This morning I came across the above titled poem written by Louise Knight Wheatley years ago. It begins with her prayer asking for success, prosperity, friends, a nice home, luxury and joy. Many lines later and I am sure years later, it ends with
“Ah, Love divine, how empty was that prayer of other days! That which was once so fair,–Those flimsy baubles which the world calls joys Are nothing to me now but broken toys, outlived, outgrown. I thank Thee that I know those much-desired dreams of long ago, like butterflies, have had their summer’s day of brief enchantment, and have gone. I pray for better things.
Thou knowest, God above, My one desire now–Teach me to Love.”
As I read and reread that poem, I thought of my own prayers and how they have changed over the years and I humbly express so much gratitude for this spiritual growth.
I’d Rather Give Audience to Spirit by Elizabeth Bice Luerssen
I really wasn’t enjoying the show playing on my stage of consciousness–sad, depressing, even frightening, and with a cast of characters no one could love.
“The show must go on.” It must? Must something so bad have a good run? Then I had an angel of an idea: I stopped watching; took away the audience. And the show closed!
That poem resonated with me the minute I read it and I thought of times when those unwanted shows tried to entertain me in my thoughts. Psalm 34:19 states “A righteous man may have many troubles, but the Lord delivers him from them all.” This means to me that I need to question my focus when an endless tape is playing and I will do that today.
While looking out at the cold winter’s day with temperature below freezing, a verse of a poem by Natalie Sleeth comes to thought.
“In the bulb there is a flower; in the seed, an apple tree; in cocoons, a hidden promise; butterflies will soon be free! In the cold and snow of winter, there’s a spring that waits to be, unrevealed until its season, something God alone can see.”
There is such beauty and comfort in that poem as I trust God with everything!
As Thanksgiving approaches, I am reminded of a poem I recently found and read and reread and it expresses how I feel. It was written by Ila Elizabeth Rose.
Gratitude is proffered thanks–
Not a cloak to admire,
Not a mask to acquire
Gratitude is living thanks–
Not for a season set aside
To mark tradition’s passing tide
Gratitude is constant thanks–
A consciousness of Truth that fills
Our cup with love until it spills