Two nights ago I saw a glimpse of the eternal at Seattle Symphony, while listening to Rachmoninaff's "Rhapsody on a theme of Paginini." Actually I wasn't listening to Rachmoninaff at all I was hearing the cry of a human heart, hearing an emotion that was so full of yearning and desire that it could not be put into words, and seeing a tantalizing preview of heaven. I saw the Creator of Music and a tiny glimpse of his immeasureable glory and goodness, as yearned in my heart for the fulfillment of his promises and the redemption of this world.
(i had a much prettier and nicely perfected three paragraphs to post and then i accidently deleted them, so this is the short version of what I experienced)
Here are those three minutes of music that I have a hard time believing came from this world: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=90MuPqYtV
Monday, November 24, 2008
Favourite Scripture
...Let us run with perseverance the race that is set before us, looking to Jesus the pioneer and perfector of our faith, WHO FOR THE SAKE OF THE JOY THAT WAS SET BEFORE HIM ENDURED THE CROSS, disregarding its shame...
Monday, November 10, 2008
more Emily
This woman understood:
I SHOULD have been too glad, I see,
Too lifted for the scant degree
Of life’s penurious round;
My little circuit would have shamed
This new circumference, have blamed
The homelier time behind.
I should have been too saved, I see,
Too rescued; fear too dim to me
That I could spell the prayer
I knew so perfect yesterday,—
That scalding one, “Sabachthani,”
Recited fluent here.
Earth would have been too much, I see,
And heaven not enough for me;
I should have had the joy
Without the fear to justify,—
The palm without the Calvary;
So, Saviour, crucify.
Defeat whets victory, they say;
The reefs in old Gethsemane
Endear the shore beyond.
’T is beggars banquets best define;
’T is thirsting vitalizes wine,—
Faith faints to understand.
Emily Dickinson
I SHOULD have been too glad, I see,
Too lifted for the scant degree
Of life’s penurious round;
My little circuit would have shamed
This new circumference, have blamed
The homelier time behind.
I should have been too saved, I see,
Too rescued; fear too dim to me
That I could spell the prayer
I knew so perfect yesterday,—
That scalding one, “Sabachthani,”
Recited fluent here.
Earth would have been too much, I see,
And heaven not enough for me;
I should have had the joy
Without the fear to justify,—
The palm without the Calvary;
So, Saviour, crucify.
Defeat whets victory, they say;
The reefs in old Gethsemane
Endear the shore beyond.
’T is beggars banquets best define;
’T is thirsting vitalizes wine,—
Faith faints to understand.
Emily Dickinson
A leaf
One year only, given,
For caressing rays to warm
Your silky skin.
One year to flutter and twist
And writhe in storm, and rain,
And snow.
Once you have, to fall
And present yourself-
A seam in the golden-red
Carpet of your fellows-
A death, surpassing
Beauty of your life,
And raising to untold
Heights of glory
The humble earth.
I wrote this about a week ago. The view from my window is incredible right now. There are golden branches, red shading, and left-over hints of green across the street from me, and I can't help but feel joyful and a little sad when I see such beauty. Joyful, because sometimes the tiniest, most insignifcant things can be so beautiful they make you ache, and sad because each leaf has to die before we even notice how lovely they are. We walk underneath them everyday, lay in their shade, and yet we don't even really see them until they aren't alive anymore. In fact, they look so beautiful carpeting the ground around my feet that I can't help but be glad that they had to die. I guess that's why I love fall so much. Everything about the season is reminding us of death: our own future death, the death of leaves, and flowers, and the realization that winter is a long season. But in what could be a horrible time of reminder we instead have the honor of glorious showers of golden, red, pink, yellow, and brown leaves all around us to remind us that it is only through death: death to ourselves and ultimately, the death of Christ that we have the most amazing priviledge of life.
One year only, given,
For caressing rays to warm
Your silky skin.
One year to flutter and twist
And writhe in storm, and rain,
And snow.
Once you have, to fall
And present yourself-
A seam in the golden-red
Carpet of your fellows-
A death, surpassing
Beauty of your life,
And raising to untold
Heights of glory
The humble earth.
I wrote this about a week ago. The view from my window is incredible right now. There are golden branches, red shading, and left-over hints of green across the street from me, and I can't help but feel joyful and a little sad when I see such beauty. Joyful, because sometimes the tiniest, most insignifcant things can be so beautiful they make you ache, and sad because each leaf has to die before we even notice how lovely they are. We walk underneath them everyday, lay in their shade, and yet we don't even really see them until they aren't alive anymore. In fact, they look so beautiful carpeting the ground around my feet that I can't help but be glad that they had to die. I guess that's why I love fall so much. Everything about the season is reminding us of death: our own future death, the death of leaves, and flowers, and the realization that winter is a long season. But in what could be a horrible time of reminder we instead have the honor of glorious showers of golden, red, pink, yellow, and brown leaves all around us to remind us that it is only through death: death to ourselves and ultimately, the death of Christ that we have the most amazing priviledge of life.
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