Old 100 After One Hundred Musings

The number 100 plunges into my brain and triumphantly hauls out a memory or two...

Here's blond Natalie, standing beside her project that was required to be made out of one hundred "somethings." This time, the "somethings" were eggs and she spent days blowing out the gooey innards.

And Dad used to count to one hundred so speedily when we were playing hide and seek out in the woods that I couldn't rightly hear each number, but of course I knew that he wasn't cheating.

Then there's Gramdma, standing at the front of the little Drewsville, NH stone church, her Bible spread out before her. "I will be reading Psalm a hundred," she says with a smile. And she begins: "Shout joyfully to the LORD, all the earth. Serve the LORD with gladness, come before Him with Joyful singing...

For one hundred posts I have been trying to do that, trying to serve Him through memory, through song, through creativity, through experience, through being me. And He is yet there, much more consistent than my scanty and forgetful musings. He is beyond the regularity of my studies and the enthusiams of my inspirations. And He is much, much more faithful even than the 100th hymn that I sing far too infrequently:

"Great is thy faithfulness, oh God my Father
There is no shadow of turning with thee
Thou changest not, thy compassions they fail not
As Thou hast been, Thou forever wilt be.


"Summer and winter and springtime and harvest
Sun, moon, and stars in their courses above
Join with all nature in manifold witness
To Thy great faithfulness, mercy, and love.


"Pardon for sin and a peace that endureth
Thine own dear presence to cheer and to guide
Strength for today and bright hope for tomorrow
Blessings all mine with ten thousand beside.


"Great is thy faithfulness, great is thy faithfulness
Morning by morning new mercies I see
All I have need Thy hand has provided
Great is Thy faithfulness, Lord, unto me."

Love and Autumn

Today is one of those thoughtful days. The eighth anniversary of my grandfather's death, nearly a month marker since I began my fourth year of college and left my family in Vermont. And it is the first day of Autumn, the first day of fall 2009 which officially began at 5:18 this evening...

Every morning as I sit at the registration counter, I hear an insistent banging at the door at around 9:00 and look up to see them coming in, pushing their daughter to work in a wheel chair. It seems rather switched up-- they up and active, she looking tiny and frail, her hair white and fluffy and thin around her head as if it is one delicate dandelion puff that a sudden breeze might blow throughout the lobby. The unusual trio always looks up and wishes us all a good morning as they pass through and into the hallway, always cheerful, rather together-like. Several minutes later the elderly couple walk slowly back past my desk. I always notice then that they are somewhat stooped, their heads white too, and that they aren't perhaps the spry folks they once were. But then my eyes always stray down a little further to their hands for what I know I will see--fingers strong and tightly twined together.

The trees have begun just a little of their rosy-cheekedness around the parking lot and today the misty rain warmed up what will probably be the last wave of summer campus flowers. But there is a solemn beauty in it all that summer's ecstasy can't quite match.