"Far away the noise of strife upon my ear is falling" is the first line of an old hymn called "Dwelling In Beulah Land".
"Master, the tempest is raging, the billows are tossing high" is the first line of an old hymn called "Peace! Be Still".
If you find those two facts interesting, you probably need to get out more.
Both of those hymns were playing on my mental radio early this morning, put there by (excuse the expression) that great disc jockey in the sky.
On this day in the year 1946 in the town of Seekonk, Massachusetts, my mother married the man I thought for many years was my father, but he was actually my stepfather. It is odd to think of him in that way. The word does not roll trippingly off the tongue. Not from mine, anyway. He has always been my dad, for better or worse, even though he wasn't.
Somehow it seems oddly fitting in a weird sort of way that thinking of my parents' wedding anniversary was juxtaposed in my brain today with thoughts of the noise of strife and the raging tempest. There were many such moments in our house. There was very little peace or stillness over the years. We were definitely not dwelling in Beulah Land.
This post is short. I'm sorry that it isn't also sweet.
Definitely not Church of England hymns.
ReplyDeleteTasker, they are Methodist for sure and. I think older Baptists would know them as well. They are not in the current Methodist Hymnal but we’re staples in the Cokesbury Hymnal we sang out of in my youth. Younger folk may not know them.. (Note. Cokesbury used to be the name of the U.S. Methodists’ publishing house and all their bookstores (few, if any, are left). It is a combination of the names Thomas Coke and Francis Asbury, two early American Methodist bishops sent out by John Wesley in the late 18th century.)
DeleteYou seem to be trying not to share some conflicting emotions. I am sorry for the painful ones.
ReplyDeleteEmma, yes, I would say that hate and love are conflicting. A psychiatrist probably would have a field day with me. Just when I think I’ve made some progress in forgiving and forgetting, old memories come flooding in. In many ways my father was a good man — honest, hard-working, loyal — but he was a very hard taskmaster and his way had to be the only way. I’m still feeling the effects of being raised and disciplined by him at age 80. It’s crazy. I don’t like to let my issues overflow into my blog but some days they do.
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