Something Beautiful Remains

The tide recedes but leaves behind
Bright seashells in the sand
The sun goes down, but gentle warmth
Still lingers on the land
The music stops, and yet it echoes
On in sweet refrains
For every joy that passes
Something beautiful remains




Nine years ago today, my remarkable husband died. But something beautiful remains.
A few days ago, my best friend's husband died. But something beautiful remains.

Thoughts in Flight

What lies behind us and before us are small compared to what lies within.

Ralph Waldo Emerson

Metamorphosis

"There is nothing in a caterpillar

that tells you

it's going to become a butterfly "

Buckminster Fuller

So True

A friend is someone who knows the song in your heart

And can sing it back to you when you have forgotten the words

When Your Hut's On Fire

The only survivor of a shipwreck was washed up on a small, uninhibited island. He prayed feverishly for God to rescue him. Everyday he scanned the horizon for help, but none seemed forthcoming. Exhausted he eventually managed to build a little hut from driftwood to protect him from the elements and to store his few possessions.

One day, after searching for food during a tropical thunderstorm, he arrived back to find his little hut in flames,with smoke rolling up to the sky. He felt the worst had happened and everything was lost. He was stunned with disbelief, grief and anger. He cried out "God! How could you do this to me?" He drifted off into a restless sleep.

As dawn broke, he awakened to the sight of a ship approaching the island. It had come to rescue him. "How did you know I was here?" asked the weary man of his rescuers. "We saw your smoke signal." they replied.

The moral of the story:

It's easy to get discouraged when things are going bad but we shouldn't lose heart, because God is at work in our lives, even in the midst of our pain and suffering. Remember that the next time your little hut seems to be burning to the ground - it may just be a smoke signal that summons the grace of God.

I read this on various other blogs (with no original author's name) and as I always like to credit someone I will just have to add a general 'thank you'.

From a Remarkable Daddy

My eldest son, the remarkable father of my two grandchildren, sent me this...
www.because-movie.com
And, courtesy of 'Walk the Talk', I'd like to share his philosophy with the world.

The Invitation ... I Want to Know

It doesn't interest me
what you do for a living
I want to know what you ache for and if you dare to
dream of meeting your heart's longing


It doesn't interest me how old you are
I want to know if you will risk looking like a fool
For love, for your dream, for the adventure of being alive

It doesn't interest me what planets are squaring your moon
I want to know if you have touched the centre of your own sorrow
If you have been opened by life's betrayals
Or have become shrivelled and closed from fear of further pain

I want to know if you can sit with pain - mine or your own
Without moving to hide it, or fade it, or fix it
I want to know if you can be with joy - mine or your own
If you can dance with wildness
And let the ecstacy fill you to the tips of your fingers and toes
Without cautioning as to be careful, realistic
Or to remember the limitations of being human

It doesn't interest me if the story you are telling me is true
I want to know if you can dissapoint another to be true to yourself
If you can bear the accusation of betrayal and not betray your own soul
If you can be faithless and therefore trustworthy

I want to know if you can see beauty, even when it is not pretty, everyday
And if you can source your life from its presence
I want to know if you can live with failure, yours and mine
And still stand on the edge of the lake and shout to the silvery moon, 'Yes!'

It doesn't interest me to know where you live
Or how much money you have
I want to know if you can get up, after a night of grief and despair
Weary and bruised to the bone, and do what needs to be done
To feed the children

It doesn't interest me what you know or why you came here
I want to know if you will stand in the fire with me
And not shrink back

It doesn't interest me where, or what, or with whom, you studied
I want to know what sustains you, you from the inside
When all else falls away
I want to know if you can be alone with yourself
And if you truly like the company you keep in the empty moments


Oriah Mountain Dreamer

What Do You See?

When an old lady died in the geriatric ward of a small hospital near Dundee, Scotland, it was believed that she left nothing of any value. Later, when the nurses were going through her meagre possessions, they found this poem. It's quality and content so impressed the staff that copies were made and distributed to every nurse in the hospital. One nurse took her copy to Ireland. The old lady's sole bequest to posterity has since been distributed far and wide. A nurse-training slide presentation has also been made, based on the old lady's simple, but eloquent, poem. And this little old lady, with nothing left to give to the world, is now remembered as the author of this 'anonymous' poem...

CRABBY OLD WOMAN

What do you see, nurse, what do you see
What are you thinking when you look at me
A crabby old woman, not very wise
Uncertain of habit, with faraway eyes
Who dribbles her food and makes no reply
When you say in a load voice, 'I wish you would try!'
Who seems not to notice the things that you do
And forever is losing a stocking or shoe
Who, resisting or not, lets you do as you will
With bathing and feeding, the long day to fill
Is that what you're thinking, is that what you see
Then open your eyes, nurse. You're not looking at me
I'll tell you who I am as I sit here, so still
As I do at your bidding. As I eat at your will...

I'm a small child of ten with a father and mother
Brothers and sisters who love one another

A young girl of sixteen with wings at her feet
Dreaming that soon now a lover she'll meet

A bride soon at twenty. My heart skips a beat
Remembering the vows that I promised to keep

At twenty-five now, I have young of my own
Who need me to guide a secure happy home

A woman of thirty. My young now grown fast
Bound to eachother with ties that should last

At forty, my young sons have grown and are gone
But my man is beside me to see I don't mourn

At fifty, once more babies play round my feet
Again we know children, my loved one and me

Dark days are upon me. My husband is dead
I look at the future, I shudder with dread

For my young are all rearing young of their own
And I think of the years and the love that I've known

I'm now an old woman and nature is cruel
'Tis jest to make old age look like a fool

The body, it crumbles. Grace and vigour depart
There is now a stone where I once had a heart

But inside this old carcass a young girl still dwells
And now and again my battered head swells

I remember the joys. I remember the pain
And I'm loving and living life over again

I think of the years. All too few, gone too fast
And accept the stark truth that nothing can last

So open your eyes, people. Open and see
Not a crabby old woman. Look closer... it's ME!

(Remember this when you next meet an old person who you might brush aside without looking at the young soul within. We will all, one day, be there, too.)

Shoes

I wept because I had no shoes

Then I met a man who had no feet

[Anon]