing but thank you, breathe the syllables in and out with every step I take through the rooms of my house and outside into a profusion of shaggy-headed dandelions in the garden where the tulips’ black stamens shake in their crimson cups.
I am saying thank you, yes, to this burgeoning spring and to the cold wind of its changes. Gratitude comes easy after a hot shower, when my loosened muscles work, when eyes and mind begin to clear and even unruly hair combs into place.
Dialogue with the invisible can go on every minute, and with surprising gaiety I am saying thank you as I remember who I am, a woman learning to praise something as small as dandelion petals floating on the steaming surface of this bowl of vegetable soup, my happy, savoring tongue. ~Jeanne Lohmann “To Say Nothing But Thank You”
Returned from long travel, I sit in the familiar, sun-streaked pew, waiting for the bread and wine of holy Communion. The old comfort does not rise in me, only apathy and bafflement.
Let the light of late afternoon shine through chinks in the barn, moving up the bales as the sun moves down.
Let the cricket take up chafing as a woman takes up her needles and her yarn. Let evening come.
Let dew collect on the hoe abandoned in long grass. Let the stars appear and the moon disclose her silver horn.
Let the fox go back to its sandy den. Let the wind die down. Let the shed go black inside. Let evening come.
To the bottle in the ditch, to the scoop in the oats, to air in the lung let evening come.
Let it come, as it will, and don’t be afraid. God does not leave us comfortless, so let evening come. ~Jane Kenyon “Let Evening Come”
We resist nightfall in our lives.
We fear the dark of violence and threats of war, the suffering of innocent people who are harmed directly, and those harmed by lack of resources which go to bomb-making and dropping.
I wish I could remain forever sunshiny, vital and irreplaceable, living each moment with the energy I feel at dawn.
Yet I know that the forward momentum of time inevitably winds me down to twilight.
We are not alone in our need to catch our breath, to be still and grateful for each little thing – each petal, each taste, each sun ray illuminating the dark.
What shall we do about this? we ask our God.
We savor what we will, with gratitude, as evening comes. There is no stopping it as our lungs fill with the breath of God, our Creator.
We are not left comfortless.
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When evening came, his disciples went down to the sea,got into a boat, and started across the sea to Capernaum.
It was now dark, and Jesus had not yet come to them. The sea became rough because a strong wind was blowing.
When they had rowed about three or four miles, they saw Jesus walking on the sea and coming near the boat,
…and they were frightened.
But he said to them, “It is I; do not be afraid.”
Then they were glad to take him into the boat, and immediately the boat was at the land to which they were going. John 6: 16-21
So do not fear, for I am with you; do not be dismayed, for I am your God. I will strengthen you and help you; I will uphold you with my righteous right hand. ~Isaiah 41:10
Maybe, after the sermon, after the multitude was fed, one or two of them felt the soul slip forth like a tremor of pure sunlight before exhaustion, that wants to swallow everything, gripped their bones and left them miserable and sleepy, as they are now, forgetting how the wind tore at the sails before he rose and talked to it —
tender and luminous and demanding as he always was — a thousand times more frightening than the killer sea. ~Mary Oliver from “Maybe”
Here is the world. Beautiful and terrible things will happen. Don’t be afraid. ~Frederich Buechner
Most days I depend on beauty to give me hope, knowing somewhere, it will show its face.
Sometimes, in fearsome times, I must search in unexpected places.
It is then I worry I’ll not ever see beauty in quite the same way again: perhaps Beauty itself frightens me…
Yet we are told, again and again and again so we might listen and believe:
“It is I; fear not.”
…do not be afraid do not be afraid… …do not be afraid…
I am reading slowly through the words in the Book of John over the next year alongside my church family. Once a week, I will invite you to “come and see” what those words might mean as we explore His promises together.
This year’s Barnstorming Lenten theme is Ephesians 3:9: …to bring to light for everyone what is the plan of the mystery hidden for ages in God, who created all things…
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In the real world of pain, how could one worship a God who was immune to it? ~John Stott from “The Cross of Christ”
It’s a dangerous business, Frodo, going out your door. You step onto the road, and if you don’t keep your feet, there’s no knowing where you might be swept off to. ~J.R.R. Tolkien from Lord of the Rings
With all that happens daily in this disordered world, in order to even walk out the door on this spring equinox day, I fall back on what we are told in God’s Word, in 365 different scripture verses for each and every day of the year:
Fear not.
Do not be overwhelmed with evil but overcome evil with good.
And so – we must overcome — despite our fears in this world of pain.
As demonstrated by the anointing of Jesus’ feet by Mary of Bethany, we must do what we can to sacrifice for others, to live in such a way that death cannot erase the meaning and significance of a life. We are called to give up our own selfish agendas in order to consider the needs of others.
It is crystal clear from Christ’s example as we observe His journey to the cross: we are to cherish life -all lives- even unto death. As Christ Himself forgave those who hated and murdered Him, He forgives us as well.
Our only defense against the evil we witness is God’s offense through His Love. Only God can lead us to Tolkien’s “where everything sad will come untrue”, where we shall live in peace, walk hand in hand, no longer alone, no longer afraid, no longer shedding tears of grief and sorrow, but tears of relief and joy.
On this first day of Spring, we are longer overcome by evil but overcome with goodness, all to God’s glory.
This year’s Barnstorming Lenten theme is Ephesians 3:9:
…to bring to light for everyone what is the plan of the mystery hidden for ages in God, who created all things…
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There shall come forth a shoot from the stump of Jesse, and a branch shall grow out of his roots. Isaiah 11:1
There are days we live as if death were nowhere in the background; from joy to joy to joy, from wing to wing, from blossom to blossom to impossible blossom, to sweet impossible blossom. ~Li-Young Lee, from “From Blossoms” from Rose
I drag the lawn chair to the center of the new lawn where you have warned it will ruin the delicate grass. From here I have a perfect view of the pink camellia, the one with rose-shaped flowers which you secretly think I have ignored. This is my camellia viewing platform I tell you, remembering signposts in Japan. … the camellia opens its flesh-colored petals with utter unself-consciousness, releasing its scent into the dangerous air. ~Linda Pastan from “Camellias” from Heroes in Disguise
In the midst of people dying in war-torn countries, as bombs drop and buildings fall to rubble –
we seek the peace of Someone who is both truly man yet very God – an impossible Blossom blooming purposely in the midst of our mess –
reminding us of Life and Light He shines in the darkness where we all dwell; this God who becomes a Man impossibly shares the sweetness of His glorious splendor, lightening our heavy load.
This gentle fragrant many-layered Bloom: given to the undeserving with joy and love without reservation without hesitation from joy to joy to joy, defeating death — our death.
This year’s Barnstorming Lenten theme is Ephesians 3:9:
…to bring to light for everyone what is the plan of the mystery hidden for ages in God, who created all things…
Last Stanza: O Flow’r, whose fragrance tender With sweetness fills the air, Dispels in glorious splendor The darkness ev’rywhere; True man, yet very God, From sin and death now saves us, And shares our ev’ry load.
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Someone I loved once gave me a box full of darkness.
It took me years to understand that this, too, was a gift. ~Mary Oliver, “The Uses of Sorrow”from Thirst
Someone spoke to me last night, told me the truth. Just a few words, but I recognized it. I knew I should make myself get up, write it down, but it was late, and I was exhausted from working all day in the garden, moving rocks. Now I remember only the flavor – not like food, sweet or sharp. More like a fine powder, like dust. And I wasn’t elated or frightened, but simply rapt, aware. That’s how it is sometimes – God comes to your window, all bright light and black wings, and you’re just too tired to open it. ~Dorianne Laux “Dust”
On the stiff twig up there Hunches a wet black rook Arranging and rearranging its feathers in the rain- I do not expect a miracle Or an accident
To set the sight on fire In my eye, nor seek Any more in the desultory weather some design, But let spotted leaves fall as they fall Without ceremony, or portent.
Although, I admit, I desire, Occasionally, some backtalk From the mute sky, I can’t honestly complain: A certain minor light may still Lean incandescent
Out of kitchen table or chair As if a celestial burning took Possession of the most obtuse objects now and then — Thus hallowing an interval Otherwise inconsequent
By bestowing largesse, honor One might say love. At any rate, I now walk Wary (for it could happen Even in this dull, ruinous landscape); skeptical Yet politic, ignorant
Of whatever angel any choose to flare Suddenly at my elbow. I only know that a rook Ordering its black feathers can so shine As to seize my senses, haul My eyelids up, and grant
A brief respite from fear Of total neutrality. With luck, Trekking stubborn through this season Of fatigue, I shall Patch together a content
Of sorts. Miracles occur, If you care to call those spasmodic Tricks of radiance miracles. The wait’s begun again, The long wait for the angel. For that rare, random descent. ~Sylvia Plath “Black Rook in Rainy Weather”
Even when we open up an unwanted box of darkness, it too can be an unexpected gift:
it is no trick of radiance nor is it random when He comes to our window, waiting patiently for us to let Him in.
This descent to us is planned and very real: He seizes us and does not let go even when we are too tired to open to Him.
We wait, this long wait while moving rocks uphill; longing to feel His Light again. Rapt, aware, weary, yet awake and ready.
photo by Nate Gibsonphoto by Nate Gibson
This year’s Barnstorming Lenten theme is Ephesians 3:9:
…to bring to light for everyone what is the plan of the mystery hidden for ages in God, who created all things…
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Days pass when I forget the mystery. Problems insoluble and problems offering their own ignored solutions jostle for my attention… And then once more the quiet mystery is present to me, the throng’s clamor recedes: the mystery that there is anything, anything at all, let alone cosmos, joy, memory, everything, rather than void: and that, 0 Lord, Creator, Hallowed one, You still, hour by hour sustain it. ~Denise Levertov from Sands of the Well
Two girls discover the secret of life in a sudden line of poetry.
I who don’t know the secret wrote the line. They told me
(through a third person) they had found it but not what it was not even what line it was. No doubt by now, more than a week later, they have forgotten the secret, the line, the name of the poem. I love them for finding what I can’t find,
and for loving me for the line I wrote, and for forgetting it so that a thousand times, till death finds them, they may discover it again, in other lines
in other happenings. And for wanting to know it, for
assuming there is such a secret, yes, for that most of all. ~Denise Levertov “The Secret” from O Taste and See
A voice cries: “In the wilderness prepare the way of the Lord; make straight in the desert a highway for our God. Isaiah 40:3
This is the time of year when I tend to get off track, lost and wandering in a wilderness of winter doldrums.
Winter clings like a chilly cement suit, its deprivation gone on too long. I yearn for respite.
I am bewildered by life much of the time. Anyone looking at these postings can see my struggle as I try each day to make this sad and suffering world a little bit better place.
I have little to offer a reader other than my own wrestling match with the mysteries we all face.
And so each day, I seek out a secret line, or a clue from the sky, or a voice crying out in the wilderness to prepare the way:
to look where I’m going, to walk this path with a goal in mind, to stop meandering meaninglessly, searching for what actually lies right before my eyes.
My path, if straight and true, leads me to join others also harkening to the call, all of us searching for His Truth in the mess of this broken world.
I am not alone on this road. Nor are you. We travel together.
This year’s Barnstorming Lenten theme is Ephesians 3:9:
…to bring to light for everyone what is the plan of the mystery hidden for ages in God, who created all things…
Another sleepless night I’m turning in my bed Long before the red sun rises In these early hours I’m falling again Into the river of my worries When the river runs away I find a shelter in your name
Jesus, only light on the shore Only hope in the storm Jesus, let me fly to your side There I would hide, Jesus
Hear my anxious prayer The beating of my heart The pulse and the measure of my unbelief Speak your words to me Before I come apart Help me believe in what I cannot see Before the river runs away I will call upon your name
Jesus, only light on the shore Only hope in the storm Jesus, let me fly to your side There I would hide, Jesus ~Elaine Rubenstein, Fernando Ortega
Light after darkness, gain after loss, Strength after weakness, crown after cross; Sweet after bitter, hope after fears, Home after wandering, praise after tears. Alpha and Omega, beginning and the end, He is making all things new. Springs of living water shall wash away each tear, He is making all things new. Sight after mystery, sun after rain, Joy after sorrow, peace after pain; Near after distant, gleam after gloom, Love after wandering, life after tomb. ~Frances Havergal
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I don’t know where prayers go, or what they do. Do cats pray, while they sleep half-asleep in the sun?
Is a prayer a gift, or a petition, or does it matter? The sunflowers blaze, maybe that’s their way. Maybe the cats are sound asleep. Maybe not. ~Mary Oliver from “I Happened to be Standing” from A Thousand Mornings
All that matters is to be at one with You, the living God; to be a creature in Your house, O God of Life! Like a cat asleep on a chair at peace, in peace at home, at home in the house of the living, sleeping on the hearth, and yawning before the fire.
Sleeping on the hearth of the living world, yawning at home before the fire of life feeling the presence of You, the living God like a great reassurance a deep calm in the heart a presence as of a master, a mistress sitting on the board in their own and greater being, in the house of life. ~D.H. Lawrence “Pax”
When you notice a cat in profound meditation, The reason, I tell you, is always the same: His mind is engaged in a rapt contemplation Of the thought, of the thought, of the thought of his name: His ineffable effable Effanineffable Deep and inscrutable singular name. ~T.S. Eliot from The Naming of Cats
In peace I will both lie down and sleep; for you alone, O Lord, make me dwell in safety… Psalm 4:8
Humanity longs for the peaceful untroubled rest promised in the Psalms.
Yet the world remains in turmoil; bombs continue to drop in countries at war, often killing the innocent. Homes, no longer a refuge of safety, become graves of destruction and devastation.
The Lord’s covenant with His people ensures the time will come when we shall rest in His house of life – in peace and security. His Son took on the brunt of the world’s hatred and violence, His sacrifice an atonement for the ongoing evil.
The Lord’s promise of peace and rest remains forever, His ineffable presence we long for, like a great reassurance, a deep calm in the heart…
This year’s Barnstorming Lenten theme is Ephesians 3:9: …to bring to light for everyone what is the plan of the mystery hidden for ages in God, who created all things…
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