Out of the Depths.

New favorite song from Sovereign Grace's Psalms CD.

Out of the Depths
by Bob Kauflin

Verse 1
Out of the depths, O Lord, I cry to You.
When I am tempted to despair.
Though I might fail to trust Your promises,
You never fail to hear my prayer.
And if you judged my sin,
I'd never stand again,
But I see mercy in Your hands.

Chorus
So more than watchmen for the morning,
I will wait for You, my God.
When my fears come with no warning,
in Your Word I'll put my trust.
When the harvest time is over and I still see no fruit,
I will wait, I will wait for You.

Verse 2
The secret mysteries belong to You.
We only know what You reveal.
And all my questions that are unresolved
Don't change the wisdom of Your will.
In every trial and loss my hope is in the cross
Where your compassions never fail.

Roses have no scent: Musings from my front lawn.

"Stop and smell the roses," they always say. So I did that today. But I couldn't really smell anything. Maybe it's because I have a slight cold. But I took some deep breaths, and still, nothing. So I moved on to the next flowers - sampaguita - a quite pungeunt smell. I walked around the garden in my front yard and smelled the flowers. I don't think I've ever done that before, even after living at this house for 20 years of my life. Maybe I have, during those childhood days when I used to turn the small front-yard garden into a tropical rainforest, where behind each bush rustling, there was a tiger or a zebra or an elephant. But those days are gone now.

Anyways, I sat on my front lawn for the first time in over a year. One or two cars passed by, but it wasn't even really on my street. There were no people walking around. I guess that's how it is in the middle of the day in the suburbs. I could hear the gentle trickle of my neighbor's man-made waterfall, or was that just a hose leaking? The light and airy breeze flowed through the windchimes, making an undistinguished melody. I could hear the faraway sound of the freeway and the whizz of a motorcycle, or maybe that was some kind of gardening tool? A lawnmower to keep the grass cut and straight. Front lawns have to be maintained in the suburbs. Otherwise, the city complains.

I miss the sound of the tricycles, the motorcycles, the jipneys that whizz by. I miss the sound of my titas cooking, washing, and laughing. I miss the delicious food, the fresh vegetables and fruits, papayas just picked from our backyard, the fresh meat just killed that day. I miss the smell of burning trash and the sound of roosters crowing at daybreak. I miss the chicks that chirp and hide behind the mother hen. I miss the ducks who wander. I miss the bark of the dogs and the poor three-legged dog that watches out for strangers. I miss the constant flow of people who come and eat, taking a merienda, to just sit and chat for awhile. I miss the slow pace of life - the time to talk and kuwento, time to listen, and play cards. listening to the lives of my family, the happy, the masaya days of their youth, and the hardship of just trying to survive in a land where $5/day is the normal income.

I miss the Philippines.