I Am God’s Song The Inspired Wisdom of James Dillet Freeman CONTENTS Dear Friends, 2 I Am God’s Song Inspired words inspire us. Poetic 3 The Power of Words lines, sacred rhyme, eloquent prose 7 The Hilltop Heart 8 If You Reach give us not just an understanding of 10 One Step More the Divine, but an experience of it. 11 Be! James Dillet Freeman is the only poet 12 How Strong Love Is 14 Still the Glory Is Not Gone laureate the Unity movement has 15 Grace ever had. His prose and poetry have 16 Fragile Things touched millions of people, lifting 17 Wisdom their hearts and inspiring their spirit. 18 A Beauty on the Land Jim loved Unity, and Unity loved 19 Homeward him. But his audience stretched far 20 Once Upon a Christmas 23 If Every Day Were Christmas beyond to readers all around the 24 Jesus: The One We All Might Be world. Two of his poems were even 25 If Thoughts Had Shapes taken to the moon! 26 Change 27 Rivers Hardly Ever Freeman devoted his life and his 28 The Pollyanna writing to sharing the Unity message 29 I Journey On because he wanted people “to hurt 30 Prayer Is Life less.” May this special collection 32 Faith: “Help Thou Mine Unbelief” of some of his most memorable 34 The Immortal Journey writings serve as a guide and a gift 36 Prayer for Protection 37 The Traveler for you—a healing balm in the tough 39 Our Eternal Friend times and a sweet reminder in the 42 I Am There peaceful ones. As you read his words, may angels sing in you—as they did in him. YOUR SUPPORT MAKES A DIFFERENCE Love to you on your journey, Our ministry is supported primarily by the freewill offerings of friends like you. Your generosity helps make it possible for us to offer this inspirational Your Friends in Unity booklet. Our desire is to make Unity literature available to everyone who wants it, especially those most in need of spiritual encouragement. I Am God’s Song The Power of Words By Philip White Perhaps I am most like a song. What is a song? For nearly the last 10 years of his life, James Dillet A song is a thought in the imagination of its Freeman had lunch with me almost every Friday. I was composer, an unheard music of the mind. the editor of Unity Magazine and was fortunate to have Jim as our principal columnist, writing the popular “Life A song is words and notes set down on a sheet of Is a Wonder.” music paper. Needless to say, Jim’s writing set A song is a sweet undulation of sounds for a little the tone for all that we did in the time in a certain place. magazine. He was in his mid-80s and would often pop into my And a song is also the singer singing, a mind and office before the due date and run body expressing themselves. ideas by me, assuring me that an I am the song and the sound and the singer. article was coming. But the time came when he would call me and You will hear me again and again in different tell me the words weren’t there keys, in different voices, whistled and chanted for him that month. He would and hummed, sometimes only a few bars, ask if we could substitute one sometimes sung over and over. The singer may of his previous pieces, which we sing imperfectly, yet I am always the same always did. perfect song, imagined music in the mind of my James Dillet Freeman Composer, written down in the Eternal’s music Editors want to keep their excellent book, flawless and complete. writers writing, so I proposed to him that we have lunch every Friday. We could talk of Truth ideas that he might I am God’s song. put to paper and, frankly, help him retain the creative Listen for me. motivation to keep writing. It started as a pragmatic relationship—editor to writer—but ended as a deep You are God’s song. friendship. Listen. Intuitive spiritual insights and significant meanings, 4 “angels” as he called them, were the lifeblood of his 2 3 writing. Without them, Jim could not write. But with writer, an inspirational deficit can paint the horizon them came the inspired words he knew could help dark. “The whole thing must be scrapped,” Jim said, “if people and change lives. In mid-conversation, as we that last line does not come.” Ever the editorial optimist, ate lunch together, he would suddenly pull a small pad I intruded, “Oh, I’m sure it’ll come.” He leaned across the from his pocket and begin furiously scribbling a small table, waving a grilled shrimp on his fork, and with that paragraph. As he wrote in the poem “Angels Sing in Me,” same devilish smile, growled, “But you are not writing “I must get it down quickly and turn it into words and it!” More laughter. It wasn’t that he didn’t appreciate phrases before it passes away, leaving no trace.” encouragement. He did. But he was at a place where he could not allow himself to depend on my assurance in I was thrilled when it happened and never interrupted, place of his own complete openness to whatever was the but he would never share the content with me. “It’s destiny of that poem—to be determined, not by human only the bones,” he insisted. “No flesh—just a minor intervention, but by his angels. tune.” With a devilish smile, he said it was too fresh to be commented on, “especially by an editor like you!” Of course, his heart knew the answer, which he had Laugh, we did! He was always poking fun at editors who already put into words in “Angels Sing in Me”: “All I can in his estimation were perfectly capable of missing the do is pray that my angels will return and look over my point of a piece of his writing. shoulder where I write and whisper a few more words in my ear. So that the singing I heard you may hear too.” A After a while, when I started picking him up at home, he week later, a smiling Jim told me the line came to him in would occasionally share with me over his favorite lunch the middle of the night. “It woke me up and I scrambled of grilled shrimp how much trouble he was having with to write it down,” he said. The angels had returned. a piece of writing. On one occasion it was a poem that was due that week for Daily Word for which he couldn’t One day, as we lunched, Jim spoke of his days in Silent find a last line. It is every writer’s plight that Jim had Unity, the 24/7 prayer ministry of Unity. Except for a put to verse: “And I must turn this celestial strain I have few years in the 1960s and after he retired in 1984, he caught, as the angels flew through my head, into a poem had spent most of his writing life working there. As we ... This is hard. The heavenly sounds get mixed with talked, the source of his passion for words came clearly earthly ones—the angel song with my own.” to me. In Silent Unity each month, Jim, along with 100 letter writers, worked tirelessly to put together words of We both knew that it was good he had someone with truth, faith, spiritual insight, love, and comfort to answer whom to share his sudden intuitive drought. For a the needs of thousands of correspondents. 4 5 In 1945 he started the residential ministerial school, The Hilltop Heart and it was there I came in 1961 to study for the ministry. Jim was our speech teacher. By that time he already had If only you have a hilltop heart, an impressive body of writing to his credit. In class one morning he told us that he wanted us to find words in life’s compass points lie far apart; our speeches that had power and meaning. “Don’t settle what heights and deeps life has, how far for weak words!” he exclaimed. “Find the ones with life the hilltop heart’s horizons are! and intensity!” Then he shared that throughout the years Hills have a way of stretching minds; he had developed what he said was his “inner critic.” lured-on imagination winds And he encouraged us to develop our own. “If there is any success in my own writing, I owe it all to my inner up over crests and down through hollows. critic, which rejects much more than it accepts.” It was Hills tug at the heart, and the heart follows, a simple, self-evident, but profound discipline. Only dares the undared, tries the untried. by passing over and setting aside weak words were you Hills always have another side; making the necessary inner spiritual room for powerful if you make the climb up and descent, ones to emerge. you may find the valley of content. As we reminisced that day about those long-ago Though a hilltop heart may never stand still, ministerial classes, he reminded me of a story he told his students in those days. It was about a letter written by yet the heart was meant for the top of a hill! a prayer associate at Silent Unity a few years earlier that 4 had been received by a man contemplating suicide.