The Journey

Christmas Petunia

2011-12-25T15:29:00.000-05:00

December flowers

2011-12-03T15:30:00.001-05:00

Hibiscus on our porch.

2011-08-19T16:49:00.000-04:00

Jackson at the library

2011-08-19T16:40:00.000-04:00

Good to see a grandson studying online

First rose of summer

2011-04-13T12:37:00.000-04:00

reflections

2011-04-13T12:32:00.000-04:00

Been working in the church office this morning. The pace here is always busy... well nearly always. Here in this noon hour the traffic and action have receded and a quiet has descended. I like to listen carefully in a quiet church for still messages that float in on a Holy wind. Let the phones lie idle for a time. Let the doors stay closed awhile. Quietness brings its own blessings. Out the window I see the cross in the distance. On the one hand is the sports fields where young life swirls with shout and play. On the other is the resting place of the saints, whose bodies still await the last awakening, on a day like this, I imagine. We rejoice in this place of holiness and hope. The spirit wind rejoices in a Savior who brings both of those qualities... to us a quiet time of holy reflection, and a hope unfading about final things. May the Most High bless and keep you today.

Bill

Viburnum

2011-04-13T12:22:00.000-04:00

In the Medieval garden

a warm spring day

2011-03-23T12:39:00.000-04:00

A warm, sunny day in the Piedmont. Little waves on the lake as the breeze dances on the surface, the wind greeting the arrival of spring warmth. Light green colors the woods and the little flowers of spring wave in the sunlight.

Blessings,

Bill

Work work work

2011-01-19T12:45:00.000-05:00

Been helping out at the church today. My what a busy place. This is the first break of the day. Well that's the way you want a church to be. Stood out in the hall and heard voices from five different directions. Had a work break... and another. Doesn't slow down much. Thanks be to God.

Windowless rooms

2011-01-07T11:33:00.000-05:00

Windowless Rooms and Light

The day ended with a small cluster of reddish light. The windows filtered the last rays of the sun and set them shimmering against the far wall, a blessing from the dying day. I was thankful for the day (and for its ending) and also for the windows, through which the light passed. A windowless room is a bane. Windows are chinks in the walls, letting in the brilliance of the greater world.

'In truth, O blessed God, there are occasions, in this sense laden universe, when the purer light of heaven shines through, and we may see and rejoice in a greater Glory, beyond this world. When we see the light slanting through our own windows at evening, we think thoughts like that. And so we thank you, Creator God, for windows and light and your love, a shining reality, personal, true. Blessed are You, King of Kings and Lord of Lords, and blessed is Your revealing to Your children.'
Willard Spencer

Jack's first day in school

2010-08-25T13:47:00.000-04:00

Jack and friends out for a dri ve

2010-08-20T19:27:00.000-04:00

Contemplating the world

2010-08-17T16:40:00.001-04:00

Spencers and ice cream

2010-08-16T18:44:00.000-04:00

Walking Through a Small Prairie Town.

2010-07-05T14:00:00.000-04:00

     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

2010-06-22T15:59:00.001-04:00

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

2010-06-11T07:23:00.000-04:00

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."

2010-06-08T12:39:00.002-04:00

Daisies in our summer garden
ws

2010-06-04T14:36:00.001-04:00

Lavender in garden setting.
ws

2010-05-21T09:46:00.002-04:00

Our little field of lavender. Rose in the middle...a princess Diana.
ws

2010-05-14T10:32:00.000-04:00

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

2010-05-13T19:08:00.001-04:00

Jasmine in our garden. ws

2010-05-08T17:59:00.001-04:00

From our garden
ws

2010-04-30T11:10:00.001-04:00

The first rose of summer.
ws

Butterfly on the Casket

2010-04-30T10:46:00.000-04:00

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

2010-04-26T13:34:00.000-04:00

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

2010-04-22T11:48:00.000-04:00

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

2010-04-19T20:13:00.001-04:00

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

2010-04-18T21:49:00.001-04:00

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

2010-03-30T20:41:00.001-04:00

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

Easter Brings a New Thing

2010-03-30T15:10:00.000-04:00

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

2010-03-29T18:32:00.000-04:00

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

2010-03-20T11:59:00.000-04:00

"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

2010-03-09T10:22:00.000-05:00

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

2010-02-24T17:47:00.000-05:00

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.

Frost and the Dew Drop World

2010-02-15T10:28:00.000-05:00

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

2010-02-11T09:42:00.000-05:00

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

2010-02-05T11:40:00.000-05:00

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

2010-01-31T14:38:00.001-05:00

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

2010-01-30T15:31:00.000-05:00

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

2010-01-26T18:00:00.001-05:00

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

Whirl

2010-01-22T11:28:00.000-05:00

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

2010-01-15T09:50:00.000-05:00

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

2010-01-14T14:29:00.000-05:00

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

2010-01-09T12:04:00.000-05:00

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

2010-01-07T14:26:00.000-05:00

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

2010-01-07T13:03:00.000-05:00

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

The Land In-Between

2009-12-29T14:40:00.001-05:00

Well, here we are -- in between. Yes, between Christmas and New Years days. This is always a different time. Even work seems strained -- looking back to the holiday just past, and forward to what is coming this next weekend. This land is also the space of decades. The first decade of this century is coming to a close and we look back on the changes it brought. Way too many to mention -- you have a few in mind, no doubt. I have remembered elsewhere that this is the end of the 'oughts.' The word can mean 'zero', as in math. My grandparents referred to the first decade of the last century as the 'oughts." They did such and such in 'ought eight'-- in 1908. Few of us remember that nomenclature. There is a lot to occupy the mind, here in the 'in between' land of decades and years. Well, we gather up our memories and ready for a launch on the stream of a new year -- eyes to the current, leaning forward, little time for turning around. We watch for the 'vees' in the changing current of the river of time, the deep channels that will carry us through without scraping the bottom. Watch out for rocks and hidden logs that throw hazards across the way. Breathe deeply of the air of adventure. Praying for a safe journey, and a safe arrival when we reach our destination.
Blessings on your Journey,

Bill Spencer

A Prayer for Christmas (1)

2009-12-22T10:47:00.000-05:00

Your Word is not void of meaning. Your world is not devoid of hope. Life is not a sad song sung to the darkness. Life is filled with hope that does not fade. In the near east, in an ancient city, the infant Christ was born. We are not alone. Every darkness flees before you, O Holy Child. You love us with your infinite love. We take hope. We rejoice before you this Holy day. This day the trumpets sound. The fields and floods clap their hands. The hills sing together for joy. Amen.

Bill Spencer

2009-12-21T14:28:00.000-05:00

Gpa&Nannyalways

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A Prayer for Christmas Eve

2009-12-19T15:09:00.000-05:00

At your Advent, Dear Lord Jesus, time, the great river, stops for a moment. Here the weariness of the journey fades before your gracious gift of life. Here, on this day, time does not drag us down toward the end of days; here it wracks us no more. In your gracious will, Dear Lord Jesus, we find relief from our sins, healing for our wounds, courage to replace our fears. Here we find hope that does not disappear the moment the contract is signed or the transaction completed. Here we find wholeness and peace. Here -- at your Advent -- we find a place unstained by the failures and sins of a life lived in struggle and grief.

Dear Lord Jesus, make known to each of us your holy presence. Let us be revived by your Holy Wind, your breath of life. May we be filled with the light dimly reflected in these little lights for which our earthly vision was made, so we may see your Glory in star and manger, in the cross and in the crown. We rejoice in your gracious will and offer words your gave us first…. pray the Lord's Prayer.

Many Christmas blessings,
Bill Spencer

The Joy in the Season

2009-12-11T10:47:00.000-05:00

In the old tradition the advent candle for the third Sunday is a rose color. In some places the Sunday is called Gaudete Sunday -- from the Latin for rejoice. The idea is a turning toward the celebration of the Christmas events. Rejoice! It is easy to feel and say in this season of grace. May our hearts rejoice and may our lives be glad at the approach of the day when we celebrate the birth of our Lord. New beginnings! May they linger in our days ahead. Blessings on your Christmas preparations.
Bill Spencer

2009-12-04T10:50:00.000-05:00

When silence steals across the land it seldom lasts. For a blessed moment you can breathe in the silence, listen for sounds beyond our aural limits. For a brief instant you can drink in the outpouring of the waters of the Spirit. You can see with spirit eyes a flickering of the wings of heaven. For a while earth senses give way to a different way of perceiving and all things are well, and all things coinhere, and life is new again. Precious moments. Then the phone rings or the door opens, someone calls for attention. Perhaps, in our day, the most frequent communication is the cell phone, as useful as it is. But I long for the holy time and live anew in those moments. Thanks be to God who breaks through the sounds of this journey and speaks in accents clear and dear.
Many blessings,
Bill

rainy days

2009-12-02T17:44:00.000-05:00

I do not remember liking rainy days. They are just something to deal with. And when the cold is added in it just seems more like a time for a nap. Never said this out loud before, but it is truth. I know we have to have the moisture, but liking is another matter. I guess I have just endured them long enough not to complain much. But there is it. I don't like rainy days.
Blessings,
WS

The First Christmas Carol?

2009-12-01T09:49:00.001-05:00

What was the first Christmas song? The logical answer is the song of the angels in the fields of Bethlehem. It is certainly at the top of the great songs. It would be hard to overtake the wonderful announcement of peace on earth, goodwill to all, and that today a savior is born for you. But the earliest songs of Christmas were sung some time before by the maiden betrothed to Joseph. Hers' was the fear-filled, joy-filled experience of the annunciation and hers' was the response that became the world's first Christmas song. It is called the Magnificat in the ancient tongue and the Mother of God, Mary, sang it.

Notice also that her rejoicing calls forth humility. Although she says, "For he hath regarded the low estate of his handmaiden: for from henceforth all generations shall call me blessed!" Her thought is not on the success of it, of the reward for something done. Her thought is not how famous she will be. Her thought was on the wonder of it. Her words express amazement that such an honor would come to her, a young woman from an obscure village in the Middle East. When she says that all generations will remember her it is not a boast but a surprise. "Me?" "Of all people!" No vanity there. Who was the author who said of one of his characters that Emily was bordered on the east and the west, the north and the south by Emily? Not pride, but meekness. She was the handmaid of the Lord. So she sang and so we remember all these centuries later and join her singing that first of Christmas songs.

So we begin the sing the songs of Christmas. I love them dearly. Each tune, each refrain is filled with hope of heaven's mercy. Each carol points to the One, the Christ, born to us in this holy season. But not a one could be sung had not there first been a song like Mary's. Hers is the first.

Mary sang the good news that was to come -- which had come upon her. She sang of the meeting of the divine rays of glory shining into and out from her son, who was the fullness of God himself. Sing, Mary, sing for us.
Bill Spencer

2009-11-29T16:32:00.000-05:00

Fine Thanksgiving week end. Had thirteen folks for dinner Thursday. It was a family get together. Church this a.m. Visited some old timers this afternoon and still had time to watch football with Cheryl and son John. Feels good to have family close. Many things to be thankful for. Sunny day. Front door wide open. Doesn't that sound great?

2009-10-30T10:10:00.000-04:00

The moving finger writes and having writ
Moves on, nor all your piety or wit
Shall lure it back to cancel half a line
Nor all your tears wash out a word of it.
Omar

Words from my youth. Read the Rubiyat when in college. Amazingly some words stuck..including the above. As the years roll by quickly these words seem not only to ring true, but with greater volume and clarity. The days pass swiftly, and as a friend said this morning, "Some day you will know all the benefits of age." So it is. Ah well, it is good to walk and breathe and watch the sunset. It is good to sing hymns and stand close to loved ones. Watched a young grandson play football the other day.. yes, just touch football.. and rejoiced in the years and all they bring. Hope that lasts for many years before the journey home. Blessings on your day. Bill

2009-05-27T10:11:00.000-04:00

First page of a small book I wrote a few years ago.

How to Acquire a New Name

It happened so quickly that I still have trouble remembering all the details. One moment I was just "Grandpa," and in the very next instant, in the twinkling of a five year olds eye, I was the "Leaping Grandpa." That is a name I cherish. In fact, it is more than a name. It is a title. Of course no one would use it to introduce me. Can you imagine someone saying, "Now I would like to present Will Spencer, Leaping Grandpa!" "No way!" the younger generation would say. It is a private title, known only to a few: my first grandson, his Nan-ee, a few close relatives, and you. You won’t tell, will you? But first I should tell you how it happened.

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. We have shared many adventures. We have explored the dark woods behind the house. We found the little rock creek and the deer home. We found the "bloody place" where animals had fought. We have explored other places too, like the zoo and the children’s carousel and the Boat Park – where, for a wonderful evening, we were both captains of a pirate ship. So 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 card board 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 is, for all time, named beyond my years, beyond the days, for ever and always in the eyes of a 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.)Here, then, are the reflections of a leaping grandpa, rooted in time and memory, meditations of the days of the journey to forever. May they add to your joy, give you a bit of hope to sustain you. May these words remind you of the good days of this wonderful journey toward home.

Willard Spencer
http://bellsouthpwp.net/w/i/willardspencer/seasons.htm

2009-03-02T15:10:00.000-05:00

Someone once observed that graveyards are full of indispensable men, Mr. Jackson. Similarly, if my indispensable paper never gets written, the sun will rise anyway.

The older I get, the more I'm inclined to the "never stand if you can sit, never sit if you can lie down" school of exercise.

Philip R. Craig in Vineyard Enigma

Friends, The above quotes come from a favorite author. Craig was a college professor, retired to Martha's Vineyard, who had early training in seminary. Some of his early study shines through. Didn't always agree, but always enjoyed his writing. Snowed in here. Haven't seen so much since we moved here. Our snowfall usually just barely covers the ground and is gone by noon. Not this one. Glad I brought my down coat from Missouri.

Blessings,
Bill Spencer

A Fine Day

2009-01-17T16:18:00.000-05:00

It was a Christmas dinner with all the trimmings. The turkey, as you can see, was perfect, and the other elements added to a great feast. The real feast was having family around the table and near by -- at least on mobile phones. We enjoyed our Christmas season after a busy fall, filled with classes taught, grandchildren transported, and a fine Thanksgiving at Son Bill's house. We are well at the moment and awaiting the next blessing from the Almighty. May the days go well with you.

Willard Spencer

Unquenchable Joy

2008-07-15T11:20:00.000-04:00

An old European proverb says, "Walk I will not with a man who frowns on laughter." Charles Wesley -- co-founder of the Methodist movement -- said that sour godliness is the devil's religion. It is a good thing to stand in the sunlight, your spirit lifted up by the warmth and the vision, shadows scattered, mists of darkness fleeing. A joy-filled day is a good thing. A joy filled religion is a good thing too.

Joy brings out the best in us. There are some things that bring out the beast in us -- being stuck in traffic, being pushed too hard by things at work or home, being cut down by someone who does not know, etc. But joy cleanses the spirit like the cool, clear mountain stream refreshes the body on a hot summer day. Like wild flowers and butterflies, like soft music and good friends, like a five hundred-foot homer by Albert Pujols, is the effect of joy upon the soul.

We breathe deeper when we laugh. Loads are lightened. Wrinkles are reversed! We stand straighter when we have laughed. "A merry heart is good medicine," says the wisdom writer of the Old Testament. (Proverbs 17:22.) Deep within the spirit we should be glad…because of the clear blue of the sky, the air on a chill early fall eve, because of the clear water of a hill creek--water washed and purified by leaping over sand and stone. We should be glad inside. There is a vast amount of kindness and good-will in this world. You are the recipient of much caring and support. It would seem that we were originally created for joy.

May Joy be your companion today.

Willard Spencer

Memorial Day 2008

2008-05-24T13:00:00.000-04:00

Friends, Here we are on Memorial week end 2008. In the old days we used to take flowers to the graves on this week end. I remember getting in the old Pontiac, after cutting roses and other flowers, and making the journey to the cemetery. I can even see my grandparents placing flowers, cutting any weeds that might have grown up during the spring months. Visions of a past long gone, but not forgotten. I will wear a flower to church tomorrow to remember. Many blessings.

Bill Spencer

The roses above are from our garden.

A budding pianist

2008-05-12T17:08:00.000-04:00

Still recovering from the recent illness. Much better now. 'Up and taking nourishment!' as the saying goes. Glad to be out to church and Sunday School. Glad to be working in the garden again. Have weeds to chase out and flowers to prune. The roses are at full bloom, as are the peonies. So, glad to be better.

We enjoyed Mother's Day with Anne and her boys. Went to a movie together -- Iron Man. Panned by the critics, we rather liked it.

We also celebrated Pentecost -- the fifty days after Easter, when the Spirit poured out power upon the nascent church. Wore a bit of red -- just to help recall. I used to wear red stoles often during Pentecost -- though the color called for is often green. Red says it better I think. May the great wind of the Spirit blow in your lives during this season of growth and strength.
Light and Warmth,
Bill
The picture above is Granddaughter Addison (15 months) at the piano

Under the Weather

2008-05-01T10:00:00.000-04:00

What an interesting old phrase. Where did it originate? It does describe much of this week for me. Been down with a fever, some kind of minor infection the doctor says. I have gone through this cycle several times over the years. So have you, in all probability. I think our culture tries to tell us that we all have to be healthy all the time, wealthy, and beautiful -- if you watch TV, which I have done much more that usual this cycle of illness. So being sick seems 'sinful' to our culture. Gone through the tests-- finger pricks, blood drawn, the usual, and then the medicine, which seems to be working. Thanks be to God. The fever is receding. We cycle between health and illness, hope and despair, joy and sorrow. Much of life is like waves on the beach -- a fullness of wave and water, then a loss of the same as the tide ebbs. Ebb and flow. All in all a wonderful gift of God -- to breathe, to rejoice, to recover, to renew. May the tide be full for you this day.
Bill Spencer

the above picture is of three grandsons at Ocean Isle Beach, a time of fullness

A Special Time

2008-04-27T19:14:00.000-04:00

Grandson Joshua enjoyed a special time last evening. It was the Prom. Even old timers can remember the excitement surrounding that. (Though we had a live band at ours.) What a blessing to gather images of that time -- one that will be remembered for many years. Good for you Josh. Love from your Grandpa Spencer

Note: the Lake in the background is Lake Norman.

A Spring Day

2008-04-25T16:16:00.000-04:00

Fine days here in the Piedmont. Lots of garden time. Dogwoods are about past. Tulips still bloom. Azaleas blossoms are lovely. Peonies are next. Doors wide open early -- to let the cool air in. It is pleasant to watch morning light on the lake. Watched for signs of the Iris opening, but that is yet to come. Saw some blooming by the road as we drove to Hickory. Also saw much traffic. Two wrecks. Thought we were back in the city. We used to call such traffic "crazy day." The garden was tame and lovely. The roads were crazy and crowded. Sounds like life doesn't it. Wheat and tares together sown. Ah well, we do not journey alone.
Light and Warmth,
Bill

The picture above is grandson Jack Spencer wearing Cheryl's old hat. A fine boy.

A Sabbath Prayer

2008-04-12T11:25:00.000-04:00

A Sabbath Prayer

Dear Lord Jesus, we find it easy to rejoice when we are feeling good. When all is glad and golden we can smile easily and float through the day, like a canoe in a slow current on the river. We are glad to have those days, times when the sun overpowers the shadows, the noon times of life, when shadows retreat into diminished state, phantom silhouettes fleeing the radiant sunlight. We thank you for your strong presence on days of effortless joy.

We need your strong presence on other days as well -- on headache days, on drab, rainy days, and on exacting work days. We need you when things do not go right: when the car won't start, when the traffic is too heavy to move, when the pain starts again. I can't say that we need you more than on golden days, but we need a certain, clear touch, a real sense of your loving presence. Lift us beyond our times, above the circumstances that surround us. Show us the real world, timeless, pure, without stain or pain, without gloom or ghosts of what might have been. Let your light shine on us, giving us radiance enough to find the path, to take the step forward, to bring us home.

We thank you for your boundless love, not limited by time or space, by gladness or sorrow. We thank you for choosing us to be among your people. We thank you for equipping us for a mission and urging us to take up the cross and the hoe, the Word and the words of life sent to all peoples. Stay with us. Prod us into action. Fill us with hope unending and bring us again, rejoicing, to the portal, to the throne.

Be with all who live this day. Bless the strong and the young, the hopeful and the despairing. Grace the runners of the race of life. Save a crown for us, Dear Lord Jesus, to wear when we complete the circuit of days, the last laps of this race. We love you and sing in our hearts as we say your holy words… Pray the Lord's Prayer.

from Prayers by Willard Spencer

Friends, Here is a prayer for your Sabbath. May the joy of these days be full. May the Spirit invade our lives and lighten our loads. May the blessing of God Almighty, Father, Son and Holy Spirit, be with you and remain with you always.

Light and Warmth from Rose Cottage, near the Lake, where storms threaten,

Bill and Cheryl

A Fine Easter

2008-03-30T19:06:00.001-04:00

Dylan and Addison Spencer, during Addison's very first Easter Egg hunt.

What a fine day, with dear ones near! We praised the risen Lord at worship and enjoyed a fine Easter meal with Jim Ewing's family. The egg hunt was the capstone of a special day. May the Most High bless us in this season of Easter. He is risen! Christ is risen indeed!

Dylan and Jack Spencer at the computer

An Easter Hymn

2008-03-12T18:30:00.000-04:00

Christ has risen. Alleluia!

Let the faithful greet the day.

Hold the sunrise, stop the wind's breath,

If the darkened tomb holds sway.

Height of power, depth of mercy,

From death's prison Christ is free.

Alleluia! Christ is risen.

Sing of life, eternity.

Waiting, breathless, for the springing

Of new life from lifeless ground.

Dream of blossoms, bright and shining,

As the snow lay deep around.

Now the moment, revelation,

Winter death's true failure found.

Little eyes of spring are opened

When the daffodils abound.

We have waited through the long nights.

Winter's stars have all grown old.

Earth is turning, sunlight burning,

Lights the silver and the gold.

Children running in the meadow,

Tresses flowing, spirits free.

How their laughter chases shadows.

Young and old God's glory see.

Glory, then, to our Creator,

Honor to the risen Lord.

Praises sing to God the Spirit,

Wind of heaven, fiery word.

Alleluia, alleluia,

Alleluia, let us sing.

Every darkness flees before you,

Winter's conqueror, living spring.

Hymn by Rev. Willard Spencer

Possible Tunes: Hymn to Joy, Beecher, or Beach Spring

Retirement Picture

2008-03-09T16:08:00.000-04:00

Once in a while you take a picture that captures meaning in a transparent way. The picture attached to this blog is such a picture. Retirement is a busy time. Sometimes the pace is furious -- like the days gone by, back to the city, the working world. But the essence, the goal is clearly seen in this picture. Pondering retirement. May the peace that passes understanding bless our hearts and minds this day.

Willard Spencer

feeling

2008-02-01T15:30:00.000-05:00

Not feeling too good today. I have battled a cold all week, and today seems to be the worst day so far. Colds are more than aggravating. They hurt. I know it is a minor affliction, but I still look forward to better days next week. Many blessings to you all.
Bill Spencer

On Psalm 23

2008-02-01T15:22:00.000-05:00

Thoughts on Psalm 23

This is undoubtedly the most familiar Psalm. We memorized it when we were children in Bible School. We sing it in hymns and anthems. It is read throughout life. Funerals hardly ever omit it. This Psalm contains truth for all of life. Use it regularly. Read it. Sing it. Pray it. Let us note a special word or two. Look at the word..."my." There are eleven "me and my" words. This is a personal Psalm. It is about me. It is a wonderful truth that God cares about me. God is a good shepherd, caring for each of his sheep. Notice and rejoice in some of the other words: quiet, restores, guides, comfort. Think about the word "through." We may have to enter many dark valleys, but we are going through them. We will not have to stay there. One other word is "forever." Life is life forever more. God cares for us forever. Thanks be to God.

Willard Spencer

a prayer for a winter Sabbath

2008-01-26T14:18:00.000-05:00

A Sabbath Prayer

Dear Lord Jesus, sometimes the days seem to fly by with smoothness and delight. On those days the sunlight dances through the trees, bare limbs waving in the rhythm of the flowing wind. On those days the light laughs on the rippled surface of rivers and streams, of lakes and ponds, joining the dance of all the worlds before your throne. Some days are glad and golden, Dear Lord Jesus, even in the middle of the winter.

There are other days. You know that we journey through days of shadows: of fear, of pain; shadows of grief and sorrow. We must pass through days (Why are they always so long?) of disappointment and anger. Something or someone is always invading the peace of the created order with strife and pain. Dear Lord Jesus, help us when we are impatient in the shadow time, when we cause shadows in the lives of others, when our hunger for the light is so very great that we are tempted to mistake the darkness for light. Help us. Lead us again toward your rainbow throne, toward the emerald sky, toward the true colors of our faith. Lead us again to the place where we can hear the angels sing their praises, where we can see through eyes of faith the elders casting their crowns before you. Take us to the place where all the creatures of all the worlds fall down and worship you, to the place where our lives may be refocused on the true center, even you, Dear Lord Jesus.

Be especially close to those whose journey is difficult today. Be close to the weak and the weary, the feeble hands, the wobbly knees. Be strength to their hearts and spirits today. Be with those who suffer violence. Touch and heal. Touch and renew. Touch all of us as we wait before you this day. Dear Lord Jesus, may we feel your presence working miracles in our lives as we sing your song and pray your light-filled prayer… Pray the Lord's Prayer.

from Prayers by Willard Spencer

A Mother's Illness

2008-01-13T19:19:00.000-05:00

A Mother's Illness

She is just too ill, Lord.
And I'm too proud to cry;
But my heart is awfully heavy
Since I heard she was to die.

It was only yesterday, Lord,
She stood so straight and tall,
Healthy as a mighty oak,
A marvel to us all.

She raised a family of girls,
With a boy or two thrown in.
Taught them how to work and pray,
And cherish all their kin.

The Sunday School will miss her.
For the lessons that she taught,
That faith, and hope and charity
Were virtues to be sought.

They'll miss her hearty laughter
And the sunny, subtle smile.
The day was bright, the shadows fled
When she would sit and talk awhile.

Now she is just too ill, Lord.
And I'm not to proud to cry.
For all our hearts are burdened since
We heard she was to die.

poem by Willard Spencer

Perspective and Balance

2008-01-06T22:29:00.000-05:00

Perspective and Balance

Perspective and Balance

One of the hard learned lessons of all our days is that of perspective. For instance, often things at close hand look more exciting or threatening and take most of our attention. But, as in the photo above, the nearby action begins way out beyond the horizon, and the source of the forces hitting nearby really begin far out of sight. Don't just react to the waves on the shore. Remember, and allow for, the motion of things far out or long ago. Today is always linked to yesterday. One clue is to maintain a balance of the immediate pressures and the forces way beyond the horizon that are working on us. In perspective, keep a good balance on your feelings and thoughts, your actions and your reactions. And may the Most High be with us always.

Willard Spencer

Pictures by w spencer. Pier at Myrtle Beach and Grandson Josh

Time and Timeless

2007-12-31T10:03:00.000-05:00

Time and timeless

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 family records, the photos, 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.)

The first is true… True as the light which passes through the leaves. True as the arch in the back, the ache in the bones. Time flies. The second is not as true. In one sense our best days flee quickly. But it is also true that we find the best days out ahead of us. Indeed, as one highland preacher observed, we pitch our tents at evening a days journey closer to home. The hills of heaven are bright in that ever-light, eternity is not time wracked, and, friend, because of God's love in Jesus Christ, the best days are out there, ahead.
A Blessed New Year
Willard Spencer

At Christmas

2007-12-24T17:05:00.001-05:00

The earth has grown old with its burden of care,
But at Christmas it always is young.
The heart of the jewel burns lustrous and fair,
And its soul full of music bursts forth on the air,
When the song of the angels is sung.

It is coming, Old Earth, it is coming tonight!
On the snowflakes that cover thy sod.
The feet of the Christ Child fall gentle and white,
And the voice of the Christ Child tells out with delight
That mankind are the children of God.
Philips Brooks

Friends, This is a poem that Bishop Brooks wrote in the late eighteen hundreds. It catches the meaning, and the feeling, of Christmas. We feel young at Christmas. And we rejoice in the fact that we can say and sing again that we are God's children, that we can hear angel song again. What a wondrous time. Merry Christmas to you all.

Light and Warmth from Rose Cottage, near the Lake, on a warm, sunny day,
Willard Spencer

Storms and Life

2007-12-21T11:32:00.000-05:00

A Prayer for the Storms of Life
Dear Lord Jesus, None of us would choose a storm. We would choose, rather, a quiet time of peace, surrounded by a peaceful environment, in the midst of people we love. Or we would choose a sunlit day in the hills, the light laughing on little rivers, butterflies circling, and wildflowers bowing in the gentle breeze. Maybe a time of reading in a quiet place or a warm fire and a cup of hot chocolate. We would choose such, Dear Lord Jesus, before we would choose a storm.

There are times, though, when we walk into a storm knowingly, walking with you, sensing your presence near, leading and guarding. And then there are times when we just find ourselves caught by a storm, without any forethought or preparation for a tempest. Those are the ones we dread. We feel the palpable darkness. We cannot see the path to take a step. We look around for you and do not see you. We cry out and are answered by the echoes of our own fears. Those are the storms we dread most of all.

Dear Lord Jesus, show us again the ancient truths, speak again the words of truth -- that you love us with an everlasting love and that you will never let us go. Drive again into the subconscious sources of dread and angst the truth that you will be WITH us until the close of the age. Secure us in that certainty, and give us eyes to see you walking toward us in the storm.

Save your people. Satisfy every pure hunger. Assuage every grief and loss. Dear Lord Jesus, strengthen us for your mission field just outside, and bring us again into the lambent circle of safety that is your grace. We ask in your name, and offer your prayer….Pray the Lord's Prayer.

Light and Warmth,

Willard Spencer

Prayer in a Season of Ads

2007-12-10T20:35:00.000-05:00

Prayer for a Culture of New and More

Dear Lord Jesus, We live in a time and place that multiplies needs. We need something new every time we turn around. It seems that we are driven by ever-increasing demands and plagued by ever diminishing pleasures. We need more this and new that. We expand our store of needs until it overflows the "barns" we build. And not everything new is bad, Dear Lord Jesus, it is just "more." Help us in this deluge of novelty not to lose sight of the essential things, the quiddity of truth, the sufficiency of grace, the abundance of mercy and love. Fix in our hearts, Dear Lord Jesus, the image of your sacrifice, your endless care for us. Translate our images of grace into action for you in this time and place, surfeited with novelty and fluff. Let us keep hold of the needful thing and not starve in the midst of plenty, perish on food that does not satisfy.

Find us here in our seeking. Find us poor and lost, blind and lame…and let your light shine in our eyes, in our souls, and bring to us what we really need. Bring hope that does not fade. Bring joy that triumphs over despair. Bring challenge to face real needs in your way. Show us the mission field right outside of our door and send us into it caring for the lost and the lame. Give us voices to speak for you. Give us eyes to see those who need to hear and give us a will, a courage, a readiness to tell the good news of your grace.

Be help to the helpless, Dear Lord Jesus. Be hope to those who have almost given up. Be our light in every darkness, and stir within us the fire of faith. Re-kindle the flames first found in solemn vows taken before your altar. To you be praise and glory always. We praise you this day with words you gave us….. Pray the Lord's Prayer.

Light and Warmth,
Willard Spencer

2007-12-04T09:38:00.000-05:00

"At the back of the wall of the world stands God with His arms outstretched, and every man driven there is driven into the arms of God. The Cross of Jesus is the supreme evidence of the love of God."

Oswald Chambers

Friends, Ever been up against a wall? Better question would be, "When was the last time?". Life is a joy and a continual song, but there are times when life pushes us to a solid boundary. There, we can find prayer and peace, hope and new beginnings await us -- because of the Love of God revealed in Christ Jesus. So we avoid the walls, but we know where to look when we find ourselves up against one. Many good days.

Light and Warmth from Rose Cottage, near the Lake, on a chilly day,

Bill and Cheryl

Life and the Old Grandfather Clock

2007-12-01T18:43:00.000-05:00

The Clock Hand and the Best Days

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 other is not as true. Indeed, 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.
Willard Spencer

Winter Thoughts

2007-11-25T21:41:00.000-05:00

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

2007-11-12T17:27:00.000-05:00

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

2007-11-06T13:58:00.000-05:00

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

2007-11-01T11:39:00.000-04:00

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.

Willard Spencer

Autumn Leaves and a renewed heart

2007-10-22T20:17:00.000-04:00

You cannot fully catch such a thing. Cameras catch the leaf color and the line of the hills. Memory holds the feeling of the wind and the sound of leaves falling. But the beauty that strikes to the heart can hardly be captured.

Out there, beyond the mist on the edge of the world, beyond sun shining on golden leaf, is something more than an Ozark hillside aflame with color. There is a lost memory fighting for recovery, calling out in quaking leaf and dancing light. How we need to recall what that beauty means.

"Thank You, Blessed God, for Your created beauty, for falling leaves, and gaps in the hills. Bring us, by Your Grace, to that special memory, to the saving knowledge of redemption in Christ, world maker, rescuer. Reawaken the beauty within us, the beauty of a new heart.

Willard Spencer

The above photo was taken in western North Carolina

2007-10-21T21:48:00.000-04:00

Rain, thunder and Lightning.

The lightning is brighter and the thunder louder in the hills. I discovered this when I was a boy. I watched the steady black lines of rain move across Shepard Mountain (correct spelling, a family name), saw the trees across the valley bending wildly, even before I heard the wind. Then the storm would break with full fury on the hill at Epworth. Thunder would roll through the valleys and hollows like a gigantic fast freight traveling at unknown speeds, shaking the switching signals, the towers, the houses near the tracks and even the mighty oaks stirred from their deep sleep when the storm diesel, like death's chariot, roared by. Rain? Yes, pouring rain, quickly caught by dry creeks and tumbled over stone and stump, cradled in a narrow earth bed, channeled, hissing and howling down the ridge, swelling the little creeks...Hurricane Creek and Turkey Creek...till they spilled over banks and washed away the old campfires left by yesterdays hikers. (Storms...still leave me breathless, excited.)

Then the next morning we would sing: "I saw God wash the world last night with his sweet showers from on high, and then when morning came, I saw him hang it out to dry." And earth did seem fresher, the air clearer, and the morning sunlight danced upon the riffles in the streams. Life and death had clashed with a grave ferocity, and life had prevailed.

I guess, even all these years later, I still believe that. Life prevails! The hill storms now echo in memory, but they tell of other storms through which we must travel. So on with the journey, friends, singing, "I saw God wash the world last night..."

Willard Spencer

Prayer for Those Hurt on the Running Stream of Life

2007-10-18T11:31:00.000-04:00

Dear Lord Jesus, the momentum of the day pulls us toward the distant shore. The earth tilts and the sun slips south, shortening the day, multiplying the night, and we flow down the swift river, through the riffles, past the sunken logs, gaining speed as we catch the full current of time. The days draw us onward, Dear Lord Jesus. We scan ahead, looking for river marks, pointers you have left us, little signposts of creation, icons of redemption. We cannot see beyond the bend. The river swings away, out of our earthly vision, but we know that you are there. You are the end. You are the goal. This entire journey through the days and years, this journey is toward you, to you, home.

We thank you for this immense journey. We thank you for your Spirit guide. We thank you for the companions of the long journey, and we thank you that you refresh us on the way.

Dear Lord, Jesus, we pray for those injured along the running stream of life, crushed on rocks or sunken logs, caught in the intruding debris of chaotic adversaries. Lift them with your caring strength, and heal them, and set them again on the river, or, if the hurt is beyond what breath can bear, beyond the beating of the heart, then swiftly take them home, Dear Lord Jesus. We commend them you your love and care.

And keep us in your sights, Dear Lord Jesus, as we negotiate the next turn in the river. Watch over us. Sustain us, and let us always remember your unfailing love, your unfading hope, and that when we finish the journey we will be home.

Hear us, Dear Lord Jesus. Hear our heart words to you, and hear the sacred words we now pray together….Pray the Lord's Prayer.

from Prayers by Willard Spencer

The picture above is of the middle fork of the Black River at Johnson Shut-ins State Park, Missouri. Photo by W. Spencer

Christians and agnostics

2007-10-16T19:07:00.000-04:00

Many agnostics think of religion as a flight from reality. They say "primitive" man was afraid of the elements and invented gods to protect him. All religion, they think, does this. I used to give that kind of thinking a little tip of the intellectual hat. Now I don't.

Religion is not a flight from fear into protection. Religion takes you closer to God. As you get closer you find love and a cross. The beating heart of the universe is love, but love was subjected to death. The cross tells all; it tells of sacrificial love.

In an interview, Annie Dillard, author of Pilgrim at Tinker Creek, said "agnostics often think that people run to God because they are afraid of dying. On the contrary, the biblical religion is not a safe think . . . they weren't using religion as an escape hatch. Faith forces you to a constant awareness of final things. Agnostics don't remember all the time that they are going to die. But Christians do remember".

It is the agnostic who flees to safety. They try to fence themselves off from God, love, the cross, and thus hold death at a distance. They attempt to stay safe in their manageable world. In Pilgrim Annie says, "The terms are clear; if you want to live you have to die". (Pilgrim, p. 80)

So don't let the old agnostic defense put you on yours. Be true to your faith. It is reality, not a flight.

Willard Spencer

We Live in Little Worlds

2007-10-14T19:55:00.000-04:00

He was just a working man. He spoke to me in broken English. (Much better than my broken French.) We talked about the weather. We laughed about some politics. I complimented him on his beautiful country and fluid language. Whether he was really being friendly to me or was just playing "help the tourist," I'll never know. But I will long remember his answer to my question, "Do you know where Missouri is?"

He said, "Isn't that south of Pittsburgh?" I quickly changed the conversation when I realized that he had no idea where Missouri was. We were worlds apart.

I've gone back to that in thought a number of times. Here was a human being with home, family, work, and a network of kinfolks and culture, who never knew of all of us who were living, working, playing in Missouri.

We live in such little worlds . . . insulated from peoples of different languages and values. There are myriad separate little universes and we fit neatly into one or another of them. I know... How could it be otherwise? But it clearly indicates the urgency of remembering that we are co-creations of the Living God. And all those in "other" worlds, from my acquaintance in Quebec to the stranger in the car next to mine, are people for whom Christ died. Doesn't that help break down the walls a bit?

Willard Spencer

Seized by Silence

2007-10-13T19:49:00.001-04:00

Seized by the Silence

I rushed out of the door, down the steps, and was hurrying to the car when I was stopped in my tracks. Something was different. Something had changed, and that change reached out and caught me...held me motionless until I saw what it was.

It was the silence that held me fast...a stillness like I had felt in the wilderness, stillness of ancient stone and star, oak and moss. There was a chill in the air. A cold sun was setting. The trees were still, as if held beyond movement.

It happened in my front yard...a moment, a message...I cannot say for sure. But for a few seconds I felt as if time had ceased and I stood at a still point -- watching, listening. Then a car passed. Voices broke the silence. A breeze stirred, and I was left with a puzzle. Was it an imaginative moment? An epiphenomena?...Something bubbling up out of collective experience? Or, perhaps a message, a reminder of how things are in God's stillness, deeper than fear, rooted in life itself. I knew it was time to pray.

Willard Spencer

Siezed by Silence

2007-10-13T19:49:00.000-04:00

Seized by the Silence

Willard Spencer

The Frost and Life

2007-10-09T15:05:00.001-04:00

Does the frost have a life of its own? Of course it has. A few years ago we lived in a house on a hill. On wood-fire mornings in October we would look out to see if the frost had arrived. First we would see it along the banks of the creek at the base of the hill. Then, day by day, the frost would edge up the hill until it peered in our window panes and crackled on the cold stone of the rock garden.

Frost has a beauty all its own. Have you seen the sparkle of street lights reflected on the gem stones of frost? Have you not traced (with your vision) the moonlit patterns of crystal on your window pane? Hunter's moon is frost's light.

The frost comes asking questions. What about the year? Has the passing brought you closer to the frost's creator? What about the winter? Are you prepared for the slackened light? The frozen breath? Have you a supply of wood? A hearth
fire? A haven beyond soul chill?

The frost has a life of its own and brings, in its own time, beauty to behold and questions we should answer.

Willard Spencer

A Blue Stone, Pressure, and Creation

2007-10-02T18:41:00.000-04:00

It was just a piece of rock. Long lost to human sight, it slept the timeless sleep in a passageway beneath the building. How long had it been there? Where did it come from? Who had seen it before?

A deep cobalt blue, whirls of white, a few spots of ordinary stone. . . what a lovely reminder of primal creation. Fired in ancient depths, polished by movement and heat, some unknown upheaval brought it to our surface. And there it is, on my desk, a lovely stone.

"We remember Your might, Blessed God and Your plan for the whole creation. . .that it might be redeemed. May the pressures and upheavals in our lives, along with the spiritual fires, leave us more lovely, polished, redeemed."

Willard Spencer

A Hymn of the Spirit

2007-09-28T16:50:00.000-04:00

1. Leaping spirit dance at sunrise,

Fiery wind at your command

Trees are bending, heaven sending

Tongues of Light across the Land.

Holy Spirit, come among us,

Save us, seal us, spirit hand.

Trees are bending, heaven sending

Tongues of light across the land.

2. Loving spirit come at noonday,

Our deep fears and griefs to soothe.

Feel the weight of daily burdens,

And our heaviness remove.

Holy Spirit, come among us,

Save us, seal us, spirit true.

Feel the weight of daily burdens

And our heaviness remove.

3. Laughing spirit come at evening,

Bringing blessings from above.

Fill our cups, till running over

Glory in your Holy love.

Holy Spirit, come among us,

Save us, seal us, spirit dove.

Fill our cups, till running over

Glory in your Holy love.

4. Living spirit come and turn us

From deep shadows, deathbound ways.

Leaping, loving, laughing, living,

Fill our spirit all our days.

Holy Spirit, come among us,

Save us, seal us, spirit blaze.

Leaping, loving, laughing, living,

Fill our spirit all our days.

Willard Spencer

Tune: Vesper Hymn

Baby Addison

2007-09-25T21:01:00.000-04:00

Baby Addison is our newest grandbaby. She definitely is in the top ten most beautiful babies in the world. She is a joy to behold. When we called the other day her big brother, Jack, answered the phone and gave us another joy -- that of direct contact with our youngest grandchildren. It was a day filled with joy. Addy's picture is attached. Many blessings on your journey to forever.
Willard Spencer

The Last Soda Jerk

2007-09-20T14:43:00.000-04:00

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, Missouri. 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 close my eyes and remember when Cokes were 5 Cents and you could buy a Grapette for a nickel, when burgers were a 20 cents, and when you could see a real soda jerk work for just a quarter
Willard Spencer

2007-09-14T12:39:00.000-04:00

A Hymn of Praise

Praise God for home. Praise God for love.

Those cheerful blessings from above.

Praise God for sun. Praise God for rain.

For tempered joy that outlives pain.

Praise God for seasons and for years.

For certainty beneath our fears.

Praise God for weeks. Praise God for days.

In every moment offer praise.

Praise God for hope that does not fade.

False goals which arid pride has made,

Can drain the soul, leave hearts afraid.

Seek living water, lasting shade.

Praise God for silence in this hour,

When people cry for wealth and power.

Your righteous rule will never cease.

O fill our lives with heaven's peace.

Praise God for life. Praise God for breath.

And when our lips are sealed in death,

We'll join our voice with heaven's throng,

In higher praise, a greater song.

Praise God Creator, God the Son,

And Holy Spirit, three in one.

To you our mind and strength we bring.

To God Most High, our praises sing.

Willard Spencer

Back in Time in a Creek

2007-09-10T18:22:00.001-04:00

Stepping Back in Time by Wading in a Creek

Down through the waters, swift rushing, rock washing the bearers of oldest memory . . . I reached for the bottom with my feet, found my balance on the rocks and waded back into the elder days. How many flowing eons have run over those creek stones? On what strata of time do they reside? Was there any answering of creature to creature? Just the shuffling of molecules and the ancient memory of great catastrophe that separated stream from bank and light from darkness, sea from shore and stone from star?

Remnants of ancient creatures scurried under rocks, turning tiny pincers to the intruding giant stirring up forgotten moss and silt.

Tread lightly in little rivers. Revere the long stream of life flowing from the breaker of darkness. Reverence the source, the Ancient of Days, who shows us time flogged impatients His glistening glory. Catch quickly the light dancing on waters near and distant. Light. Quickly, dear ones.

Willard Spencer

(The picture above is of a lovely little creek near Rolla, Missouri. I conducted baptisms near this spot in the early 80s.)

Thoughts on a Spider Web

2007-09-07T15:41:00.000-04:00

A Silvery Slice of Space -- in a spider's web

Stretched clear across the front yard...long strands of silver converging to a center, and there he sat. It's a marvel to me how spiders can construct such intricate designs across such great distances. The web, sparkling with morning dew, reached from the eaves to the tree by the street...a whole plane of space sliced vertically by shimmering silver, and reaching from here to there.

Such marvels cannot find beginning in chaos. All the tales of cosmic chemical pots somehow bubbling up the order and design of the universe seem somewhat laughable in front of a spider's web. Such order befits a mind. Rational design is the tell-tale rift of deities role. It looks like God work.

God also bridged the distance between heaven and earth, vertically slicing history in one central plane, in one moment, silvery in moon and starlight shimmering, in stable new-born, Christ the God breathed.

"Thank You, Blessed God, thank You".

Willard Spencer