Home

I wrote down the piece at the bottom of the post years ago and found it in a stack of yet more paper.  

My Mom died when she was 40; our family died that day too as did our 'home'.  My youngest brother, 3 at the time and 13 years younger than me, hasn't contacted us in 3 or 4 years.  Todd had a terrible life after Mom died.  Last I heard he was in jail for meth.  My sister and I finally gave up on him - didn't stop loving him.  If you've gone down that road you'll understand.

Very sad.  But, this piece (not of my own writing) is for all the lost; not only like Todd, but those who have lost lives and/or loved ones, those whom long for home...  I don't even know why I'm telling this as I am usually very private about my life. The following is really beautiful.   

"Home is not simply a mark upon a map any more than a river is just water.

It is the place at the center of the compass 

from which every arrow radiates and where the heart is fixed.

It is a force that forever draws us back; shores us up.

For where the home is, there lies hope, and the future waits

and everything is possible."

SUNDAY TIDINGS

Again, here is an essay from the little book, JUST BE GLAD. As I said in an earlier post, this book was written in 1907 by Charles F. Raymond.

A Desire

May we grow. May our present by happy, and may the future be one of steady progress.
May we achieve.
May we lay in wait for opportunity, and recognize it when it passes.
May we spend much time on the foundations.
May we realize the majesty of the "I will."
May we understand that that which is worth having costs time, costs labor, and sometimes blood.
May we prepare for each day as a warrior who goes to battle, and may we greet it with a smile, yet with determination.
Give us ability, the ability of stability.
May we stick. May we grow.
May we cease comparing ourselves with those who are weak. Let us rather seek comparison with the giants of the land.
Then, when we see how very small we are, let us grow some more.
May we grow in manliness. May we trust.
May we do our best and leave it to Omnipotence, knowing that there is no chance.
Give us grit. Give us grace. Give us gumption.
Help us to get up early in the morning. Help us to work late at night.
Help us if necessary, to get dirty at our work, gracefully.
Keep us from being proud.
He was born in a manger.
Make us worthy to have a friend.
Let us hold our friendships sacred.
As we turn down the light each night, may we say "Now I have made some one just a little happier, I have made a child glad. I made mother smile, and my wife is pleased for I told her that I appreciate her. May we have some little memory to mark the day.
May we remember kindness.
May we be kind not for reward, but for the love of it.
May we greet each morn with the thought "I am mortal."
Make us successful.
Make us wise, and if it be Thy Will, make us great and rich and valiant.
But above all, make us humble.
He was born in a manger.
It might have taken place in a palace.
The angels did not rap up the nobles to let them know about it. God plays no favorites. There were no reserved seats to hear the chorus rehearsed in the skies 1907 years ago, for the shepherds heard the song.
So let us be humble to-night, to-morrow and throughout this pilgrimage until the very end.

There is a homily at the end of each essay as follows:

Nature reminds us that the dog will wag its tail, the cat will sing and the horse will neigh as we approach if we are only kind to them.
They do not forget kindness, and that is more than some of us can say.

Sunday Tidings

JUST BE GLAD was published in 1907 and written by Charles F. Raymond. As you can see, this old tome was well-loved, with hand torn pages and thoughtful essays. It is a sweet little book. Here is the first essay.

The Tree At The Door

We observe that nature carries all her plans forward in harmony and that there is order in everything.
We do not wonder at the growth of a tree; we know that it yields itself willingly to the influence of the season, giving the blossom and the bud, the leaf and the fruit. We see nothing unusual in its growth.
Yet when we behold a man who grows, who goes steadily forward, who appropriates circumstances to himself, the sorrows to make him gentle, the dangers to make him brave, who keeps his face to the storm, we mark that man in surprise. Yet are we not more than the tree at my back door that, though stationary, holds captive the sun and soil to produce the fruit.
We observe that nature does not hurry; there is no confusion in the woodland at this approaching spring-time, although there will soon be a great beating of carpets in our back yards.
The leaves do not come until they are introduced by the buds, and the buds do not venture until they are wooed by the sun and rain; neither do the birds appear until nature bids them.
We observe that nature is just and that she is a great appraiser of values, and knows how to build. The snowdrop comes quickly, a prelude to the springtime, but it disappears as we admire. We are taught by these things. We know that the grain grows more slowly - it must bear the heat and cold, it bows before the wind.
The flowers are beautiful, the grain is commonplace - but by the grain the world is fed. So we who are plain people, we who are not lithesome of figure, elegant of speech, or handsome of face, we who are the rugged of life, may take heart again. We are the producers, for it is by us the world is fed.
Yes, the flowers fill their purpose, the flowers of springtime; the grain fills its purpose, and up from the earth, cold, hard, and dark, comes both beauty and bread, for the seed lays tribute to nature and nature pays it willingly.
So let us, her children, appropriate to ourselves all the sunshine to make us glad, all the good-fellowship to make us responsive, all the patience we find in anyone, all the virtue we behold in our neighbor. Let us grow. The tree at my back door has but the soil, the air, the sun, the snow and rain. We have the wide world. It is all ours, and let us strive to make everything good a part of ourselves - the thought dropped from a friend, the strong work in a book, the poetry, the painting, the beautiful sunrise, the lull of the lake, the rush of the city, the solitary country way, the music of the orchestra in the theatre, the witchery of the wind through the balsams, the going and coming, the actors on the stage and the actors all about us - let us make everything and anything captive if it will but make us better and stronger men and women.
Let us grow.
We may learn the lesson of confidence from the sparrow who sits in this tree at the back door waiting for his morning crumbs from the tablecloth, or the lesson of majesty from the stars in their silences.

The following pic is the homily at the end of each essay.