When the Blizzard is Over

Tea and Books

"You can never get a cup of tea large enough or a book long enough to suit me."
C. S. Lewis 

Here is Love

Here is love, vast as the ocean,
Lovingkindness as the flood,
When the Prince of Life, our Ransom,
Shed for us His precious blood.
Who His love will not remember?
Who can cease to sing His praise?
He can never be forgotten,
Throughout Heav’n’s eternal days.

On the mount of crucifixion,
Fountains opened deep and wide;
Through the floodgates of God’s mercy
Flowed a vast and gracious tide.
Grace and love, like mighty rivers,
Poured incessant from above,
And Heav’n’s peace and perfect justice
Kissed a guilty world in love.

    by William Rees

My Journey to Phoenix

At the Phoenix Zoo

The Superstition Mountains

Hiking to Massacre Falls

Massacre Falls

Hark! the herald angels sing

Hark! The herald angels sing,
“Glory to the newborn King;
Peace on earth, and mercy mild,
God and sinners reconciled!”
Joyful, all ye nations rise,
Join the triumph of the skies;
With th’angelic host proclaim,
“Christ is born in Bethlehem!”

Christ, by highest Heav’n adored;
Christ the everlasting Lord;
Late in time, behold Him come,
Offspring of a virgin’s womb.
Veiled in flesh the Godhead see;
Hail th’incarnate Deity,
Pleased with us in flesh to dwell,
Jesus our Emmanuel.

Hail the heav’nly Prince of Peace!
Hail the Sun of Righteousness!
Light and life to all He brings,
Ris’n with healing in His wings.
Mild He lays His glory by,
Born that man no more may die.
Born to raise the sons of earth,
Born to give them second birth

Come, Desire of nations, come,
Fix in us Thy humble home;
Rise, the woman’s conqu’ring Seed,
Bruise in us the serpent’s head.
Adam’s likeness, Lord, efface,
Stamp Thine image in its place: 
Second Adam from above,
 Reinstate us in Thy love.

The Hiding Place

..."My dear sister-in-law," Father began gently, "there is a joyous journey which each of God's children sooner of later sets out on. And, Jans, some must go to their Father empty-handed. but you will run to Him with hands full!"
"All your clubs..." Tante Anna ventured
"Your writings...," Mama added.
"The funds you've raised...," said Betsie.
"Your talks...," I began.
But our well-meant word were useless. In front of us the proud face crumpled; Tante Jans put her hands over her eyes and began to cry. "Empty, empty!" she choked at last through her tears. "How can we bring anything to God? What does He care for our little tricks and trinkets?"
And then as we listened in disbelief she lowered her hands and, with tears still coursing down her face, whispered, "Dear Jesus, I thank You that we must come with empty hands. I thank You that You have done all- all- on the cross, and that all we need in life of death is to be sure of this."


    ~ The Hiding Place by Corrie Ten Boom ~

The Wind Caves