Winter Thoughts

Winter thoughts

The hills are somber in gray. Sparse morning light collects in drops on the windows. No "bright shoots of morningtime," no radiance breaking over the hills. They are silent and wrapped in waiting. A little wind comes along and cat paws across the puddles. No songs are sung.

The shank of winter is an old gray dog gnawing on a bone.

"Be with us, Blessed One, in all our mornings. When the world is gloomy, start your hearth fire in the places of heart and mind's discontent. Stir the ashes of cold faith. Strike the stone, spark leaping, laughing into spirit flame, and we'll offer our little lights on Your altar, Holy One. No shadow hides Your sun."

Quick Quips:

Say to yourself: "I am either up or getting up."

Say to yourself: "Don't let the turkeys get you down."

Say to yourself: "Tie a knot and hang on."

Remember, the tide ebbs, and then it returns.

The morning sun fills every gloomy corner. All the shadows flee from God's light.

Karl Barth said that it is not allowed not to hope.

Willard Spencer

The River and Life

A River and Life (The Current River)

In other days, in other writings, I have explored the river as a metaphor for life. I have reflected that there are 'slow holes,' where the river spreads out, slows down. In these a boater can relax a bit and look at the banks, take in the view of trees and hills, look deeply into the water. Also, there are sudden turns in the river -- turns that can take you into a riffle -- a shallow, fast moving, rock filled section of water, usually with a drop in 'grade.' Occasionally you find yourself in a 'shute' -- a long stretch of narrow, fast water. If you hit a log in a 'shute' you are in trouble. And there is always something new and unexpected coming toward you just around the next bend of the stream. Ultimately, all water flows to the sea. There is a goal, a destination, a final meeting of waters, where the boater arrives at last. These images are still lodged in my brain, though it has been many years since I took a canoe down a crystal clear river, like the Jack's Fork or the Huzzah. In the last few weeks my reflective thoughts have returned time and time again to the fact of the inexorability of the flow. The river flows on, over rocks and hidden logs, through fallen trees. It cuts new banks and washes away old sand bars. There is no holding back the force of the horizontal heaviness that rushes over all obstacles, down the long tilt of the land to the sea. A dam can stay it for a moment, catch the glorified gushing for an instant; but the water flows over the impediment and continues its way along its chosen path. It is unimpedible, irrevocable, and cannot be called back. So life is, friends. We can but ride the wave, share the moments, and give aid to other travelers on the journey, and mark the days till the final merging of all waters, life returning to the Life. May the days be blessed along the way.

Willard Spencer

Fall, the Ridgeline, and Permanent Things

The ridge line stays the same. I've been there a number of times now. Stood in about the same place. Looked steadily at that place where hill meets the sky. It makes a very thin line, traced between earth and air, a flowing line which never moves, the ridge line.

It is about as unchanging as things get down here. Change the light on the hill top to shadow. Change the shimmering heat to winter chill. It still marks the same unaltered boundary between two elements.

The foliage changes. The hickories are yellow. The undergrowth is a dark red. The sycamore leaves take on a brownish hue along their edges, and around holes in the leaves. The oak, of course, is still green. The oak is tough and unyielding, but the line of the ridge changes not, regardless of leaf or branch.

In a world of tumultuous change, where you never step twice in the same river (Heraclitus), it is a comfort to actually see something relatively permanent. The ridge line, now gold and amethyst with sunset light, reminds us that there are permanent things. Beyond the ridge lines of this world is a realm of truth and glory which we only experience in anticipation down here, and that by Gods grace alone.

"We incline our hearts to Thee, Immortal, Invisible, Almighty God, and we remember your unchanging love and mercy. Bless us with your everlastingness in these transitory hours. All praise and glory be unto Thee. Amen."

Willard Spencer

The Leaping Grandpa

How I Acquired A New Name

This is the story of an adventure that occurred many years ago. It was after a move to a new house. One of the prizes of the move was to be a bit closer to children and grandchildren. So, I was able to pick up the thread of adventure begun some time before with my oldest grandson. Josh is an adventurer. The new house provided new opportunities.

We were poking around in the boxes in the basement. (We were still in the boxes in the basement stage!) We found a fishing rod and fishing net. We found an old bass caught some years before and mounted on an oak board. (That was to be the source of other adventures later.) But just now Josh looked at the net and decided to catch me in it. That was the beginning.

Soon we were in full scale chase in and around and through the boxes. At one point I was running at full "grandpa" speed and came face to face with a box blocking my path. Without a thought I simply jumped over the cardboard box, and continued running, until I heard the words unforgettable. Josh stopped at the box, looked at me and said, "Wow! You're a leaping grandpa!" And there it was, for all time, named beyond my years, beyond the days, for ever and always in the eyes of a (then) five year old and his loving grandfather, fixed in time is the moment of the name. I shall always remember. (Sometimes, I confess, I feel a bit more like a "creeping" grandpa; but not that day.) It was a day of joy and memories.

Willard Spencer