November 5th, 2015

have mercy on me

It is 12:18 PM Thursday afternoon. The sun is shining this afternoon. Praise God for Light! "There are many that say, Who will shew us any good? LORD, lift thou up the light of thy countenance upon us" Ps. 4:6

My wife and I got up this morning around 6:45 AM. I made oatmeal and a pot of coffee for breakfast. I ate my oatmeal messing with our main computer (my wife ate her oatmeal reading the morning newspaper). After breakfast Carol left for an in-service at the hospital. I wrote in my paper diary and read for devotions "Psalms 1-72" Reformation Commentary on Scripture on Psalm 4.

When Carol got home from her in-service she wanted to do yard work so we did that. So has gone by Time today for me.

Last night I read the crime novel "Strega" by Andrew Vachss till my wife got home from attending an event at a Missionary Thrift Store Africa's Child. We watched television shows I had taped for my wife. My wife went to bed early and I read late into the night "Strega". Now it is another day to shoot for the moon.

I do not know what else to report so I will close to drift through the day. Night is coming. "Stand in awe, and sin not: commune with your own heart upon your bed, and be still. Selah" Ps. 4:4

Psalms 4
[1] Hear me when I call, O God of my righteousness: thou hast enlarged me when I was in distress; have mercy upon me, and hear my prayer.
[2] O ye sons of men, how long will ye turn my glory into shame? how long will ye love vanity, and seek after leasing? Selah.
[3] But know that the LORD hath set apart him that is godly for himself: the LORD will hear when I call unto him.
[4] Stand in awe, and sin not: commune with your own heart upon your bed, and be still. Selah.
[5] Offer the sacrifices of righteousness, and put your trust in the LORD.
[6] There be many that say, Who will shew us any good? LORD, lift thou up the light of thy countenance upon us.
[7] Thou hast put gladness in my heart, more than in the time that their corn and their wine increased.
[8] I will both lay me down in peace, and sleep: for thou, LORD, only makest me dwell in safety.
  • Current Music
    Vic Chesnutt 'Skitter On Take-off'

the rapture I get when in writing I seem to be discovering what belongs to what

It is in the flow of being alive in union with Christ Jesus 1:55 PM Thursday afternoon. I did yard work with Carol and then I came inside because I was feeling cold and weak. I ate lunch and then I drifted through the moments of Time. Time will exist when my time is up. I have been reading this afternoon from a book titled, "The Art Of Time In Memoir: Then, Again" essays by Sven Birkerts. As I was reading this book I came across something that I found very insightful about why writers write.

"Reflecting on what it is that makes certain incidents and perceptions from the past stand out, Woolf theorizes that in some way they have provided a shock to the system. The passage can stand as a kind of manifesto or artist's statement, one especially applicable to the memoirist's enterprise: "I only know that many of these exceptional moments brought with them a peculiar horror and a physical collapse; they seemed dominant; myself passive. This suggests that as one gets older one has greater power through reason to provide an explanation; and that this explanation blunts the sledge-hammer force of the blow." The insight goes perfectly with Dillard's bedroom memory, the vividness of the imagining as it is then caged inside the bars of explanation.
Woolf continues:

I think this is true, because though I still have the peculiarity that I received these sudden shocks, they are now always welcome; after the first surprise always feel instantly that they are particularly valuable. And so I go on to suppose that the shock-receiving capacity is what makes me a writer. I hazard the explanation that a shock is at once in my case followed by the desire to explain it. I feel that I have had a blow; but it is not, as I thought as a child, simply a blow from an enemy hidden behind the cotton wool of daily life; it is the strongest pleasure known to me. It is the rapture I get when in writing I seem to be discovering what belongs to what. . . From this I reach what I might call a philosophy. . . that behind the cotton wool is hidden a pattern; that we-I mean all human beings-are connected with this; that the whole world is a work of art.

This demon of an idea, that there may be a pattern hidden behind the contingent-seeming procession of circumstance, is powerful in Woolf, and nearly overpowering in Nabokov. . ." pg. 45.46 Sven Birkerts
  • Current Mood
    contemplative contemplative