Communications between sisters

My dear sister Deborah is always calling me and singing me popular songs, changing the words to fit to my situation. so I sent her this song one day, to the tune of "O Tenanbaum."

O Deborah, my Deborah
How lovely are thine eyeballs
O Deborah, my Deborah,
How lovely are thine eyeballs
They glance so sweet when morning comes
And are devious when day is done
O Deborah, my Deborah,
How lovely are thine eyeballs.

She wrote back with a nice poem, exploiting the fact that I don't have eyebrows.

Naomi, Naomi how thy eyebrows doth shine

They are so light

And flutter through the air

You'd never know

that they were ever there

And perhaps some day

When the world's bereft of delves

They will deign

To show themselves

But until then dear

I fear we must be content

To bid them farewell

Wherever they are sent

And in the life they find there

I pray they become not a bore

But find some eyebrowless peasant

Who needs them more.

So bid them adieu

And shed not a tear

You look so much better

Since they are not here.

We are so silly. =)

Nature, the Presence of God

I have recently been reflecting on Our Lord, and have focused on Him more. Funny how problems will help you do that. Just realizing (finally) that I really can no longer help myself. Actually, that I never was able to and I just need to rely totally and completely on him. But now, I've been seeing more and more that every time I turn around, He is there. In a new bud on a tree, the sunlight sparkling off the buckle on my pack, the spray of dogwood flowers in a drab little store downtown, in a kind word. He is there. Everywhere. Wanting to be seen, yet passed by by so many. How could I not have seen Him before?! Even now as I type, I look down at my hands and notice each marking, each freckle and realize that they more than the crucifix ring I wear speak of the glory and the wonder of God. I am fearfully and wonderfully made, and really have no reason to focus on my imperfections or those of the world around me, for the perfections are there. They are simple, and as such do not scream out for attention but wait patiently, as my Lord waits, to be notice and loved for themselves and not for the works they do.

Sacred Heart of Jesus, burning with love for me, inflame my cold heart with love for Thee.

I find that more and more, I am drawn to nature and feel close to my Lord and my Lady ("Nature's Solitary Boast") when I am surrounded or in touch somehow with creation. This poem is one of the favorites from my high school years, and speaks volumes on this sentiment, that nature is somehow alive with the life and love of God.

The Ballad of the Trees and the Master
Into the woods my Master went,
Clean forspent, forspent.
Into the woods my Master came,
Forspent with love and shame.
But the olives they were not blind to Him,
The little gray leaves were kind to Him:
The thorn-tree had a mind to Him
When into the woods He came.

Out of the woods my Master went,
And He was well content.
Out of the woods my Master came,
Content with death and shame.
When Death and Shame would woo Him last,
From under the trees they drew Him last:
'Twas on a tree they slew Him -- last
When out of the woods He came.
~Sidney Lanier