Through the Veil

Reading time with Shawn… Beautiful thoughts.


“Lonely as every man in his highest moments of spiritual vision, yea in his simplest consciousness of duty, turns his face towards the one Father, his own individual maker and necessity of his life; painfully as he may then feel that the best beloved understands not as he understands, feels not as he feels; he is yet, in his most isolated adoration of the Father of his spirit, nearer every one of the beloved than when eye meets eye, heart beats responsive to heart, and the poor dumb hand seeks by varied pressure to tell the emotion within. Often then the soul, with its many organs of utterance, feels itself but a songless bird, whose broken twitter hardens into a cage around it; but even with all those organs of utterance in full play, he is yet farther from his fellow-man than when he is praying to the Father in a desert place apart. The man who prays, in proportion to the purity of his prayer, becomes a spiritual power, a nerve from the divine brain, yea, perhaps a ganglion as we call it, whence power anew goes forth upon his fellows. He is a redistributor, as it were, of the divine blessing; not in the exercise of his own will—that is the cesspool towards which all notions of priestly mediation naturally sink—but as the self- forgetting, God-loving brother of his kind, who would be in the world as Christ was in the world. When a man prays for his fellow-man, for wife or child, mother or father, sister or brother or friend, the connection between the two is so close in God, that the blessing begged may well flow to the end of the prayer. Such a one then is, in his poor, far-off way, an advocate with the Father, like his master, Jesus Christ, The Righteous. He takes his friend into the presence with him, or if not into the presence, he leaves him with but the veil between them, and they touch through the veil.


Excerpt From: George MacDonald. “Miracles of Our Lord.”


~ Watergirl


True Men and Women

True men and women are superheroes; they are princes, warriors and titans, and their labor of love is never ending. I don’t think we can ever give a mother or father all the gratitude and praise they deserve; I think if we could see all the sleepless nights, the countless hours, the tears and endless labors of one single parent, the standing ovation and honor flowing from the hearts of their fellow men would never cease. I am always struck by the thought of all the men and women that surround us, laboring quietly, steadily and patiently without much note or appreciation in the great fields of this earth. And, amazingly, they get up and do it all over again the next day, and the next.

And so if I ever see someone going about their business patiently, standing strong where they might reasonably have faltered, pushing through where they might have given up, or keep alive in their hearts the hope of a better day when all around seems dark, I pray I will not hold back what little praise I can give. It may not be worth much coming from simple human lips as mine, but it is the voice of one who works beside you, sees your work, and knows that you labor not in vain. And I imagine what small honor this heart can give, will one day be joined by millions of others who will one day know the good you have done, and what a great and beautiful thing it really was.

But until then, may you continue to find the strength to get through the darkest of days, may you find the answers to the questions you face, and may your step not falter as you follow what you know to be true. And as you rise up to do what your heart tells you is right, may angels come to your aid, whispering words of guidance, comfort, and cheer. And may the star of hope shine ever bright in your heart, and always leading you home, whispering meanwhile, “Courage, Dear heart 1 – all things will come to right.”




1 “Courage, Dear heart,” from C.S. Lewis’ The Voyage of the Dawn Treader