by jphilo | Apr 21, 2014 | Daily Life
Today’s post was supposed to be a mystery novel update. But we returned from a weekend in Wisconsin with family later than expected yesterday afternoon. Then the weather was so nice, Hiram and I decided to take a walk on our gravel road. As we passed the neighbor’s ravine, Hiram mentioned that their red buds will soon be blooming. Before they do, you’re invited to enjoy and anticipate the beauty yet to come, as described in a post that first appeared on this website in May of 2009.
The red buds in our neighbor’s ravine are blooming. Few things compare to the sight of the small trees. Some are barely visible above the underbrush. The still bare branches of the hardwoods – black walnuts, elms, maple and locust – hover over the little trees like anxious parents waiting for their children to perform their spring recital pieces.
The red buds performing beautifully every spring. When I descend the hill into the ravine, they catch my eye and draw it north across the bridge, into the greening woods. The vivid pink-purple of the near trees take my breath away, and I stand transfixed. But beyond them, ten or twenty feet another cluster of trees blooms. A short way beyond that cluster is another, and beyond it, another. On and on they go until the colors blur and meld in the far end of the ravine.
While I look beyond the bridge, a quote from C.S. Lewis’s Narnia series comes to mind. In the last book, when the children get to heaven (oops – I gave away the ending), they rushing up a mountain with their Narnian friends, shouting, “Further up and further in!” They reach the top of the mountain and look out over a great valley. At the end of their vision is another mountain range. “Further up and further in!” they shout, and run to explore the new vista. And when they have scaled that taller, grander mountain, a more beautiful valley awaits, and in the distance, a more spectacular mountain range.
For eternity, they explore the unending wonders of heaven and the eternal God who created it. For one week, I relish the redbuds. Then the blossoms fade and the new leaves of the shade trees overshadow them. But while they last, my heart shouts, “Further up and further in!” when the haze of pink and purple catches my eye. Heaven, I think, will look a lot like my neighbor’s ravine during redbud week.
I can’t wait to get there and go…
Further up and further in,
Further up and further in,
Further up and further in,
For all eternity!
by jphilo | May 10, 2011 | Walking Down the Gravel Road
The wind’s been so blustery lately, I’ve been taking the more sheltered walk down by the bridge and through our neighbor’s woods. With the redbuds blooming, the trees leafing out, and the birds singing each morning’s jaunt is a walk through a fairyland. This post from May 6, 2009 is as close as I’ve gotten to expressing my spring thoughts in words. See what you think.
Further Up and Further In
The redbuds in our neighbor’s ravine are blooming. Few things compare to the sight of the small trees. Some are barely visible above the underbrush. The still bare branches of the hardwoods – black walnuts, elms, maple and locust – hover over the little trees like anxious parents waiting for their children to perform their spring recital pieces.
The redbuds performing beautifully every spring. When I descend the hill into the ravine, they catch my eye and draw it north across the bridge, into the greening woods. The vivid pink-purple of the near trees take my breath away, and I stand transfixed. But beyond them, ten or twenty feet another cluster of trees blooms. A short way beyond that cluster is another, and beyond it, another. On and on they go until the colors blur and meld in the far end of the ravine.
While I look beyond the bridge, a quote from C.S. Lewis’s Narnia series comes to mind. In the last book, when the children get to heaven (oops – I gave away the ending), they rushing up a mountain with their Narnian friends, shouting, “Further up and further in!” They reach the top of the mountain and look out over a great valley. At the end of their vision is another mountain range. “Further up and further in!” they shout, and run to explore the new vista. And when they have scaled that taller, grander mountain, a more beautiful valley awaits, and in the distance, a more spectacular mountain range.
For eternity, they explore the unending wonders of heaven and the eternal God who created it. For one week, I relish the redbuds. Then the blossoms fade and the new leaves of the shade trees overshadow them. But while they last, my heart shouts, “Further up and further in!” when the haze of pink and purple catches my eye. Heaven, I think, will look a lot like
my neighbor’s ravine during redbud week.
I can’t wait to get there.
Further up and further in!
Further up and further in!
Further up and further in!
by jphilo | Mar 24, 2011 | Current Events
Thoughts of spring make my heart beat faster. The daffodils are getting bigger every day. Our magnolia bush will soon burst into bloom. The grass is greening, cardinals greet me during my daily walks, and it’s almost time to put the winter coats in storage.
But a heart-stopping NPR story the other day changed my innocent anticipation of spring. It was about an annual sign of spring in Chicago, the rise in gang violence. It happens every year, when the weather improves and kids hit the streets. Last year, the report said, almost 700 youth were hit by gunfire and 66 were killed. The reporters described several programs in the schools aimed at young, adolescent boys, interventions to keep them out of gangs and in school. The problem is, sometimes the streets grow so dangerous in spring, kids can’t get to school.
The story was squeezed between stories of global magnitude – air strikes in Libya and the earthquake in Tokyo. But I kept thinking, “Chicago is only six hours away. These children are my fellow citizens facing a hopeless spring.”
My heart breaks to think of children who will see drug deals instead of daffodils, hear gunshots instead of bird song, and smell blood instead of apple blossoms this spring. My spirits flag as I get ready for my daily walk, a grace I take for granted while little children in Chicago watch television behind locked doors.
Cruel spring.
Cold comfort.
Always winter and never Christmas in Narnia.
Always winter and never spring in Chicago ghettos.
Aslan, when will you come?
by jphilo | Dec 24, 2010 | Family
Snow is falling slowly, gently. It rests upon the quiet trees and bends dry grass in the ditches. A small, soft mound of white covers the top of the old lamp post that marks the eastern border of our Narnia, there beside the evergreens and the lilacs.
For the twenty years we’ve lived here the lamp has stood, useless and rusting, a relic left by former residents who called this house home long before we did. During our stay in this land, we’ve demolished other useless things – dead trees, scraggly bushes, and a decrepit fence – but the lamp post remains, a reminder of our move to Narnia when our children were ten and four.
They were deeply smitten by magic in those days, most alive during the evening hours when we read aloud to them from C. S. Lewis’s Chronicles, Tolkien’s trilogy, and the Resistance Tales of David and Karen Mains. All through their childhoods and adolescents they watched for Aslan, believing he would return as promised when their numbers swelled from two to four.
In a few short days they will arrive, our two sons of Adam and two daughters of Eve. Grown up but still steeped in magic, still believing, they will enter Narnia and celebrate Aslan’s arrival in human flesh, the lion of Judah born in a manger, the Word made flesh.
In the cold, dark winter days before they come, there’s just enough time to dust the ancient wardrobe. Just enough time fill it to bursting with old fur coats. Just enough time to get ready for deep magic.
It’s time to wait beside the lamp post.
It’s almost Christmas.
Aslan’s on the move.
by jphilo | May 6, 2009 | Walking Down the Gravel Road
The redbuds in our neighbor’s ravine are blooming. Few things compare to the sight of the small trees. Some are barely visible above the underbrush. The still bare branches of the hardwoods – black walnuts, elms, maple and locust – hover over the little trees like anxious parents waiting for their children to perform their spring recital pieces.
The redbuds performing beautifully every spring. When I descend the hill into the ravine, they catch my eye and draw it north across the bridge, into the greening woods. The vivid pink-purple of the near trees take my breath away, and I stand transfixed. But beyond them, ten or twenty feet another cluster of trees blooms. A short way beyond that cluster is another, and beyond it, another. On and on they go until the colors blur and meld in the far end of the ravine.
While I look beyond the bridge, a quote from C.S. Lewis’s Narnia series comes to mind. In the last book, when the children get to heaven (oops – I gave away the ending), they rushing up a mountain with their Narnian friends, shouting, “Further up and further in!” They reach the top of the mountain and look out over a great valley. At the end of their vision is another mountain range. “Further up and further in!” they shout, and run to explore the new vista. And when they have scaled that taller, grander mountain, a more beautiful valley awaits, and in the distance, a more spectacular mountain range.
For eternity, they explore the unending wonders of heaven and the eternal God who created it. For one week, I relish the redbuds. Then the blossoms fade and the new leaves of the shade trees overshadow them. But while they last, my heart shouts, “Further up and further in!” when the haze of pink and purple catches my eye. Heaven, I think, will look a lot like my neighbor’s ravine during redbud week.
I can’t wait to get there. “Further up and further in! Further up and further in! Further up and further in!”
