Saturday, October 31, 2009

All Souls Day…


Or as they call it in Mexico…

El Día de los Muertos


I was over at Disneyland the other day and they had this huge display set up for the Festival. As I stood there staring at this large skeleton woman dressed in pink it made me wonder about the celebration and its origins.


I’ve always been fascinated by other cultures belief systems and why they believe what they believe, but this festival I find particularly interesting. Not only is it celebrated in Mexico and South America, but many other cultures as well.


The celebration focuses on families and friends gathering to pray for those who have died.


Alters are built with sugar skulls and marigolds among other objects used for decoration.


Gifts of food and drink are left at the gravesite that has been freshly cleaned. Scholars trace the origins of the modern holiday to indigenous observances dating back thousands of years, and to an Aztec festival dedicated to a goddess called Mictecacihuatl (wikipedia).


In Christian beliefs we have no such festival of honoring our dearly departed unless, of course, you want to stretch things a bit and consider communion. The breaking of the bread and drinking of the wine in remembrance of what Jesus did on the cross over 2000 years ago.

And when He had given thanks, He broke it and said, “Take, eat; this is My body which is broken for you; do this in remembrance of Me.” In the same manner He also took the cup after supper, saying, “This cup is the new covenant in My blood. This do, as often as you drink it, in remembrance of Me.”

1 Corinthians 11:24 & 25

Friday, October 30, 2009

The Innocent Age


Capture the moment
Carry the day
Stay with the chase
As long as you may
Follow the dreamer,
The fool, and the sage
Back to the days of
The innocent age.


Storybook endings
Never appear
They're just someone's way of
Leading us here
Waiting for wisdom
To open the cage
We forged in the fires of
The innocent age.


Back at the start
It was easy to see
No one to own to
Nowhere to be
Deep in the heartlands
A sad memory
Calls to me.


Fretful horizons
Worrisome skies
Tearful misgivings
Burning your eyes
Yearnings unanswered
Reckon the wage you
Pay to recapture the innocent age.


Back at the start
It was easy to see
No one to own to
Nowhere to be
Deep in the heartlands
A sad memory
Calls to me.

Lyrics: Dan Fogelberg

Thursday, October 29, 2009

Memories of Butchart Gardens


While hubby and I were in Victoria BC we visited Butchart Gardens for a few hours. These are just a few of the pictures I took…

I hope you enjoy them.






Wednesday, October 28, 2009

Just a simple question...

Do my pictures look dull to you?
I post from my laptop, but many times at work I peek in on my blog and the colors look washed out and tired...
what do you see?

The Grave Robber


There's a step that we all take alone,
an appointment we have with the grave unknown,
like a vapor this life is
just waiting to pass,
like the flowers that fade,
like the withering grass,
But life seems so long and
death so complete
And the grave an impossible
portion to cheat,

but there is One who has been
there & still lived to tell,
There is One who has been
thru both Heaven & Hell,
and the Grave will come up
empty handed that day,
Jesus will come and steal us away
Where is the sting,
tell me where is the bite?
When the Grave Robber
comes like a thief in the night,
Where is the victory, where is the prize?
When the Grave Robber
comes and death finally dies
Many still mourn, many still weep
for those that they love
who have fallen asleep,
But we have this hope
tho our hearts may still ache,
just one shout from above
and they all will awake
And in the reunion of Joy we will see,
Death will Be swallowed in sweet Victory


But when this perishable will have put on the imperishable, and this mortal will have put on immortality, then will come about the saying that is written, "DEATH IS SWALLOWED UP in victory.


1 Corinthians 15:54 & 55

Lyrics: Petra


all pictures were taken from our trip to Jacksonville, Oregon last December.

Sunday, October 25, 2009

To him that overcometh...

I will give to eat of the tree of life.

Revelation 2:7

Oh that I might stand for Christ in the crisis! Jim Elliott, martyred missionary to the Auca Indians, prayed at the age of 20: "Father, make of me a crisis man. Bring those I contact to decision. Let me not be a milepost on a single road; make me a fork that men must turn one way or another on facing Christ in me." It reflects a spirit too often lacking in modern day Christians, although it must have been rather widespread among the early followers of Jesus. At least some of them turned their world upside down (Acts 17:6). Lord, make me to stand tall in the crisis. The failure is not with God, it is with me!

Taken from the book: Today, LORD, I Will

Friday, October 23, 2009

Where Both our Hearts can Rest


When Spring unfolds the beechen leaf, and sap is in the bough; when light is on the wild-wood stream, and wind is on the brow; When stride is long, and breath is deep, and keen the mountain-air, Come back to me! Come back to me, and say my land is fair!



When Spring has come to garth and field, and corn is in the blade; when blossom like a shining snow is on the orchard laid; when shower and sun upon the earth with fragrance fill the air, I’ll linger here, and will not come, because my land is fair.


When Summer lies upon the world, and in a noon of gold, Beneath the roof of sleeping leaves the dreams of trees unfold; when woodland halls are green and cool, and wind is in the West, Come back to me! Come back to me, and say my land is best!


When Summer warms the hanging fruit and burns the berries brown; when straw is gold and ear is white, and harvests come to town; When honey spills, and apple swells, though wind be in the West, I’ll linger here beneath the sun, because my land is best.



When Winter comes, the winter wild that hill and wood shall slay; When trees shall fall and starless night devour the sunless day; When wind is in the deadly East, then in the bitter rain, I’ll look for thee, and call to thee; I’ll come to thee again!


When Winter comes, and singing ends; when darkness falls at last; when broken is the barren bough, and light and labour past; I’ll look for thee and wait for thee, until we meet again: Together we will take the road beneath the bitter rain!


Together we will take the road that leads into the West. And far away will find a land where both our hearts may rest.

Words: J. R. R. Tolkien

In Loving Memory of: Cloyce E. Hilsinger III

October 23, 1963-October 30, 2008

Thursday, October 22, 2009

The Garden Keepers Cottage


Well, hello again, and welcome back!

You’ve found me wandering the gravel path that leads from one themed garden to the next on the grounds of Hatley Park. While all the gardens were beautiful this particular little patch of ground tugged at the strings of my heart.


In the very center of the garden sat this sweet little Tudor Cottage with its unadorned windows and simple front door. A humble little home that I’m sure has been filled with much love and laughter down through the years.


Imagine waking each morning to the sound of bird song and not another person in sight. 

Quiet solitude! My idea of paradise! I only say this because my cottage is so close to my neighbors that she can peer out her windows to my gardens below. On the other side of the wall are conversations I’d rather not hear at all.


“Many morns I have strolled along the red brick path only to find my dreamy thoughts invaded from without.”


The air dripped with the warm scent of lavender bushes that were planted to one side of the gardeners cottage.


And then there was this lovely garden gate leading to yet another garden that lay beyond. But alas, the castle tour was about to begin so back up the path we wandered.

I think next time we’ll meet in the Italian Gardens, if that’s ok with you ;-).

Monday, October 19, 2009

Sunrise over the San Juan's


Watching the sun
Watching it come
Watching it come up over the rooftops.


Cloudy and warm
Maybe a storm
You can never quite tell
From the morning.


And it's going to be a day
There is really no way to say no
To the morning.
Yes it's going to be a day
There is really nothing left to
Say but Come on morning.


Waiting for mail
Maybe a tale
From an old friend
Or even a lover.
Sometimes there's none
But we have fun
Thinking of all who might
Have written.


And maybe there are seasons
And maybe they change
And maybe to love is not so strange.
The sounds of the day
They hurry away
Now they are gone until tomorrow.
When day will break
And you will wake
And you will rake your hands
Across your eyes
And realize


That it's going to be a day
There is really no way to say no
To the morning.
Yes it's going to be a day
There is really nothing left to say but
Come on morning.

Lyrics: Dan Fogelberg

Friday, October 16, 2009

You Are Invited to a Halloween Celebration of the most Fanciful Kind!

But! Will you be able to make it on Time?

While sipping my morning cup of tea I noticed an invitation waiting for me. “Oh dear!” Was my reply, “today is the day! I surely must fly. Not being a witch and owning no broom I started to wander about my room.
A heard a small whisper from across the way, “at least get out of your Pajamas today. You certainly can’t go dressed to a party THAT WAY!”


So I pulled on my stockings and pointy black shoes, dressed in cream lace then away I flew.
Well, really I just ran out the back door, but I saw the strangest sight...


and very much to my delight! For there were two maids oh so fair, wandering through my brambled lair...


Being followed by pink flamingos?
Odd as it seemed, I thought they might know… which way was needed, for me to go… to arrive at Vanessa’s party.

They sat down and ignored me, as if I weren’t there, then poured themselves a cup o’ tea brewed from mermaid’s hair.


They played cards until late in the afternoon…


While nibbling on pumpkins and tiny white shrooms.


Ooh! What is this? An assortment of treats?
Butterfly Kisses and Faerie Wings? Dust of the Broken Hearts it is said should never be eaten right before bed.


“Would you like some Lavender for your old aching bones?” the maiden sweetly signed. “No, but could you pour me something magical that will give me wings for flight? For I desperately need to get to Vanessa’s before this very night!”


“Butterfly Kisses should work well for that, but tis my fear you’ll morph into a rat!”


“Look in here, this is the way” the little one said with a grin.


“I dare you to peek inside and see what lies within.”
“No thank you!” I said to this sweet little nymph, “I must get to the party before it ends.”


Then suddenly one of them ran out of tea. This can’t be good as you will soon see.


It appears that the tea is a special brew that keeps sweet maidens from behaving like two old shrews. “Ladies! Ladies! If you please! I will pour you a cup o’ tea, for your behavior is truly frightening me!”


But suddenly they became bored of intrigues and games…


then ever so softly faded away. But before they vanished I heard one say, “look at the foot of your bed. That should point the way.”


At the foot of my bed sits an old pink trunk, mostly it’s filled with nothing but junk.
But what to my surprise did I find?


An old photo album that was left behind. So I did what any curious girl would do…


I opened the cover to the very first page and a chorus of whispers called out my name, “ Cori G., we’re in here, the time is finally drawing near, but hurry now we mustn't be late, that surely can not be our fate.”


There they were, all of the guests in the book, dressed and waiting to leave, but I wondered what these colorful people might have up their sleeve. “Step in to the book,” I heard them say, “we must be on our way.”


“Step into the book? How can that be? I thought I was looking for a secret key.” If Butterfly Kisses nor Faerie Wings can't lift me through the air then certainly stepping into a book really won’t get me there!”


But none the less I slipped in my toes as a strange sensation swirled up to my nose. Spinning…twirling… up and down…floating up above the ground.
I floated in darkness for who knows how long, until finally I heard it, the sweetest of songs. There was laughter and singing… music once more. When I opened my eyes I was at the back door…
of my own little cottage.
Sadly, I fear, tis too late for me, for peddling my bike I shall ever be. Over the mountains and beyond the shore until I arrive at Vanessa's door. Only to peek through the garden gate long after the party’s been put away.
So hurry now and quickly flee, before the colorful guests come after thee...
and deceive you as they deceived me!

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