Posted in Poetry on February 14, 2011 | Leave a Comment »
John Piper wrote this poem for the wedding of his oldest son. I love his poetry.
Read the whole thing here: Love Her More and Love Her Less
Here is the last stanza:
The greatest gift you give your wife
Is loving God above her life.
And thus I bid you now to bless:
Go love her more by loving less.
Posted in Poetry, Quote of the Day on January 12, 2011 | Leave a Comment »
As the modern poet hath written and sung…
And when I think about that prodigal son,
I’ve got to smile when I see the old man run.
And I know that You love us the same,
‘Cause the sun came up today;
Just as if we deserved it –
Just as if any one of us fools was worth it;
Truth is that we’ll never be perfect, but You love us just the same.
I’ve been having a hard time getting away from these lines.
Posted in Poetry, Variety Pack on October 25, 2010 | Leave a Comment »
Posted in Poetry on August 28, 2010 | Leave a Comment »
This is a brilliant piece.
Posted in Old/Good Ways, Poetry on August 24, 2010 | Leave a Comment »
AP writes here of his recent visit to meet the inimitable Wendell Berry in his Kentucky home.
Posted in Poetry on January 9, 2010 | Leave a Comment »
Nate Wilson is one of my favorite thinkers. Here are his thoughts on the recent arrival of his new daughter.
Posted in Classical Education, Family, Patriarchy, Pilgrimesque, Poetry on December 30, 2009 | 1 Comment »
But God has it all scripted. For those who know Him, we are standing here on a brink of this great opportunity and joy, safe in Christ. A pilgrim is a person who lives for another time and another place. Go be valiant as you go onward.
The things that haven’t been done before,
Those are the things to try;
Columbus dreamed of an unknown shore
At the rim of the far-flung sky,
And his heart was bold and his faith was strong
As he ventured in dangers new,
And he paid no heed to the jeering throng
Or the fears of the doubting crew.
Posted in Gospel, Poetry on November 12, 2009 | 2 Comments »
Let dogs delight to bark and bite,
For God hath made them so:
Let bears and lions growl and fight,
For ’tis their nature, too.But, children, you should never let
Such angry passions rise:
Your little hands were never made
To tear each other’s eyes.Let love through all your actions run,
And all your words be mild:
Live like the blessed Virgin’s Son,
That sweet and lovely child.His soul was gentle as a lamb;
And as his stature grew,
He grew in favor both with man,
And God his Father too.Now, Lord of all, he reigns above;
And from his heavenly throne
He sees what children dwell in love,
And marks them for his own.
– Isaac Watts
Posted in Poetry on July 30, 2009 | Leave a Comment »
In the book, Sam Gamgee sings this on the “Flight to the Ford.” Here, this is Tolkien’s voice singing.
Posted in Classical Education, Pilgrimesque, Poetry on March 26, 2009 | 1 Comment »
Wherever Nate Wilson is seminaring, booking, articling, that’s where I want to be. He has almost single-handedly (almost) taught me to see life as a story and to notice all these beautiful little sub-plots all along the way. His offerings are splendid little feasts of warm wit and careful clusters of comparison–showing me how all the reasons I must stop being so ridiculously bland.
Today I found Nate at Powell’s Books. He wrote an storytelling article called The Amazing Tale of the Butterfly-Unicorn-Ballerina-Princess and the Giant, Creeping Land Squid.
Posted in Family, Patriarchy, Poetry on January 12, 2009 | 2 Comments »
Thank you for all of your public and private congratulations and commendations to Chrissy and me. We are thrilled to have another wonderful blessing on the way. Since Haddon was due, people have told us to expect a girl and have prophesied that our last three boys would be girls. We have been so thoroughly pleased with the way God has been so gracious and we would be thrilled to welcome a little boy or a little girl into our home to share in this sweet life together–though certainly a little girl would really throw off the balance of our noisy, little ecosystem. We are able to happily expect a wonderful batch of daughter-in-laws.
You feel free to encourage us as you have been and as you will, but if you don’t mind, at least privately between the two of us, we are going to continue to assume as we always have that there is a little boy on it’s way…until scientific proof tells us otherwise. We apparently only know one recipe and it works for us. And “no,” there will not be an ounce of discouragement if we don’t have a girl. But we would be thrilled to accept her. I hope that we would be happy to freely accept a baby on any of God’s terms.
Here is the poem I have carried in my heart over the past years of preparing for little boys to join our family. Captain Cyril Morton Thorne wrote:
To My Unborn Son
What simple, beautiful words!
“My boy!” What a wonderful phrase!
We’re counting the months till you come to us —
The months, and the weeks, and the days!
The new little stranger, some babes are called,
But that’s not what you’re going to be;
With double my Virtues and half of my faults,
You can’t be a stranger to me!
Your mother is straight as a sapling plant,
The cleanest and best of her clan —
You’re bone of her bone, and flesh of her flesh,
And, by heaven, we’ll make you a man!
Soon I shall take you in two strong arms-
You that shall howl for joy-
With a simple, passionate, wonderful pride
Because you are just-my boy!
And you shall lie in your mother’s arms,
And croon at your mother’s breast,
And I shall thank God I am there to shield
The two that I love the best.
A wonderful thing is a breaking wave,
And sweet is the scent of spring,
But the silent voice of an unborn babe
Is God’s most beautiful thing.
We’re listening now to that silent voice
And waiting, your mother and I —
Waiting to welcome the fruit of our love
When you come to us by and by.
We’re hungry to show you a wonderful world
With wonderful things to be done,
We’re aching to give you the best of us both
And we’re lonely for you-my son!
Posted in Gospel, Poetry, Quote of the Day on January 2, 2009 | Leave a Comment »
The January 2nd entry from Morning by Morning, always one of my favorites:
It is interesting to remark how large a portion of Sacred Writ is occupied with the subject of prayer, either in furnishing examples, enforcing precepts, or pronouncing promises. We scarcely open the Bible before we read, “Then began men to call upon the name of the Lord;” and just as we are about to close the volume, the “Amen” of an earnest supplication meets our ear. Instances are plentiful. Here we find a wrestling Jacob—there a Daniel who prayed three times a day—and a David who with all his heart called upon his God. On the mountain we see Elias; in the dungeon Paul and Silas. We have multitudes of commands, and myriads of promises. What does this teach us, but the sacred importance and necessity of prayer? We may be certain that whatever God has made prominent in His Word, He intended to be conspicuous in our lives. If He has said much about prayer, it is because He knows we have much need of it. So deep are our necessities, that until we are in heaven we must not cease to pray. Dost thou want nothing? Then, I fear thou dost not know thy poverty. Hast thou no mercy to ask of God? Then, may the Lord’s mercy show thee thy misery! A prayerless soul is a Christless soul. Prayer is the lisping of the believing infant, the shout of the fighting believer, the requiem of the dying saint falling asleep in Jesus. It is the breath, the watchword, the comfort, the strength, the honour of a Christian. If thou be a child of God, thou wilt seek thy Father’s face, and live in thy Father’s love. Pray that this year thou mayst be holy, humble, zealous, and patient; have closer communion with Christ, and enter oftener into the banqueting-house of His love. Pray that thou mayst be an example and a blessing unto others, and that thou mayst live more to the glory of thy Master. The motto for this year must be, “Continue in prayer.”
Posted in Gospel, Pleased with God, Poetry on December 19, 2008 | Leave a Comment »
It is. And kudos and accolades to those who tell the story well. Some of them are pastors. Some are poets. Some write and sing music. Some are just regular old papas.
Last night we went to the Ryman Auditorium in Nashville to hear Andrew Peterson tell the story of the Old Testament and the incarnation in music form. We had already been introduced to it and iTunes says we have listened to it 60 times or so (since November). It was beautiful in so many ways, especially since we were with treasured friends.
Then during the night, Andrew Peterson explained why yesterday was such a wonderful day for him. He says, in part:
That Gospel draws us like the call of a jubilant voice deep in the woods. We hear, and we follow, and though we scarcely know how we know, we believe the source of the voice is good and the only thing worth knowing. All at once, we emerge from all sides in a clearing. We are cut from the thorns and weary to the bone. In the center of the clearing swirls a warm, symphonic light within which glows–depending on the tilt of the head–a patient eye, or an open hand, or the slender form of a man with his hands on his hips, laughing. And you know that it’s Him. Then the skill in your fingers, the ache in your heart, the talent in your soul–all of it–strains to do His work. It strains like a warhorse pawing the ground in the moments before the charge.
Then comes the downbeat, and the crowd falls silent as the story is told.
Posted in Family, From the Backseat, Pleased with God, Poetry, Quote of the Day on December 10, 2008 | 1 Comment »
The last chorus from Andrew Peterson’s kid’s song Dreams:
Oh, and I’m just a kid with a head full of dreams
And a dream full of things to get done.
Yeah, but all of my life it’s the same old routine
And I’m ready to have me some fun.
Oh, I’ve never spelunked in the caves of the moon
Or stun-rayed a Zorbian fiend,
And I don’t have a tunnel dug under my room,
But who knows what tomorrow will bring.
Posted in Culture Wars, Poetry on December 9, 2008 | Leave a Comment »
Today you would have been 400 years old. Do you know how much we fear stillness and quietness today? Do you know we are scared to death of seriousness and depth? Do you know how incapable of enjoying your works 400 years later? Our world is about updates, restraints and appointments. We both thrive and choke on busy and movement.
God, teach us differently…and thank you for Milton.
When I consider how my light is spent
Ere half my days in this dark world and wide,
And that one talent which is death to hide
Lodg’d with me useless, though my soul more bent
To serve therewith my Maker, and present
My true account, lest he returning chide,
“Doth God exact day-labour, light denied?”
I fondly ask. But Patience, to prevent
That murmur, soon replies: “God doth not need to
Either man’s work or his own gifts: who best
Bear his mild yoke, they serve him best. His state
Is kingly; thousands at his bidding speed
And post o’er land and ocean without rest:
They also serve who only stand and wait.
Posted in Poetry, Quote of the Day on November 29, 2008 | 3 Comments »
Rudyard Kipling wrote:
God gave all men all earth to love,
But since our hearts are small,
Ordained for each one spot should prove
Beloved over all.
Leave me a note. Where the place that you love best?
Posted in Classical Education, Pilgrimesque, Pleased with God, Poetry on October 5, 2008 | 3 Comments »
This is the poem/hymn that Karsten will begin memorizing in school this week.
God Make My Life A Little Light (1873) by Matilda B.B. Edwards
God make my life a little light
Within the world to glow;
A little flame that burneth bright,
Wherever I may go.
God make my life a little flower
That giveth joy to all,
Content to bloom in native bower,
Although the place be small.
God make my life a little song
That comforteth the sad
That helpeth others to be strong,
And makes the singer glad.
God make my life a little staff
Whereon the weak may rest,
That so what health and strength I have
May serve my neighbors best.
God make my life a little hymn
Of tenderness and praise,
Of faith, that never waxeth dim,
In all His wondrous ways.
Posted in Poetry on September 29, 2008 | Leave a Comment »
Awaken by Lawrence Tribble (1770)
Posted in Poetry on September 5, 2008 | Leave a Comment »
Work While You Work from McGuffy’s Primer
Work while you work.
Play while you play.
One thing each time,
That is the way.
All that you do,
Do with your might;
Things done in halves
Are not done right.
Posted in Pleased with God, Poetry on August 21, 2008 | Leave a Comment »
Let Dogs Delight to Bark and Bite by Isaac Watts
Let dogs delight to bark and bite,
For God hath made them so:
Let bears and lions growl and fight,
For ’tis their nature, too.
But, children, you should never let
Such angry passions rise:
Your little hands were never made
To tear each other’s eyes.
Let love through all your actions run,
And all your words be mild:
Live like the blessed Virgin’s Son,
That sweet and lovely child.
His soul was gentle as a lamb;
And as his stature grew,
He grew in favor both with man,
And God his Father too.
Now, Lord of all, he reigns above;
And from his heavenly throne
He sees what children dwell in love,
And marks them for his own.
Posted in Patriarchy, Poetry on August 18, 2008 | Leave a Comment »
If You Were Busy Being Kind by R. Foreman
If you were busy being kind,
Before you knew it you would find
You’d soon forget to think ’twas true
That someone was unkind to you.If you were busy being glad
And cheering people who seem sad,
Although your heart might ache a bit,
You’d soon forget to notice it.If you were busy being good,
And doing just the best you could,
You’d not have time to blame some man
Who’s doing just the best he can.If you were busy being true
To what you know you ought to do,
You’d be so busy you’d forget
The blunders of the folks you’ve met.If you were busy being right,
You’d find yourself too busy quite
To criticize your brother long,
Because he’s busy being wrong.
Posted in Patriarchy, Poetry on August 17, 2008 | Leave a Comment »
George Eliot’s “The Choir Invisible”
O, may I join the choir invisible
Of those immortal dead who live again
In minds made better by their presence; live
In pulses stirred to generosity,
In deeds of daring rectitude, in scorn
Of miserable aims that end with self,
In thoughts sublime that pierce the night like stars,
And with their mild persistence urge men’s minds
To vaster issues.
May I reach
That purest heaven,–be to other souls
The cup of strength in some great agony,
Enkindle generous ardour, feed pure love,
Beget the smiles that have no cruelty,
Be the sweet presence of good diffused,
And in diffusion ever more intense!
So shall I join the choir invisible,
Whose music is the gladness of the world.
Posted in Patriarchy, Poetry on August 1, 2008 | Leave a Comment »
What a Baby Costs
By Edgar A. Guest
How much do babies cost?” said he
The other night upon my knee;
And then I said: “They cost a lot;
A lot of watching by a cot,
A lot of sleepless hours and care,
A lot of heart-ache and despair,
A lot of fear and trying dread,
And sometimes many tears are shed
In payment for our babies small,
But every one is worth it all.
For babies people have to pay
A heavy price from day to day –
There is no way to get one cheap.
Why, sometimes when they’re fast asleep
You have to get up in the night
And go and see that they’re all right.
But what they cost in constant care
And worry, does not half compare
With what they bring of joy and bliss –
You’d pay much more for just a kiss.
Who buys a baby has to pay
A portion of the bill each day;
He has to give his time and thought
Unto the little one he’s bought.
He has to stand a lot of pain
Inside his heart and not complain;
And pay with lonely days and sad
For all the happy hours he’s had.
His smile is worth it all, you bet.”
Posted in Family, Poetry on May 10, 2008 | Leave a Comment »
I had a Mother who read to me
Saga of pirates who scoured the sea,
Cutlasses clenched in their yellow teeth,
“Blackbirds” stowed in the hold beneath.
I had a mother who read to me the things
That wholesome life to the boy heart brings-
Stories that stir with an upward touch,
Oh, that each mother of boys were such!
I had a Mother who read me lays
Of ancient and gallant and golden days;
Stories of Marmion and Ivanhoe,
Which every boy has a right to know.
You may have tangible wealth untold;
Caskets of jewels and coffers of gold.
Richer than I you can never be-
I had a Mother who read to me.
I had a mother who read me tales
Of Gelert the hound of the hills of Wales,
True to his trust till his tragic death,
Faithfulness blent with his final breath.
– Strickland Gillilan
