Jack's first day in school

Jack and friends out for a dri ve

Contemplating the world

Spencers and ice cream

Walking Through a Small Prairie Town.

 

     The day shimmered.  As I looked toward the horizon, the trees, barns and houses wavered in the morning heat.  Few people were out.  Few cars moved.  So I was free to walk in the streets of the little prairie town.

     I saw what I remembered to be typical yard décor.  Here was a small deer, head lifted, never moving, and never sensing the wind change.  Flying ducks and geese caught the breeze and, unfailingly, faced into it, flailing wings in circles toward the flow.  And butterflies…there were multi-colored sets of butterflies on houses, sheds, on fences.  White painted tires held mounds of perennials.  Plastic flowers, fading, but never dying, lined a white fence row.  I saw none of the colorful windsocks that we use to catch the movement of the wind.

    I did re-discover the walking hazards in a town without a leash law.  A fierce Chihuahua would gnaw my bones if I did not pay suitable homage to his territory.  No turf battles with such a terror!

     Only children and wandering preachers walked in the late morning sun; children laughing and shouting for the joy of the day, the preacher breathing in memories and remembering the joy of the years.

     Come to church.  Reawaken the joy

     Light and Warmth
     Willard Spencer

The Missing Turtles

The Missing Turtles Where have the terrapins gone? They are the missing element. The others seem to be in place. The Robins returned at the appropriate time. The early flowers pushed above the chill ground, reaching for the sun. The leaves, the grass, the butterflies, the summer sounds of locust, the fireflies and the rabbits returned in due season. Everything was there -- including a fish or two borrowed briefly from a clear stream, and immediately set free. Even the squirrels have been present to bless (or irritate) the residents of these parts; but the lowly turtle I have missed. Perhaps, (The mind rushes there quickly doesn't it?), it is just that I have not seen them. I have not looked in the right place. Or my limited vision failed to penetrate the camouflage of country turtles. Were they there? Did I just miss them? Probably so.
But I have not forgotten them. In earlier days, days of fewer cars, you would see turtles crossing the roadways in the warmth of a late spring day. Occasionally one would wander in from the deep wood to see if those particularly hostile creatures called humans were still there. Children would play with them awhile before sending back to their homes in the endless forests of Missouri. We lived in a different world when we were young. We saw things in a broader scale, and in limited number. Ah, I'd like to see turtles again.
So let's say a good word for them, one of God's less pretentious creatures. And let us thank the Creator of all things for such a wondrous world still awaiting our child-like vision.
Light and Warmth,
Willard Spencer

after viewing an old church bell

Angel's song 

The bones of the ground would quake ever so slightly, the grass and leaves shiver, the hearts of the Saints would leap and sinners tremble at it's clarion call. Now it was silent. Held fast by disuse, lashed with the silk-silver of heedless spiders, the sound of the old bell had not echoed over the hills for times and half times, it would seem, an apocalypse ago.

Pity, to have so great a song to sing and no one to loose it . . . Angel's song wrapped human silence.

Are we singing our best song? Nay, not just "ours", for all good songs are but echoes of the one grand harmony. Does God's music sound clearly from our life and lips or is the song muted by disuse, lashed by the flimsiness of our own will and ways?

"Loose our best songs Father, on this land. Let the bones quake, the leaves shiver. May the hearts of the Saints rejoice and sinners tremble at its clarion call."

ws

Daisies in our summer garden
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Lavender in garden setting.
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Our little field of lavender. Rose in the middle...a princess Diana.
ws

The Last Soda Jerk


It was way back in the good old days, way back in the sixties, when the world changed and California went from odd to crazy. That was before Star Wars and its endless (now) Disney-like sagas. It was also before the computer revolution brought the power to type without erasing carbon copies into every home. Way back in the early days, before Al Gore invented the Internet and kids grew up with game boys in their back pockets -- not to mention Pocket Monsters and Digital Monsters. (Don't you hate the eyes of those creatures on TV? I wouldn't even watch the animated Tarzan movie because I thought his eyes were evil.) I remember his face -- full of the chiseling lines of the shaping years (Tolkien), he presided with great authority over a little soda fountain on the south side of Kansas City. It was way south -- 69th or 75th street, the years blur the location. But he was the last person I ever saw who could 'jerk' a soda. We would go to the little drugstore from time to time just for his creations. He has been gone many years now, and isn't it strange that someone four decades later still remembers. I've had some good ice cream sodas in the years since. And there is no frozen custard even close to Ted Drewe's in the southwest part of St. Louis, Missouri; but I am remembering the last soda jerk. He would put in some syrup. Then he would add a little ice cream, stirring the cream into the syrup to chill it. Then the foaming of the soda water and more syrup and ice cream. Last of all he would add the 'fizz' to create the high fluff top that were the 'mark' of all good sodas. I can still see, still taste it -- not quite the food of the gods, but in that direction. I have often wondered how much longer after our years in graduate school the old drug store lasted. Probably a few, even after the last soda jerk fizzed his last fountain creation. The big outfits took over and edged out the little guys -- an old story in our culture of constant consumption. Then, as if to try to reprise the true soda days, some venturesome young entrepreneur tried to re-create the old fountain culture, new shiny stools, slick plastic booths -- but they never caught the art, the reality of that bygone day. It exists only in memory now. All the old ones are gone. But once in a while I want to close my eyes are remember when Cokes were 5 Cents and you could buy a Grapette for a nickel, when burgers were a quarter, and when you could see a real soda jerk work for just twenty five cents.
Bill Spencer

Jasmine in our garden. ws

From our garden
ws

The first rose of summer.
ws

Butterfly on the Casket

Butterfly on the Casket -- a true story


Right on the edge of the grave I intoned the ancient words, always more comforting than their face value -- the old words of the faith which carry faith's memory and future . . . " The Lord is my light and my salvation, whom shall I fear?" And, "If this earthly tent we live in is destroyed . . . " And, "Jesus said, 'I am the resurrection and the life . . .'" I stood at the edge of the grave . . . you should see a preacher's-eye view of it.

Then, before these eyes, the meaning was revealed. A lovely butterfly flew right to the casket flowers, paused a few short seconds and took flight. I thought, "Butterfly, once cocoon wrapped in airless dark, now soaring in the sunlight of a new day, you point to the promise. The resurrection is real. Life goes on in some new splendor, within the realm of God's mercy."

Can anyone, having seen a butterfly, not believe in resurrection? Can anyone, having seen the risen Lord, through faith's eyes, believe any less?
Blessings,
Bill

Time flies, the Days Flee

The Clock Hand and the Best Days

The metal clock arm swings in its arc, mimicking the movement of sunlight and tide, the wheeling of the great spheres, suns and stars beyond our vision, reminding us. And the yearly records, the memories of days gone by, the ever circling years, echo the truth printed right there on the clock's face . . . tempus fugit. And my own memory adds, from an ancient poet, the words, "the best days are the first to flee." (Optima dies, prima fugit. -- Virgil in the Georgics.)

There is truth . . . True as the light which passes through the leaves. True as the arch in the back, the ache in the bones. Time flies. The best days? Well, we pitch our tents each evening a days journey closer to home. The hills of heaven are bright in that ever light, and eternity is not time wracked, and, friend, because of God's love in Jesus, the best days are out there, ahead, for those in Him.

Light and Warmth,Bill 

A Young Pitcher practices his curve ball

Jackson Spencer, an up and coming young pitcher, practices his curve ball.  Yes, on the Wii, and truthfully he is a lefty.  But great fun.  Good days like this are welcome.  Blessings on your journey today.  ws

Blackberry Winter -- a time of 'relative' chill in the Piedmont.  Still plenty warm.  Winter is far behind, but the blossoms of the blackberry seem to accompany a sudden coolness...the last fling of the old season.  Blessings on your journey,  ws

Dogwood time. Crappie bite. Flowers remind us of the wounds of the Cross. Lovely blossoms.
ws

The Med near Cassis.  Wish we could be there on Easter.  A blessed day to you all.

Easter Brings a New Thing

Easter brings a new thing.   "The great Easter truth," said Bishop Phillips Brooks, "is not that we are to live newly after death, but that we are to be new here and now, by the power of the resurrection; not so much that we are to live forever as that we are to, and may, live truly now because we are to live forever."   Yes, In the middle of the superficial offerings of this transient world, that new thing is life in life.  We wake to the Easter truth of life in life, as well as life after death.  

And waking is contagious.  We may share it...

One man awake can waken another.

The second can wake up his next door brother.

Three men awake can rouse the whole town, 

By turning the whole thing upside down.

The many awake can make such a fuss

That soon it wakens the rest of us.

One man awake, with dawn in his eyes,

Multiplies.

from the writing of Helen Kromer

Yes, Easter is a new thing.  May we live in that newness this very day.  A blessed Easter.  He is risen! He is risen indeed!

Bill

The Little Eyes of spring

The rains came . . . gentle showers and then hard pounding hail . . . to herald the turning. The sound of wind and rain alone marked the arrival of seed time. We are glad for the change from winter to spring. Seed catalogs put away. Some gardens in, some to come. We relish these days of earth warming and seed planting . . . onion sets and seed potatoes.

Watching for rainbows, we offer our thanks, Blessed One, for Your providence. The little eyes of spring open. The songbirds sing Your praise. We rejoice and remember Your promise, and we anticipate the first lettuce. How good and gracious are Your mercies. How constant and faithful are Your ways.

Light and Warmth,

Bill

Thoughts on Final Goals

"She's dying."

"We're all dying," my wife said.  "That's what we do.  She's only dying faster.  Does it not seem queer to you, Abel, that we should all put in our claims for Heaven, but fear the going so?"

from Shadows of Glory by Owen Parry

Friends, Here is a quote from a novel I have been reading again.  The author is a fine word-crafter.  I like his stories of the Civil War time.  The above passage caught my attention this week and I spent some time pondering it.  Doesn't take long to come to agreement.  We believe in heaven -- but aren't in any hurry to get there.  Or so it seems.  We want to linger on this side of the river, ready for the next challenge, the next day, and always longing to see family members again.  But then, we were created to be here -- first.  And in this creation of the Holy One, we find our first 'home,' if not our heavenly one.  So, We cling and rejoice in life and breath, in sunlight dancing on the waters, in the dearest ties of love and friendship.  So let it be.  But keep an eye ahead, as one in a canoe on a river has to watch for the next bend, the next riffle, the hidden logs.  May the day be blessed and may we keep alert for 'forever.'

Light and Warmth,

Bill

Remembering an Old Cat

You can get attached to cats ... particularly one who has journeyed with you to several locations across the years.  Some cats are just casual acquaintances.. like some people, but a few become closer to family.  I am missing one such today.  What prompted these thoughts was a recent incident in our home.  I was going out to the garage -- where the cat used to sleep -- and as I opened the door to the garage I thought I saw the cat on a little bed made for her, just outside the door.  It must have been her ghost.  So we have the ghost of our cat living in the garage.  That is okay with me, for I had a great attachment to the animal.  She would not come inside -- we have a place for a couple of beasts (a protected laundry room).  She would not come in at all -- well, once in a great while, if the temp dropped into the teens, she just might, especially if accompanied by her partner, who always comes inside.  She was independent, but protective, and always found my feet, around which she would curl and purr.  Purr, unless she was hungry, in which case the purr morphed into a different tone.  But she is gone now... on to wherever cats go when they make the final journey.  However, I count on seeing a glimpse of her in the garage from time to time, just to keep alive the memories.  Blessings on your journey today.
Bill

The Tail End of Winter

Somewhere I read that the tail end of winter is like an old dog chewing on an old bone.  Certainly calls up images and feelings that late winter can.  How long will it last?  Isn't this the same old thing again?  Ready for something new?  Yes, especially the latter.  I'm ready for a long taste of Spring.  May the lengthening days provide us with the blessing of sun-filled days and starry nights, with the touch of green that is barely perceptible at the edge of the new life.  May the flowers begin to push through the earth in our garden boxes. The tail end of winter seems to take too long.  Nothing new about that.  I arrive there each year.  Well, I am there again.  May the Most High bless your days.

WS

Frost and the Dew Drop World

The sun was just barely topping the horizon. Its slanted rays shining through the bare branches, through the frost on the window, produced a pattern in crystal and shadow which I wanted to capture. But it was not to be done. The sun came on up and the pattern disappeared like morning mist. And some folks say that's the way the world is. The world is like a drop of dew, gracing a flower petal, shining a moment, then gone forever.

The movement of sun and star, planets and time, cannot be stayed by our hands. So much of life is like my pattern of ice and shadow, shining and darkness, quickly vanishing.

But some things do not change. Think about the love of God. It is everlasting. It is without limit. The infinite love of God is given to you and me in Jesus. It will take away our sin. It will lighten our heavy burden...and it will carry us across the river, into the promised land. Friends, when some patterns change and vanish, think about that. 

Light in the Lord.

Willard Spencer

My Young Associate Pastor

I had a new associate Pastor. It happened without the knowledge of the Staff Parish Committee. The Bishop had not been approached. Sometimes events just occur in the course of destiny – or, as Christians prefer, in the unfolding of God’s will. But, without too much theologizing about it let me tell you the story.

One Sunday morning I looked behind me to see him robed and following me in the chancel area. There was a cross about his neck. We checked the pulpit mike, the lectern mike, and also paused before the altar – to pray and check the candles too. Then he accompanied me down to the sanctuary floor and we greeted people and shook some hands. Then, as quickly as he had appeared he "flew" off into the direction of my study where his grandmother was waiting for him.

Well, you know now. It was my (then) four year old grandson, Dylan, who had on his blanket robe – tied around his neck, flowing over his shoulders and draped down his back. He had his Taize cross hung around his neck, and for a few moments I had a new associate Pastor. It was one of those blessed moments, quickly forgotten by swift moving children – or maybe remembered in a small corner of the mind, a time of two people moving in holy space together, linked by blood kinship and by the blood of Christ that unites all of us. I know that it always linger in my mind. 
Light and Warmth,
Willard Spencer

Swings and Boys

I sat in the shade and watched it go…up and down, up and down.

What a lot of energy to go nowhere! But it was great to see the wind push the hair back, eyes squinted in the sunshine, and smiles…broad and full. One of the sheer joys of life is swinging in the park. I remember the boys took turns in the swings and I cherished the moments. How long does childhood last? Swinging time gives way quickly to more productive, necessary or rewarding enterprises. An empty swing is a lonely sight. So I pushed them all..to get started, and then they had to pull their own weight against gravity of earth and time. (A lesson worth pondering.) Still finding joy in the simple pleasure…time and space suspended at the upward peak of the arc…they played in sunlit splendor, defying the cruelty of age and entropy. Heads tilted back, toes pointed Heavenward, swing on, little ones, while we remember and yearn for a freedom beyond earth's bondage, a freedom we only glimpse through eyes of faith, a perfect liberty, rejoicing the soul, childlike, pure.

Light and Warmth,
Willard Spencer
Friends, Here is a memory caught forever in words.  I'm sure you have similar ones.  Many blessings on your day. ws

Cheryl by the Seine

Taken by the Seine a few years ago.  With that little church in the background.  What is it called?  Kidding. It was a great day for us to be in Paris.
ws 

From the icy Piedmont

Benaiah the son of Jehoiada, the son of a valiant man of Kabzeel, who had done many acts; he slew two lion-like men of Moab: also he went down and slew a lion in a pit in a snowy day.I Chronicles 11:22 KJV

 

Friends, Big snow and ice storm overnight. Spent last night with our Son and his family in Newton.  Great to enjoy good company on a stormy night.  Home now.  Bill brought us close in his 4-wheel drive vehicle and a neighbor took us over the icy/hilly part of the sub-division in his off the road vehicle.  So here we are.  Had to check on the animals.  All is well.  Weary, though, like I suspect Benaiah was after he slew a lion on a snowy day.  Many blessings.

 

Light and Warmth from Rose Cottage, near the lake, where ice rules,

Bill and Cheryl

The day has fallen from

The day has fallen from sunny and pleasant to chill abd dark. Winter still rules. Alas. Spring is yet a dream.
Gpa&Nannyalways

Whirl

Some days are quiet and slow paced after you retire.  I cherish those times, remembering the long hours and busy schedule of a full time life.  Now the pace is bordered with mowing the lawn, walking the dog, playing with Grandchildren, reading a good novel, etc.  But not today.  Here at the church, working on a morning shift, the day has been a whirl.  Sure wakes up the senses, recalls the years and years of such motion (and an occasional commotion).  So, I am enjoying the busy-ness of this day.  Stay alert.  Pray on the move.  Let the Spirit flow.  Many blessings on your journey to forever this fast-paced day.

Rev. Bill

Grandpa's Fishing Hole

Just give the morn a hint of sun,
And let me grab a pole,
Then add a touch of autumn chill,
And point me toward the fishin hole.

There are many happy moments;
But few of them compare
To driving over a leaf lit ridge
To descend without a care

Upon that almost sacred spot.
We search through mists to find
Old Grandpa's favorite fishing hole,
Our burdens left behind.

You cannot rush to fish there,
To leap into the living stream,
Unless you first fill lungs and soul
With deepest breath of golden dreams.

Upon the gravel altar
You place your tackle box.
And open up the magic lid
And standing on the rocks

You gaze into the wondrous depths
Of worms and flies, of jigs and eels.
With softest voice and tender touch
You choose your fate, excitement feel.

O throw that bait into the river!
Cast your line into the soul
Of Grandpa's fabled treasure spot,
His favorite fishin hole.

Then watch in ecstasy of hope,
In that purest, happy state;
As the water swirls around the line,
You hold your breath and wait.

Now there are many earthly pleasures,
And many blissful waters roll;
But none compare in joy so fair
As Grandpa's favorite fishin hole.

Willard Spencer

Long Awaited

Here it is!  Long awaited.  Finally arriving in the middle of January.  We are enjoying a normal, warm winter day here on the shores of Lake Norman.  We have had such a long stretch of exceptionally cold days, that this one is like a longed for fulfillment.  Here it is!  Rejoice!  We even have the front door open to let in some of that warm sunshine.  Might not last long.  Winter has some reply just waiting its time, but not this afternoon.  Now the dream of spring takes on the shape of reality -- with warmth and light and joy.  Take off your coats and enjoy! 

Many Blessings,

Bill Spencer

Swings and Children

I sat in the shade and watched it go…up and down, up and down.
What a lot of energy to go nowhere! But it was great to see the wind push the hair back, eyes squinted in the sunshine, and smiles…broad and full. One of the sheer joys of life is swinging in the park. I remember that they took turns in the swings and I cherished the moments. How long does childhood last? Swinging time gives way quickly to more productive, necessary or rewarding enterprises. An empty swing is a lonely sight. So I pushed them all..to get started, and then they had to pull their own weight against gravity of earth and time. (A lesson worth pondering.) Still finding joy in the simple pleasure…time and space suspended at the upward peak of the arc…they played in sunlit splendor, defying the cruelty of age and entropy. Heads tilted back, toes pointed Heavenward, swing on, little ones, while we remember and yearn for a freedom beyond earth's bondage, a freedom we only glimpse through eyes of faith, a perfect liberty, rejoicing the soul, childlike, pure.


Light and Warmth,
Willard Spencer

In That Great Gettin' Up Morning

Key verse: “A great portent appeared in heaven: a woman clothed with the sun…” Rev. 12: 1

  When I begin to read this section of Revelation I find myself humming a tune, without fail, and without first thinking about it. It just happens in the course of reading scripture. I take this humming, and similar such occurrences, as signs or messages, probably undecipherable, but real. The tune I find myself humming is the old spiritual, “In That Great Gettin' Up Morning’.” I’m not certain where I first heard it; but I think it was recorded back in the fifties by Harry Belafonte. (Back in the middle ages! Remember the cartoon of the little child sitting on grandpa’s lap, looking at the old black and white pictures in his scrap book, and asking, “Was the whole world in black and white in your day grandpa?”) At any rate the words come creeping up in the back of my mind, slipping under conscious thought, sliding beneath the concentration of the moment, and before I know it I am humming them. When they break out into song I know that I am leaning toward the end of Revelation – beyond the war in heaven, beyond the beast and the dragon, beyond the persecutions and the terror. I state my faith in heart tones that there is a better day a comin’. Let me recall just a few of the words for you.

In that great getting up morning fare you well, fare you well…
There will be no more sorrow, fare you well, fare you well…
There will be no more dyin’, fare you well, fare you well…

What do you think of when you read of the woman, clothed with the sun, with the moon under her feet? It is a wonderful image. There is a church in Quebec with a great sculptural portrayal of those words. The picture is lodged in my mind, though I cannot recall the church’s name – Is it St. Anne’s? Or some may think of the Lady of Guadeloupe. The words have taken shape in our midst, from time to time, in beautiful sculpture. Someone called this passage the Cosmic Nativity. Is that so, do you think? It is a strong picture of life and opposition, hatred and rescue. And it is the beginning of a cosmic battle. We get a clear sense here that God has strong opposition. Have you ever had to face any dragons? When was the last one? Not many statues, but much reality in the dragon with heads and horns and crowns.

  In verse six, the woman finds a place of safety and sends us a message. She flees into the wilderness, into a place of safety. There she is led by God, nourished and strengthened for one of those incalculable times. Into the wilderness – waiting, watching, praying, getting ready for a new day. There’s a better day a comin’, hallelu, hallelu. The message is that we may have a place like that for our own struggles with opposition, with dragons on a grand scale, with disappointments and losses. There’s a better day a comin’, hallelu, hallelu. Stand on God’s promises, the Word. Wrap yourself in the light of an ever-shining Light. There’s a better day a comin’, hallelu, hallelu. You’ll be ready for the battle, hallelu, hallelu. Get ready for the struggle. Victory and rest are down the road, In that great getting’ up morning, hallelu, hallelu. It’s as certain as sunrise, light filling the fields of our daily labor, chasing the shadows away.

Light and Warmth,
Willard Spencer

Similarities

Since our days in North Carolina began I have noticed many similarities between here and Missouri.  One of the first was the use of the name, 'Pilot Knob.'  There is a road just south of Denver, NC by that name.  In Missouri, Pilot Knob is a famous mountain that overlooks a lovely valley in the Ozarks.  Church groups used to climb to the peak, an outcrop of limestone, and there worship the Living God as the sun set over the mountain on the opposite side of the valley -- Shepard Mountain, if I remember correctly.  There is a book I have seen about the migration of North Carolinians to Missouri that took place at the beginning of the nineteenth century.  My ancestors were in that migration.  It is more than interesting to me that my ancestors came from Lincoln county, North Carolina, where we now live.  We've come home.  Many more similarities.  Ask me. Blessings on your journey to forever today.  

Bill Spencer