Be merciful to me, O God, be merciful to me, for in you my soul takes refuge; in the shadow of your wings I will take refuge, till the storms of destruction pass by.
Psalm 57:1 ESV
In the treetop Hawk sits silently
While the thunder crashes round
And the Sparrows flit into the barn
Where the Chickens huddle down
The Cranes stand in the rushes
In her house the Blue Bird sleeps
While the Chickadees are twittering
In the thickets dark and deep
But Eagles fly up to their nests
When their children cry
And shelter them with wings so strong
While raindrops start to fly
Can you and I do less than birds
Who know the place to hide
And fly to God our refuge
When the storm is passing by
The Storm is Passing by - by Peter Caligiuri copyright 2021 all rights reserved
The days of our years are threescore years and ten; and if by reason of strength they be fourscore years, yet is their strength labour and sorrow; for it is soon cut off, and we fly away. Psalm 90:10 KJV
Years ago, I used to visit an elderly couple from our church, who because of age and its attending aches and pains no longer were able to come to Sunday services. In the corner of their little apartment, they kept a cage with two parakeets that tweeted happily off and on during our time, especially when we began to sing some of the hymns. Sometimes when the cage door was left open, they got especially enthusiastic and during the music they would swoop out with their wingtips brushing by my head and then perch up on top of the kitchen cabinets. In their balcony seat they seemed quite at home and didn’t miss a note in their singing. Now both of those birds as well as my dear friends have flown off to the presence of Jesus. Sometimes I imagine them looking down from their advantage point still singing and waiting for me and my guitar to come join them. Today I was delighted to sing I’ll Fly Away with the people I love to sing it with the most at our nursing home. I pray that you will be blessed by our simple rendition and that you will draw comfort and joy knowing that no matter what you are going through, if you have given your heart to Jesus, He promises that one day we will fly to meet Him in the air!
Did mom ever become a famous writer? Well, other than working as an instructor for “The Famous Writer’s School” the short answer is no. But mom was moderately successful, with her fourth book (Sons of the Wolf) published both in the U.S. as well as Germany, Italy and the UK. Whatever our ability level, we who work in words often fall into the trap of elaborating a scene, an idea or a character till only we are in love with our story. But longer is rarely better and less is usually more. Consider the brevity of the parable of the prodigal son. In just 495 words Jesus shares a story that has touched more lives and changed more hearts than all the works of Shakespeare, Twain, and Jane Austin combined. He tells us about a son who left the simple life of a family farm for the glittering complexity of a distant city. There the son lost all that his father had given him and wasted everything he had trying to be somebody important. But the oinking of the pigs soon made it clear that his dream job had ended up being just feeding hogs. There in the pigpen, Jesus tells us that, “He came to himself.” In that single moment of clear thinking, he remembered his father. On the way home, the prodigal son carefully rehearsed a list of apologies and explanations, but on his arrival, he was immediately interrupted by his joyful father’s welcome. To every one of us who have come home to a childlike faith in Jesus, God gives a story to tell. The less distance we put between the story He gives us and the heart of our neighbor the better. Every story is a pathway to somewhere and the story of grace should be a simple pathway that ends with a Father who is waiting to celebrate our return!
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