Vanishing Sorrows

Can You Ask for a Louder Voice Than That?

"Creation is a great book. Look above you; look below you! Note it! Read it! ... 

God did not write that book with ink. Instead, He set before your eyes 

the things that He had made. Can you ask for a louder voice than that? 

Why, heaven and earth cry out to you: 'God made me!'"

St. Augustine

Painting: Peder Mørk Mønsted, Wood in Snow, in US public domain due to age {{PD-1923}}

Ice and Snow, Bless the Lord

'Frost and chill, bless the Lord;
praise and exalt Him above all forever.
Ice and snow, bless the Lord;
praise and exalt Him above all forever.
Nights and days, bless the Lord;
praise and exalt Him above all forever.
Light and darkness, bless the Lord;
praise and exalt Him above all forever.
Lightnings and clouds, bless the Lord;
praise and exalt Him above all forever.
Let the earth bless the Lord;
praise and exalt Him above all forever.'

Daniel 3:69-74, 
from Azariah's hymn of
praise in the fiery furnace 
  




Painting:  Endogurov Zimniy 

Hush

I am enchanted by snow when it softens a city.  It's like the gentleness of God blanketing all that is sharp and angular, and somehow this is magical to me.  Maybe that's because, in grade school, I rode the city bus twice a day, and I got to see a chunk of my town in its sooty as well as whitewashed conditions.

The bus made stops and starts along Main Street, its doors whooshing open to let in soggy passengers toting briefcases and shopping bags.  I could hear sighs of relief as these weary ones fell into seats; I knew they were grateful to simply let chilled bones thaw.  

The magic of bus windows was that they weren't stationary.  Views changed incessantly, just like on a television.  City sidewalks, storefronts of tall department stores, tree-filled neighborhoods lined with cozy brick homes.  The perfect backdrop for a young daydreamer.

I don’t spend time on buses anymore, but I look out windows.  Oh, indeed I do.  Today I glance out toward my street and am unable to find it.  There is only a field of white, with sunshine bouncing so strongly that it hurts my eyes.  I might as well be living on a farm.  Tonight there will be pink and blue and amber sprinkles under streetlights; I hope I remember to enjoy them.

Snow is, to me, the gentleness of God trumping the clamor of man.  No matter how sharp the angles of our buildings, they are softened.  There is a hush of city sounds. 

In the darkest months of the year, the ones in which we may feel starved for light - that's when snow comes to brighten our paths.  Yes, snow might change our plans.  Yes, it could cause some disruption.  

But if it’s here, we might as well enjoy the view.

“Praise the Lord... fire and hail, snow and mist, storm winds that fulfill His word…”  (Psalm 148:7-8)

Portions of this post are (edited) from our archives. 
© 2014 Nancy Shuman.  TheBreadboxLetters.blogspot.com

Painting: Meersburg im Winter 1931; in US public domain due to copyright expiration
 

This post is linked to Catholic Bloggers Network 2014 Linkup Blitz

Those Greater Splendors

'Heaven is at present
out of sight,
but in due time,
as snow melts
and discovers what it lay upon,
so will this visible creation
fade away
before those
greater splendors
which are behind it.' 
                            

John Henry Cardinal Newman

 

photos by Nancy Shuman 

Stopping By Woods on a Snowy Evening

Whose woods these are I think I know.
His house is in the village though;
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow.

My little horse must think it queer
To stop without a farmhouse near
Between the woods and frozen lake
The darkest evening of the year.

He gives his harness bells a shake
To ask if there is some mistake.
The only other sound's the sweep
Of easy wind and downy flake.

The woods are lovely, dark and deep.
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.
                                             
                                        Robert Frost

Come Home

"'Come now, let us set things right,'

says the Lord:

'Though your sins be like scarlet,

they may become white as snow;

Though they be crimson red,

they may become white as wool.'"

                                                                                                         Isaiah 1:18

Painting: The shortening winter's day is near a close; Farquharson; US public domain

Find Me, O Lord

Find me, O Lord!  I am lost except for You.

Comes the Winter..

                  'I see that all the seasons are to be found in your soul; 

                  for at one time you feel the winter of sterility, 

                  distractions, disgust, and weariness; 

                  at another time the dews of the month of May, 

                  with the odour of the holy little flowers....  

                  In heaven it shall be all a springtime of beauty, 

                  all an autumn of enjoyment, 

                  all a summer of love.  

                  Winter there shall be none;

                  but here winter is necessary 

                  for the exercise of abnegation 

                  and of the thousand beautiful little virtues 

                  which are practiced in the time of barrenness.  

                  Let us keep on always at a quiet little pace...' 

                        St. Francis de Sales, letter to St. Jane de Chantal

                        Painting:  Jules Breton, Last Flowers, in US  public domain

A Tiny Ode to Snow

I am enchanted by snow when it softens a city.  It's like the gentleness of God blanketing all that is sharp and angular, and somehow this is magical to me.  Maybe that's because, in grade school, I rode the city bus twice a day.  The bus made stops and starts along Main Street, its doors whooshing open to let in soggy passengers toting briefcases and shopping bags.  I could hear sighs of relief as these weary ones fell into seats; they seemed grateful to be able to let chilled bones thaw.  I watched the snow-shrouded city roll by the windows; all was fresh and white and new and clean.

I don’t spend time on buses anymore.  But I still notice snow, making a decision to savor its sparkles even when it interrupts my plans. I allow it to decorate my life.  I sit beside a window for prayer time.  I thank God for pink and blue and amber sprinkles under streetlights.  I grab a camera and stick head (if not sliding feet) out the front door.  I appreciate the hush of city sounds.

Snow is, to me, the gentleness of God trumping the clamor of man.  In the darkest months of the year, the ones in which we might feel starved for light - that's when snow comes to brighten our paths.

And if it’s there, I may as well enjoy the view.

“Praise the Lord... fire and hail, snow and mist, storm winds that fulfill His word…”  (Psalm 148:7-8)

(photo © Nancy Shuman)