timeforINRI

  I hid my heart in a nest of roses, Out of the sun's way, hidden apart;  In a softer bed than the soft white snow's is, Under the roses I hid my heart. Why would it sleep not? why should it start, When never a leaf of the rose-tree stirred?  What made sleep flutter his wings and part?  Only the song of a secret bird. Lie still, I said, for the wind's wing closes, And mild leaves muffle the keen sun's dart;  Lie still, for the wind on the warm seas dozes, And the wind is unquieter yet than thou art. Does a thought in thee still as a thorn's wound smart?  Does the fang still fret thee of hope deferred?  What bids the lips of thy sleep dispart?  Only the song of a secret bird. The green land's name that a charm encloses,  It never was writ in the traveller's chart, And sweet on its trees as the fruit that grows is, It never was sold in the merchant's mart. The swallows of dreams through its dim fields dart, And sleep's are the tunes in its tree...

 "Heaven" has different Signs—to me— Sometimes, I think that Noon Is but a symbol of the Place— And when again, at Dawn, A mighty look runs round the World And settles in the Hills— An Awe if it should be like that Upon the Ignorance steals— The Orchard, when the Sun is on— The Triumph of the Birds When they together Victory make— Some Carnivals of Clouds— The Rapture of a finished Day— Returning to the West— All these—remind us of the place That Men call "paradise"— Itself be fairer—we suppose— But how Ourself, shall be Adorned, for a Superior Grace— Not yet, our eyes can see— Emily Dickinson To Love, To Be Loved

Dear Master, Help me walk through the Word with humility, for it's sacred ground over which I travel. So many others have gone before me over this ground. Help me learn from them, both from the steps of their faith and the stumblings of their unbelief, from their obedience and their obstinateness, from their steadfastness and their waywardness. Give me eyes to see that the landscape of the Word is so much more vast and grand than the small parcel of ground that is my life. And grant me the grace to travel over that majestic landscape slowly, imaginatively, playfully, and obediently. Eugene H. Peterson Hopeful Waiting

 I hid my heart in a nest of roses, Out of the sun's way, hidden apart; In a softer bed than the soft white snow's is, Under the roses I hid my heart. Why would it sleep not? why should it start, When never a leaf of the rose-tree stirred? What made sleep flutter his wings and part? Only the song of a secret bird. Lie still, I said, for the wind's wing closes, And mild leaves muffle the keen sun's dart; Lie still, for the wind on the warm seas dozes, And the wind is unquieter yet than thou art. Does a thought in thee still as a thorn's wound smart? Does the fang still fret thee of hope deferred? What bids the lips of thy sleep dispart? Only the song of a secret bird. The green land's name that a charm encloses, It never was writ in the traveller's chart, And sweet on its trees as the fruit that grows is, It never was sold in the merchant's mart. The swallows of dreams through its dim fields dart, And sleep's are the tunes in its tree-tops heard; No h...

 God is Love. When we take up permanent residence in a life of love, we live in God and God lives in us. This way love has  the run of the house, becomes at home and mature in us, so we are free from worry on Judgment Day - our standing in  the world is identical to Christ's. There is no room in love for fear. Well-formed love banishes fear. Since fear is crippling, a fearful life, fear of death, fear of judgment - is one not fully formed in love. We, though, are going to love-love and be loved. First we were loved, now we love. he loved us first. If anyone boasts, "I love God," and goes right on hating his brother or sister, thinking nothing of it, he is a liar. If he won't love the person he can see, how can he love the God he can't see? The command we have from Christ is blunt: Loving God includes loving people. You've got to love both. Eugene H. Peterson Turn Up The Volume

 People conceived and brought into life by God don't make a practice of sin. How could they? God's seed is deep within them, making them who they are. It's not in the nature of God-born to practice  and parade sin. Here's how you tell the difference between God's children and the Devil's children: The one who won't practice righteous ways isn't from God, nor is the one who won't love brother or sister. A simple test. This is how we come to understand and experience love: Christ sacrificed his life for us. This is why we should live sacrificially for our fellow believers, and not be just out for ourselves. If you see some brother or sister in need and have the means to do something about it and turn a cold shoulder and do nothing, what happens to God's love? It disappears. And you made it disappear. My dear children, let's not just talk about love; let's practice real love. This is the only way  we'll know we are living truly, living i...

 IN SPITE OF the lying that was so conspicuously evident in the first-century community, John addressed these believers in the most affectionate of ways: "dear children", " my dear friends" and "my dear, dear friends". We can understand ourselves in the community only when we understand ourselves as being created in the image of God who is love and who demonstrates his love towards us in sacrificial ways. As John wrote, "This is how we come to understand and experience love: Christ sacrificed his life for us. This is why we ought to live sacrificially for our fellow believers, and not be out for ourselves" The New Testament writers used different metaphors to describe the church: a field, a building, a body. But the metaphor of a family is probably the best, because a family is all about relationships-parents, children, brothers, sisters. The life of faith is lived out in the context of a family, with all its dysfunctions, with all it's sibli...