A year to remember

One year among the angels, beloved, thou hast been;

One year has heaven's white portal shut back the sound of sin:

And yet no voice, no whisper, comes floating down from thee,

To tell us what glad wonder a year of heaven may be.

 

Our hearts before it listen, the beautiful closed gate:

The silence yearns around us; we listen and we wait.

It is thy heavenly birthday, on earth thy lilies bloom;

In thine immortal garland canst find for these no room?

Thou lovedst all things lovely when walking with us here;

Now, from the heights of heaven, seems earth no longer dear?

We cannot paint thee moving in white-robed state afar,

Nor dream our flower of comfort a cool and distant star.

 

Heaven is but life made richer: therein can be no loss:

To meet our love and longing thou hast no gulf to cross;

No adamant between us uprears its rocky screen;

A veil before us only; -- thou in the light serene.

 

That veil 'twixt earth and heaven a breath might waft aside;

We breathe one air, beloved, we follow one dear Guide:

Passed in to open vision, out of our mists and rain,

Thou seest how sorrow blossoms; how peace is won from pain.

 

And half we feel thee leaning from thy deep calm of bliss,

To say of earth, "Beloved, how beautiful it is

The lilies in this splendor, -- the green leaves in this dew;

0, earth is also heaven, with God's light clothed anew!"

 

So, when the sky seems bluer, and when the blossoms wear

Some tender, mystic shading we never knew was there,

We'll say "We see things earthly by light of sainted eyes;

She bends where we are gazing, to-day, from Paradise."

 

Because we know thee near us, and nearer still to Him

Who fills thy cup of being with glory to the brim,

We will not stain with grieving our fair, though fainter light,

But cling to thee in spirit as if thou wert in sight.

 

And as in waves of beauty the swift years come and go,

Upon celestial currents our deeper life shall flow,

Hearing, from that sweet country where blighting never came,

Love chime the hours immortal, in earth and heaven the same.

by: Lucy Larcom (1824-1893)

Good and Evil

We May Receive God's Unlimited Grace, to Do Good

If you then, being evil, know how to give good gifts to your children, how much more will your Father who is in heaven give good things to those who ask Him! Matthew 7:11, NKJV.

We are all under obligation to deny self daily for Christ's sake. Jesus says, "If any man will come after me, let him deny himself, and take up his cross, and follow me"; "whosoever doth not bear his cross, and come after me, cannot be my disciple."

As we call upon God at every step, pleading for divine wisdom as we advance, seeking for light and grace in order that under all and in every circumstance we shall do unto others as we would that they should do unto us were we in their place, we shall feel the necessity of fulfilling the broad and deep requirements of the holy law of God. Thus shall we lose sight of self, and looking unto Jesus, the author and finisher of our faith, we shall lay upon the foundation deeds of mercy, benevolence, compassion, and love, which are compared to gold, silver, and precious stones, which the fires of the last days cannot consume.

The Lord Jesus is our efficiency in all things; His Spirit is to be our inspiration; and as we place ourselves in His hands to be channels of light, our means of doing good will never be exhausted; for the resources of the power of Jesus Christ are to be at our command. We may draw upon His fullness, and receive of that grace which has no limit. The Captain of our salvation at every step would teach us that almighty power is at the demand of living faith. He says, "Without me ye can do nothing"; but again declares that "greater works than these shall [ye] do; because I go unto my Father."

We are to pray without ceasing. In supplicating the throne of grace in the name of Christ, the promise is sure, "Whatsoever ye shall ask the Father in my name, he will give it you. Hitherto have ye asked nothing in my name; ask, and ye shall receive, that your joy may be full." When you make God your trust, when you call upon Him with your whole heart, He will be found of you. "Then shalt thou call, and the Lord shall answer; thou shalt cry, and he shall say, Here I am." - The Review and Herald, October 30, 1894.

Supernatural

Victory Is Assured for All Who Obey Christ's Orders

These things I have spoken to you, that in Me you may have peace. In the world you will have tribulation; but be of good cheer, I have overcome the world. John 16:33, NKJV.

Christ came to our world as the surety for humanity, preparing the way for all to gain the victory by giving them moral power. It is not His will that any shall be placed at a disadvantage. He would not have those who are striving to overcome intimidated and discouraged by the crafty assaults of the serpent. "Be of good cheer," He says, "I have overcome the world."

With such a General to lead us on to victory, we may indeed have joy and courage. He came as our champion. He takes cognizance of the battle that all who are at enmity with Satan must fight. He lays before His followers a plan of the battle, pointing out its peculiarities and severity, and warning them not to join His army without first counting the cost. He tells them that the vast confederacy of evil is arrayed against them, and shows them that they are fighting for an invisible world, and that His army is not composed merely of human agencies. His soldiers are coworkers with heavenly intelligences, and One higher than angels is in the ranks; for the Holy Spirit, Christ's representative, is there.

Then Christ summons every decided follower, every true soldier, to fight for Him, assuring them that there is deliverance for all who will obey His orders. If Christ's soldiers look faithfully to their Captain for their orders, success will attend their warfare against the enemy. No matter how they may be beset, in the end they will be triumphant.

Their infirmities may be many, their sins great, their ignorance seemingly insurmountable; but if they realize their weakness, and look to Christ for aid, He will be their efficiency. He is ever ready to enlighten their dullness and overcome their sinfulness. If they avail themselves of His power, their characters will be transformed; they will be surrounded with an atmosphere of light and holiness. Through His merits and imparted power they will be "more than conquerors." Supernatural help will be given them, enabling them in their weakness to do the deeds of omnipotence.

Those who fight for Christ are fighting in the sight of the heavenly universe, and they should be soldiers, not cowards.... By faith they are to look calmly upon every foe, exclaiming: "We fight the good fight of faith, under the command of an omnipotent Power. Because He lives, we shall live also."

Tasmanian terror

Who'd work in Sydney eh?  Crossing from Gosford to Kingsford-Smith airport two hours before dawn, and the traffic was neck deep.  An extended terminal quality breakfast preceded the 717 elevated taxi ride to Hobart where we packed a Pajero to the gunnels and sloshed across sodden Tasmania via Wicked Cheese factory cafe, and up into its central highlands.

Miena: Tassie's coldest village lived up to its reputation with a snowstorm welcoming us back from our 2nd day trip to Fraser falls on the edge of the Gordon. The next day tested our 4WD beyond my skill and comfort level when we were caught in a much worse snowstorm traversing the alpine highway on the west side of Great lake. By the grace of God we made it home.

Day 4 saw us tentatively escape the snow altitudes and descend into positive temperatures again. Bothwell was most appreciated.  Mid winter flooding remained apparent all the way to Launceston.

Day 5
The Sabbath was spent visiting both ends of the Tamar river, from Low Head lighthouse on the northern coast, down to a flood swollen Cataract Gorge in Launceston. The long span chairlift and the circumferential gorge trek were very enjoyable for the majority of us.

This is our first visit to the apple isle, and the standout so far is the friendliness of the locals.  They've all been so chatty, genuine, helpful and fun. The fact that there are multiple cheese and chocolate factories to visit has only made it even better.

Today

Today
Will never come again
Be a blessing
Be a friend
Encourage someone
Take time to care
Let your words heal
and not wound.

Remember that you will never reach a higher standard than you yourself set. 

Then set your mark high. 

- COL 331

Black ribbon

The path ahead, the road we roam
The tracks we leave behind
A lonely path, a cold dark road
Past pain and loss we find
That though we once had trust
With hope and joy and light
Our journey is a solo fight
Alone to face the mountain height
To wander aimless in the night
Trust is futile, love a lie
Find in self an answer why
And the courage to walk alone

The tracks we leave behind
There once was two
The tracks don't lie
There is but one.

Foresight

I can see. I can visualise a road... By the road is a tree near a lake, a white twisted tree. Under the tree in a hollow space is a sleeping tiger snake.

What do snakes dream of?  A mouse.  A rabbit.  A flash of anger, a strike, panic and terror fading into death.  Dislocated dinner.  Corner me and your eyes will bleed, cross my path and you'll rest in the frozen earth.

Devils and tigers, whisky and cheese, chocolate and bridges, lakes and churches. And roads. Lots of roads. There are one hundred and twenty seven colours of Tasmanian rain - a bichromatic sequence from snow gray through wild forest green and into southern ocean blue. My favorite is high valley lake mist pale light drizzle in waxing gibbous moonlight at winter soltace. Best appreciated on owl wings above the tree tops when there's a hint of snow in the air.

Black Out

The harsh screech of the waking machine pushes the winter sunlight into my slumber
Hot water washes away resentment of broken dreams while the plans of the day drift into focus
The roar, the chill, the power and the dance is the ride, are the best part of the day
Before the drudge and stress and futility and service are the day, is the rest of the day.
But the power wobbled.  And fell over.  Again and again until the insult broke my machine. My one machine.

It'll be busier tomorrow, but today will be fun.  Power wobbled. Like a holiday, but different.

Rage

Unrighteous rage. There's nothing sadder than an angry old man.  The prime of life has mysteriously drifted away, anticipation of a better future replaced with regret for a wasted life.  He rages silently, impotently, pathetically.

If happiness is a choice, then anger is doubly so. Why would he choose the road of hatred when that gentle path of love, peace and forgiveness is there for the walking?  A bitter valley overhung with gray clouds of distrust lays sullenly between  unscalable unforgiven mountain walls.  There is a silent river here for him to contemplate, it's oily depths churning the dregs of the past over and over.  He loves to sit on its thorny bank, enthroned on a rock of pride, and throw imagined stones to disturb the water into ever widening ripples of punishment.

One small step.  It's a choice he could make. Just one step towards forgiveness, upwards into the clearer air of hope, the green grass of mercy, the bright sunshine of love. But someone has to throw these stones into the river.  They have to - or the stones would be left unthrown, forgotten and rejected. Where's the justice in that?  He knows he would be infinitely happier on the verdant path, but stones need justice, and mercy, and a champion. 

Pride came before the fall.  His valley has a name.  He can hear it spoken as the bitter wind stirs the riverside thorns of gray.  Its name is Fall.

Walk humbly.  They're the boots which will walk the verdant way up to the light.

Love mercy. They're the words and thoughts that make the mind of the man wearing the boots.

Do justly. They're the hands of the man who finally sees that he ought to do unto others as his God has done for him.

Someone told him once that if he left Fall valley, climbed justice path over mercy pass and humbly loved as he is loved, then Fall valley would cease as its sharp boundaring cliffs erode with forgiveness and its sad river of regret clears, its thorny verge blooms with blossoms, and its clouded brow is pierced with warm trusting sunlight.

I must tell the angry old man this tale next time we meet.  I hope he listens to me.

Wet

Somewhere around 400mm of rain these last 2 days has graced our rooftop.  Our house has water views again.  Or would have if the rain would clear long enough to see into the valley.

Another motorcycle racer died today.  That's the third in three years.  The risk is always there - the awareness by both the rider and the spectator that sudden death could occur. So it's a bloodsport of sorts... Not to the same extent as Romans of antiquity attending a gladatorial contest at the Colesium, or Shakespearean Britons congregating about a bear put - but it's really just a question of degree.

Would bull fighting in Spain continue without spectators? Or boxing? Or F1, or MotoGP?  The responsibility for the injury and death resulting from such blood pursuit must at least partially lay at the door of the active spectator. The one who bays in anger, howls in disappointment, shrieks in glee and pays the money at the door.

It's not about risk assessment, or trial and error.  It's not about patting yourself on the back because many less competitors died this year than thirty three years ago, or five hundred years ago.

It's about passion.  The fire in the belly, the drive to see and be the best, the thrill of the chase.  Push it to the edge, to the limit, to the brink. Your breath quickens, your pulse races, adrenaline scores your throat, your eyes widen.  And you - yes, you - have their blood on your hands.

the last warm night of summer

When the days are the shortest, the nights are the coldest

If what goes around, comes around; gravity usually is playing a part.  Not like living on the ISS for a year: a sunrise every 90 minutes, another season six hundred kilometers below your feet every twenty minutes. No chance to ring out for a pizza.

the frost is the sharpest, the year is the oldest

As June approaches, our air conditioner is somewhat less employed, and the mornings, although nippy-ish, haven't provided any incentive to cycle in reverse as yet.  Orion runs shotgun on the setting sun, while Mars and Saturn brighten in the fading east as a crown on the scorpion.  The full moon comes and goes like a spinning coin in the firelight, and life goes on; our allotted sum of breathing moments wanes and fades away.

then polish your whiskers and tidy your nest

These old grey whiskers don't need polishing, but a shave now and then is as civilized as it gets. The doctor in the house has been nest tidying recently - she must be between Sir Jackie and Mr Ickx on a personal journey to unravel the mysteries of one formula or another.  Her output is very much appreciated by many F1 enthusists worldwide.

and dress in your finest and richest and best

I love the verdant attitude here of nature in this season.  Elsewhere (south wise) the environmental feeling is depressingly autumnal, the crisp mornings bitter with sharp frost, the wind searching and uncomfortable, the night sky studded with sharp cold diamonds. Our northern rivers region is vaguely subtropical and that's the way we like it. The trial that is summer's finest stays keen enough in the memory so we always enjoy the mildness of May, the joy of June and July, and early spring's colourful touch.

for winter has bought you the worst it can bring

We'll have to travel some two thousand kilometers South to feel the worst Australia can bring. Holiday planning these last several decades often throws up the quandry of destination. UK, France, US, NZ... never Tasmania.  This year we're doing the patriotic thing.

and now it will give you the promise of spring!

One thing is sure.  After a few weeks in Tassie, the remainder of the northern rivers winter will feel positively summery. We may even skip spring altogether!

'straya

The LORD is my shepherd; I shall not want. 
Wednesday one six one six.
From this time forward, under God, 

He maketh me to lie down in green pastures: he leadeth me beside the still waters. 
I have the honour of becoming Australian.
I pledge my loyalty to Australia and its people,

He restoreth my soul: he leadeth me in the paths of righteousness for his name's sake.
We're approaching a federal election, and must choose between Bill and Mal.  Although I have been on the electoral role for about 33 years - this election will feel special. I'll be an Australian.
whose democratic beliefs I share, 

Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for thou art with me; thy rod and thy staff they comfort me. 
Australia is home, and I couldn't imagine wanting to live elsewhere.  New Zealand is pretty, the UK is seeped with history, America is... maybe about to have a president called Trump?  But Australia feels right, NSW feels right, and I've lived in this town three times longer than any other town.   And this town is in Austalia.
whose rights and liberties I respect, 

Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of mine enemies: thou anointest my head with oil; my cup runneth over. 
Australia has my loyalty.  I've worked in it's health system for thirty years, I've met all sorts of other Australians; new and old, and am proud to be one of them.
and whose laws I will uphold and obey

Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life: and I will dwell in the house of the LORD for ever. 
Under God.  'straya mate :-)  From this time forward.

Happy

Happy is a choice. It's often a wish, a dream, a longing, but never a command. Happy is not real, not tangible, not measureable, but it is contagious. Happy is a condition, a perspective, a protective shell, but it's not a destination.

Life is a journey. It has many layers, many colours, many phases, but no certainty.  Life is not insular, or transmissible, nor repeatable, but it is a shared state. Life is dangerous, painful, and unreliable, but it can be happy.

If we choose.  We define our happiness every day, every hour, every moment by innumerable tiny valuings: do happy.

Reflections

Hindsight acuity usually feels 20:20, but feelings are, by definition, an emotionally clouded subjective perception of an individual and unique experience.  No two people feel the same thing at the same time, or have the same desires and goals, or assign the same importance to a shared experience.  My reflections are not yours, and your vaues are not mine.  The best we can hope for is a shared destination - we grow old and then depart.

A beauty of life, one of many, is the softening caress of time.  It flows under our bridges - those constructs we build to protect us from life's passing - and away, carrying downstream the sharp details, washing our memories from an uncomfortable resolution to a softer fog.  It's something to rely on.  Time.

We view our own faces reflected in the mirror of recollection, our wrinkles and sags smoothed, pain less distinct, scars much faded.  It's been years since I looked for a halo of hope, a direction to shine - but I think it could be there.  Faintly.  But halos are risky, ethereal, surreal.  They have teeth and a hunger for souls, but they reward the risk-taker, sometimes.

Heart

Core, 'ngrato.  There's this tight band around my pericardium, a couple of kilos weight squashing my right ventricle.  It's interesting how little I care.  My father had an MI at 53 and genetics are a bitch. Whatever.

I'll soon be swearing the 'straya oath with my mayor, and will take the opportunity to swear at her too re: the planned severe opportunistic tax to be imposed on local health workers. 

It will be one week short of thirty nine and a half years since I stepped out of a DC9 into the tarmac oven of Brisbane airport.  I remember the fly spray in the face that was the custom of the day, the reinforced cardboard suitcase containing my preteen life, and the long drive along a segmented concrete highway to a new world.

Our adopted kiwi dog lasted six months before his unblemished several dozen score of brown snake executions was complicated by an envenomation.  I had blood drawn by a lion cub as he ripped the seat of my jeans the same week as snake strike found my patella spraying poison only externally. Education meant something in those days as flash floods turned to drought, forever blue skies over black dusty soil.

At heart I'm probably always kiwi, always Qld as state of origin, and always Vic as source of best childhood memory. NSW is just where I earn a crust, pay my tax, buried my father, and domicile with my family. Home is where the heart should be.

Pavlova.  That's means 'straya.