Spurgeon's Morning and Evening Devotions

Evening, August 28

"Sing, O barren." Isaiah 54:1

Though we have brought forth some fruit unto Christ, and have a joyful hope that we are "plants of His own right hand planting," yet there are times when we feel very barren. Prayer is lifeless, love is cold, faith is weak, each grace in the garden of our heart languishes and droops. We are like flowers in the hot sun, requiring the refreshing shower. In such a condition what are we to do? The text is addressed to us in just such a state. "Sing, O barren, break forth and cry aloud." But what can I sing about? I cannot talk about the present, and even the past looks full of barrenness. Ah! I can sing of Jesus Christ. I can talk of visits which the Redeemer has aforetimes paid to me; or if not of these, I can magnify the great love wherewith He loved His people when He came from the heights of heaven for their redemption. I will go to the cross again. Come, my soul, heavy laden thou wast once, and thou didst lose thy burden there. Go to Calvary again. Perhaps that very cross which gave thee life may give thee fruitfulness. What is my barrenness? It is the platform for His fruit-creating power. What is my desolation? It is the black setting for the sapphire of His everlasting love. I will go in poverty, I will go in helplessness, I will go in all my shame and backsliding, I will tell Him that I am still His child, and in confidence in His faithful heart, even I, the barren one, will sing and cry aloud.

Sing, believer, for it will cheer thine own heart, and the hearts of other desolate ones. Sing on, for now that thou art really ashamed of being barren, thou wilt be fruitful soon; now that God makes thee loath to be without fruit He will soon cover thee with clusters. The experience of our barrenness is painful, but the Lord's visitations are delightful. A sense of our own poverty drives us to Christ, and that is where we need to be, for in Him is our fruit found.

We are told in Scripture that "we have received not the spirit of the world, but the Spirit of God" (1 Cor. 2:12) and that "the Spirit of God dwells in us" (1 Cor. 3:16). But Christian, do you not realize that by this same Spirit, Christ dwells in our hearts through faith (Eph. 3:17)? Oh the glory of God's riches toward us to be strengthened with power through His Spirit so that we may have Jesus always with(in) us (Eph. 3:16)! How glorious to know the breadth and length and height and depth of the love of Christ which surpasses all knowledge (Eph. 3:18)!

That this indeed may be true, let us then say with the Apostle Paul, "...it is no longer I who live, but Christ lives in me; and the life which I now live in the flesh I live by faith in the Son of God who loved me and gave Himself up for me" (Gal. 2:20)!
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Spurgeon's Morning and Evening Devotions

Evening, August 23

"That Christ may dwell in your hearts by faith." Ephesians 3:17

Beyond measure it is desirable that we, as believers, should have the person of Jesus constantly before us, to inflame our love towards Him, and to increase our knowledge of Him. I would to God that my readers were all entered as diligent scholars in Jesus' college, students of Corpus Christi, or the body of Christ, resolved to attain unto a good degree in the learning of the cross. But to have Jesus ever near, the heart must be full of Him, welling up with His love, even to overrunning; hence the apostle prays "that Christ may dwell in your hearts." See how near he would have Jesus to be! You cannot get a subject closer to you than to have it in the heart itself. "That He may dwell"; not that He may call upon you sometimes, as a casual visitor enters into a house and tarries for a night, but that He may dwell"; that Jesus may become the Lord and Tenant of your inmost being, never more to go out.

Observe the words- that He may dwell in your heart, that best room of the house of manhood; not in your thoughts alone, but in your affections; not merely in the mind's meditations, but in the heart's emotions. We should pant after love to Christ of a most abiding character, not a love that flames up and then dies out into the darkness of a few embers, but a constant flame, fed by sacred fuel, like the fire upon the altar which never went out. This cannot be accomplished except by faith. Faith must be strong, or love will not be fervent; the root of the flower must be healthy, or we cannot expect the bloom to be sweet. Faith is the lily's root, and love is the lily's bloom. Now, reader, Jesus cannot be in your heart's love except you have a firm hold of Him by your heart's faith; and, therefore, pray that you may always trust Christ in order that you may always love Him. If love be cold, be sure that faith is drooping.

At one time or another in our lives, most of us have experienced what it is like to be lovesick, to long for the one with whom we wish to draw close. Believer, does your heart long for Jesus in this manner? Do you seek after him? Do you recruit others in your search? Brethren, let us not leave our first love, as did the Church at Ephesus (Rev. 2). Let us seek Him with all our hearts, for then we shall find Him (Deut. 4:29; Jer. 29:13).
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Spurgeon's Morning and Evening Devotions

Morning, August 22

"I charge you, O daughters of Jerusalem, if ye find my beloved, that ye tell him, that I am sick of love." Song of Solomon 5:8

Such is the language of the believer panting after present fellowship with Jesus, he is sick for his Lord. Gracious souls are never perfectly at ease except they are in a state of nearness to Christ; for when they are away from Him they lose their peace. The nearer to Him, the nearer to the perfect calm of heaven; the nearer to Him, the fuller the heart is, not only of peace, but of life, and vigour, and joy, for these all depend on constant intercourse with Jesus. What the sun is to the day, what the moon is to the night, what the dew is to the flower, such is Jesus Christ to us. What bread is to the hungry, clothing to the naked, the shadow of a great rock to the traveller in a weary land, such is Jesus Christ to us; and, therefore, if we are not consciously one with Him, little marvel if our spirit cries in the words of the Song, "I charge you, O ye daughters of Jerusalem, if ye find my beloved, tell Him that I am sick of love. "This earnest longing after Jesus has a blessing attending it: "Blessed are they that do hunger and thirst after righteousness"; and therefore, supremely blessed are they who thirst after the Righteous One. Blessed is that hunger, since it comes from God: if I may not have the full-blown blessedness of being filled, I would seek the same blessedness in its sweet bud-pining in emptiness and eagerness till I am filled with Christ. If I may not feed on Jesus, it shall be next door to heaven to hunger and thirst after Him. There is a hallowedness about that hunger, since it sparkles among the beatitudes of our Lord. But the blessing involves a promise. Such hungry ones "shall be filled" with what they are desiring. If Christ thus causes us to long after Himself, He will certainly satisfy those longings; and when He does come to us, as come He will, oh, how sweet it will be!

Oh saint, let us ever remember the mercies of God, the mercies without which no one would be saved. He tells us that "He did not save us on the basis of deeds which we have done in righteousness, but because of His mercy" (Titus 3:5). While we put behind us what is in the past, and press forward toward the goal, let us never forget His tender mercies by which we sinners were made saints and citizens of His kingdom. Let us think on and thank Him for the mercies he bestows on us daily and ever say with the Psalmist:

"The LORD is gracious and merciful;
Slow to anger and great in lovingkindness.
The LORD is good to all,
And His mercies are over all His works."
- Psalm 145:8-9
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Spurgeon's Morning and Evening Devotions

Morning, August 17

"The mercy of God." Psalm 52:8

Meditate a little on this mercy of the Lord. It is tender mercy. With gentle, loving touch, He healeth the broken in heart, and bindeth up their wounds. He is as gracious in the manner of His mercy as in the matter of it. It is great mercy. There is nothing little in God; His mercy is like Himself- it is infinite. You cannot measure it. His mercy is so great that it forgives great sins to great sinners, after great lengths of time, and then gives great favours and great privileges, and raises us up to great enjoyments in the great heaven of the great God. It is undeserved mercy, as indeed all true mercy must be, for deserved mercy is only a misnomer for justice. There was no right on the sinner's part to the kind consideration of the Most High; had the rebel been doomed at once to eternal fire he would have richly merited the doom, and if delivered from wrath, sovereign love alone has found a cause, for there was none in the sinner himself. It is rich mercy. Some things are great, but have little efficacy in them, but this mercy is a cordial to your drooping spirits; a golden ointment to your bleeding wounds; a heavenly bandage to your broken bones; a royal chariot for your weary feet; a bosom of love for your trembling heart. It is manifold mercy. As Bunyan says, "All the flowers in God's garden are double." There is no single mercy. You may think you have but one mercy, but you shall find it to be a whole cluster of mercies. It is abounding mercy. Millions have received it, yet far from its being exhausted; it is as fresh, as full, and as free as ever. It is unfailing mercy. It will never leave thee. If mercy be thy friend, mercy will be with thee in temptation to keep thee from yielding; with thee in trouble to prevent thee from sinking; with thee living to be the light and life of thy countenance; and with thee dying to be the joy of thy soul when earthly comfort is ebbing fast.

Spurgeon's Morning and Evening Devotions

Morning, August 8

"They weave the spider's web." Isaiah 59:5

See the spider's web, and behold in it a most suggestive picture of the hypocrite's religion. It is meant to catch his prey: the spider fattens himself on flies, and the Pharisee has his reward. Foolish persons are easily entrapped by the loud professions of pretenders, and even the more judicious cannot always escape. Philip baptized Simon Magus, whose guileful declaration of faith was so soon exploded by the stern rebuke of Peter. Custom, reputation, praise, advancement, and other flies, are the small game which hypocrites take in their nets. A spider's web is a marvel of skill: look at it and admire the cunning hunter's wiles. Is not a deceiver's religion equally wonderful? How does he make so barefaced a lie appear to be a truth? How can he make his tinsel answer so well the purpose of gold? A spider's web comes all from the creature's own bowels. The bee gathers her wax from flowers, the spider sucks no flowers, and yet she spins out her material to any length. Even so hypocrites find their trust and hope within themselves; their anchor was forged on their own anvil, and their cable twisted by their own hands. They lay their own foundation, and hew out the pillars of their own house, disdaining to be debtors to the sovereign grace of God. But a spider's web is very frail. It is curiously wrought, but not enduringly manufactured. It is no match for the servant's broom, or the traveller's staff. The hypocrite needs no battery of Armstrongs to blow his hope to pieces, a mere puff of wind will do it. Hypocritical cobwebs will soon come down when the besom of destruction begins its purifying work. Which reminds us of one more thought, viz., that such cobwebs are not to be endured in the Lord's house: He will see to it that they and those who spin them shall be destroyed for ever. O my soul, be thou resting on something better than a spider's web. Be the Lord Jesus thine eternal hiding-place.

Whisperwing, the Spirit of Night Blooms

Long ago, when the Earth was young and the stars were still learning to dance, there lived a guardian spirit named Whisperwing, a sacred night butterfly born of moonlight and flower dreams. Her wings shimmered with the glow of dusk, painted in deep blues and violets—colors only seen in the quietest part of night.

Whisperwing was created by Lunoma, the Moon Maiden, to carry messages between the spirit world and the dreams of the living. She fluttered through midnight meadows and across sleeping forests, her wings stirring wind that whispered secrets into flowers, guiding lost souls home.

Every petal she touched would bloom with sacred light, and every shadow she passed through would remember her path. The stars watched her in awe, calling her "The Silent Flame", for she burned with no fire, but illuminated hearts.

It was said that if you saw Whisperwing in your dreams, your soul was being chosen—for healing, for transformation, or for a journey. Elders taught that when the crescent moon rose high and the air smelled of wild lavender, you must leave a bowl of water and flowers by your door. If Whisperwing passed, the petals would float, and a new path would open in your life by morning.

To this day, her legend lives on. Many Native dreamweavers still embroider her wings onto their blankets and sing to her under starlit skies:

"Fly, Whisperwing, through sky and root,
Bearer of truth on violet flute.
Where moonlight dances, there you roam,
Guide our spirit gently home."

And so she flies—forever between the veil of night and bloom, unseen, yet always felt.

#nativeamericanwisdom

Whispers Beneath the Moon

In a meadow where the wildflowers glowed blue beneath the light of the full moon, two sisters stood side by side, their dark hair flowing like rivers of night. They were wrapped in sacred robes woven by their grandmother, stitched with strands of spirit and sky.

Their names were Taya and Suni, daughters of the Moonwatcher Clan, known for their wisdom in reading the stars and listening to the whispers of the land. Tonight was no ordinary night. It was the Night of Remembering, when the veil between the past and present grew thin and the voices of the ancestors could be heard in the rustle of pine and the shimmer of stardust.

As they gazed at the glowing moon, Taya whispered, “Can you hear them, Suni?”

The younger sister nodded slowly. “They are singing.”

The sky above swirled in purples and blues, the stars glittering like ancient eyes watching over them. A faint melody filled the air—not with instruments, but with memory. It was the song their mother used to sing at bedtime, the one passed down for generations. A lullaby of healing, of journeys across forests, of waiting under the moon for signs from the Great Spirit.

Taya closed her eyes and placed a hand over her heart. “They are guiding us,” she said softly. “We are not alone.”

Behind them, the forest stood like guardians, tall and silent. The sisters knew that tomorrow would bring challenges. The world outside their homeland was changing, forgetting, moving too fast. But here—beneath the moon—they remembered who they were.

Daughters of the Earth. Carriers of old songs. Watchers of the sky.

And in that sacred moment, the night sky pulsed with color, the stars danced a little brighter, and the spirits smiled—knowing that the story would live on through these two young souls.

#nativeamericanwisdom

Spurgeon's Morning and Evening Devotions

Evening, August 3

"But as He went." Luke 8:42

Jesus is passing through the throng to the house of Jairus, to raise the ruler's dead daughter; but He is so profuse in goodness that He works another miracle while upon the road. While yet this rod of Aaron bears the blossom of an unaccomplished wonder, it yields the ripe almonds of a perfect work of mercy. It is enough for us, if we have some one purpose, straightway to go and accomplish it; it were imprudent to expend our energies by the way. Hastening to the rescue of a drowning friend, we cannot afford to exhaust our strength upon another in like danger. It is enough for a tree to yield one sort of fruit, and for a man to fulfil his own peculiar calling. But our Master knows no limit of power or boundary of mission. He is so prolific of grace, that like the sun which shines as it rolls onward in its orbit, His path is radiant with lovingkindness. He is a swift arrow of love, which not only reaches its ordained target, but perfumes the air through which it flies. Virtue is evermore going out of Jesus, as sweet odours exhale from flowers; and it always will be emanating from Him, as water from a sparkling fountain. What delightful encouragement this truth affords us! If our Lord is so ready to heal the sick and bless the needy, then, my soul, be not thou slow to put thyself in His way, that He may smile on thee. Be not slack in asking, if He be so abundant in bestowing. Give earnest heed to His word now, and at all times, that Jesus may speak through it to thy heart. Where He is to be found there make thy resort, that thou mayst obtain His blessing. When He is present to heal, may He not heal thee? But surely He is present even now, for He always comes to hearts which need Him. And dost not thou need Him? Ah, He knows how much! Thou Son of David, turn Thine eye and look upon the distress which is now before Thee, and make Thy suppliant whole.

Hummingbird – The Spirit of Resilience and Light

You are not small.
You are the spark between heartbeats —
The swift flash of spirit that defies the weight of the world.
Born from the breath of the Sun and the whisper of flowers,
You fly not by force, but by faith.

You carry the memory of joy,
The reminder that sweetness can still be found,
Even in places where sorrow grows thick.
Your wings hum like ancient drums,
Beating the rhythm of life,
Of persistence,
Of returning — again and again — to what feeds the soul.

You are the guardian of fleeting moments,
The priestess of the now.
While others chase horizons,
You kiss the light that blooms in a single drop of morning dew.

You are not directionless —
You know exactly where to go.
Across vast distances and violent winds,
You return with purpose,
Bearing the invisible threads of home.

When grief has dulled the world’s colors,
It is you who comes —
A glimmer, a shimmer, a reminder
That beauty still exists
And hope can wear wings.

You do not battle —
You endure.
You do not conquer —
You bless.

To the People,
You were more than a bird.
You were a spirit —
A messenger of love,
A weaver of joy,
A sign that life endures, even in the smallest of forms.

You have never been merely “a hummingbird” —
You are the sacred flicker of resilience,
The bearer of light in darkened skies,
The breath of color in a gray world.

You remind us that gentleness is a kind of power,
And those who move lightly,
Move far.

#nativeamericanwisdom

Rider of the Dusk

When the sun dips low and the sky turns red,
A silent rider lifts their head.
On a blue horse born of cloud and flame,
They ride the trail without a name.

The wind remembers where they roam,
Carving paths between stars and home.
Birds above cry songs once sung
By our ancestors when the world was young.

Each step echoes in the sacred land,
Where spirit walks with open hand.
The flowers bow, the grasses lean—
They know this one, the in-between.

Neither lost nor truly gone,
This rider waits till night is dawn.
For those who see with open eyes
Will ride with them beneath the skies.

Serin Alar

#nativeamericanwisdom

My Dad used to say, "that place is where people are just dying to get into". I miss him so much...

A Flowery Tale
https://terrylclark.substack.com/p/a-flowery-tale?img=https%3A%2F%2Fsubstack-post-media.s3.amazonaws.com%2Fpublic%2Fimages%2F0fe5e428-cf2f-4f38-aaee-1adfde5af15e_1242x1544.jpeg&open=false

White Clover Tea – How to Brew Tea from Clover Flowers
https://aproductivehousehold.com/white-clover-tea/

How to Make White Clover Tea (Hot or Iced)
https://dailyteatime.com/white-clover-tea/#:~:text=1%2F4%20Cup%20Fresh%20White%20Clover%20Blossoms&text=2%20Cups%20Water&text=Thoroughly%20rinse%20and%20check%20your%20flowers%20for%20any%20bugs%20or%20dirt&text=Warm%20up%20the%20teapot%20by%20bringing%20water%20to%20a%20boil%20on%20the%20stovetop%20or%20in%20an%20electric%20kettle

Clover Jelly
https://creativecanning.com/clover-jelly/#:~:text=4%20cups%20clover%20blossoms&text=4%20cups%20water&text=Harvest%204%20cups%20of%20clover%20blossoms%20from%20a%20clean%2C%20unsprayed%2C%20and%20unpolluted%20area&text=Pour%204%20cups%20boiling%20water%20over%20the%20top%20of%20the%20flower%20blossoms%20and%20allow%20the%20tea%20to%20infuse%20for%20about%2010%20minutes

Rise with the Sun

Arms lifted to the breaking sky,
She calls not for herself,
But for the earth beneath her feet,
For the rivers, for the flowers in bloom.

The sun answers in colors—
Red, gold, violet, flame—
A promise that the land lives on,
As long as hearts remember.

Birds spiral in light,
Messengers of hope,
Carrying her song across the hills,
Across the cactus and stone.

No battle cry, no war drums—
Only quiet strength rising like dawn:
We are still here.
We will always be here.

#nativeamericanwisdom

Whispers Beneath the Moon

In a meadow where the wildflowers glowed blue beneath the light of the full moon, two sisters stood side by side, their dark hair flowing like rivers of night. They were wrapped in sacred robes woven by their grandmother, stitched with strands of spirit and sky.

Their names were Taya and Suni, daughters of the Moonwatcher Clan, known for their wisdom in reading the stars and listening to the whispers of the land. Tonight was no ordinary night. It was the Night of Remembering, when the veil between the past and present grew thin and the voices of the ancestors could be heard in the rustle of pine and the shimmer of stardust.

As they gazed at the glowing moon, Taya whispered, “Can you hear them, Suni?”

The younger sister nodded slowly. “They are singing.”

The sky above swirled in purples and blues, the stars glittering like ancient eyes watching over them. A faint melody filled the air—not with instruments, but with memory. It was the song their mother used to sing at bedtime, the one passed down for generations. A lullaby of healing, of journeys across forests, of waiting under the moon for signs from the Great Spirit.

Taya closed her eyes and placed a hand over her heart. “They are guiding us,” she said softly. “We are not alone.”

Behind them, the forest stood like guardians, tall and silent. The sisters knew that tomorrow would bring challenges. The world outside their homeland was changing, forgetting, moving too fast. But here—beneath the moon—they remembered who they were.

Daughters of the Earth. Carriers of old songs. Watchers of the sky.

And in that sacred moment, the night sky pulsed with color, the stars danced a little brighter, and the spirits smiled—knowing that the story would live on through these two young souls.

#nativeamericanwisdom

My potted Resina Calendula flower has opened this week, standing tall with a bright yellow bloom and another bud growing beside; the plant likes the warmth of sunlight followed by a little water each night. #ResinaCalendula #CalendulaOfficinalis #Calendula #PotMarigold #Herb #Flower #Gardening #PlantBiology #Biology

Spurgeon’s Morning and Evening Devotions

Evening, July 1

"The voice of the Lord God walking in the garden in the cool of the day." Genesis 3:8

My soul, now that the cool of the day has come, retire awhile and hearken to the voice of thy God. He is always ready to speak with thee when thou art prepared to hear. If there be any slowness to commune it is not on His part, but altogether on thine own, for He stands at the door and knocks, and if His people will but open He rejoices to enter. But in what state is my heart, which is my Lord's garden? May I venture to hope that it is well trimmed and watered, and is bringing forth fruit fit for Him? If not, He will have much to reprove, but still I pray Him to come unto me, for nothing can so certainly bring my heart into a right condition as the presence of the Sun of Righteousness, who brings healing in His wings. Come, therefore, O Lord, my God, my soul invites Thee earnestly, and waits for Thee eagerly. Come to me, O Jesus, my well-beloved, and plant fresh flowers in my garden, such as I see blooming in such perfection in Thy matchless character! Come, O my Father, who art the Husbandman, and deal with me in Thy tenderness and prudence! Come, O Holy Spirit, and bedew my whole nature, as the herbs are now moistened with the evening dews. O that God would speak to me. Speak, Lord, for Thy servant heareth! O that He would walk with me; I am ready to give up my whole heart and mind to Him, and every other thought is hushed. I am only asking what He delights to give. I am sure that He will condescend to have fellowship with me, for He has given me His Holy Spirit to abide with me for ever. Sweet is the cool twilight, when every star seems like the eye of heaven, and the cool wind is as the breath of celestial love. My Father, my elder Brother, my sweet Comforter, speak now in lovingkindness, for Thou hast opened mine ear and I am not rebellious.

My principles for preparing a meal:

1. Meal should have nutritional balance.
2. Meal should be made of natural or organic ingredients that have been cleaned thoroughly and prepared properly
3. Meal should be tasty, have great flavor (that always rules-out cauliflower, eggplant, zucchini, and kale).
4. Meal should look attractive and enticing - a meal people are anxious to enjoy.
5. Portion Control. I don't care about this; people should manage this with their forks.
6. Ease of consumption. If food is problematic, difficult to eat, then don't make it that way!
7. It should be something I would enjoy eating!
8. Minimize the number of pots, pans, and bowls needed to prepare the meal - cleanup can be exhausting.
9. Don't cook when drunk.

Spurgeon’s Morning and Evening Devotions

Morning, June 29

"Them also which sleep in Jesus will God bring with Him." 1 Thessalonians 4:14

Let us not imagine that the soul sleeps in insensibility. "Today shalt thou be with me in paradise," is the whisper of Christ to every dying saint. They "sleep in Jesus," but their souls are before the throne of God, praising Him day and night in His temple, singing hallelujahs to Him who washed them from their sins in His blood. The body sleeps in its lonely bed of earth, beneath the coverlet of grass. But what is this sleep? The idea connected with sleep is "rest", and that is the thought which the Spirit of God would convey to us. Sleep makes each night a Sabbath for the day. Sleep shuts fast the door of the soul, and bids all intruders tarry for a while, that the life within may enter its summer garden of ease. The toil-worn believer quietly sleeps, as does the weary child when it slumbers on its mother's breast. Oh! happy they who die in the Lord; they rest from their labours, and their works do follow them. Their quiet repose shall never be broken until God shall rouse them to give them their full reward. Guarded by angel watchers, curtained by eternal mysteries, they sleep on, the heritors of glory, till the fulness of time shall bring the fulness of redemption. What an awaking shall be theirs! They were laid in their last resting place, weary and worn, but such they shall not rise. They went to their rest with the furrowed brow, and the wasted features, but they wake up in beauty and glory. The shrivelled seed, so destitute of form and comeliness, rises from the dust a beauteous flower. The winter of the grave gives way to the spring of redemption and the summer of glory. Blessed is death, since it, through the divine power, disrobes us of this work-day garment, to clothe us with the wedding garment of incorruption. Blessed are those who "sleep in Jesus."

I remember the BEST flower bouquets, I ever received, were from my Children, when they were small! Dandelions, or whatever else was close by!

Importance Of Perspective
https://terrylclark.substack.com/p/importance-of-perspective?publication_id=934525&post_id=160736516&isFreemail=false&r=1maoyr&triedRedirect=true

The first bloom of the season for a Euphoria rose arrived today after several days of rain. This rose shifts the color of its petals from white to yellow with pink accents. #Rose #Euphoria #Flower #Spring2025 #Spring #Gardening #PlantBiology #Biology

Spurgeon’s Morning and Evening Devotions

Morning, May 1

"His cheeks are as a bed of spices, as sweet flowers." Song of Solomon 5:13

Lo, the flowery month is come! March winds and April showers have done their work, and the earth is all bedecked with beauty. Come my soul, put on thine holiday attire and go forth to gather garlands of heavenly thoughts. Thou knowest whither to betake thyself, for to thee "the beds of spices" are well known, and thou hast so often smelt the perfume of "the sweet flowers," that thou wilt go at once to thy well-beloved and find all loveliness, all joy in Him. That cheek once so rudely smitten with a rod, oft bedewed with tears of sympathy and then defiled with spittle- that cheek as it smiles with mercy is as fragrant aromatic to my heart. Thou didst not hide Thy face from shame and spitting, O Lord Jesus, and therefore I will find my dearest delight in praising Thee. Those cheeks were furrowed by the plough of grief, and crimsoned with red lines of blood from Thy thorn-crowned temples; such marks of love unbounded cannot but charm my soul far more than "pillars of perfume." If I may not see the whole of His face I would behold His cheeks, for the least glimpse of Him is exceedingly refreshing to my spiritual sense and yields a variety of delights. In Jesus I find not only fragrance, but a bed of spices; not one flower, but all manner of sweet flowers. He is to me my rose and my lily, my heart's-ease and my cluster of camphire. When He is with me it is May all the year round, and my soul goes forth to wash her happy face in the morning-dew of His grace, and to solace herself with the singing of the birds of His promises. Precious Lord Jesus, let me in very deed know the blessedness which dwells in abiding, unbroken fellowship with Thee. I am a poor worthless one, whose cheek Thou hast deigned to kiss! O let me kiss Thee in return with the kisses of my lips.

"Pink Moon"
Sharing from my friend, John Blackfeather off of Wimkin

The "Pink Moon," the full moon in April, is a traditional Native American name for the April full moon, not because the moon itself appears pink, but because it's named after a pink wildflower called creeping phlox or moss pink, which blooms in the early spring. Some Native American tribes also refer to it as the "Sprouting Grass Moon," "Egg Moon," or "Fish Moon," referencing other seasonal changes. Here's a more detailed explanation: The name originates from Native American traditions, particularly in the northeastern U.S., who named the April full moon after the pink-colored moss phlox, one of the first wildflowers to bloom in the spring. Other Native American names: Besides the "Pink Moon," Native American tribes also called the April full moon "Sprouting Grass Moon," "Egg Moon," and "Fish Moon". These names reflect other seasonal changes and observations of nature, such as the beginning of plant growth, the return of migratory animals, and the spawning of fish.