Excerpts from Orthodoxy, by Gilbert K. Chesterton, 16

I have explained that the fairy tales founded in me two convictions; first, that this world is a wild and startling place, which might have been quite different, but which is quite delightful; second, that before this wildness and delight one may well be modest and submit to the queerest limitations of so queer a kindness. But I found the whole modern world running like a high tide against both my tendernesses; and the shock of that collision created two sudden and spontaneous sentiments, which I have had ever since and which, crude as they were, have since hardened into convictions. First, I found the whole modern world talking scientific fatalism; saying that everything is as it must always have been, being unfolded without fault from the beginning. The leaf on the tree is green because it could never have been anything else. Now, the fairy-tale philosopher is glad that the leaf is green precisely because it might have been scarlet. He feels as if it had turned green an instant before he looked at it. He is pleased that snow is white on the strictly reasonable ground that it might have been black. Every colour has in it a bold quality as of choice; the red of garden roses is not only decisive but dramatic, like suddenly spilt blood.

Orthodoxy, first published in 1908, by G. K. Chesterton, is in the public domain, and available from Project Gutenberg. The previous post in this series is here.  Thanks for reading! Read Chesterton.

Waterdrops on Flowers: Two recent photos

Raindrops on a lavender plant, Lavandula (I think) taken in a church parking lot in San Diego, CA.



Raindrops on a yellow rose, somewhere in San Diego County (I forget where). Perhaps in the same church parking lot.

I like water drops in photos, and am grateful that I was able to take both of these photos in 2010. The photos above also serve as live links to the originals, which are larger, and posted on Flickr. No password is necessary to access my Flickr photostream.

Thanks for looking!

Death and roses

It happened this morning as I stood in my garden. Death suddenly jumped out from behind a bush, just when the thought came to me that one day the roses will still be here -- but I won't.
. . . Will I be able to accept death gracefully? With understanding? The years ahead of me are far fewer than those in the past. I pray for positive acceptance of my condition.
After I depart, the roses will manage very well without me, won't they, Jesus?
Malcolm Boyd, Prayers for the Later Years, Minneapolis, Augsburg, 2002, p. 60.

I thank one of our daughters for giving me this book for my most recent birthday.