October! That means it must be...

...wait for it...

PUMPKIN TIME!

Long time no post.

A few weeks ago we drove to southeastern North Carolina for the funeral of Mrs. RWP’s brother at the same time that Hurricane Joaquin and a second unnamed storm inundated that part of America’s coast with mucho agua. Agua is the Spanish word for water and mucho in this case means between seven and ten inches of the wet stuff. If you are not of a scientific bent, let me just tell you that that is a lot of rain. The trip was, to put it mildly, a trip. On the way back to Georgia, the car containing my two sons hydroplaned on Interstate 95 in South Carolina, but they managed to get home unharmed.

We recently returned home from another trip. We spent a few days in a beautiful cabin in the mountains of western North Carolina. The leaves were just beginning to turn. The temperature got down to 39 degrees Fahrenheit one morning but the days were clear, brisk, and fabulous. We were about the same distance from the coastal deluge experience as Sheffield, England, U.K. is from Antwerp, Belgium, but we were still in North Carolina. (Yes, Virginia, America is a big country.) I didn’t do any posting. I just stood on the deck and gazed at this:

and this:

and this:

and this:

We left refreshed, renewed, reinvigorated, and ready to return to whatever the future holds.

I knew you would understand.

God’s country (part 2 - the photograph)

I didn’t take the photo in today’s and yesterday’s post myself, so I am not able in good conscience to post it today on SkyWatch, but I am related to the person who did take it, and I was there when it happened, so I ought to know.

The photograher was my son. I was sitting about six feet away from him on a pontoon boat in the middle of Lake Lure, North Carolina, when he captured this unforgettable view. Fifteen of us in all had taken a two-hour cruise (I wish I could say “a three-hour tour” to make you think of Bob Denver and all the gang on Gilligan’s Island, but that just wouldn’t be true). There were six in our family plus a forty-ish couple from Michigan, another family of six from Macon, Georgia, and the captain/narrator of our voyage, a local summer resident whose lives the rest of the year in Tampa, Florida.

The brown haziness in the photograph is due partly to the fact that a small forest fire, apparently caused by lightning earlier in the afternoon, was burning high up on another part of Sugarloaf Mountain, out of sight on the left. We had seen it up close earlier on our cruise. The local folks were doing their best to put it out; we saw a helicopter outfitted with a large bucket suspended from a rope come to fill the bucket with more water from Lake Lure, then fly back to drop the water on the fire. So there was quite a bit of smoke in the sky, but it made the photograph take on an interesting quality that I am unable to define.

We were in Buffalo Bay in the middle of the lake when my son took the picture. Our guide said Lake Lure was over a hundred feet deep at that point. Then he let our grandson, soon to be twelve, take the helm or wheel or throttle or whatever it was for about five minutes, to his and everyone else’s delight, as we began the trip back to the north end of the lake. Whether it was a grand, generous gesture on the guide’s part or merely trolling for a big tip, I’m not sure, but it certainly made Matthew’s day.

I’m sorry I couldn’t put this on SkyWatch, but maybe some of you will tell a few friends, and they’ll tell a few friends....

[I wanted to post a picture here of the cast of Gilligan’s Island, but all the ones I found were copyrighted, the best-laid plans of mice and men gang aft agley and all that, so you’ll just have to picture them all in your mind’s eye: Gilligan, the Skipper, Ginger, Mary Ann, and -- who could forget? -- Mr. and Mrs. Thurston Howell, III.]

God's country

We (Mrs. Rhymeswithplague and I) have just returned from a short vacation in one of the most beautiful places we have ever seen. God’s country. It could be almost anywhere, but the photo above happens to be the Hickory Nut Gorge section of Lake Lure in the mountains of western North Carolina. If I remember correctly, Sugarloaf Mountain is on the left, and Buffalo Mountain (also called The Lady of the Lake) is on the right. It is sunset and we are looking westward, in the direction of the city of Asheville. In the center, off in the distance, the tallest mountain is Mount Pisgah. The Old Testament has the original Mount Pisgah, which is also called Mount Nebo (see Deuteronomy 34:1). It is in the land of Moab (the modern country of Jordan) and is the place where God gave Moses a glimpse of The Promised Land.

In 1845, a man named William W. Walford wrote the words we know as the familiar hymn, “Sweet Hour of Prayer” and William B. Bradbury set it to music in 1861. The fourth verse of the hymn mentions Mount Pisgah. Here are all four verses of “Sweet Hour of Prayer”:


Sweet hour of prayer! sweet hour of prayer!
That calls me from a world of care,
And bids me at my Father’s throne
Make all my wants and wishes known.
In seasons of distress and grief,
My soul has often found relief
And oft escaped the tempter’s snare
By thy return, sweet hour of prayer!

Sweet hour of prayer! sweet hour of prayer!
The joys I feel, the bliss I share,
Of those whose anxious spirits burn
With strong desires for thy return!
With such I hasten to the place
Where God my Savior shows His face,
And gladly take my station there,
And wait for thee, sweet hour of prayer!

Sweet hour of prayer! sweet hour of prayer!
Thy wings shall my petition bear
To Him whose truth and faithfulness
Engage the waiting soul to bless.
And since He bids me seek His face,
Believe His Word and trust His grace,
I’ll cast on Him my every care,
And wait for thee, sweet hour of prayer!

Sweet hour of prayer! sweet hour of prayer!
May I thy consolation share,
Till, from Mount Pisgah’s lofty height,
I view my home and take my flight:
This robe of flesh I’ll drop and rise
To seize the everlasting prize;
And shout, while passing through the air,
“Farewell, farewell, sweet hour of prayer!”


Think of your favorite place on earth, the place that inspires you like no other, the place that makes you catch your breath. No matter where it is, it is only a shadow of The Promised Land. It could be western North Carolina; or Montana; or Banff in Canada; or Maui in Hawaii; or the Alps in Switzerland; or a starry sky at midnight; or amber fields of waving grain; or an endless white sand beach with clear, turquoise, tropical water; or your private place of prayer; or your family dinner table -- it could be anywhere. It is where, if you have eyes to see and ears to hear, God is giving you a glimpse of The Promised Land. If it is beautiful, if it makes you long for more, if it makes you wish it would never end, it is a special place. It is God's country.