Here's to Resurrection

Ok, I have decided to resurrect this blog.  With me and my outlandish ideas, I decided last year that I wanted to keep a blog.  Well, that failed with miserably and epically.

So, here's to trying this out one more time.  Here's to resurrecting a dead blog; proof that even dead things can live again and have life.  It is in this period of Springtime that we see the dead of winter giving way to the life of Spring--brown vegetation becoming green, slothful and desolate people becoming jovial and vivacious, and the wombs of the mother animals becoming productive once more in birthing and producing youngins.  

And it is in this time that I view and rejoice in the proof of the existence of man's creator in nature, for all of nature sings and gives testemant to the existence of God the creator.  Nevertheless, I also mourn the loss of how man views such a creator.  More and more I see man taking ownership for what he has accomplished in life.  Man says to himself, "See what I have done.  See the work I have finished.  See my business that I have created from nothing--see how is grows and blooms and has given me success.  That alone tells me that this world could have and did come from nothing."  And in this he forgets the one who has created him; man reasons Him away.

Bearing this in mind, I think of a poem by William Wordsworth, "Written in Early Spring." 

In it, Wordsworth writes of all the beauty of nature that is around him in the Springtime and that pleasure can be found in such things, but he turns and laments on "what man has made of man."   Ah, even then man tried to escape the pleasure that is found in heaven-sent beauty and he tries to replace it with his own which hardly suffices.  

Ah, so it is in the resurrection of the dead of winter in new life of Spring that ultimately leads us to the Resurrection of Christ and the freedom that that brings.  The freedom to enjoy creation in a new light and not feel like we have to replace anything.

"Written in Early Spring" 

by William Wordsworth

I heard a thousand blended notes
While in a grove I sat reclined,
In that sweet mood when pleasant thoughts
Bring sad thoughts to the mind.

To her fair works did Nature link
The human soul that through me ran;
And much it grieved my heart to think
What Man has made of Man.

Through primrose tufts, in that sweet bower,
The periwinkle trailed its wreaths;
And 'tis my faith that every flower
Enjoys the air it breathes.

The birds around me hopped and played,
Their thoughts I cannot measure - 
But the least motion which they made
It seemed a thrill of pleasure.

The budding twigs spread out their fan
To catch the breezy air;
And I must think, do all I can,
That there was pleasure there.

If this belief from heaven be sent,
If such be Nature's holy plan,
Have I not reason to lament
What Man has made of Man?