Sunday by George Herbert

 O Day most calm, most bright,
The fruit of this, the next worlds bud,
Th’ indorsement of supreme delight,
Writ by a friend, and with his bloud;
The couch of time; cares balm and bay:
The week were dark, but for thy light:
                  Thy torch doth show the way.

                  The other dayes and thou
Make up one man; whose face thou art,
Knocking at heaven with thy brow:
The worky-daies are the back-part;
The burden of the week lies there,
Making the whole to stoup and bow,
                  Till thy release appeare.

                  Man had straight forward gone
To endlesse death: but thou dost pull
And turn us round to look on one,
Whom, if we were not very dull,
We could not choose but look on still;
Since there is no place so alone,
                  The which he doth not fill.

                  Sundaies the pillars are,
On which heav’ns palace arched lies:
The other dayes fill up the spare
And hollow room with vanities.
They are the fruitfull beds and borders
In Gods rich garden: that is bare,
                  Which parts their ranks and orders.

                  The Sundaies of mans life,
Thredded together on times string,
Make bracelets to adorn the wife
Of the eternall glorious King.
On Sunday heavens gate stands ope:
Blessings are plentifull and rife,
                  More plentifull then hope.

                  This day my Saviour rose,
And did inclose this light for his:
That, as each beast his manger knows,
Man might not of his fodder misse.
Christ hath took in this piece of ground,
And made a garden there for those
                  Who want herbs for their wound.

                  The rest of our Creation
Our great Redeemer did remove
With the same shake, which at his passion
Did th’ earth and all things with it move.
As Sampson bore the doores away,
Christs hands, though nail’d, wrought our salvation,
                  And did unhinge that day.

                  The brightnesse of that day
We sullied by our foul offence:
Wherefore that robe we cast away,
Having a new at his expence,
Whose drops of bloud paid the full price,
That was requir’d to make us gay,
                  And fit for Paradise.

                  Thou art a day of mirth:
And where the Week-dayes trail on ground,
Thy flight is higher, as thy birth.
O let me take thee at the bound,
Leaping with thee from sev’n to sev’n,
Till that we both, being toss’d from earth, 

                  Flie hand in hand to heav’n! 

from The Temple (1633)

Siblings

“Siblings:

 children of the same parents,

 each of whom is perfectly normal until they get together.”

Sam Levenson

1922 - 1980

American Humorist

Photo taken 05.09.2021

2025 WORD OF THE YEAR - FELLOWSHIP

Initial inspiration for selecting this word came from reading Charles Spurgeon's sermon entitled "Fellowship with God" dated 15 Sept 1861

Fellowship (1John1:3) (Acts 2:42) (Phil 3:10) 

F = Faith (the activity of believing) Faith hears the promise, hears the command, believes both, and acts in obedience. (A.Begg Truth For Life: 365 Daily Devotions)

E = Endurance/Encouragement (Rom 15:4-5)

L = Love (1Cor 13) ValleyofVision prayer Christian Love

L = Light (Psalm 119:30) (1 John 1:5) (Matt 5:16)

O = Obedience (John 14:15&15:10 (1Pet1:22)

W = Worship  (1Tim 3:14-16) (psalms)  We are made to worship.

S = Sincerity (1Cor 5:8)

H = Humility (Prov 15:33) Read and re-read the book of Job.

I =  Insight/instruction/wisdom (Prov 12:15, 14:8, 16:25, 19:20)   

P = Prayer (2 Cor 1:11)

Read: Duties of Christian Fellowship by John Owen (8/15/25 - so many Bible references!)

Listen:  Music Album Fortress God by Praise and Harmony (frequently & so encouraging)

Additional Inspiration from listening to sermons by: 

Ian Hamilton

 "What to do when you dont know what to do"

2 Chronicles 20:1-12  delivered 12 Jan 2025

Gary Elliott

"Greatest Mystery ever Told" 1 Tim 3:14-16  19 Jan 2025

"Liturgy of Living Sacrifice" Rom 12:1-9   26 Jan 2025

"Learning of the Conscience" Job 42  18 May 2025

Genealogy Trivia

 Meet the youngest child of a youngest child of a youngest child of a youngest child:

My nephew, Albert, 2008, CWAC

who is the youngest child of 

My brother, Will, St Simons Island, GA 1968

 

who is the youngest child of 

my father  Wm.   Dan(iel)   1934 - 2021

 

who was the youngest child of his mother

my grandmother  Amanda Gustie      1896 - 1959

who was the youngest child of  her mother

my great grandmother   Amanda Missouri Noel      1853 - 1918

who died on 27 January 1918 

one week before her daughter married

into the Jordan Family

 on her in-laws' 37th anniversary

 3 February 1918 - a Sunday afternoon

in the living room of the family home in

Albertville, Alabama ~

John Cabell Breckinridge Jordan & Mary Elizabeth Morris

photo taken 194?

Chocolate Sauce

Combine in a saucepan over medium heat:

 

3/4 cup granulated white sugar

1/2 cup butter

2 oz bakers chocolate

2 Tbs Karo syrup

1/4 tsp salt

 

Stir until blended cooking all the while until smooth. I use a whisk. Add 1/3 Cup milk.  Stir constantly until sauce thickens somewhat.  Remove from heat.  Add 2 tsp vanilla extract.

 

Stores well in refrigerator.  Heat on medium low heat in microwave, if you have any leftover from the initial serving J

 

 PS  I have been known to use Vanilla Delight Coffee Creamer or whipping cream or whatever milk  (like) substance I have in the 'fridge.

 

PPS  I think this makes a delightful teacher's gift or gift to another family at Christmas.

PPPS  Favorite ways to serve:  1) drizzled over vanilla ice cream, really any flavor, but especially peppermint around the holidays  2) Cherry Pie a la mode (chocolate ice cream & chocolate sauce)  3) for dipping leftover cubes of vanilla pound cake  4)  coat the  rim of chilled cocktail glass before pouring in the prepared chocolate or coffee martini 5) sneak a refrigerated spoonful just to get my "chocolate fix"

LITTLE GUSTAVA

Little Gustava sits in the sun,
Safe in the porch, and the little drops run
From the icicles under the eaves so fast.
For the bright spring sun shines warm at last,
And glad is little Gustava.

She wears a quaint little scarlet cap.
And a little green bowl she holds in her lap.
Filled with bread and milk to the brim,
And a wreath of marigolds round the rim:
" Ha, ha ! " laughs little Gustava.

Up comes her little gray, coaxing cat,
With her little pink nose, and she mews,
 "What's that ? "
Gustava feeds her, — she begs for more ;
And a little brown hen walks in at the door;
"Good-day!" cries little Gustava.

She scatters crumbs for the little brown hen.
There comes a rush and a flutter, and then
Down fly her little white doves so sweet.
With their snowy wings and their crimson feet:
" Welcome ! " cries little Gustava.


So dainty and eager they pick up the crumbs;
But who is this through the doorway comes ?
Little Scotch terrier, little "dog Rags,
Looks in her face, and his funny tail wags:
"Ha, ha!" laughs little Gustava.

"You want some breakfast, too? " and down
She sets her bowl on the brick floor brown;
And little dog Rags drinks up her milk.
While she strokes his shaggy locks, like silk:
"Dear Rags!" says little Gustava.

Waiting without stood sparrow and crow,
Cooling their feet in the melting snow :
"Won't you come in, good folk? " she cried.
But they were too bashful, and stayed outside,
Though " Pray come in ! " cried Gustava.

So the last she threw them, and knelt on the mat
With doves and biddy and dog and cat.
And her mother came to the open house-door:
" Dear little daughter, I bring you some more.
My merry little Gustava ! "

Kitty and terrier, biddy and doves,
All things harmless Gustava loves.
The shy, kind creatures 'tis joy to feed,
And oh, her breakfast is sweet indeed
To happy little Gustava!


Celia Thaxter
American writer/poet
1835 - 1894

WHY A POEM—OR A CAT?

“It’s what kids once learned a long time ago. . .what this nation

was founded on--morality, memorization of poetry, learning to read aloud, to do arithmetic, and to do what literate people do in society.”
—Marva Collins**

“I still don’t see why anyone would ever
read a poem,”
the young man, student, told us on TV.
Answers came lame, and all the wrong
protesting ones.

I would have said, why, one would read a poem
for the reason you might watch a cat—
its grace notes curling, stretching, those
little hairs, sunburst
on haunches, stone-lion-crouched,
the quivering intelligent tail, the eyes,
marble-miraculous gleaming.

“But what’s the use of it?”

No use. No use in tapping your foot in time
to tunes,
or driving along, car windows down, wind in your
hair,
and the smell of river bottoms and plowed fields,
or even fertilizer.

You’d read a poem to delight the ear and eye,
for something to wonder about,
to take a moment out, to touch what’s real
that you don’t have to; watching flocks
of small birds wheeling
on sluices of the air we breathe,
or hawk or eagle, plummeting,
or motionless aloft on that same air.

To put a frame around this moment, tape it down
and get a handle on it.

Like stroking that sweet feline in your lap.

— Harriet Stovall Kelley

1933 - 2022

** protégé of Eugene Lang, who promised college to ghetto kids finishing high school


Note from poet ~
My mother, Evelyn Linch Stovall (1904-1962) wrote a textbook, You and your Reading for Ginn & Co, 1940, as an outgrowth of her Master’s work at Emory. In it my father has a poem, “Mr. Propaganda.” But my two younger sisters turned out to be musicians, so bookish is not inherited, necessarily, just “bent.”

PS This entry is illustrated by my newest art acquisition:  Oil (9"x12") by Sally Mitchell, soon to be framed and displayed ~