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Flipping through the pages, you find yourself smiling, chuckling, longing and even reminiscing as you think about all that has gone by and all that can be. The fleeting moments find meaning, the heartbreaks find closure, the individuality gains precedence, and the absurd becomes amusing. Read more Read less. Save Extra with 4 offers.
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On April 3, Eliza was born and Mother died. In woods, rock tripe wrinkled over a chin of granite. I inherited a lot of the woodworking hand tools he used to build derricks. And with the un-Forsytean philosophy which ever intruded on his soul, he thought: 'One's never had enough. They had a huge need for relationship, for time and attention. I can't have you missing the opera.
Customer images. See all customer images. I am aware of the sun that will rise every morning. I wonder and marvel about the mystery of all this as I pray and hurt and wait. Click HERE to order. At last, it is almost time for the happy season to start and we will have survived the cold. For many of us the cold lingers on until April and sometimes May, but even those days will be bearable because of what just around the corner.
My mother used to tell me that anticipation was half the fun of life. I think now that she was giving me a gentle warning as I walked out the door on one of my high school dates. She was right most of the time, especially about spring in Texas. Bluebonnets, oleanders, mountain laurel, Indian paintbrush, and the early robins are eagerly anticipated.
Already robins are evident in our yard in spite of this unusually cool weather. She loved all the seasons and I am so grateful to her and love her for making us aware of the anticipation for and evidence of the seasons of the soul in our world. There are challenges; we are not in charge, but we can survive — even thrive — in a cloud of hope, the wind of change, the dark night of the soul, and the dazzling bright light that announces the life and presence of the Divine.
That new season, new day, new beginning grows in, up and through the very ground of our being.
I can do it! I can let you hear it! I can show off and dance around the room because now I can show you what was birthed last year.
They were especially loved by those old Austin hippies which they learned about from their father, of course, when he was there in the early 70s. He got rave reviews from LA to Sweden to Austin and back. You are going to love this offering, especially those of you who have walked some of the same paths I have. How proud I am of this voice on this recording and how amazed I am at his writing.
Or he has lived a long time! Please take a listen and make this album a part of your collection: A Century Behind by Will Courtney. You will love every single cut, I promise. His Grandpa, Bro.
A lso, be sure to sign up for the Will Courtney mailing list to find out about new releases and tour dates! What we need is a vision of what is to come a kingdom of children led by a Lamb that beckons the lion to lie down in grace and love the dancers, the singers, the face of the tear-stained clown who is trying to love. Sweet joker, that flutter you felt was a dove. Silken sighs sweep through silent limbs To stir the stubborn leaves Still struggling to survive After the scorching summer sun.
I wait for winter And wonder how long This Indian Summer will stay. In the apple-scented autumn The breeze can so woo the forest That with embarrassed trembling She will drop her yellowed ensemble At her feet — And by Christmas even the smallest Brown leaf That symbolized a courageous beauty Will be discarded And she has no choice but to stand alone In her quiet. Will she remember, without pain, The comfort of a billowy-green mantle That rustled at midday like green Taffeta in a breezy dance? Or does she grow anxious in fear that Some winter storm could change her shape, Break a limb or even steal Some early crop of leaves Intended for lovers who would Lie in her shade?
So often, the way we view the seasons of the earth and the seasons of our souls is different. As women in our 60s, we have obviously shared so many changes and turnings and stoppings and wonderings together.
We have learned and lost, loved and laughed, walked and danced down some wonderful roads together. Part of the outcomes of our lives together has been the words across pages—back and forth to each other—to stay in touch with our feelings, trying to 'stay present' to one another. Maybe someday we will get courageous enough to publish the book. We already know the title. The idea was given to us in the autumn, while sitting in an old chapel, north of Santa Fe, where we felt the ground of our Being and the healing that comes in being vulnerable to the seasons of life and love.
Right now, everyone I know is in transition. During a woman's labor to birth a child, it is the hard time! It seems we are all heading toward an unknown season. What's next? What does the future look like?
Will I be alright in the change? Can I survive well? Will I know which path to follow? Can I be me—the child I was created to be?
Who am I? I wish the Mother Mary was here to help answer some of these questions. Life was not easy for her, but what a courageous woman. Christmas is coming, but how FAR is it to Bethlehem? My Mother and the Mother Mary had a lot in common. They lived in wonder and suspense not knowing what was ahead. Hyper, no. I definitely was hyper-vigilant so as not to get into much trouble and draw unwanted attention to myself.
Mostly I spent my time trying to be the creative, singing child that I was born to be. Now and then I did get into trouble for singing in class at my desk during math or science. Be quiet, be still and concentrate on your work. As the years passed, I am still active, mostly in my head. I am not walking miles a day like I used to. I am not swinging high on the swing set at the park. What was it? Not Ted Nugent. Not Ted Bundy. Not Ted Danson.