Promises, promises

Growing up, I was always annoyed by this one poem by mom insisted on hanging in a prominent place wherever we lived.  I remember it most distinctly as hanging in the dining room in the apartment we lived in my last three years of high school.  I see it in my mind in that spot, and I remember the feeling of dislike.  But the words stuck with me, and lately, I've been coming back to them, and realizing how true they are.  So, curious about the poem and its writer, I turned to the Almighty Google.  This is what I found.

The poet was Annie Johnson Flint who wrote numerous poems and hymns. The "poem" as I knew it was really just the 1st verse and chorus of the hymn "What God Hath Promised."  Annie had a really tough life, almost from birth.  She never married, and struggled with chronic illness.  She wrote to support herself and her sister, who was also ill.   "Her life was lived, as someone has said, from hand to mouth, but as she liked to have it expressed, the mouth was hers, and the hand was God’s and His hand was never empty."

Wow.

Intellectually, I know that to be true, and the foundation of my trust in God, which is the very bedrock of my existence, but I want to - no, I need to know it more, deeper, more consistently, every day, every minute, breathing in His grace, His power, His provision for all my needs.... yeah.

So, here's that hymn.  And... thanks, mom!  :)

God hath not promised skies always blue,
Flower strewn pathways all our lives through;
God hath not promised sun without rain,
Joy without sorrow, peace without pain.

Refrain
But God hath promised strength for the day,
Rest for the labor, light for the way,
Grace for the trials, help from above,
Unfailing sympathy, undying love.

God hath not promised we shall not know
Toil and temptation, trouble and woe;
He hath not told us we shall not bear
Many a burden, many a care.

God hath not promised smooth roads and wide,
Swift, easy travel, needing no guide;
Never a mountain rocky and steep,
Never a river turbid and deep.

the First Christmas must be perfect! or not.

In the continuing saga of Sylvia's sinuses and the hunt for a Christmas tree that doesn't offend said cavities, it is Trees, 2, Sylvia, 0.  Sean won't even try a third tree, but when I suggested a fake one, his initial reaction was "speaking of an abomination!"   He has since come around to seeing it as an option.  And so, after Christmas, when they are slightly less crazy-expensive, we will be on the hunt for a tree for next year.  Or we may just get a palm tree - or, maybe an olive tree! :)

I keep telling myself that the tradition of a coniferous Christmas Tree in the house is a rather new one, so I really don't need it.  Still, I deeply, desperately want it.  Why?  Well, in order to hang the ornaments that friends have given us for this First Christmas as a married couple, one of them personalized with our names.  And then, there is a box of ornaments from Sean's childhood, and a small box of my ornaments that I've gradually collected and carried with me across the country...

But here is what has been working: Advent.  I seem able to tolerate a lovely little (real!) advent wreathe.  And when we read the devotional, and light the candles, and re-remember the One we celebrate, it feels perfect.

Originally, this table was just for the advent wreathe, but then it accumulated stuff: the tree-top angel sans tree, some gifts from friends and violin students, and a plant I'm attempting to kill - I mean, rehabilitate!

aaaand.... i'm back!

I just can't work up the effort to start a new blog, so here I am reviving my ol' stand-by.  Again. This time it's for recording the misadventures of the first year of marriage.  Actually, there have been very few - it's been a very good 7+ months!  But yesterday, this happened...
...who knew that the Fraser Fir had it out for me?!?