Praise Song for Trinity, after Barbara Crooker

Praise the gentle dove of mercy,

praise the fierce hawk of justice.

Praise green trees, with healing in their leaves.

Praise the fire of the Spirit;

  praise the United Methodist cross and flame;

    praise United Methodist hearts strangely warmed.

Praise God thundering;

  praise the music of carillon and choir;

    praise the sound

      of sheer silence.

Praise the Jordan, and the Lake of Galilee;

  praise the Neches, and Lake Sabine.

Praise the mountain where Jesus shone like the sun.

Praise the Mount of Olives, where Jesus wept over Jerusalem.

Praise Beaumont, beautiful mountain, our own—

  elevation 30 feet.

Praise the smells of our sanctuary –

brass polish, furniture polish, flowers.

Praise the Trinitarians before us, still cheering us on.

Though darkness gathers, praise the things we love

and would like to keep.

Telling Each Other the Truth

Oh, the honesty of someone just turned five! Yesterday I was installing my granddaughter in her car seat. As I bent over the task of the straps and buckles, my face close to hers, she took one of my big “diamond” stud earrings in hand and remarked how much she likes it.  “See how it wiggles,” she said. “Oh wait, it’s not the earring wiggling. It’s your ear. That’s because you’re very old.” “How do you know?” said I.  Taking the side of my face in her hand, pointing to my neck, she then advised, “Look at your hand, Honey.” I looked. “See all those wrinkles?”  For some reason it was one of the most precious encounters I’ve had in a long time!

me, at five

Look How Carefully I Hold It

I hadn’t seen him in a couple of minutes, and it was too quiet. So I walked into the living room and there stood my grandson, age three, where I knew he would be. At the marble-topped side table. In his hands, one of my treasures, a small enameled alligator. One of his favorite objects, when he comes to visit.  “Look, Honey,” he said. “Look how carefully I’m holding it. Watch how carefully I put it back down.”

I commended his care, and the alligator’s beauty.  Said he, “Alligators bite, you know.”

The joy of a young mind, given just enough freedom to explore!

Later I thought of a young woman in Nazareth, looking up perhaps from the care of her one-year-old, because it had grown too quiet in the house. And there stood her three-year-old, holding one of the few treasures in that humble household.  “Look, Mother,” He said. “Look how carefully I’m holding it.”

A good thought for these troubled times.