“Come Sunday”

Sr. Dorcee:

From the archives . . .

Originally posted on Witnesses to Hope:

Come Sunday

Lord, dear Lord of love, God Almighty, God above,
Please look down and see my people through.

I believe that God put sun and moon up in the sky.
I don’t mind the gray skies ’cause they’re just clouds passing by.
He’ll give peace and comfort to every troubled mind,
Come Sunday, oh come Sunday, that’s the day.

Often we feel weary but he knows our every care.
Go to him in secret, he will hear your every prayer.
Up from dawn till sunset, man works hard all day,
Come Sunday, oh come Sunday, that’s the day.

(Duke Ellington)

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Beautiful and Terrible Things Will Happen

Originally posted on Barnstorming:




Here is the world.
Beautiful and terrible things will happen.
Don’t be afraid.
~Frederich Buechner

(Two local teens died in separate roll over car accidents yesterday)

Most days I depend on beauty
happening in the most unexpected places
and go looking for it.
But when the terrible crushes, bleeds and fractures us,
beauty hides its face,
what I fear most
is that I’ll not ever see beauty happen again.

We are told, again and again and again
every single day, if only we can hear:
here I am with you in this broken world-
do not be afraid
do not be afraid
do not be afraid




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Stepping Into The Minefield (To Those Who Love A Depressed Person)

Originally posted on john pavlovitz:


Life with depression is precarious business.

It’s like living full-time in a minefield.

You never quite get comfortable with your surroundings, even when things seem quiet. You always move gingerly, knowing full well that any step could blow it all up and send you reeling again; a bit of bad news, a difficult moment, or worse seemingly nothing at all. And every single time something triggers the sadness and that inner detonation occurs, parts of you get ripped up and shredded—and losing a bit of yourself in this way never gets easier.

One of the things most people don’t understand is the way mental illness isolates you, how it forces you to the periphery of all of your relationships because you know how unstable the ground you walk on each day is and how quickly everything can get ugly. You desperately want to avoid the collateral damage to people you love, so you learn to keep them…

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Sr. Dorcee:

A Sunday-poem . . .

Originally posted on Witnesses to Hope:

A Sunday-poem by Amy Carmichael:


We cannot bring Thee praise like golden noon-light
  Shining on earth's green floor;
Our song is more like silver of the moon-light,
  But we adore.

We cannot bring Thee, O Belovèd, ever,
  Pure song of woodland bird;
And yet we know the song of Thy least lover
  In love is heard.

O blessèd be the love that nothing spurneth;
  We sing, Love doth enfold
Our little song in love; our silver turneth
  To fine spun-gold.

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“But Not Without Wine”

Originally posted on Witnesses to Hope:

A Sunday-poem from Jessica Powers about our God who is a God of prodigality:

But Not Without Wine

“You are drunk, but not with wine.”  (Isaiah 51.21)

O God of too much giving, whence is this
inebriation that possesses me,
that the staid road now wanders all amiss
and that the wind walks much too giddily,
clutching a bush for balance or a tree?
How then can dignity and pride endure
with such inordinate mirth upon the land,
when steps and speech are somewhat insecure
and the light heart is wholly out of hand?

If there be indecorum in my songs,
fasten the blame where rightly it belongs:
on Him who offered me too many cups
of His most potent goodness–not on me,
a peasant who, because a king was host,
drank out of courtesy.

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The best promise of this life

Sr. Dorcee:

Friday: from the archives

Originally posted on Witnesses to Hope:

“Everything that happens to you is for your own good.  If the waves roll against you, it only speeds your ship toward the port.  If lightning and thunder comes, it clears the atmosphere and promotes your soul’s health.  You gain by loss, you grow healthy in sickness, you live by dying, and you are made rich in losses.  Could you ask for a better promise?  It is better that all things should work for my good than all things should be as I would wish to have them.  All things might work for my pleasure and yet might all work my ruin.  If all things do not always please me, they will always benefit me.  This is the best promise of this life.” (Charles Haddon Spurgeon)

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A Thousand Thousand Reasons

Sr. Dorcee:

One reason is enough.

Originally posted on Barnstorming:





There are a thousand thousand reasons to live this life, every one of them sufficient.
Marilynne Robinson in Gilead

There are a thousand thousand people on any given day who cannot think of one sufficient reason to live this life.
There are a few thousand who will decide this is their last day.
There are a few who say goodbye.

It is enough for me to find just one reason to live today.
It is enough for me to help someone else find just one reason today.
One is enough.
Fully sufficient.



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‘The God of hope’ hopes for us

Sr. Dorcee:

Friday: from the archives.

Originally posted on Witnesses to Hope:

Some mornings it’s hard for me to choose which gem to share with you.  .  .  but this is the one that I finally decided upon.  It’s another from Amy Carmichael.  She looks at how Jesus always had hope for His disciples, and so this is true for us as well. She’s commenting on Romans 15:13: May the God of hope fill you with all joy and peace in believing, so that by the power of the Holy Spirit you may abound in hope.

     These words have often helped us to go on hoping for those who were disappointing us.  But this morning they came differently to me.
     ‘Ye are they which have continued with Me in My temptations.’  A few hours later — ‘Could ye not watch with Me one hour?’  Very soon after — ‘All the disciples forsook Him and fled.’
     ‘They have kept Thy word’ …

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Prayer to God the Holy Spirit (2)

Originally posted on Witnesses to Hope:

Come, perpetual joy.
Come, unwitherable wreath.
Come, O purple raiment of our Lord and God.
Come, girdle, clear as crystal and many-coloured with precious gems.
Come, inaccessible refuge.
Come, Thou whom my poor soul desireth and hath desired.
Come, lonely One, to the lonely one–for lonely I am, as Thou canst see.
Come, Thou who hast become my longing, for that Thou hast ordained,
that I must needs long for Thee whom no human breath has ever reached.
Come, my breath and my life.
Come, joy, glory, and my incessant delight.

~Symeon the New Theologian

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