Grace Stretched Across the Sky

– photo by Reg Guest

A rainbow stretches wide across the purple, rain-drenched sky

It’s many blended hues forming an archway to new life,

God fulfills His promises throughout eternity

A God of second chances,

Grace stretched across the sky.

His aching arms strain wide across a darkened, sun-stripped sky

While pierced brow bends to his chest and blood pours from his side,

It trickles down the burdened cross and soaks into the ground,

Rejuvenating earths lost souls

Grace stretched across the sky.

As daybreak slowly steals across an Easter morning sky

It’s soft and shining light reveals an open, empty tomb,

And standing tall in morning mist on distant blood soaked hill,

A silhouetted, naked cross

Grace stretched across the sky.

The risen Son, poured out as wine, arms stretched up to the sky

His friends all closely gathered near as He begins to rise,

Fulfilling all His promises throughout eternity

The clouds reach out to gather Him,

Grace stretched across the sky.

A rainbow stretches wide across the purple rain-drenched sky….

Thanks for stopping by for a moment – Gloria

Help! I’m a Rhino!

The day had started out fairly well. I was looking forward to the marriage class my husband Reg and I were taking that night.
At the class all was going well until…..we were instructed to name our distinct personality’s during a conflict. Did we behave more in terms of the withdrawing Hedgehog or the attacking Rhinoceros?
It wasn’t hard for Reg and I to immediately name me as the Rhino in our relationship and him as the Hedgehog.
While I may have had to admit it was true, I wasn’t impressed. I knew they were strictly speaking in terms of the Rhino’s propensity for routing in the dirt with it’s large horn and comparing that to my tendency to dig out a problem in our marriage, but seriously…a Rhino?!
Apparently I was as graceful as an odd-toed ungulate in my approach to difficulties in our marriage. And I couldn’t help but think of the other unattractive characteristics of the Rhino; overly large size (think in tonnes), thick protective skin; relatively small brain and of course that large horn situated unflatteringly on its forehead; perfect for all that routing.
Reg on the other hand was the cute and benign Hedgehog! Well perhaps benign to most others, but to the determined Rhino, a rather frustrating companion. When confronted the Hedgehog prefers to burrow into its warm comfortable hole in the ground and certainly does not appreciate being routed out by an intrusive horn! In dire circumstances the Hedgehog will even roll into a tight ball, causing the spines to point out to protect itself as much as possible from its attacker; in our case, me.
Of course the purpose of the session was to help us each understand the natural reaction of the other during a conflict and to also help us to find new ways of resolving those conflicts without resorting to our usual methods; for me that meant, less routing and for my husband it meant, less burrowing. For both of us it obviously was going to take a lot more of the Grace of God.
And so it really did turn into an informative session. I even felt good about setting aside my feelings for the good of our marriage. Perhaps I wasn’t such a Rhino after all. Instead I turned my attention to the next part of the class, anticipating that it would be more enjoyable.
This is where we wrote our private responses on paper about our relationship. In the past I had found it fun and romantic.
All was going well until…..we got to the part where we had each wrote down the name of an animal the other one reminded us of. In my mind I just knew Reg was going to make up for me feeling so insulted in the earlier part of the class and name something soft and loveable; most likely a beautiful deer, my favourite animal. But when he slipped me his paper written down beside the question was unmistakably the word…Rhino!
And here is where the class got interesting.
“I ACTUALLY remind you of a Rhino?” I whispered rather loudly as the amused faces of the others in the room turned our way. Reg looked like a deer caught in the headlights…which was exactly what I felt he deserved. After all if he had referred to me as the deer; the most beautiful of all creatures and not the humongous, unattractive Rhino …he wouldn’t now be staring into the face of what I‘m sure felt like death.
He genuinely looked confused. Hadn’t we just been through this in the earlier part of the class?
“You were supposed to pick something on your own. Something I actually remind you of.” He was looking more uncomfortable. My Rhino horn was probably rooting a little too close for comfort.
By now I’m sure everyone in the room was listening, but I pressed on.
“I guess this is what you’ve thought of me all along.” Truthfully I could see the humour in the situation but as a true Rhino to the core, I wasn’t about to let him off the hook. I would rout out this problem and deal with it!
Somehow we did manage to move on…but only after Reg dutifully wrote down the name of another animal…which I no longer remember. That original word on his paper,‘Rhino’ was permanently stamped on my mind. I can’t even recall the animal I had picked for him although I do know it wasn’t a Hedgehog. After our little misunderstanding I could now only see him as a Deer…a Deer with a look of sheer terror as the headlights loomed down on him…but a Deer just the same!

Thanks for stopping by for a moment – Gloria

Waiting for Angels

Happy birthday in heaven Brenda Colleen

I recall as little children

we’d stay up late at night

watching, dreaming, hoping

waiting for Angels to alight

I never could have known

how could I be aware

Angels only come to us

when we are least prepared

One day they came to take you

I never saw you leave

their wingtips softly touched the earth

and left me here to grieve

Gloria 

Hope

With winter lingering I’ve been thinking  about a poem that I wrote quite awhile ago about the hope that I felt one year in finding the first crocus of spring. We need hope even more when it is nowhere in sight so even though winter is still with us and spring is still a ways off I’m going to share it. Some of you will recognize it as I’ve published it on Facebook before or perhaps I’ve sent it to you sometime when I hoped it would help you through something you were going through.

Hope

Signs of Life

Purple stems protruding from prairie earth

With snow still visible on the ground

A day when my heart seeks shelter and solace

How brave and fierce the Crocus is!

Not grown in potting shed or tended in gardeners plot

It’s undaunted courage inspires me and woos me

I cup them to my face

And inhale their fragrance of hope

While Creators breath midst prairie breeze

Surrounds my searching soul

During trying circumstance

Gloria Lynn Guest 2002

Spotting the first crocus of spring has always been to me the sign that spring has truly arrived. While it’s premature, I can always hope that spring is not too far away.

It was Alexander Pope who penned the words, “Hope springs eternal,” in his 1733 Epistle, An Essay on Man. His words still ring true today.

Hope is a small but mighty word.

It’s as strong as an anchor when the winds are blowing and the waves are crashing; the only thing we have left between us and death.

It’s as fragile as a flickering light in the window, placed there by a mother, wife or child of a soldier in a conflict far overseas, lighting the way home.

Hope is as gentle as a baby’s breath or as fierce as a battle cry.

The embers of hope can stir in the heart of one or two and catch fire across an entire nation  Yet hope can also appear in the form of the small purple crocus that bravely grows on a snowy hillside.

Without hope, men give up and die and with it, they find the strength and will to fight and live.

Hope doesn’t come in predictable ways but through the window of the unforeseen; it’s presence perhaps even going unnoticed until it’s all you see.

We don’t find hope. Hope finds us. It seeks us out in whatever circumstances we are in and whispers a question. Do you dare to hope?

– Thanks for stopping by for a moment – Gloria

Shades of Grief

Picture taken on Mom’s 48th birthday, Feb 6 1990

My mother has been on my mind all day today, as it is her birthday. It’s hard for me to believe that if she were still alive she would only be turning 71 years of age. Twenty three years ago today I had the privilege of celebrating her last birthday on earth with her, although I didn’t realize it was her last. She had made the long bus ride down from Edmonton to Pangman in frigid winter weather, along with my grandmother, to see our second son Gareth just after he was born.

I knew so little of what she was going through at that time. I was caught up in the busyness of looking after a two-year old and a new-born so somehow didn’t pay much attention to how much frailer she had become. Mom fought a battle with cancer for twelve years from the age of thirty-six until she died at the age of forty-eight, just seven short weeks after this picture. I peer at it now with eyes that are now older than she was in the picture, and wonder what it could have possibly have been like for her on this, her last visit to our home, to see her daughter,  son-in-law, and  two little grandsons, knowing that she would very likely never see us again on this side of heaven. I’ll never know. I only know how much she loved her grandchildren; how much she would have enjoyed watching them grow up and how much they would have enjoyed getting to know her.

Grief never really does let completely go…especially not when death comes far too early and those left feel cheated out of all the years that could have been. I raised my two children without the ability to call my mother on the phone and ask ‘did I do this at this age too?’ or ‘what should I do now mom?’ And yet through the years, grief does soften and edge away,  allowing for happy memories and recollections. My children still know her as ‘Grandma Bubbles’ a nickname I taught them to call her. I still pull out her well-thumbed through cookbooks, with her beautiful handwriting in the corners of the pages, and bake something that Grandma Bubbles used to bake and when my children were young I sung the same silly songs to them that she used to sing to me. She still lives on through me and her grandchildren. I often marvel at how our oldest son Evan has her similar sense of humour and fun-loving ways and think of how the two of them would have had a blast trying to each get the better of the other. Or of how she would have enjoyed Gareth’s keen thirst for knowledge and engaged him in conversations. I think of how proud she would have been of each of them; Evan for his drive and enthusiasm towards life and aiming for his dreams and Gareth for his inborn strength and his  military service.

And so yes…grief does revisit on special days and anniversary’s of death…with various shades coloring our days, but in the end it’s always the  softest, comforting shade of love that abides.

Shades of Grief

Midnight Black

Engulfing Sorrow,

Grey, rain drenched world

Weeping, sobbing, crying,

Purple, bruised sky

Veil of mourning,

Autumn Reds

Falling, swirling, dying,

Earthen Brown

Yawning open cavern,

White etched tombstone

Name, birth, death,

Knolls of Green

Rest in peaceful slumber,

Wilted Pink petals

Loving you forever.

– Gloria Guest –

Saskatchewan

photo by Reg Guest
Horses silhouetted against a winter sunrise at the farm at Hardy, Sk.,

*When I first moved to Saskatchewan from Ontario at the age of fourteen I have to admit that I hated everything about it; the tiny hamlet we moved to seemed like the most boring place on earth to a teenager who was used to swimming her summers away. Here, there wasn’t even a swimming pool! Just a green, grungy looking, weed infested, slough across the highway. So, I was more than happy that in just a few short weeks my parents decided to move on to Alberta. I swore I would never be back. But love stepped in, in the form of a cute cowboy that I met at the Bible College I attended at Eston, Sk. and in 1983 we married and moved to his hometown of Pangman. I can’t say it was an easy re-introduction or went a lot better than the first time.  I loved my husband and our life together but I definitely was not in love with the millions of grasshoppers that infested the prairies in the early 1980’s or the continual drought that dried the grass brown and crunchy. And coming straight from the city of Edmonton to a small, prairie town in the dead of winter was no small feat either…I can still remember staring out of the kitchen window at the empty street, in utter loneliness and wondering if people actually even lived in this little village.  I thought for sure I had moved to the most desolate place on earth! But then, as the years passed, something strange began to happen…you can read about it in the following poem.

Saskatchewan

I came to you as a young bride of twenty

Wanting to please you,

Grew from girl to woman

Raised two fine sons upon your fertile soil,

Yet still I can’t say I know you

Your changing seasons, yet unchanging ways,

Winds that gently caress my skin

Then turn and snatch my breath away,

Sun that warms my tender heart

Then blazes hot to sear my soul,

Perhaps I’ll leave I think

Then hesitate,

Your sights and sounds

A haunting prairie love song

Beckon me to stay,

Howls of a lone coyote from far off hill

Silhouetted against red and dying sky,

First morning light

Softening and coloring

The edges of your stark landscape,

Single brave spring crocus

Purple tips above the melting snow,

Expansive prairie sky filled

With silver glinting wings,

Wandering back roads

Leading me to lose myself

In immense solitude,

Crooked abandoned houses

Empty windows; a vacant stare,

“Wish you’d stay,” they seem to say

As I pass by,

Trains long whistle through the night

To far-flung places I don’t go,

All this I know

And still I don’t,

Each dawning day the same

Yet imperceptibly changing,

Until one day your face

Peers through my window,

A silky difference just beneath your weathered skin

“Stay with me” you whisper, as wooing groom to nervous bride

“I will,” my heart in turn replies

Saskatchewan,

I don’t ever want to let you go

Winters Grip

I recently read an excerpt from a book entitled, Spiritual Rhythm by Mark Buchanan which talked about the verse in Eccl. 3:1, “For everything there is a season,” making the point that while summer is for growing and enjoying the sun, winter brings dormancy and waiting. And so it is with our lives. We are not always in the happy spring or thriving summer time of our lives.

Sometimes, just as snow covers the ground, shrouding all signs of growth beneath it, we can find our hearts in the middle of winter. I’ve heard statistics that say there are more people who visit psychologists during the month of January than any other month of the year. Of course there are ready conclusions for this such as facing the realities of overspending during the holidays or relational strife that also often occurs during the holidays. There is also the aptly named disorder SAD or Seasonal Affective Disorder which can cause some people to feel blue from a lack of light; no big surprise when at this time of year in Canada it seems the sun has no sooner risen, then it is setting again.

However for others, it can be more daunting than the above mentioned reasons. Winter has come and settled into their hearts with its cold, icy fingers and threatens to never let go. Spring appears to be nowhere in their future.

I have experienced my own times in the midst of winters’ grip. The first time, the promise of Spring was actually in the air; the ice was even breaking up on the Athabasca River that ran through my hometown in Northern Alberta, sending huge chunks flowing along it’s quick current, a sight that usually exhilarated me. However on this day, we were burying my mother who had died far too young at the age of 48 from cancer. I was sure the suns rays would never quite reach my aching heart again.

However slowly, warmth did penetrate my heart. God sent two angels in the form of my own small children whose laughter and smiles were infectious and brought life into my days. I discovered that life went on and even though things would never be the same or how I wished it could be, it could still be good. Winter had left and it was the springtime of my life.

I wish I could say that it stayed that way. However our little family went on to experience other hardships such as the loss of our way of life when we left our home on the farm to seek other employment…a time of grieving for sure. And then just when life was settling into a routine again in a new home in a new town, winter struck my life with a vengenance when we experienced the devastating loss of my younger sister to suicide. This time it felt like winter had come with a full force blast and was never leaving. Paradoxically it was a beautiful, warm, sunny June day when she died, but for me it may as well have been the middle of a January blizzard.

I write about these things not because I find it easy but because I know that there are some people reading this who are experiencing their own dark days of winter. Over the years I’ve read many things about this difficult season of life, some more helpful than others. I think Buchanan in his book Spiritual Rhythm, in writing about helping someone through the deep winter seasons of their life, said it better than most when he stated, “Some things are done only in winter. And some things are never done in winter. And that’s just the way it is.” By this, I believe he is saying that winter brings with it, it’s own rhythm, its own pace of moving through.

At my mothers’ funeral we played her favorite song, The Rose by Amanda McBroom. Here is the final stanza:

‘just remember in the winter

far beneath the winter snows

lies the seed that with the suns’ love

in the spring becomes the rose.”

Thank you for stopping by for a moment…Gloria