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Tkougkts on S
HILLTOP—PAGE SIX
^
now
The snow is swirling outside
the window, tossed and blown by
the fierce wind. The flakes ap
pear to have no destiny as they
whirl through the air, always
looking for a place to alight, but
before they can reach it, they are
snatched away and blown by the
icy wind once more.
They are like my soul, tossed
by the winds of life, uncertain
as to where the pathway lies. I
seem to see the way open before
me; then, as I approach, I am
snatched away again. The beauti
ful turns out to be only a mirage.
I can find no peace. I am unsure
of myself, as the snowflakes seem
unsure of their ability to reach
the ground. I seem to find my
self unable to gain confidence in
my abilities. Then, even, as I feel
that I have found myself, I am
turned away by an unkind word,
an unfulfilled hope. Now the
wind catches the snow with a
new fierceness, and churns the
peaceful flakes that have fallen
to the ground. My soul aches with
a hopeless wish that things could
be different. I sympathize with
the whirling snowflakes, for I
know that if they could have
human emotions, they would feel
the same hopelessness of soul that
I feel now.
The wind is not so strong now.
The flakes begin to drift down
ward. Now they are settling on
the ground, covering everything
with their pure white beauty. The
brown ugliness of the bare earth
and trees is crowned with a
radiant white glory. A single
snowflake settles on the window
pane for an instant. It is small
and insignificant; yet it is per
fectly formed, beautiful, and dif
ferent from every other snow
flake.
Can it be that my troubled life
can become beautiful like the
snowflake which a second ago
was whirling through the air? Do
I have the ability to make my
life beautiful? Yet, the snowflakes
did not make themselves beauti
ful. They were each created by
God. If He can create each snow
flake in such a way. He can make
my life beautiful also. I must
learn to trust. I must believe
that there is a reason behind all
my disappointments. Rather than
trying to gain more self-confi
dence, 1 must gain an unwavering
faith in God. May I learn that
a power greater than I can better
see what is right for me. May
I have the faith to know that
things will work for good in the
end.
I
The snow has ceased to
now. The earth is covered '
its pure beauty. Everythin!
still and peaceful. My heaijp^
calmer now. The blind des
has been replaced by a quiet
The clouds are not as dark.pgj. ^
there seems to be a promise ^
blue sky soon. It seems to P^l^s
ise a blue sky for me, also. '
— - V ' living
1 have the strength to be like]
snowflake, even though
tc.
— o f
still beautiful in my soul aniij
Tot,
ne
^ ^ pp
ways seeking to beautify the (g
by my presence.
an, Si
an
JUi
Was
HeaUtif
iirsty
'eight
‘e still
nders
■Xty-N
The most wonderful things in our lives are not days, nor years,ater, ;
moments, nnotoi
The high points, the seconds when our souls are overflowed by *rther
by rapture, by beauty. eigent
It is not seeing the sea constantly that thrills us;
It is that moment when we first gaze upon it. ®
No picture, no words can ever show us the sea. i^it a
Our first view is our first knowledge and in that moment is caugliig
The depth, the power, the greatness of the sea. on co^
It is not the entire S5'mphony, but only that moment when the mk
reaches its peak.
That moment of perfect unification of sound that makes our h|
eel
ar
cry out in rapture.
•■ove h
It is not the day that thrills us;
It is that moment when the sun sets.
That moment of holy radiance and splendor
When all the blues and pinks and golds are sprinkled in perfect beVery j.^
That is the glory of the day.
i’/'zon
chanst
■ard, r
sring
It is not loving that enrautures us.
Peaceful and sweet though it be.
It is the eyes that meet, hands that touch.
Spoken words in gentle tones that give the Golden moments.
The
his
^Mbe]
^this
^Vith,
^Wri
It is not the hours of worship.
Though they be filled and beautiful.
It is those tiny moments in pra}’er
When suddenly God is very near that are the Precious moments, r
Our lives are like rose bushes in early spring.
There are thorns . . . sorrow, pain, unhappiness.
There are leaves ... the routine of daily life.
AJXN GARNER
i Here are icuvcb , . . uic iuuluic \ixny •,
Then, there are tiny rose buds, sprinkled with diamonds of
Mi
To ti
Was
Moments of Beauty.
a s
Sally RiC-
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