Wind of His Spirit

Recently I was sitting in my car in a large parking lot when I noticed a small vortex about twenty feet tall.

 It picked up a trail of yellow, red, orange, and gold leaves as it twirled and whirled along its way.

 There it was in all its brilliant glory--for one small moment in time--myriad colors spiraling in the noonday sunlight--my breath came sharp.

And almost as soon as it had come, it was gone.

I couldn't help but wonder if I had been the only who witnessed this magnificent display.

And if I was, why?  Was there a meaning?  Was God speaking to me through this autumnal swirl?

If nothing else it gave me cause to sit in silence, to ponder the workings of the universe, to realize that no man is an island unto himself and to know this:

When we move with the wind of the Holy Spirit letting it gather each of us in a gust of glorious unison, the world will watch in awe as they long to breathe the pure oxygen of this Triune Iron Lung--the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit.

© all photographs, art and text property of Elizabeth Dianne unless otherwise noted

Hold His Light High!

While visiting a friend recently I saw a piece of art that depicted this scene: a prisoner stowed away in a dark cave holding a page of the book he was reading aloft as it burned and produced light for him to read the next page.

That was all the light there was--the one burning page.

 As he read each page, he would tear it out of the book, hold it to the previous page which had now burned down to ashes.

What a choice!

And what if the book were the Bible?

That piece of art really made me stop and think.

What would it be like to have to make a choice like that--to know that all you have is going up in flames to give light and knowledge for that moment?

So today as I read God's Word I will imagine it as the One Source of True Light that I have--

I will trust that its message produces in me lasting wisdom and knowledge.

And I will believe that its light held aloft will draw all people to Christ.

And I, when I am lifted up from the earth, will draw all people to myself." John 12:32

© all art, photography and text property of Elizabeth Dianne unless otherwise noted

A World of Octobers

Joining Kim at Texture Tuesday today

Also joining Tuesday Muse

I used 1 layer of Kim's musiclovin' at 100% opacity

All art, text, photography, copyright of Elizabeth Dianne unless otherwise noted

Faith Is

Faith is knowing there is a blue sky behind the heavy fog and that I will see it again. Faith is knowing that God is faithful and will provide the blue skies again--whatever circumstances we are going through, God is faithful to provide for His children.

Now faith is confidence in what we hope for and assurance about what we do not see. Hebrews 11:1a

© all photographs, art and text property of Elizabeth Dianne unless otherwise noted

I Am From..............

Some bloggers are writing their personal stories from the perspective of "I Am From"

i.e. see Elizabeth's post.

I read Elizabeth's post before I wrote this one of my own but decided to not read the one she linked to until after I had written my own.

I wanted to have my own original thoughts as much as possible.

Now I am anxious to go back and read the one she linked to.


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I Am From


I am from the years of World War II--from a father who did not know I had been born until thirty 

days afterwards, and who did not see me for over a year.

I am from a civil war area, the war torn land of Arkansas,

a land where the Cherokee, Choctaw, Chickasaw, Creek and Seminole Indians left a trail of tears that

soaked the delta along the Mississippi River, the fields of bright white cotton,

the rolling hills and valleys of central Arkansas as they trudged forward looking towards the opalescent

 skies and the rugged sapphire, amber and jade mountains 

of the Ouachitas and the Ozarks as they made their way across Arkansas and finally

 reached the designated Indian Territory now known as Oklahoma.

I am from another lifetime--

slow, lethargic days of summer that seemed to go on endlessly--

days without television and malls.

Days filled with sitting on the front porch shelling peas with my mother, aunts, cousins and 

grandmother, 

--with sopping her biscuits in red-eye gravy

and going to the fields with my grandfather and watching him thump the watermelons 

until he chose the "just right" one,

hours of going behind him gathering potatoes as he and his mule plowed the furrows and

unearthed the treasures to be stored in my grandmother's food cellar.

I come from a time of small country churches heated by pot-bellied wood stoves,

wooden slatted benches that left deep marks on one's legs after sitting

for hours at the all day fellowship meetings held every fifth Sunday of the month.

In summer those same churches were not air conditioned

and had no fans of any kind--well, just the hand-held kind that came from the funeral home.

Towards mid-afternoon after all the water jugs had been drained dry and the babies had fallen asleep in

spite of the heat, I remember the dry parched roughness of my throat--

I remember the almost absolute stillness with the buzzing of the flies, the slow, drawled words of a 

boring speaker--

and then, the banjos, fiddles, tambourines, guitars, mandolins, accordions, and piano

would give a charge of electricity to the meeting and all thoughts of thirst were forgotten

as praises extended to the highest heavens and a sweet breeze blew through that little country church.

I come from the days of dinner on the ground--yes, laid out on the ground on red-checkered cloths--

from old men standing around swapping old news while some of the children played tag 

and others drew circles on the ground and played marbles until they got blisters on their thumbs.

I come from the days of baptisms in a country creek--

yes, I remember holding hands with a long line of my friends as we gingerly made our 

way out into the cool gurgling waters of the rocky creek and one by one as a symbol of our faith

in the death, burial, and resurrection of Jesus who paid the price for the remission of our sins,

went down in the murky darkness and came up into a bath of sunlight.

Even the rocky creek bottom felt like we were dancing on air!


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*end of first segment of I Am From*

all art, photography and text copyright material of Elizabeth Dianne except where otherwise noted