Bringing Home the Treasures

Ships Returning Home

by Max Ehrmann

We are all ships returning home
laden with life’s experience,
memories of work, good times and sorrows,
each with his special cargo.
And it is our common lot to show
the marks of the voyage,
here a shattered prow, there a patched
rigging, and every hulk
turned black by the unceasing
batter of the restless wave.
May we be thankful for fair weather
and smooth seas, and in times of storm,
have the courage and patience
that mark every good mariner.
And over all, may we have
the cheering hope of joyful meetings,
as our ship at last drops anchor in
the still water of the eternal harbor.


My response to today’s WordPress prompt: fortune

In spite of all the tales about its ancient origins, the Desiderada was also written by Max Ehrmann, 1872-1945.


Psalm 90 via Isaac Watts


O God our help in ages past, our hope for years to come,
our shelter from the stormy blast and our eternal home;

Under the shadow of thy throne still may we dwell secure;
sufficient is thine arm alone and our defense is sure.

Before the hills in order stood or earth received her frame,
from everlasting Thou art God, to endless years the same.

A thousand ages in thy sight are like an evening gone,
swift as the watch that ends the night before the rising sun.

Time, like an ever-rolling stream, bears all its sons away;
they fly forgotten, as a dream dies at the opening day.

O God, our help in ages past, our hope for years to come;
be Thou our guard while life shall last and our eternal home.

Isaac Watts

I woke up early this morning and this song came to mind. I really felt I should post it. Hope it encourages someone today.

Wee Bits of Wisdom

Sunday’s daily prompt asks us how we plan to stay young at heart as we get older. I had something in mind to write on that subject because of an old Turkish proverb I read last week. Now today’s prompt asks us about a saying that’s been going through our mind this past week. Perfect! I’ll pull it up again.

Here it is, from my book Words of Wisdom, a collection of famous quotes:

A heart in love with beauty never grows old.

I suspect one may safely change that to

A heart in love with people never grows old.

Actually folks have expressed a number of wise thoughts on the subject of aging, like the poem, “Let me grow lovely, growing old…”

And the obvious:

Growing old is a lot better than not growing old.

In one sense I’m enjoying growing old, am content with my lot in that department. I don’t know if I feel very “young at heart” anymore; I don’t aspire to climb a mountain, go deep sea diving, or become another Grandma Moses. I’ll never write The Great Catsby or To Kill A Mourning Dove. But I do hope I can still appreciate beauty, talent, and courage when I see it.

My wishes for old age are low-key. I already spend enough time reading so I won’t wish for more of that. Some days I look forward to sitting in a seniors’ home, visiting with others, having meals prepared for me and spending hours doing jigsaw puzzles. I may never get there, though; we know one dear old senior who lived in her own home until she was 99. (And made a garden every summer until the last two years!)

However, I aim to do a few useful things yet. According to another sage:

A life of pleasure can be a most sorrowful life.

In the other sense I echo another old saying:

Why do we get so soon old and so late smart?

The insights I’ve finally acquired by age sixty would have come in very handy at age twenty. I’m sorry I lacked so much in basic smarts back then. So many emotional roller-coasters I wouldn’t have needed to ride!

The best remedy for discontent is to count our blessings.

Ah, well. I guess I’ll just go on from day to day and see what life brings, trying to do my part where I can, and living with the faith that whatever life brings to me will be tempered by God’s mercy. What about you?

God Made This Day for Me

by Edgar Guest

Just the sort of weather
and just the sort of sky
which seem to suit my fancy,
with the white clouds drifting by
on a sea of smooth blue water.
Oh, I ain’t an egotist
with an “I” in all my thinking
but I’m willing to insist
that the Lord who made us humans
and the birds in every tree
knows my special sort of weather
and He made this day for me.

And the breezes from the eastward
blowing gently on my face,
and the woods chock full of singing
till you’d think birds never had
a single care to fret them
or a grief to make them sad.
Oh, I settle down contented
in the shadow of a tree
and tell myself right proudly
that the day was made for me.

It’s my day, my sky and sunshine
and the temper of the breeze—
here’s the weather I would fashion
could I run things as I please.
Beauty dancing all around me,
music ringing everywhere,
like a wedding celebration—
why, I’ve plumb forgot my care
and the tasks I should be doing
for the rainy days to be
while I’m hugging the delusion
that God made this day for me.

From the book Collected Verse of Edgar A. Guest,
©1934 by the Reilly & Lee Co

(And we have just this sort of a summer day here in southern Sask. today! — Christine)

Sunday Morning Walk

My 201st Post on this Blog!

I was up and around early this morning, enjoying the beauties of nature. Several times I saw a hummingbird dart over to drink from the feeder by our side door. I watched a brown thrasher and a mourning dove devouring the seeds I scattered under our bird-feeder pole outside the kitchen window. The thrasher was living up to its name, whacking away at something with his bill much like a flicker does when digging up ants.

For the past several mornings I’ve taken note of several magpies strutting around beside the garage. I wondered what they were finding over there, but it occurs to me that they are cleaning up the exhausted and dead bugs that fall around the light pole. As I saw last night, this yard light is quite an attraction to fluttering things.

The King of the Castle games are over now for the young swallows. It appears the parent birds in both nests are sitting on a second batch of eggs.

There’s a fair wind again this morning, so the wildfire smoke isn’t heavy. A fellow blogger from southeast of here has posted more about this haze we’re living with right now, including a photo she took.

I went for a walk and noticed a few wild gaillardia (blanket-flower) blooms at the edge of the road. Missed by the lawn mower the last time it made its circled around. It’s been so dry that our lawnmower hasn’t been out and about much this summer. We don’t water our lawns like some do, so most of our grass is crisp and a nice tan colour. We did get a few sprinkles overnight Friday, I think the gauge read 4/100ths of an inch.

Now to get ready for church. Click here to read an inspiring post for Sunday morning, written by blogger Janis Cox, about the need to be still and waiting on the Lord.