I don't have any hot takes or geopolitical thoughts on something I don't know much about. What I have is the certainty that, even in the midst of a storm we made ourselves, God is still here.
I grew up in a railroad/farming community that became home to an Air Force base in the 1950's. As tv came, every night at sign off, High Flight was recited over film of sky, clouds, and plane. Of couse, many men came to CAFB to learn to fly F-111's. All left, some went to other bases, some went to Vietnam. Some came home, some were POW's, some are bones in a forest. These past 10 years, I have clung to the concept that God is here. Some days I believe it more than other days. The past 35 years, ok the past 45 years have challenged my faith. Not just the road the country has trotted down since Reagan but many personal roads. I believe Lord, heal my unbelief!! Many nights I recite the alphabet for as long as it takes. I saw a meme where a young girl said she gave God the letters so he could put the words together. Between my body and life and the world, that's all I can pray.
Beautiful and hopeful. Thank you. Have you read St. Exupéry's "Wind, Sand and Stars?" He has a description of flying through a thunderstorm that I've never forgotten, tho it's been at least 20 years since I read it. (I think a re-read is due)
When I was growing up and there were only 3 channels on TV they used to play a video at sign-off every night---yes we didnt have 24 hour TV--they signed off at midnight or 1 AM usually. Anyway this video showed a plane in flight and the poem was narrated in the background. It was beautiful and always made me feel close to God and the thought of heaven. Such a sweet time in our country to have that a nightly custom along with tge playing of the seat spangled banner afterward and then sign off!!!
At church on Sunday, our pastor gave us index cards and asked us to write one prayer for this new year, whatever was on our hearts, and leave it on the altar. Mine was: "Lord, help me feel your presence beside me every day." I need that right now, at a time when I feel surrounded by evil.
I remember learning "High Flight" from the TV station signoffs. But I turn to a different poem these days. The New Yorker magazine published it the week after 9/11. It spoke so much to that moment, I thought it must have been composed for the occasion. But the poem, "Try to Praise the Mutilated World," was written several years earlier by a Ukrainian-born poet, Adam Zagajewski, whose family, along with thousands of other Ukrainians of Polish descent, had been deported in cattle cars by the Russian army at the end of World War II. The poem is helping me remember God in this evil time.
Try to praise the mutilated world
Remember June's long days
And wild strawberries, drops of rosé wine,
The dew, the nettles that methodically overgrow
The abandoned homesteads of exiles.
You must praise the mutilated world.
You watched the stylish yachts and ships
One of them had a long trip ahead of it
While salty oblivion awaited others.
You've seen the refugees heading nowhere
You've heard the executioners sing joyfully.
You should praise the mutilated world.
Remember the moments when we were together
In a white room, and the curtains fluttered
Return in thought to the concert where music flared
This poem says beautifully what I hope we all desire… with silent lifting mind to reach the untrespassed sanctity of space….. even when like you said, these storms are of our own making. Thank you for sharing.
Thank you, Beth. My father was a helicopter pilot in Vietnam and trained pilots when he came home. A brilliant man with a juris doctorate and an MDiv, today he barely speaks, held captive in his mind by cognitive decline. I remember him asking my siblings and I, when we would fight over some insignificant thing or other, "Where's the blood on the floor?" Until I was much older I didn't realize that he was trying to put things in perspective for us as only someone who had transported dead and dying men back to base while being shot at could do. A man of deep faith in God and a love of teaching, he bequeathed the same to me. I am grieving his loss, even while he remains here in body. My heart aches with you as you grieve for your father-in-law. May the peace of God, the One both of these men knew and loved, be with you and your family.
in the midst of the storm . . . the wonder and beauty of God is greater than anything else. I want to remember when I see the scared, cold, hungry children in Ukraine. When the destruction brought by insanity seems endless. I want to remember the wonder of God is greater than anything else.
Beautiful- thank you for writing tonight. 🙏🏽
Absolutely true. It's difficult not to worry but even then, God is there.
I love this, thank you. Very timely. 🙏🏼
I grew up in a railroad/farming community that became home to an Air Force base in the 1950's. As tv came, every night at sign off, High Flight was recited over film of sky, clouds, and plane. Of couse, many men came to CAFB to learn to fly F-111's. All left, some went to other bases, some went to Vietnam. Some came home, some were POW's, some are bones in a forest. These past 10 years, I have clung to the concept that God is here. Some days I believe it more than other days. The past 35 years, ok the past 45 years have challenged my faith. Not just the road the country has trotted down since Reagan but many personal roads. I believe Lord, heal my unbelief!! Many nights I recite the alphabet for as long as it takes. I saw a meme where a young girl said she gave God the letters so he could put the words together. Between my body and life and the world, that's all I can pray.
Beautiful. Thank you for blessing us with this you share tonight. ❤️🙏
When life’s a tempest raging without rest
When both within and all around I find
Gale winds and freezing doubt and hopelessness
Are battering shuttered windows of my mind—
When tropical storms of childhood now long past,
Anew their wild winds gathering to surround,
My heart’s engulfed, o’erwhelmed by bitter blast
No shelter from such fury can be found
When once again on life’s cruel barrier reef
The tides of my heart crash and break and die
I have but one small hope—to find relief
Within your love’s still circle, at last I
To blessed sanctuary may return—
The eye at the calm center of my storm
Beautiful and hopeful. Thank you. Have you read St. Exupéry's "Wind, Sand and Stars?" He has a description of flying through a thunderstorm that I've never forgotten, tho it's been at least 20 years since I read it. (I think a re-read is due)
When I was growing up and there were only 3 channels on TV they used to play a video at sign-off every night---yes we didnt have 24 hour TV--they signed off at midnight or 1 AM usually. Anyway this video showed a plane in flight and the poem was narrated in the background. It was beautiful and always made me feel close to God and the thought of heaven. Such a sweet time in our country to have that a nightly custom along with tge playing of the seat spangled banner afterward and then sign off!!!
At church on Sunday, our pastor gave us index cards and asked us to write one prayer for this new year, whatever was on our hearts, and leave it on the altar. Mine was: "Lord, help me feel your presence beside me every day." I need that right now, at a time when I feel surrounded by evil.
I remember learning "High Flight" from the TV station signoffs. But I turn to a different poem these days. The New Yorker magazine published it the week after 9/11. It spoke so much to that moment, I thought it must have been composed for the occasion. But the poem, "Try to Praise the Mutilated World," was written several years earlier by a Ukrainian-born poet, Adam Zagajewski, whose family, along with thousands of other Ukrainians of Polish descent, had been deported in cattle cars by the Russian army at the end of World War II. The poem is helping me remember God in this evil time.
Try to praise the mutilated world
Remember June's long days
And wild strawberries, drops of rosé wine,
The dew, the nettles that methodically overgrow
The abandoned homesteads of exiles.
You must praise the mutilated world.
You watched the stylish yachts and ships
One of them had a long trip ahead of it
While salty oblivion awaited others.
You've seen the refugees heading nowhere
You've heard the executioners sing joyfully.
You should praise the mutilated world.
Remember the moments when we were together
In a white room, and the curtains fluttered
Return in thought to the concert where music flared
You gathered acorns in the park in autumn
And leaves eddied over the earth's scars.
Praise the mutilated world
And the gray feather a thrust lost
And the gentle light that strays, and vanishes
And returns.
Thank you for reminding us that God is indeed still with us.
Beth, Bruce and I grieve with you and Jeb over the loss of his dad. Thank you for sharing this beautiful remembrance.
Diana
This poem says beautifully what I hope we all desire… with silent lifting mind to reach the untrespassed sanctity of space….. even when like you said, these storms are of our own making. Thank you for sharing.
I wish I could crank out books like Nijay!
Thank you, Beth. My father was a helicopter pilot in Vietnam and trained pilots when he came home. A brilliant man with a juris doctorate and an MDiv, today he barely speaks, held captive in his mind by cognitive decline. I remember him asking my siblings and I, when we would fight over some insignificant thing or other, "Where's the blood on the floor?" Until I was much older I didn't realize that he was trying to put things in perspective for us as only someone who had transported dead and dying men back to base while being shot at could do. A man of deep faith in God and a love of teaching, he bequeathed the same to me. I am grieving his loss, even while he remains here in body. My heart aches with you as you grieve for your father-in-law. May the peace of God, the One both of these men knew and loved, be with you and your family.
in the midst of the storm . . . the wonder and beauty of God is greater than anything else. I want to remember when I see the scared, cold, hungry children in Ukraine. When the destruction brought by insanity seems endless. I want to remember the wonder of God is greater than anything else.
Nice . .. any more words from me would be too many. Thanks Beth Allison