Ryan, Holding Gladys, His Baby in Red, and Astraea, His Niece

My son-in-law, besides being a great husband for my daughter and a wonderful daddy for my granddaughter, is also a talented singer and musician. He can play several instruments, sing too, and he’s a clever lyricist.

God has greatly blessed me with both of my sons-in-law. I’m so happy to have them! Here’s the lyrics Ryan wrote to this song, he designed and sang himself.

I was lost, I was free/You told everyone we wouldn’t last a week Now we’re here, for all to see/Spittin’ their words like weapons cuz baby talk is cheap You can call me winter the dawning of spring/I’ll hold you close but you gotta believe/I know one day we’ll be…Livin’ in the Free World

The prophets spoke, the end is near/Missed their turn and took broadway out beyond the pier We stayed stoned, in luxury/Takin’ our turns cutting line ’til one day the prophets sang You can call me winter the dawning of spring/I’ll hold you close but you gotta believe/I know one day we’ll be…Livin’ in the Free World

Late at night, I heard the thief/With steps like thunder in the hour of judgement the world asleep Tried to wake you, you couldn’t believe/Never the same by the mornin’ now we stand in His glory

So I go, to a world unseen/This trail never ends if we can ever make it off this dead end street You can call me winter the dawning of spring/I’ll hold you close but you gotta believe/I know one day we’ll be…Livin’ in the Free World

Christmas has washed up to the door again,

Like a wave of shimmer lights tinkling downhill,

They’re pretty and the mood delicate,

But the flashy stuff of dreams won’t stay still;

 

So I can grab on and linger,

Cherish reading stories to kids and singing songs,

Hold on to the light of their faces,

Know loving them is where I belong;

 

It’s the big fancy gift that God has given me,

Along with the piles of treasures under the tree,

Children, and more ‘love you!’s than I can count,

Is there a ruler measuring hugs squeezed on me;

 

Although this is grand and such a lovely gift;

I was a child once myself long ago,

I prayed ‘Now I Lay Me’ and God listened,

His love still surrounds me like blankets in the snow.

 

 

 

Leagues of years will pass, mankind at peace,

City of Moonlight will thrive, land underneath cease,

Longing for hallways of water, the home of the Mere.

Allowing something new, mankind’s children to play here.

 

Watery Gate won’t last forever, the city of moonlight forgets,

Stone of Ketursh is the only eye open, a daily watch it sets.

Moonlight’s hands dip in the Watery Stone, till the one is born,

He will restore Ketursh’s gate, calling the Mere forth like a horn.

 

When the ninth son of the ninth son of the ninth son is here,

The Nine Bells of Galigali will toll loud and clear,

Yet beware when the Nine Bells, their trumpet calls send,

Time is running short and the city of Moonlight will end.’

(Here is a poem from my current WIP, describing the peril the beautiful city of Moonlight is in, and who must be found to save it.)

Just outside my window the sky is a delicate winter blue. The sun is shining on the bark of my dogwood tree, clean like a memory of Springtime. The wind is tapping in gentle gusts.

All of this is reminding me, of joy.

People talk about the difference between joy and happiness. Happiness is connected to our experiences, they say. Happiness is given to those with healthy minds and bodies and bank accounts. Happiness is fleeting.

But joy, they say, that runs deeper and apart from circumstance. Christians are supposed to grow in joy.  Jesus is the light of the world. He is the God of all comfort and He loves us.

So many sorrows everywhere, and such large unfixable problems. A lot of mistakes and letting go of dreams. Work and work avoidance. I could focus on these things and lose sight.

But looking out my window today, I remembered Springtime.

‘Thou must joy’, we are told. ‘Joy in the midst of sorrow…’ This is spiritual maturity. This is the job of joy.

And yet, today, I feel it stealing in, like a fragrance of flower petals tinged with a glint of sunshine. I understand something I never realized before.

Joy isn’t old, it’s young. It isn’t in the winter of our lives that we finally figure out how to earn it. We, like little children, pass off our problems to God and dance and sing and find peace. Because God is so nifty and circular and all-inclusive. Old, young and everywhere in between. Winter and Springtime and right now.

I love Jesus, my dearest friend, and God the Father, who takes care of me.