"Perhaps one of the functions of a contemplative is to help other people, by word or merely by example, to become aware of how much they are capable of loving God - or perhaps of how much they already love Him without knowing it.

Christ recognizes Himself when the souls that possess His likeness in them by charity, recognize one another by some actual expression of His love in one another, and begin to praise Him and thank Him and move one another to greater love, in His joy.

It is a great thing when Christ, hidden in souls- and perhaps forced by the world to keep in hiding - manifests Himself unexpectedly by an unplanned expression of His presence. Then soul light up on all sides with recognition of Him and discover Him in themselves when they did not even imagine He could be anywhere.

His one Image is in us all, and we discover Him by discovering the likeness of His Image in one another. This does not destroy the differences between us but all these accidentals cease to have much meaning when we find that we really one in His love. It is great praise of Him when people rejoice at finding Him in one another - not by effort, not by mere blind acts of faith, but by the experience of a charity illuminated, perhaps by Wisdom - for it is 'sapience' and fruition of God's reflection in the joy which is His mirror in souls."

Thomas Merton, Sign of Jonas, p. 149-150.

sapience: (n) ability to apply knowledge or experience or understanding or common sense and insight (Syn. Wisdom)

Well, that little thing on the side of my blog - that profile corner - it is going flip over 14 October and say that I am a year older.

Some days I feel old! But I must say that I am a blessed person -

I have good health

I have love of family and many friends

I have work (and some days too much of it)

I have a home and food and a bed

I know whose I am - and that One will never abandon me.

And in last 15 months I have made new friends in Australia, New Zealand, Canada and in many of the US states through the Blogstream Community. Thank you for your friendship, too.

ron

"But love laughs at the end of the world because love is the door to eternity and he who loves God is playing on the doorstep of eternity,..."

Thomas Merton, Sign of Jonas, p. 122.

Reflection: I am intriqued by this imagery: 'playing on the doorstep of eternity.' I don't think I have ever thought of myself 'playing on the doorstep of eternity'. But God is eternal - and yet present. God is in the heavens; God is with me in this room. Loving the eternal God is to sit on his doorstep and talk to him: friend to friend.

It is my desire to have this kind of growing, intimate relationship with God.

(c) 2007 Ronald Friesen

"Love sails me around the house. I walk two steps on the ground and four steps in the air. It is love. It is consolation. I don't care if it is consolation. I am not attached to consolation. I love God. Love carries me all around. I don't want to do anything but love. And when the bell rings it is like pulling teeth to make myself shift because of that love, secret love, hidden love, obscure love, down inside me and outside me where I don't care to talk about it. Anyway I don't have the time or the energy to discuss such matters. I have only time for eternity, which is to say for love, love, love, Maybe Saint Teresa would like to have me snap out of it but it is pure, I tell you; I am not attached to it (I hope) and it is love and it gives me soft punches all the time in the center of my heart. Love is pushing me around the monastery, love is kicking me all around like a gong I tell you, love is the only thing that makes it possible for me to continue to tick."

Thomas Merton, The Sign of Jonas, p. 120

Who Wrote "Precious Lord"?

THE BIRTH OF THE SONG "PRECIOUS LORD"

Back in 1932, I was 32 years old and a fairly new husband. My wife, Nettie
and I were living in a little apartment on Chicago's Southside. One hot
August afternoon I had to go to St. Louis, where I was to be the featured
soloist at a large revival meeting. I didn't want to go. Nettie was in
the last month of pregnancy with our first child. But a lot of people
were expecting me in St. Louis. I kissed Nettie good-bye, clattered
downstairs to our Model A and, in a fresh Lake Michigan breeze, chugged out
of Chicago on Route 66.

However, outside the city, I discovered that in my anxiety at leaving, I
had forgotten my music case. I wheeled around and headed back. I found
Nettie sleeping peacefully. I hesitated by her bed; something was
strongly
telling me to stay. But eager to get on my way, and not wanting to
disturb Nettie, I shrugged off the feeling and quietly slipped out of the
room with my music.

The next night, in the steaming St. Louis heat, the crowd called on me to
sing again and again. When I finally sat down, a messenger boy ran up
with a Western Union telegram. I ripped open the envelope. Pasted on the
yellow sheet were the words: YOUR WIFE JUST DIED.

People were happily singing and clapping around me, but I could hardly
keep from crying out. I rushed to a phone and called home. All I could
hear on the other end was "Nettie is dead. Nettie is dead."
When I got back, I learned that Nettie had given birth to a boy. I swung
between grief and joy. Yet that night, the baby died. I buried Nettie and
our little boy together, in the same casket. Then I fell apart. For days I
closeted myself. I felt that God had done me an injustice. I didn't want
to serve Him any more or write ; gospel songs.
I just wanted to go back to that jazz world I once knew so well. But
then, as I hunched alone in that dark apartment those first sad days, I
thought back to the afternoon I went to St. Louis Something kept telling
me to stay with Nettie. Was that something God? Oh, if I had paid more
attention to Him that day, I would have stayed and been with Nettie when
she died .

From that moment on I vowed to listen more closely to Him. But still I
was lost in grief. Everyone was kind to me, especially a friend, Professor
Fry, who seemed to know what I needed. On the following Saturday evening
he took me up to Malone's Poro College, a neighborhood music school. It was
quiet; the late evening sun crept through the curtained windows. I sat
down at the piano, and my hands began to browse over the keys. Something
happened to me then. I felt at peace. I felt as though I could reach out
and touch God. I found myself playing a melody, once into my head they
just seemed to fall into place:
Precious Lord, take my hand, lead me on, let me stand! I am tired, I am
weak, I am worn, through the storm, through the night lead me on to the
light, Take my hand, precious Lord, Lead me home. the Lord gave me these
words and melody, He also healed my spirit.

I learned that when we are in our deepest grief, when we feel farthest from
God, this is when He is closest, and when we are most open to His
restoring power.

And so I go on living for God willingly and joyfully, until that day comes
when He will take me and gently lead me home.

Tommy Dorsey

(There are two Tommy Dorseys in the world, their lives overlapped. The Tommy Dorsey who wrote this song was the music director in Chicago, IL for over 40 years. The other Tommy Dorsey was the big band leader.)

Here is Elvis Presley's rendition - I have to confess I always have to weep when I hear this version: