God is the perfect poet

Whoever believes in me, as the Scripture has said, ‘Out of his heart will flow rivers of living water.' John 7:38

the Christmas season always manages to serve as a reflection of Christmas’ past, as I welcome in the New but not disregard the Old. Missing my mother is always true. “Yes, that sounds very well. But there’s a snag. I am thinking about her nearly always. Her words, looks, laughs and actions. But it is my own mind that selects and groups them. I can feel the slow, insidious beginning of a process that will make her into a more and more imaginary woman. Founded on fact, no doubt. But won’t the composition become more and more my own? The reality of her is no longer there to check me, to pull me up, as she often did, so unexpectedly, by being so thoroughly herself and not me. Oh, come back for one moment and drive that miserable phantom away. What pitiable things to say “She will live forever in my memory!” Live? That is exactly what she won’t do. You might as well think like the old Egyptians that you can keep the dead by embalming them. What’s left? Will nothing persuade us they are gone? A corpse, a memory and in some ways, a ghost. It was her I loved.” CS Lewis

“God is not only the God of the sufferers but the God who suffers. … It is said of God that no one can behold his face and live. I always thought this meant that no one could see his splendor and live. A friend said perhaps it meant that no one could see his sorrow and live. Or perhaps his sorrow is splendor. … Instead of explaining our suffering God shares it.”

—   Nicholas Wolterstorff

"With every fiber of my being I long to talk to Eric again. When I mentioned this to someone, she asked what I would say. I don’t know. Maybe I would just blurt out something silly. That would be good enough for a beginning. We could take it from there. Every day I wonder, and some days I doubt, whether that talk will ever take place. But then comes that insistent voice: ‘Remember, I made all this and raised my own son from the dead, so I can also…’

'I know, I know. But why don't you raise mine now? Why did you ever let him die? If creation took just six days, why does re-creation take so agonizingly long? If your conquest of primeval chaos went so quickly, why must your conquest of sin and death and suffering be so achingly slow?'

When I say my first words to Eric, then God’s reign will be here.”

—   Nicholas Wolterstorff

“Last night
I begged the Wise One to tell me
the secret of the world.
Gently, gently, he whispered,
“Be quiet,
the secret cannot be spoken,
It is wrapped in silence.””

liznaxadalia:

Sn. George Kilisesi by *emregurten

“Where kindness is, who cares for peace or war? Where goodness acts, who hears prayer or quarrel? When a man’s accepted, who cares where he’s from? Surrender, yield; if not, your pride’s a stone.”

—   Rumi (via fuckyeahrumi)

(via rudysnotes-deactivated20120724)

(Source: the-gingersaurus, via 4derps)

“Poetry is my understanding with the world, my intimacy with things, my participation in what is real, my engagement with voices and images. This is why a poem speaks not of ideal life but of actual life: the angle of a window; the reverberation of streets, cities, rooms; shadows along a wall.”

—   Sophia de Mello Breyner Andresen (via floralnymph)

(Source: sleepinginthesnow, via rudysnotes-deactivated20120724)