November Beacon

November 10th is a special evening at Split Rock Lighthouse, not only is the lighthouse beacon lit for one of the few times out of the year, but a memorial service is held for the crew of the Edmund Fitzgerald, which sank in a November 10th storm 33 years ago.

The last words ever heard from the "Fitz" was from the radio operator stating "We are holding our own."

Without the big ships radar navigation sets, which had been knocked out by the waves, the men on the Edmund Fitzgerald were desperately trying to spot the Whitefish Point Lighthouse. Unknown to them, power to the lighthouse had been knocked out by a power outage.

29 men where on the Fitzgerald that night, none of whom knew that eternity would be their next port. It made me think, am I right with God, or, am just "Holding my own".

The eternal God is your refuge, and underneath are the everlasting arms. Deu 33:27

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November Twilight

By the time November rolls around in the Northland the colorful leaves are on the ground and daylight hours are dull gray until the snow comes. Evenings are long and it seems that all of the colors missing from the daylight hours have been pushed to the edge of night. There is a special time of day, just after sunset, when the peak of beauty is displayed.


This picture was taken out my front door on Caribou lake, just as a sawtooth shaped deck of clouds drifted across the crescent moon. As I watched the light fade into darkness a wolf pack started howling a chorus from a distant ridge as if to give their approval to the beauty of the evening.

Ask the beasts, and let them teach you; and the birds of the heavens, and let them tell you. Or speak to the earth, and let it teach you; and let the fish of the sea declare to you. Who among all these does not know that the hand of the LORD has done this? Job 12:7-9

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Between Earth and Sky

Daybreak on Lake Superior seems to reach into your soul with a humbling touch. Earth meets sky, light chases the darkness, and off-lake breezes mix elements together to paint another masterpiece formed by the hand of God. It's comforting to know that the same God that spun the universe into this moment, is the same God the keeps His eye on us.



While standing on the shoreline at 6AM waiting for the sun to rise, I couldn't help but start whistling a familiar hymn, "This is my Father's world".
Thy hymn, written by Malbie Babcock in the 1860's was published from his writings by his wife after his untimely death. He never heard the poem sung,
but it is easy to understand his feelings as you gaze upon this scene.

This is my Father's world
and to my listening ears
all nature sings, and round me rings
the music of the spheres.
This is my Father's world:
I rest me in the thought
of rocks and trees, of skies and seas;
his hand the wonders wrought.

This is my Father's world,
the birds their carols raise,
the morning light, the lily white,
declare their maker's praise.
This is my Father's world:
he shines in all that's fair;
in the rustling grass I hear him pass;
he speaks to me everywhere.

This is my Father's world.
O let me ne'er forget
that though the wrong seems oft so strong,
God is the ruler yet.
This is my Father's world:
why should my heart be sad?
The Lord is King; let the heavens ring!
God reigns; let the earth be glad!


Listen to the melody played by Mary Beth Carlson!
(click play button twice to start)