Sunday, April 29, 2012

Brave Bird

Keep on Sailing

I will be teaching this class on May 24th at 5:30 at Paper Crown in Oklahoma City. Call the store at 848-2389 to reserve your spot. Cost is 45.00. Bring your scissors, distress ink, and heat gun if you have one. All other supplies will be provided. 

I have been a little obsessed with birds lately. I think it is partly due to the fact that my Mother would sit forever on my patio and watch birds and drink coffee. It was obvious she loved them. Sometimes she would know things we had said or done and when we would ask her how she knew that she would reply "A little birdie told me." Darn those birds! I often wished they would just keep their beaks shut! 

Also in times of sadness I would marvel at their ability to just fly, high above everything. They are so small in comparison to us and yet they are brave. They battle the rain, the wind, stray cats and a myriad of other obstacles in their lives and yet they sing. They sing as if no one is listening or maybe they know we are listening. Maybe we are supposed to listen. I don't know. I am assuming a lot here, but as for the bravery I am pretty confident they are brave. After all would you or I sit or stand on a power line? Probably not. I should probably go to sleep now.

Sunday, April 1, 2012

Thought Provoking


by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
In golden youth when seems the earth
A Summer-land of singing mirth,
When souls are glad and hearts are light,
And not a shadow lurks in sight,
We do not know it, but there lies
Somewhere veiled under evening skies
A garden which we all must see --
The garden of Gethsemane.
With joyous steps we go our ways,
Love lends a halo to our days;
Light sorrows sail like clouds afar,
We laugh and say how strong we are.
We hurry on; and hurrying, go
Close to the border-land of woe,
That waits for you, and waits for me --
For ever waits Gethsemane.
Down shadowy lanes, across strange streams,
Bridged over by our broken dreams;
Behind the misty caps of years,
Beyond the great salt fount of tears,
The garden lies. Strive as you may,
You cannot miss it in your way.
All paths that have been, or shall be,
Pass somewhere through Gethsemane.
All those who journey, soon or late,
Must pass within the garden's gate;
Must kneel alone in darkness there,
And battle with some fierce despair.
God pity those who cannot say,
Not mine but thine, who only pray,
Let this cup pass, and cannot see
The purpose in Gethsemane.