We have all heard a warning or word of wisdom about our usage of time. Songs have cautioned us about how quickly it sneaks by. Books and seminars talk about time management. Our society prides itself on being busy and squeezing so much into so little time. We run from one meeting to another or one building to another. We are always racing against time. William Penn said, “Time is what we want most, but what we use worst.” There is one thing that can never slip through the hands of time. Only one thing (for the subject of this blog) can feel as though it slows time down. This is not the case, but it feels like it.
Psalms 90:12 in the Bible says, “So teach us to number our days, That we may gain a heart of wisdom.” There are so many moments in life that we need to slow down long enough to enjoy. This verse seems to be telling me to slow down. It is saying to understand the amount of time we have on this earth. It tells of the only thing (in this moment) that is worthy of noticing…Purpose.
I recently read an article that had a hidden story of purpose within it. The article was about a date seed that was over 2,000 years old. It was found in an excavation site in 1963. The seed was preserved in a receptacle used to trash date seeds after the date was eaten. It had been sealed until it was opened in 1963. They called the seed “Methuselah” because of the age. They made sure the seed was viable and able to reproduce. Finally, they decided to plant the 2,000 plus year old seed to see what would happen. IT GREW!!!
What I received from this article is a greater understanding of purpose. Even though the seed was ancient, it still had purpose within it. It had been preserved and still held on to it’s purpose. Though it was 2,000 years later, a different environment and different location, it still let what was inside of it out. As I finished reading the article, I began to think about the people that are still trapped in a receptacle. Thrown away by the world and never really able to get out of the funk they live in. They still have purpose. We all still have purpose. There is still a place for us to be planted and cultivated. We are sometimes too distracted with things to do instead of the people we can become. This seed was just waiting to fulfill it’s purpose. It had to wait 2,000 years to do it. How long will we wait? Benjamin Franklin quipped, “You may delay, but time will not.” Time keeps on slipping into the future.
DIY: cacti and succulents stacked planters
- DIY Metallic Glassware (thethriftywitch.wordpress.com)
- Tutorial – Shabby Succulent Birdcage Planter (etsychristmasinjuly.wordpress.com)
- cacti (artkidcoco.wordpress.com)
- Pigface and persimmon (onesownearth.wordpress.com)
[Terry: I am not going to look, but what do you imagine “pigface” to be?]
W.O.W. Words of Wisdom
Time keeps slipping
Caught between nomadic & transient tales, and the odd poem knot. Nothing grand, just worlds, thoughts, and the occasional short piece of chaos.
Originally growing up in a small town (more like a village) on the central highlands of Queensland, where the rain doesn’t fall much, and water from near by creeks, runs a rich red-brown colour across a vast expanse of country. Having three brothers and one sister, all of which are now scattered through out the globe now, the local bushland was their playground, a land of made up stories and countless days of fun.
Skipping along to 1987, where the world felt like it changed a lot, last year of high school, my mother lost the battle for her health, the world of working for a living was at the doorstep. Three other siblings were still going through school, and an elder brother was living and working at the edge of the South-Western highlands, where on occasions the waters can run fast and deep.
Well that was how things started out, soon I was off to the city, off to become a nurse. A few things changed along the way though, the first six months I spent homeless, sleeping on peoples’ floors, looking for employment, and having a look around. As coming from a small town of maybe 200 people on a good day, things were a little different in the city, kind of novel.
Walking the night ; is about some of the experience of the first city job, mainly the walking home part, as it was shift work, and public transport stopped before it came knock off time.
Going to add a line a day, draw it out a little.
via About | Sean Bidd.
Initially a small comment on Latoya’s poem, “Woman”, together we came up with “Summers’ Wildflowers” as a duet. Happy escape for the season!
(by Latoya & Sean Bidd)
Reaching between the red cracked clay
Where the rains passed last wet season
And gave beauty meaning and reason
To be anything but dry because wildflowers were alive
And had eyes that saw everything
Of colors out beyond eyes reach
Buried between the martyrs of fall
Preserving its innocents
Waiting to be beckoned
To kiss the rain again
The aroma brings a shift in power
As the moon shines on
A summer of wildflowers
Here is a bit of a story being worked, it’s taking its time as I am still unsure where it is going, or what’s going to happen, but it all started waking up in an empty bed to a storm at 3am, with my better half’s black cat staring out the open window into the lightning, wind, and rain. So I had a place to start… and the story, well it’s evolving, ever so slow… Read on please.
Guests of the peninsular
As he lay there in bed, the alarm clock flashing 3am, but who knew the real time, as the power had gone out earlier that night. Lying there, just staring out past the black cat sitting on the windowsill at the open window. Both peering out into the space beyond the teaming rain, as the lightning flashes and the thunder cracks their merry dance.
To Creek, the sweet sounds of the storm that he fell asleep to some hours before lull for just the briefest of moments, a faint voice pricks his ears. Creek rubs his eyes, unsure if he is awake, or dreaming. And there it is again. A call for help of some kind, Creek thinks, a voice in any case. Bouncing to his feet, as the black cat darts back into the room from the open window, Creek takes a close look out the window, straining his ears to detect the voice in the storm.
Throwing some clothes and a pair of boots on quickly, he grabs his all weather coat, flood lamp, and his remote location medical kit as he heads out the door thinking, who would be out this wild weather on a remote peninsular in the middle of nowhere almost. Stopping under the covered roof of the gated entrance to the yard, Creek looks around trying to decipher the direction of the voice amongst the rain, thunder, and wind.
With the flood light turned on, Creek begins to do a sweep from left to right, when he hears a number of voices yelling through the downpour. Turning the light in the direction of the shouts, Creek can make out three shadowed figures’, he sets off in their direction.
As Creek gets closer, he can see a fourth figure lying on the ground in the rain and mud, with two of the other figures kneeling over them.
“What’s up, everyone okay?” Creek asks loudly as clap of thunder almost drowns out his question.
“Great, you’ve got a kit. What do you have in it?” comes a female voice from one of the rain-drenched figures kneeling on the ground.