The World is a Beautiful Place

I must admit.... I enjoy life. There is so much that is beautiful, so much that fills me up... and yet so much that makes me cry. But God is never-ending, and ever faithful, and it is His hope that I am filled with.

He makes the world the joy that it is.

Fall is moving gently in on us. The days are still a warm, Texas 84 degrees, but coolness nips the air at night, and the leaves on the trees are drifting from the branches, color splashed across them with a scarlet paintbrush.

I read a poem today, a verse that reminded me of something I had written last fall, inspired by the same sights. But somehow the writer was affected differently.

I looked at the trees, saw the green leaves and how they turned to red, then the red that had faded to brown and were turning to dust beneath my feet. I saw our lives, saw God giving us his glory, emblazoning us with crimson and gold, then letting us fade. Pain and brokenness took its turn, and we fell from our glory to the ground, and were crushed. But! It was only to be lifted again, pulled from the ground into the life of the tree, and with advent of spring, a newer, greener leaf upon its branches.

I don't think this other author saw it that way, they saw it instead as a life, green, then gold in glory, then falling into death. It had no resurrection, no life, only a hope for glory before death.

Here is mine.... a song entitled...

Color Me

The leaves are turning

They're not green anymore

I don't know how I can keep going

When all of my life keeps flowing... out of me

But life would not be the same

Without the seasons and the change

'Cause I could not give my life away

If I never let my greenness fade.

Color me

Color me new

In the crimson of your blood

In the golden of your love

Till I fall, dried and brown

And I sink into the ground

Ready to be made new

The wind is stirring.

It's rustling, and I know

Yes, I know that I'll keep running

When all of my soul is burning... within me

'Cause you are holding out your heart

And I strain to grasp your arm

'Cause I want to give my life away

So that I'll never let your glory fade

Color me

Color me new

In the crimson of your blood

In the golden of your love

Till I fall, dried and brown

And I sink into the ground

Ready to be made new

Copyright 2007 TheGreatInterference

To follow, here is the poem from poetry.com's Collected Whispers.

Arrival

Kissed by the chill,

The greens turn golden and radiate in sunlight.

Like peaks in the ocean,

They disappear and reappear in union with crisp breezes.

It has arrived in full,

Never to turn back.

It is painfully gripping, refreshing,

And aching with despair.

So much vivid color before dying.

It touches all,

A channel by which to ascend,

Or by which to fall.

Oh, that the soul display such color in the end.

Greg C. Fraley

It's a lovely poem, isn't it?

May you all be wonderfully blessed!

Emma

P.S. I posted an update on our band's blog, including how our concert went.:)

Still Working

As you can see, we are still hard at work on our new blog face.  It's not quite right yet.  The colors don't blend just right and we're not sure about the business of the background, though we LOVE the pattern.:)

Let us know what you think!

Emma and Johanna

Words from the Heart

My ears are full of sounds... the clanking of a fork on a plate as my brother, just returned from a long day at college, eats his dinner,  the soft, homey tones of my parents' voices next to me, and  the sound of my fingers tap tapping across these keys.

Tomorrow is the concert.  The rescheduling seems to have raised my anticipation and my nervousness.  The people that will be there, that have never been, the family and friends who have never attended a concert of ours like this.  Somehow it makes my heart beat faster.

I have never been terribly nervous when before a crowd of strangers. I can sing and share with them, without thinking of what may happen afterwards.  But when it is with people I know my mind races uncontrollably from thought to thought, wondering what they're thinking, what they'll say when it is all over.  I stand there on the stage, singing, and suddenly my heart gets all tight within me and I sing, sing, sing, drawing a deep, relieved breath when it's over. 

 

Perhaps I am over romanticizing.  I think, perhaps, I do that too much, making the normal things in my life suddenly look like something from a book.  Are you smiling?  I am too.  The way I tell my tale is the way I tend to see it, from my widely opened eyes, looking out on the world in an uncommonly thoughtful manner. 

photo by Sam D. Ramsey

So, tomorrow is the day.  Tomorrow I shall wash my hair and carefully defuse it, then slip into my silky white and burgundy print dress.  I will borrow Johanna's white pumps and screw on my white drop earrings.  Then, I will walk, slowly, down the stairs, slowly as to mute the sound of my heels on the wood, then traipse out to the car and get in, ready to depart.

I pray for peace, and that God will pour from my voice the love He has for His people, that they may be blessed.

Emma

photo by Sam D. Ramsey

Waiting for Ike

The humidity feels terribly heavy, like some great faceless weight. It surrounds you in an enveloping cloud, the perspiration making your clothes suddenly weighted and your eyes suddenly blinded by the thin streams sliding down your skin. It feels almost foreboding, the obvious calm before a storm. The world waits for the skies to break. It hangs to whatever lies closest to it with all of its might, desperate to survive the storm.


There is a hand veiled by the clouds and a voice veiled by the storm that cuts through their constricting folds... with a gentle peace.

The world looks, and wonders. Someone is holding the storm in the palm of his hand, holding it, and reaching out a gentle hand... for the world to hold.

Jesus waits, beyond, within, and before the storm. The air grows still and light. The sky sheds its dark clouds like a widow her raiment of mourning. Day has come again. Light and life have overcome.

-Written last evening, in the calm before the storm. We are still waiting... watching the weather reports and the sky... and waiting.

Emma

Redesigning the blog...

Slowly. :)

It is rather a lovely bit of fun, designing the blog to fit just exactly the kind of people we are and the kind of blog we want to have.  I'm learning so much about editing the html, really making a blog my own!  Yippee!!

Stay with us!

Emma (and Johanna)

Something New

This'll be short as I must hurry along and study... but I wanted to tell you all about out band's official blog... The Great Interference. It is still in the works. I'm trying to figure out how to add a playlist widget so people can hear our music.

And.... I wanted to share that today is Johanna's birthday! Happy sixteen years dearest!

Emma

A Joyous Occasion

Four days ago Keslie was married. The wedding was one of the most beautiful things I have seen in my eighteen years. The joy on dear Keslie's face as her new husband quietly lifted the veil from her face and reached down to kiss her, was indescribable. I shall never, never forget that moment.

Johanna and I spent three days after the wedding with Kami, first tidying up the Red Barn with Amber and Heather, and Sarah and Gracie, with all the Smiths. and with the Bisceglias and the Jantzens and all the wonderful people who were scurrying around packing things, saying our tearful goodbyes, then spending an hour or two beside the campfire, singing and talking and crying some more. The next day found us clad in long dresses and hoop skirts, moving our way across the Civil War reenactment at Fort Stevens, cameras in tow, hidden beneath our shawls and inside our little handbags. Tuesday was the last day, the day we had to leave, had to take our tickets and walk, slightly nervous, through the security lines, behind us the friends that had become dearer still than they had been before, the traces of tears still across our flushed cheeks.

Goodbye dearest Kami, and Mrs. Couch, and Mr. Couch and Gabe and Ben and Annie.

Oh dear, how I miss them. It feels odd being home again, happy as I am to see my dear family, to hug and kiss my baby brother, to smile at my dear sisters, and talk over the stove with my mother. It feels as if I have left a sister behind, in dear Kami. Being without her gives one a terribly odd feeling down in one's throat.

Missing you all, and loving you so,

Emma