Thou hast left behind
Powers that will work for thee; earth, air, and skies,
There’s not a breathing of the common wind
That will forget thee; thou hast great allies;
Thy friends are exultations, agonies,
And love, and man’s unconquerable mind.
— Wordsworth
Hast thou sounded the depths of yonder sea,
Hast thou talked with the blessed of leading on
Evening and morn hast thou watched the bee
Hast thou gone with the traveller Thought afar—
There is not a grand, inspiring thought,
And ever, since earth began, that look
There are teachings in earth, and sky, and air,
Emily Taylor, 1888
And counted the sands that under it be?
Hast thou measured the height of heaven above?
Then may’st thou mete out a mother’s love.
To the throne of God some wandering son?
Hast thou witnessed the angel’s bright employ?
Then may’st thou speak of a mother’s joy.
Go forth on her errands of industry.
The bee for himself hath gathered and toiled,
But the mother’s cares are all for her child.
From pole to pole, and from star to star?
Thou hast—but on ocean, earth, and sea,
The heart of a mother has gone with thee.
There is not a truth by wisdom taught,
There is not a feeling pure and high,
That may not be read in mother’s eye.
Has been to the wise an open book,
To win them back from the lore they prize,
To the holier love that edifies.
The heavens the glory of God declare;
But louder than voice, beneath, above,
He is heard to speak through a mother’s love.
—John Keat
Dear S_ and E_:
Your message by the devotional author “Prodigal God” is a very creative use of terms, indeed. Thank you. Like you, “prodigal” always has a negative connotation to me in our English language.
The etymology of the word “prodigal” is taken from Medieval Latin prōdigālis (wasteful). In turn, it originated from the Latin prōdigus (lavish), and from prōdigere (to squander). Undoubtably, the said devotion has the definition “lavish” as its topic for the day. It is cleverly appropriate of the author to use the word contrary to what we were taught on the word “prodigal”. The said devotion reminds me of an oxymoronic phrase Piper used in my 1997 devotional, “Christian Hedonism”.
By the way, I use a modified Cornell note taking method for my daily devotion. It has three sections:
📝Cornell Note
As Peter writes in 2 Peter 3:1, I am to “stir you to wholesome thinking.” So then, to continue on this “prodigal” theme, let’s play a game. There are two parts to this game.
• What is the father first reaction when he sees the Prodigal Son coming home? How is this incident compare to Noah’s action when the dove returns to the ark?
• Rembrandt painted the “Prodigal Son”. In this painting the humbled and repentant son keels before the father. The father welcomes him back home. What do you see in this painting that appears so intriguing? (My hint: Isaiah 66:13)
§ Telegraphic Sentence Note:
§ Thoughts, Words, or Questions:
§ Summary & Reflection:
L' 
If In God's Keeping If the Lord didn't lead me beside the still water, Who then would satisfy my heart's need? If the Lord didn't make me lie down in green pastures, I would never know his perfect peace. I would never know his perfect peace If the Lord didn't lead me thro' the dark valley How would I find the way on my own? If the Lord didn't give me the love for the Savior, I could never call heaven my home. I could never call heaven my home. I will lie down and sleep though I'm lonely; I will lie down and find rest far from home. I will know peace though the dark night surrounds me; I'm in God's keeping wherever I go. I'm in God's keeping wherever I go. You have declared me as perfect in your eyes. You always cared for me in my distress Lord, see in me a sacrifice pleasing. Send me contentment and perfect rest. Send me contentment and perfect rest. I will lie down and sleep though I'm lonely; I will lie down and find rest far from home. I will know peace though the dark night surrounds me; I'm in God's keeping wherever I go. I'm in God's keeping wherever I go. Wherever I go.
Soothsayer: Beware the Ides of March. Julius Caesar: He is a dreamer, let us leave him. Pass. - Shakespeare Ides=half-way point in a month Pass=move on.
Spring still makes spring in the mind, When sixty years are told; Love makes anew this throbbing heart, And we are never old. Over the winter glaciers, I see the summer glow, And through the wild-piled snowdrift The warm rosebuds below. —Ralph Waldo Emerson.
15 February, 2023
Dear B_:
Life's tapestry is constantly stitching and unstitching. Whether we dance in the gentle breeze under a warming sun beam, or moan in the crucible of doom, God knows. God’s wisdom and ways, as apostle Paul declared in praises, are far beyond the understanding of us human beings. Because His grace transmuted us, we are now His portion. So through it all, God guides the paths of our life journey. He will keep the feet of His saints, and uphold them with the right hand of His righteousness (1 Samuel 2:9; Isaiah 41:10).
By His general grace, God has given us our friendship. He has also guided and upheld it by His tender mercy. Even though all of us are getting older in the sands of time, still, He has blessed us with the indelible footprint of memory - so our yesterdays remain. In the unpredictability of our world and lives, He has given us hope - so our tomorrow waits. And, even though not seeing each other as friends - so our today is one of recherché. O, how I would you a “sunset in a cup” at each dusk, overlooking the Huntington Harbor.
Ethereal memory, hope, and friendship are precious gifts you and I possessed and shared in this life time. It is God who bestowed these gifts to us. Truly and eternally, He has deigned to be our friend and counsel yesterday, today, and forever (Psalm 25:14; Hebrew 13:8).
Sooner or later, and more so in our old age, we become feeble in the yoke of sickness and disappointment. Yet by His grace and love, He will strengthen us upon the bed we are languishing, and carry us through (Psalm 41:3; Isaiah 46:4).
As always, you are the apple of His eye, and in the shadow of His wings.
L'
The Old Valentine I sent my sweetheart a valentine on one St. Valentine’s day, A long time ago, when my hair was brown, ah, now it is sprinkled with grey! My sweetheart was pretty as she could be, a wild rose bloomed in each cheek, Her auburn hair rippled down to her waist, her eyes were tender and meek. And, O, my sweetheart was dear to me, though nobody could have guessed From my careless glance, or my careless word, the tenderness in my breast. I sent my sweetheart a valentine, a flowery and foolish thing, All covered with blue forget-me-nots, and cupids gay on the wing. Two hearts pierced through, a ruffle of lace, a knot of ribbon, a dove, And, better than all, a space whereon I could write a message of love; So burning the midnight oil I wrote with infinite patience and care, This one earnest verse (for rhyming came hard) to send to my lady fair: “I love you, I love you with all my heart, And fain would I call you mine, My Mary, my darling, my beautiful girl, Let me be your valentine!” This yellow old page from the book of youth was put in my hand to-day, As I growled, “Our Tom has fallen in love in a nonsensical way; He is making a fool of himself—ha! ha! he is writing poetry now, To his Anna’s lips, and his Anna’s hair, his Anna’s beautiful brow.” “Why what rubbish is this?” I asked my wife, a portly but sweet-faced dame, Who smilingly showed me the verse underneath which I had written my name; Shamefaced, I read it again and again—let me confess to a truth— I felt like disowning the yellow thing that belonged to the days of youth. Till I pictured myself an excited lad penning the words of care, Knowing her answer would fill my heart with rapture or dark despair. It was yesterday, who says we are old? “I do,” says Mary, my wife, “But age has nothing to do with it, since the choosing was done for life.” I bowed my grey head over her hand, “my sweetheart,” I whispered low, On this Valentine’s day I tender you the verse written long ago. “I love you, I love you with all my heart, And fain would I call you mine, My Mary, my darling, my beautiful girl, Let me be your Valentine.” Jean Blewett, 1897
What matter if the sun be lost? What matter though the sky be gray? There's joy enough about the house, For Daffodil comes home to stay. - Bliss Carman, 1921
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