Sailing by Starlight - A Journey in Grace

Just Jesus

2012-02-04T09:38:00.001Z

The words I have been searching for are here :)

"Jisas yu holem hand blong mi"

2012-01-27T19:38:00.000Z

A song of ascents. Of David.
My heart is not proud, LORD,
   my eyes are not haughty;
I do not concern myself with great matters
   or things too wonderful for me.
But I have calmed and quieted myself,
   I am like a weaned child with its mother;
   like a weaned child I am content.
Israel, put your hope in the LORD
   both now and forevermore.

Like warm water on hard earth...

What ever makes me warmer, kinder, softer, truer. More maleable to His touch.
Those are my pastures.

sharing...

2012-01-20T22:02:00.001Z

a beautiful post " A Mountain I'm Willing to Die on.... my tears are still falling :)

a poem about unconditional love.

2012-01-11T16:34:00.008Z

grey sheets
rain beats

I fell between a
pavement crease

to white
noise sleep

fragmented
dreams

roots etched
in concrete

I huddled
under falling leaves,

watched shoppers
communters, merge and sweep

and a girl
whose pace couldn't keep

with the thousand feet
flowing down

subway stairs
in streams

too shallow
to swim in

too deep
to breathe

It was here

as I walked into the
traffic

I felt a love that never reasons
a child to feel

shames muted sting seep
hot tears

like a weeping winter sun
upon bare kindling.

or bottle rinsed
memories

strung out
upon whitewashed lines

dilutions of sky.
For I was still beautiful in His sight.

I was His child.

So when I fell
asleep, my soul

half here, half there.
Was somehow worth something still.

an apology

2012-01-11T09:47:00.001Z

I want to say that I am deeply sorry if I came across too strongly or in any way offensivly in my last post. My intention is not to hurt anyone. And I don't know that much about theology really.
I'm concerned, however, when what we feel we must believe about God obscures the real and loving Father He really is. There are some parts of the Bible which we would, hopefully never follow, such as stoning a woman or killing someone for breaking a levitical law etc... There are some parts which have to be read contextually, in relation to the human author and his place in history.
I'm juat afraid that I wouldn't have been able to turn to God in my greatest need if I had seen Him in the way described in my last post. I am afraid that others may be inhibited from truly connecting with God if they see Him in this way too.
I can't believe that God would create something or someone evil intentionally, then allow them it or them to harm and damage all that is beautiful and good simply so He can damn them eternally afterwards!
God is the author of beauty, truth, goodness, love and compassion. He is the author of hope.
I know that words on a page that do not communicate love or bring people together are worthless, ultimatly. And probably it has been a mistake for me to have written my last post, the way that I did.
I'm certain that the author of those "categories" mentioned previously felt that he was promoting something worthy and good. Yet, when a faith is fragile, when there has been suffering and injustice and nothing has made sense, the thought that God has created and ordained certain terrible things to come to pass can turn someone away from the real God, the one who is with them in their grief, who struggles with us against the evil and the suffering it causes.
I want those people who need it most to be able to know that there is a loving God who blesses those that suffer and suffers himself over a world that embraces more of the darkness than it does the light. A world that opens it's arms to the chaos of injustice and death rather than mercy and light.

I love this quote by Whitman....

“This is what you shall do; Love the earth and sun and the animals, despise riches, give alms to every one that asks, stand up for the stupid and crazy, devote your income and labor to others, hate tyrants, argue not concerning God, have patience and indulgence toward the people, take off your hat to nothing known or unknown or to any man or number of men, go freely with powerful uneducated persons and with the young and with the mothers of families, read these leaves in the open air every season of every year of your life, re-examine all you have been told at school or church or in any book, dismiss whatever insults your own soul, and your very flesh shall be a great poem and have the richest fluency not only in its words but in the silent lines of its lips and face and between the lashes of your eyes and in every motion and joint of your body.”
― Walt Whitman

I won't post any more arguments :) promise.
xx

Calvinism's new categories of thought ... some thoughts...

2012-01-09T21:19:00.000Z

I don't know too much about Calvinism,however, after reading this list I understand a little more about why modern Christianity "looks" so far removed from the spirit of Jesus that I find in the Bible, nature and prayer...

Written as a response to Calvinistic categories of thought by John Piper

God rules the world of bliss and suffering and sin, right down to the roll of the dice, and the fall of a bird, and the driving of the nail into the hand of his Son; yet, even though he wills that such sin and suffering be, he does not sin, but is perfectly holy.

He wills for sin and suffering to be? Really? Could I really call myself a Christian if this were true? Could I really be the servant of a God that is the author of atrocity and genocide, war and famine? To believe that God (our Father) ordains such horror toward his children is, in my mind, the greatest of all blasphemy. There are two opposing forces present. The prince of this world and the prince of peace. God's son is the prince of "Peace" not war. God (the Father) is a force of goodness and love not cruelty, indiscriminate or otherwise.

God governs all the steps of all people, both good and bad, at all times and in all places; yet such that all are accountable before him and will bear the just consequences of his wrath if they do not believe in Christ.

And free will? I know many atheists and non Christians who bear better witness to God's ultimate and founding commands of love that some that loudly profess belief in Christ. Is God to damn these "non believers" eternally? Can I serve a God who would?

All people are dead in their trespasses and sins, and are not morally able to come to Christ because of their rebellion; yet, they are responsible to come, and will be justly punished if they don’t.

I believe that most people have an innate goodness that far outweighs any inherent evil.

Jesus Christ is one person with two natures, divine and human, such that he upheld the world by the word of his power while living in his mother’s womb.

Jesus is fully God and fully human. He came into the world through the surrender of a human soul to the power of the Holy spirit. And His spirit of love and peace is birthed into the world again and again through those who surrender to the Holy Spirit in their lives.

Sin, though committed by a finite person and in the confines of finite time is nevertheless deserving of an infinitely long punishment because it is a sin against an infinitely worthy God.

An eternal punishment? Would I really take hope (one of the three highest virtues man, let alone God, possesses out of the equation?) Hope is eternal.

"For God did not send his Son into the world to condemn the world, but to save the world through him."

The death of the one God-Man, Jesus Christ, so displayed and glorified the righteousness of God that God is not unrighteous to declare righteous ungodly people who simply believe in Christ.

So if you commit terrible sins yet profess Christ as your saviour (as many churchmen have done) your slate is automatically wiped clean? Surely that taints false the very fabric of what we profess as truth. Jesus said that we were to follow the will of His Father in heaven not simply profess him as Lord...

To profess Christ is to change your life. If Christ dwells within you, you will be called to greater acts of service and love.

"If any of you have never sinned, then go ahead and throw the first stone at her!" ⁸Once again he bent over and began writing on the ground. ⁹The people left one by one, beginning with the oldest. Finally, Jesus and the woman were there alone.

¹⁰Jesus stood up and asked her, "Where is everyone? Isn't there anyone left to accuse you?"

¹¹"No sir," the woman answered.

Then Jesus told her, "I am not going to accuse you either. You may go now, but don't sin anymore."

~

"Not everyone who says to me, 'Lord, Lord,' will enter the kingdom of heaven, but only he who does the will of my Father who is in heaven."

If we are to be eternally punished for not loving others as we love ourselves then what hope can there be? If those that profess Christ really did love others in this way there wouldn't be half the suffering or poverty.

Surely, if I really loved the starving child on the railway line as much as I love my own child wouldn't I cross hill and high water to rescue her! Wouldn't she possess every minute of my thoughts? Wouldn't I give all the possessions that I didn't really need to see her smile?

If you believe in a God that ordains for a child to suffer pain and grief (as many of the pantheistic religions, from which caste systems are wrought do) then surely your sense of personal responsibility to help that child will be lessened.

Above all, I know one thing, God chooses to enter the dark places, the broken places and bring His love and light to the fallow fields.

We, as a family of believers are chosen to tend His garden. May we tend it gently taking care not to trample down the fragile new life as it emerges from the ground.

"And now these three remain: faith, hope and love. But the greatest of these is love."

ojibwa prayer

The Artisan Well

2011-10-04T07:45:00.003+01:00

It was said that Dr.Jung's favourite story went something like this:
The water of life, wishing to make itself known to the face of the earth, bubbled up in an artisan well and flowed without effort of limit.
People came to drink of the magic water and were nourished by it, since it was so clean and pure and invigorating.

But humankind was not content to leave things in this Edenic state. Gradually they began to fence the well, charge admission, claim ownership of the property around it, make elaborate laws as to who could come to the well, put locks on the gates.

Soon the well was the property of the powerful and the elite. The water was angry and offended: it stopped flowing and began to bubble up in another place. The people who owned the property around the first well were so engrossed in their power systems and ownership that they did not notice that the water had vanished. They continued selling the nonexistent water, and few people noticed that the true power was gone.

But some dissatisfied people searched with great courage and found the new artisan well. Soon that well was under the control of the property owners, and the same fate overtook it.

The spring took itself to yet another place - and this has been going on throughout recorded history.

excerpted from "Owning Your own Shadow" by Robert A. Johnson

Finding truth in others and ourselves, and loving it all the same.

2011-10-03T08:34:00.000+01:00

This morning, I found my drawing pencils and sketch pad and drew a picture of some little children playin in a garden.
I have this picture in my mind when I think of life. And when I see the blessings and the beauty I ache. Because they are so fragile.
When they come, they are to be handled carefully, thankfully, with love and just a little awe, they carry the fingerprints of God. Our grasping, heavy hands can too easily wipe His mark away from the moments of our days.

Emotions don't trickle like a stream for me, they flood and break banks and seep into the foundations.
I wish it wasn't so.
I think a dam built up, stick by stick years before and there is a wall of water behind it now. Sometimes it crashes down upon me. But every time it breaks, a few more barriers break down too, and a little more of the pain from the past washes away into the ocean, resistance subsides to a greater, deeper body.

The most beautiful gift a person can give another is to accept them with love, just as they are. Broken, flawed, imperfect but real. Loving who they are, where they are, and all they bring with them.

That is something else.
We need to do a little more of that. I need to do a little more of that.
Truthfully though, the process of "doing that" is messier than a few poetic lines can make it out to be.
Like when my girls bring out the paints and crayons and glue. I know there's always going to be a little mess before beauty emerges, before a painting can be created. And there will be some cleaning to be done afterwards. Some washing away of stains before we can sit back and take a look at the whole picture. Before we are able to make out it's meaning.

And it can be so hard to bring that acceptance, that surrender of self, to a situation. Acceptance of that which feels unacceptable, surrender to that which feels difficult. In the same way its scary to let love into a place that feels cold, hard and opaquely resistant to the vulnerable transparency it offers with open, trusting, childlike hands. But love is the only way, it's the only way to soften the soil we walk on and grow in.
That is something to pray about.

I do know that the times when I've been hurt by somebody and I've simply taken myself to be alone for a while in silence, I have always found comfort in Jesus's arms. Peace has always followed that path. Somehow the hurt becomes redeemed, transformed, used to strengthen or bring understanding for the other person. When placed in God's hands, our own defensiveness loosens it's grasp as gentle ebbing peace overpowers.
Why I don't always take that path is probably because the first step is always the hardest. A mute and seemingly directionless step into quiet, when only noise echoes around your head. It seems paradoxical. But this step is the only one that finds a footing when life takes a detour on to steep and rocky ground.

"Stand in awe, and sin not: commune with your own heart upon your bed, and be still. Selah. " Psalm 4

I am reminded each and every day that every day is lavished with gifts and joy, that once a long time ago I never thought I would ever experience. My family is my world, a world in 5 people. I can put my arms around my world! My world fit's in my bed in the mornings, one by one, my world scrambles under the covers.
I am blessed!

Is, sometimes messing up a good thing ? Well it is humbling, it brings you back to your roots, your truth.
The truth of us all, distracted, amusing, messy, unique, flawed and wonderful human beings that we are. And there is love there. Messy, beautiful, painful, joyful, strong, fragile, passionate, wonderful love.
I'm going to make some coffee, and I'm going to embrace it.

"Those of you who are Scattered"

2011-06-05T15:07:00.003+01:00

Those of you who are scattered,

Simplify your worrying lives. There is one
righteousness:

Water the fruit trees,
and don't water the thorns.

Be generous
to what nurtures the spirit and God's luminous
reason - light.

Don't honour what causes
dysentery and knotted up tumors.

Don't feed both sides of yourself equally.
The spirit and the body carry different loads
and require different attentions.
Too often
we put saddlebags on Jesus and let the donkey
run loose in the pasture.
Don't make the body do
What the spirit does best, and don't put a big load
on the spirit that the body could carry easily.

Extract form " A Basket of Fresh Bread" by Rumi

Scripture, Doctrine, Heaven, Hell and my Journey

2011-05-22T08:29:00.008+01:00

There have been some interesting online discussions about hell recently. This is a big subject for me as the concept of eternal hell is probably the biggest stumbling block to my Christian faith.
I write the rest of this post to simply get my own thoughts out there, and help me to find clarity for myself.

I found an incredible Saviour in my life a few years back. His name is Jesus.

Since that time I have tried to submit my heart to my faith with it's doctrine, and hard, uncensored scripture without question.
Yet my heart flinches and recoils from much doctrine and some scripture.
This has almost brought me to the point of losing my faith completely.
I haven't talked to anyone about this. But it has been incredibly painful for me.
I feel only now that I am ready to open up and write this out a little bit.

The thing is I see God everywhere.

I don't just find Him in Christianity or Christians. I don't find Him in one denomination alone, or one kind of church or liturgy.
I find His redeeming breath through the profanely secular as well as the profoundly sacred.
I see Him in the broken and mocked stars of reality TV. I see Him in the vulnerable and sensational starlet. I see Him in the wealthy one who has money yet feels the emptiness of his existence so hard he has to keep pushing the boundaries just to remember that he is alive.
I see Him in the drunk homeless man and the prostitute with a habit.

Sometimes I don't see Him so much in the self righteous one who calls himself christian or the million dollar church building down the road from the homeless shelter and across the ocean from the starving.

I believe that God is present in all things. I believe like Tonia that God is a restorer and a redeemer of the WHOLE of his creation. I beleive that His creation is beloved to Him and He wishes to become manifest through it. Make love to it as the lover makes love to the Beloved in the Song of Songs . I believe like Saint Augustine that He is not bound exclusively to the pages of Christian literature.

For me He is not present only in the things I perceive as "christian"

He weaves a golden thread of beauty throughout the whole of His creation. This "golden thread" is a way in which He draws all people to Him.

Jesus is a golden thread.

Art, music and poetry can be golden threads, nature, a gentle smile, an act of compassion, the conversation between a soul and God, parts of scripture, these and more are golden threads. A thread that connects our hearts to His.

For me the Bible can be a wonderful illumination of God's character and truth but it is not the only way to find Him. My heart finds God in many other things too.
Sometimes, I actually find it hard to find God in the Bible.
I have found this hard to reconcile over the last couple of years.
I have tried so hard to submit to scripture but there is just such a discrepancy between the God I find in my heart and the God I find on the page, in the church or within the confines of religious doctrine.

This is me just spilling my soul here, I don't know anything and am very untrained scripturally.
I know that the mysteries of scripture are beyond me.
That is partly why I have had to put the book down.

Yet there are some parts of scripture that are incredibly powerful to me and have transformed my life.
The Sermon on the Mount, The Beatitudes, The Passion, Jesus's interactions with the adulterous woman, The Prodigal Son story, Saint Paul's description of love in Corinthians 13, the Song of Songs and some of the Psalms.
These are some of the most incredible things I have ever read.

But then there are the "difficult" parts of the Bible. The parts where bloodshed, division, wrath and hell are mentioned. I can't reconcile these with the God who bends down to tenderly wipe the tears of His children. The God who came to me though I broke every rule and commandment and didn't even seek Him. The God who gently picked me up from the dust and debris I had left in my wake and transformed it into good soil for a garden.
The God who sowed a seed of truth and love in my cold fragile, self centered heart and watered it tirelessly, warmed it with the light of His unwavering gaze.
This is my God.

I can't and won't believe that good non christian people will be punished eternally. A god that could do such a thing is a god I can't accept.

I have gone to the limits of my faith and almost lost my belief completely over the last two years.
In the end I can do nothing more than have integrity to my soul and the way God has spoken to it.

And remember with trembling hand and welling eyes what God did for me before I even gave myself to Him, uttered one syllable of prayer, or even read His word.

I don't know what kind of Christian this makes me. Does it even make me one?

I believe that the Bible is a great historical and religious work inspired by human contact with God but not always and exclusively "God Breathed".

I believe that through it God speaks but human voices speak too. Sometimes God's voice is louder, sometimes the human voice becomes louder and over powers God's message with it's own (maybe well intentioned agenda).

And I believe this is the same with all religious books, poetry, art, music, action, prayer, thought, and physical expression.

No matter, God finds us through all the noise of the world. If I follow the thread of Love above all else (even doctrine, scripture and religion) God meets me where I am. In my heart.

The heart that He made himself for himself. The place where His image dwells.

I will continue to meet with Him here.
It's all I can do.

Come on Over :)

2011-03-26T09:57:00.002Z

I'm guest posting over at beautiful Emily's "Imperfect Prose" today :)

And linking up on Scraps of Starlight with Saturday Artist @ "Ordinary Life Magic"

God's Tears...

2011-03-16T22:30:00.010Z

In the quiet darkness I feel out the breathing of my smallest child.
Covered under cloth, her rise and fall sounds like the faint rustle of leaves on a distant tree. A fledglings wing. Whispering meadow grass.
She is so new to this world.
This world to her is but a joy, a wonder, a fragile sapling, a blink of sunlight.
My heart aches...
The beating wing, of hope trembling blue horizon.

I pull the curtains back. The sky is the colour of an orange cough sweet. Street lamp stained. Stars cannot compete.
Computer hums beneath my blurry gaze.
Empty perfume bottles line the drawers because they remind me of the time when we first met. Memory blown into the glass contours of woman's curve. Funny how, as the scent faded our love bloomed a truer fragrance. I'm not sure why I keep the packaging.
I have books stacked awkward and a pile of jeans and tees crumpled, lifeless upon the chair beside me.
Stuff heaves from the pores of my environment. There is no space to breathe deep apart from it. To wander down beside a clear little stream and cup my hands and rinse my eyes.

Far away in distance beyond touch, or sound of breath there breathes a child in a broken land.
And I cannot feel my way across distances such as these.

My heart sore and half blind like the washed out stars.
Rinsed through by neon dreams and the hum of machines that don't sleep enough to dream.
Half light, half dark, half awake, half alive.
Unconscious yet still breathing.
Still.

It is here,
I think of God's tears...

The rivers, the streams. Tar tainted, rain falling.
The sweat of our industry intoxicating the land.
The birds, the fish, the sky. The weeping torrents of earth running rivulets like open wounds.
And how the prophets of the Old Testament spoke of such things. Things you might be called crazy to talk of in polite conversation these days.
Yet doesn't the ink of the newspapers bleed the salt tears of the prophets' words day after day.

"What sorrow awaits you who build big houses with money gained dishonestly! You believe your wealth will buy security, putting your family's nest beyond the reach of danger." ~ Habakkuk 2:9

Abrasive Words. I swallow hard. My soul scoured.

Modern industrialised culture ravages the world and it's resources.
Turning its anonymous, multifaceted face away from real suffering and poverty.
Replacing the real world with a whitewashed virtual storefront alternative.
I am not immune. I close my eyes all the time.

But I want to open them.

Peel back the scales.
See.
Weep.

The face of Jesus lingers like Veronica's image in the poor and the hurt.

How may aspects of my lifestyle be built upon the brokenness of others?
The poor child worker in the cotton factory, the barren oil trenches in sacred Caribou country.

James 5:4 Look! The wages you failed to pay the workmen who mowed your fields are crying out against you. The cries of the harvesters have reached the ears of the Lord Almighty.

Habakkuk 2:17 Your destruction of animals will terrify you.

Jeremiah 22:13 "Woe to him who builds his palace by unrighteousness, his upper rooms by injustice, making his countrymen work for nothing, not paying them for their labor.

Ezekiel 22:27 Her officials within her are like wolves tearing their prey; they shed blood and kill people to make unjust gain.

Malachi 3:5 "So I will come near to you for judgment. I will be quick to testify against sorcerers, adulterers and perjurers, against those who defraud laborers of their wages, who oppress the widows and the fatherless, and deprive aliens of justice, but do not fear me," says the LORD Almighty.

And these "crazy" words sound like weeping to me.
They sound like the trees and the streams and the mother and the child of a distant country.
And I want to return.
To the simple place where stars are visible and children can dream in peace.

"Song of the Silent Snow" {Reposted}

2011-03-16T09:57:00.000Z

"Northern Lullaby"

Nori Peter

A gleaming, snow blanket wraps around the streets as far as the eye can see. Shivering through web like trees, torn, frayed thin. Spun to emptiness.
Weeping beneath the last leaves. Draping a loose knit shawl across the shoulder of the hill. Filling deep the valley.

It absorbs all sound and silence lingers far and wide.

We've been "starting" "school" late every day for a while now. Loose ends left untied. Seemingly unravelling.
I have fought tired to repair and patch the fabric of these "lost hours" into clean cut, utilitarian aprons till today.

This morning refused to stir the silence and shatter it's precious, fragility.
My eyes blinked at the stark lace work frosted upon the windowpane.

The unusual view prompted a new perspective.

I would preserve the space it needed to sing it's new, quiet song within the usually crowded chambers of my own heart.
The chambers that fill so easily with the clattering sound of a hundred voices calling me in all directions. A high ceiling room with perfect acoustics for the voice of the world to resound loud.
Drilling and dashing against my soul like hail. Raging daily soliloquy. Underlining points, numbers and strategies like a squeaky marker across an office white board...

Fit in, conform, be diligent in recognisable ways, create commercial products, work toward tangible results, make sure your children will be marketable, learn valued subjects, hoard, cram, revise, memorise, repeat.

Yet I am walking two tight ropes at the same time. One high, they other low. And I am losing my footing on both.

Maybe, sometimes it is good to fall.
I'm learning this as I dust the white flakes from my brow.

I fall hard on days like today.

Days when I fall from my expectations.
The criteria and check lists I've used as security blankets tighter than straight jackets. And I fall blue and icy, my own breath barely escaping from my mouth.

And I realise the ties must come undone.

I must come undone.

The days when the straight roman road of what seems sensible, leaves me weak and I drift down some small lonesome path in the brush. And I fall under the cover of thorns and wildflowers.

Today the snow falls silent around me. And I am buried. My home has become an igloo.
The murmurs of the world half a hemisphere away.

Today I let myself drift into the white blank canvas of the snow's silent wisdom.
I close off the world and open my heart to Him alone.
And His list is so different, so radically different. A yoke that is easy, a burden that is light.
He whispers soft as snow fleece caught upon the breeze.

" Just sit here with me a while. Don't rush away.
Is there any task more important than this? This listening?
Have you been following my lead? Really?
Are you doing only the things needful, the things that will matter eternally?
Do you really trust me to take your children and you along the paths I dug out and laid in truth, just for their feet? Do you really trust me to take you down the paths that I carved for you long before you were born. Way back through the dendrites of time?
You are trying to follow two paths, and your soul is falling through the divide between them.
Simply come toward me. Lean into my words. Draw close."

But Lord, we have no back up plan, financial or otherwise. I never followed the conventional route and I suffered for it in ways I wish to preserve my children from. I am afraid sometimes.
I can't catch every ball.

The still, silent snow drifts deep. I am wading out bare foot.

"Don't you see. You don't have to.
Drop them, drop every one that isn't given by my hand."

How do I know which ones are given by your hand?

"Have enough faith to stop the merry - go - round.
Sit still, listen. Embrace your journey.
It won't look like most journeys.
Most journeys are a grasping outward. A reaching, a striving, a gaining of ground.
Your journey will be a letting go of all that hinders, all that is not necessary.
Your journey will not be about striving but resting, in me.
Your journey will not be about making but meaning.
It will seem invisible. Your footsteps light, white.
Unnoticeable, day after day.
Evaporating in the morning, like prints carved in snow.
But they will leave an indelible mark within.
And they will form a path.
And it will guide your children through.
From Winter to Spring.
From Death to Life.
From your cradle to my manger."

Wasn't the manger, an animal trough filled with hay?
Was Mary fearful too, that night in the cold, damp cave, the sounds of a strange land dashing against the curved silence of her heart?

Maybe she wasn't listening to the hundred different voices. Maybe she sought out only one to hear and follow.

"My soul magnifies the Lord,
And my spirit rejoices in God my Savior.
For He has regarded the low estate of His handmaiden,
For behold, henceforth all generations shall call me blessed.
For He who is mighty has done great things for me, and holy is His name. And His mercy is on those who fear Him from generation to generation.
He has shown strength with His arm:
He has scattered the proud in the imagination of their hearts. He has put down the mighty from their thrones, and exalted those of low degree. He has filled the hungry with good things; "

Maybe the winter trees have wisdom in their emptiness.
Maybe I should strive only to stay hungry.
Silent as snow.
So only He can be heard.
Magnified
Birthed.

Sidenote: The title of this post comes from the book "Song of the Silent Snow" by Hubert Selby Jr.

Beauty for Ashes

2011-03-09T09:23:00.002Z

"Beauty from Ashes"

and provide for those who grieve in Zion—
to bestow on them a crown of beauty
instead of ashes,
the oil of joy
instead of mourning,
and a garment of praise
instead of a spirit of despair.
They will be called oaks of righteousness,
a planting of the LORD
for the display of his splendor.

Isaiah 61:3

But first for the ashes...

{Salvation.} The difference between a protestant view of salvation and an orthodox view of salvation...

2011-03-08T08:33:00.006Z

Linking from here and here with this. I have to admit that I know hardly a thing about theology, but my heart has always seen God's Love and salvation in more of the orthodox way.

A Spiritual Journey {commencement of the quest}

2011-02-19T10:28:00.008Z

The Accolade

Edmund Blair Leighton
1901
Oil on Canvas (private collection)

Guinevere knights Sir Lancelot.

Here are some excerpts from a book I'm reading at the moment. These experts align the mythology of Arthurian Legend with personal and collective spiritual development. They are very pertinent to me and maybe others too, which is why I'm sharing :)
The "Mentor" or "King" in these texts would be applied to Jesus in my case.

{...} " As the challenging energy of the mentor begins to take effect, it is not only the familiar that is lost to us, it is also the king's court.
Perceval charges out of Arthur's castle, and he never really returns. For strangely enough, the actualization process begins by leading us far away from where we though we had arrived.
It is not the golden inner halls of Arthur's court that we find ourselves entering but a dark and forbidding forest. It is as if our heads are turned looking in one direction, but we find our feet taking us in another. In my own experience there came a time when instead of that wonderful, overarching sense of empowerment and love, I started to feel insignificant and resentful.
Rather than finding Arthur's presence assuring and uplifting, I found him daunting and uncomfortable. What was happening ?
The shaping energy was stirring up the shadow in me, His radiance had started to highlight those unloved, malformed parts of myself that I thought I had hidden. Almost without any realizing it, I had started out on the quest, had begun the exploration into the shadowy and fearful realm of my own subconscious.
The landscape of the quest in all versions of the story is surreal and dreamlike. It is full of dark forests, wild moors, barren deserts and enchanted castles" {...}

"This subconscious terrain is the terrain of the quest, and the journey of the quest is the process of purification and healing in this realm."
{...}

" The commencement of our quest is a delicate time, for it is when our shadow parts first begin to be revealed. As these shadow parts start to rise, we may find ourselves disliking or resisting whoever is representing King Arthur energy to us.
We project our own shadow parts onto him to justify our dislike and avoid staring too deeply into the painful jade stone of ourselves.
This is a crucial phase in which we must deliberately choose to remember our knighthood vows and not become "forsworn" by giving in to the feelings that emerge.
If we do give in to them, we will break the alignment with the radiant energy and will not progress much further bit will be repelled from Arthur's presence and out of the process of change and growth.
If we desist from reacting to the negative feelings, we find that soon Arthur's court lies far behind us. We are no longer shadowboxing but fully embarked on the quest. Moving on further into the shadowy territory of ourselves, we are now far enough advanced on our journey that it is too late to turn back. We are in no man's land: the old world has been left behind, but we have not yet entered the new. We may still live in the ordinary world, but we find we are no longer a part of it. We are in it but not of it, even though at times we might like to be." {...}

"Perhaps the most difficult part of no man's land is the sense of incoherence. I hardly knew who I was anymore: my personality, my opinions, my carefully constructed self image were all molten and in flux. After the early sureness at Arthur's court, the clarity of my life's purpose- the certainty of what knighthood was about-now everything seemed merely confusing. There was a loss of momentum, and worse, I started to feel emired again in my sordidly familiar messiness: failure, self doubt, futility, regret. This wilderness experience, the classic rite of passage for all who pledge themselves to spiritual growth, is so uncomfortable that many do not want to set out on it.
It feels like everything had gone, has been taken away; but what is really happening is the foundations are being cleared and then relaid for the new growth. Even though it is difficult to understand when in the midst of these feelings, the discomfort is a sign that something is really happening. If we just went on feeling euphoric, it would be a fairly sure indication that no fundamental change was occurring in us,
The lid would still be firmly on and we would remain "white washed sepulchres": clean and shiny on the outside but inside full of decay- partially processed experience and confused understanding.
The real and the whole cannot be built upon the flawed and the partial. This is the meaning of being willing to lay down one's life in order to find it.
Paradoxically, this huge upwelling of discomfort is not caused by the King Arthur leader pointing out what is wrong with us.
On the contrary, the flushing out of the rotting flesh and decaying bones of out emotional memory is catalysed by being blessed.
King Arthur's energy resonates with and focuses on what is right with us, that is, our core identity. This is his blessing. To focus on what is wrong with us gets nowhere: it is darkness breeding more darkness, the blind leading the blind. To focus on what is right means there is light present, light that naturally shows up the darkness, or causes shadows to be cast. It is a by-product of the shining of the spiritual light. {...}

One of the greatest principles of spiritual development is to start with what is right-in oneself, in another, in a situation- and build on that. {...}

Bringing up children is a good example of this. Most people know that if a child is constantly scolded, told he or she is "wrong", and the relationship between child and parent grows more tenuous and confrontational. If the relationship of trust is emphasized and encouragement given rather than criticism, the situation opens up very differently. Often what seems "wrong" is simply incomplete. {...}

The same applies to everyone. We only have the strength to face our "dark side" if we have once seen or intimated our radiance. {...}

Fighting Apathy

2011-02-15T13:06:00.005Z

"Who can say, “I have kept my heart pure?"
Proverbs 20:9

Sometimes it seems like no matter what, however much we pray or fast or try to do good works we will never be without sin.
The enemy makes every act seem insurmountable at times such as these. Suddenly there is no point to our service and our sacrifices. The goal of perfect "goodness" will not be attained. We will always fail somehow.

The voice of defeat can become the voice of apathy after time. It's stagnant, monotony turning our dreams into dust.

Yet here in my morning devotion I find words of truth and hope. They shine like pebbles in a glacial stream. They turn the ashes of failure into oil for the lamp stand.
For even Saint Paul the great evangelist could not overcome "his nature"

"For I know that good itself does not dwell in me, that is, in my sinful nature.^a]"> For I have the desire to do what is good, but I cannot carry it out."
Romans 7:18

Saint John tells us the Father is ever merciful as long as we humbly dust ourselves down and stand once again upon the path that leads to life.

"If we claim to be without sin, we deceive ourselves and the truth is not in us. If we confess our sins, he is faithful and just and will forgive us our sins and purify us from all unrighteousness." 1 John 1:8-9

To be aware of our sin is actually a victory! It can be used to make us more humble. It can help us become more compassionate toward others when they sin, even when their sin harms us in some way.
Being aware of our true "nature" also leads to the contrition which draws us closer into the loving arms of our father.

I have been the prodigal time and time again, yet every time He opens His arms and receives me. He puts the wedding ring upon my finger and a robe of purity upon my back.

When Rumi the great Persian mystic and poet first met his spiritual mentor Shams Shams posed Rumi a question to test him.
"Who is greater, the prophet Mohammed or the great teacher Betsami?" Without hesitation Rumi answered, "of course, the prophet Mohammed. This is because Betsami, the distinguished teacher, said 'I am great because God is within me,' whereas Mohammed said, 'God is great in His infinite mercy.'

God's mercy triumphs over all. God's mercy made alive through Jesus!
If we accept Jesus we accept the Father's mercy.
We also accept His grace.
His Love.
His promise.

And slowly, drop by drop, the sweet water rushes through the saline of our encrusted hearts till our being is refreshed, enlivened, reawakened and baptized in His purity.
Not our own.
Only His.

What comes between me and God? "Notes to self"

2011-02-04T09:43:00.008Z

What comes between me and the kingdom of God?

Is it fear, doubt, possessions, work, distracting pleasures, societies rules, shyness, my need to control outcomes, lukewarmness, weariness. my ideas of "perfection"?

To understand I have to pause. I have to turn off all background noise.
However important or worthy that noise seems, however relentlessly it pursues, I must put God first in my heart.
Uncluttered, uncompromising.
True, clear.

I have to put aside all that hinders, all that rises between myself and the voice at the center of my soul which whispers soft and true above the storm, "Peace be Still".

God is a loving Father, and however many times I fall, fail and flail, He is there to fold me beneath His wing as soon as I turn toward Him.
"Let your unfailing love surround us, LORD, for our hope is in you alone." Psalm 33:22

There is no place deep, distant or dark enough to keep me from this Love unfailing.

When all around seems in disarray I may turn toward His face.
See Him, not the struggle.

He will turn the struggle into a victory with my surrender a hundred times faster than with my striving.
He works all things out for good and I can trust in Him like a child. The safe and steady hands of a carpenter shaping life and form and beauty from brittle wood.
"Unless the LORD builds the house, its builders labor in vain. Unless the LORD watches over the city, the watchmen stand guard in vain."
Psalm 127:1

I can fill the open page of days I'm given with a story of His love, with eternal words that spin beauty and love into this fragile world.

"Nothing is important except that which is eternal."

"If thou walk inwardly, thou shalt not weigh flying words....Let not thy peace be in the mouths of men."
End quotes taken from "If" and "Rose from Brier" by Amy Carmichael

What lasts?

2011-01-30T08:40:00.008Z

"Childhood Faith"
Charlotte Herczfeld

"You may build great cathedrals large or small, you can build skyscrapers grand and tall, but only what you do for Christ will last…. You may seek earthly power and fame, the world might be impressed by your great name, soon the glories of this life will all be past, but only what you do for Christ will last. Remember only what You do for Christ will last. Only what you do for Him will be counted at the end; only what you do for Christ will last."

Quoted from this article, linked from here.

Sssh

2011-01-07T19:15:00.002Z

"Caught"
Maureen E. Kerstein

Sssh the sea says
Sssh the small waves at the shore say, sssh
Not so violent, not
So remarkable,
Sssh
Say the tips of the waves
Crowding around the headland's
Surf. Sssh
They say to people
This is our earth,
Our Eternity.

Rolf Jacobsen

Becoming a Lover...Inhabiting Truth

2011-01-05T12:12:00.012Z

"The Lover"
Clarabelle van Niekerk

When a person becomes religious, does that person's spirit leave the body? Or finally enter it?
The Neoplatonists, Plotinus among them, insist that we have to ascend out of matter in order to achieve the purity that brings us near to God.
Many others say "No." They say, "Stay in your body and become a lover."
They say God isn't attracted to the perfection in you, but to the fiery lover.
Excerpt from "The Soul is here for it's own joy" Robert Bly

{Let loving lead your soul.
Make it a place to retire to,
a kind of monastery cave, a retreat
for the deepest core of being.

Then build a road
from there to God.}
Excerpt "The Newborn" Attar.

A habit builds a road and we spend our lives walking it.
My word for the year was "true".
I pray I might make a habit of In-habiting" my truth more every day.
Carve a road with it from my heart to Gods.

Must I hone a perfect, stainless body from which my soul may take flight to paradise? No.

God born of woman on a stable floor seeks flesh and feeling.

Imperfect?
Always.
But TRUE.
Honest.
Childlike.
Warm.
A living body a Father can embrace.

God's love runs through human blood. Surging. Seeping to every fibre. Renewing life.

There is no place He cannot be.

All life is sacred.

Word for the Year!

2011-01-02T12:33:00.014Z

A tumble of words have piled upon my doorstep like an avalanche of Christmas cards these last few days.

Ann's "Yes" of last year. With it's open, unpretentious smile. It's armfuls of abundance and defiant hope. Oh, really "Yes" has come a calling and I have the welcome mat out. How I long for the unquestioning grace, fearless hope and wide armed acceptance of "Yes" throughout my days.

Tonia's strong and sturdy "Enough". Fully present and breathing deep, soulful drafts of contentment stirring my spirit soft.
Somehow every circumstance contains the wisdom of this word. It's resonate certainty that goodness is integrally present within every situation. Like a resource stored in the fibres of creation that can draw us to true fulfilment and satiation no matter the seeming deprivation. It is the deep knowing that God is ever present. An "Emmanuel", "with us" through it all.
Truly, that is enough.

Stephanie's gentle stringed "Harmony". Brimming balance invites me to sit down and just simply be with myself as I am. It also invites me to simply be at one with my environment. A reassembling of peace my soul too often unnaturally contorts into impossible shapes to recreate.
Truly, authentic harmony is a form of acceptance and it needs no contortions to attain.
Simply a redefinition of the scales. A peace that intuitively knows how to distribute the weights of life to keep it's centre true.

But which word has found its way into my heart at the beginning of this new year?
The first year it was "Surrender" last year it was "Courage".
This year the word is "True".

The word "True" has clear, clean, simple and centering connotations for me.
I have a tendency to over analyse and fuss over the extraneous. I need a vision word to cut right through and open up a path.

What matters most to me, I'm finding, at the moment is not getting weighed down by what is unessential to my soul. My life is busy and my margins are thin. I need to uncomplicate my life and lift the unnecessary burdens from my shoulders.
Including the voices that derail my soul dreams, and ridicule my deep intuition.

I feel a fierce and wild sense of fidelity to my intuition and my heart at the moment. I feel a maternal need to protect my true inner being.

I have even begun to understand that God has made me who I am for a reason. I am not to hide away in fear or shame or even humility. I am to simply be true and real and fully present to others without fear, or a sense of inadequacy.

We are all gifts to each other. Diversity teaches, blesses and honours the individual made in God's image. I am learning to be true to my own unique path and soul and voice.

Fearlessly and trustingly I pray to go forth into this new year. Listening to His voice in my heart and responding with the faltering yet transparently beautiful and "True" song He breathed into me from the very beginning.

Inspiration for new beginnings, my new poetry and thought word blog "Somewhere a Melody"

Falling Veils

2010-12-31T15:00:00.002Z

Before Zen trees are trees and mountains are mountains.
During Zen trees are spiritual beings and mountains are peaks of divinity.
After Zen trees are trees and mountains are mountains.

Zen saying...

Making Room at the Inn

2010-12-20T09:07:00.013Z

The question comes quiet as my daughter who has practised her three pieces flawless for weeks stumbles over the second bar of "Away in a Manger". It is the only solo in the Carol Service this year.
The piano keys tumble their way back into order under my tightly held breath, only to scatter discordant twice more before groping for the final bar. Blessed silence follows, lingering just that fragment more than it should.

"Do you choose the real me?"
The question finds me again in this space between...

My heart's still stuck like a needle on the scratchy record of two minutes ago, pounding, out breathless, half broken keys for her frost bitten hands.
The high church ceiling seems to carry the weight of disappointment like thick incense. Heavy as a lead balloon, ethereal as nonchalance.

"What do you mean the real you Lord?" I fumble in the shadow of the priest's formalities.

"Remember, I was seen as faithless, lowly, uneducated, ordinary, a crazy zealot, a stranger, in the end even a criminal."

"The flawlessness the world promotes, covers my wounds. Covers my truth. I am unrecognisable to the world's ideals, often despised, picked apart, scrutinised.
I am a scandal to the glossy images. I play the "wrong" notes in a melody not of this world."

"Remember there was no place for me to be born. No place for me to lay my head as I walked on earth. No place for me to rest in death, except a tomb given in haste."

"I had nothing prepared in life. I only ever took the way prepared for me and no other."

In the half light of candles lit upon alter I begin to see. I start to hear.

Maybe in the broken notes of an unprepared song, there dwells a symphony for those who can't play perfect?

Yet why do I want it all wrapped up and neatly bound in a bow this life?
Both the perfect performance and the authenticity of the practice that goes unseen.

"The real Jesus?"
He can seem a little too much like a failure. A set of tumbling notes blowing in the breeze.

Yes, it's true, he looks like a hero now. In the aftermath, we see the beauty of his song.
But at the time, did they hear? Do we always now?

I want the best opportunities for my girls. I want acceptance for them, a place they can call their own, applause for hard work, recognition for a job well done.
But when the question hits me between the eyes with the sharpness of it's intended edge I know that having both the world and the real Him can never be.
He is of the heart alone.
He has no obvious beauty that we might recognise him.
He is the broken note, the stumbling block, the cornerstone.
He is the disruption to our order.
He is the authenticity of our messy truth combined with perfect love. Contradictory and beautiful.
He calls us to meet Him stripped down to our own imperfect authenticity. Contradictory and beautiful.

Against the glow of the crib scene among the many varied voices of those around singing "As shepherds watched" I wonder at the people he chose to become his church. Those mavericks, sinners, uneducated, simple people. People of heart. Authentic. Real.

It's as we slur a stream of blurred orange taillights through the glittering, frost bitten streets of town on the way home that I turn to take my daughter's face in my hands.

Away from ideas, checkbooks and rickety finances, away from worry, expectation and flawless, shop front dreams I wander toward the dark cave. The flickering candle, the smell of animals, the wonder of new life found through the fearful tears and the courageous "Yes" of a teenage girl giving birth.

Here is where I begin to choose.
I know deep that this will not be the only time I will have to make the choice.
The choice between His dream and the worlds.

" You know, I was so proud of how you just carried on, you just kept going. To just keep going is the hardest part. You were brave and beautiful. You were just right".
She smiles relief.
So do I.

For I know who I am looking at when her soft green eyes draw me.

I have chosen.

I have chosen, in that moment, to let the world's dream, in whatever form it takes, fall away from my fingertips, like a forgotten scale.

So that I may make room for His and only His song to be born into my heart.

"And she brought forth her firstborn son, and wrapped him in swaddling clothes, and laid him in a manger; because there was no room for them in the inn." Luke 2:7

Bread for the Journey

2010-11-27T10:06:00.025Z

Bethlehem. It means "House of Bread ."
A place of nourishment.
And I am on my way there.

I know that whatever happens to me on this journey to Bethlehem
is a deep blessing.
God is drawing me close by whatever it takes.
Through both the soft breath of a prayer in the dark and through the cold silence and dry eyed searching.

Away from the world He calls saying.
"This is the way walk in it."

Sometimes the way is far from the safe roads I've always thought it would be.

My heart leads one way while my head is afraid to follow on after.

Jesus was always the reckless one though wasn't he? He got right to the heart and under the skin.
He broke the sabbath rules, the strict cleansing rules and the temple rules.
His way was a way of Love, a way of the heart.
His way.

An intimate way.
A way of learning how to identify with others so strongly that you can't ever judge again.
A way of walking in the shoes of the poorest wanderer.
To have no place to rest your head on earth.
Yet the thin matress for a body is the warmest blanket for a soul
He says..... there lies a Peace there on that bed, a Peace the world cannot give.

His way it is a way of seeing isn't it ?

A way of gazing fearless at the truth about myself however unpretty.

The journey food He brings me is like the medicine of the nightshade. And it is Manna.

Too much rule and not enough reckless love and it's taste can poison the heart.
Make it too scrupulous, too self focused. Despairing. Outside of the cup stuff.
But at just the right dose it wakens to mind. Sharpens the eyes till they can never see the same way again.

I have always lacked three things in particular. Well actually lots of things! But you know, these three have been real obstacles.
Humility, Temperance and Prudence.

I've always been recklessly emotional, confusing my emotional responses with fervour.
I've often responded instantly to situations without weighing them up properly or "testing the spirits."
I've also easily put up defences against people, especially the kind of people who I have been hurt by in the past. I have judged others on appearance, probably as a reflex and for reasons of emotional survival. And I have, out of fear and judgment often kept people from the distance needed to prevent them damaging my heart.

I have always identified with the misunderstood and those who don't fit into tidy boxes.
Now I see that that is ultimately the condition of us all as humans.

We are all soul strangers here on this beautiful blue sphere suspended in the heavens.

We are all trying to wake up in our own ways.

All afraid and defensive in our own ways.
All searching for that thing that reminds us of our real home.
Or ways to numb the reality that we are still exiles.

Whatever I have been going through whether it be a dark night or not. It has given me healing in these areas of lack.

This hollow, empty flesh ache is the brokenness needed for His breath to revive.

If the reed wasn't hollowed out, it could never play the shepherd's song?

And though the empty branch is naked, frost bitten. It only waits in the dark for the deep swell of budding.

These weaknesses are simply openings for His strength to be revealed.

The most affective medicine is usually the bitterest pill to swallow isn't it?
Yet this medicine is somehow making my soul ready to be a part of an eternal story.

It is a preparation for burial, it is an anointing. It is pure Nard.

I trust in this providence in the depth of my being, yet I am still afraid at times.

I know He is calling me out.
The divergence between the roads of this world and His world is getting wider. I can't keep one foot on one and one foot on the other.

I must choose and I'm not ready. Or maybe I am just not preparing myself to be ready.
Maybe I am turning away from His voice because I'm scared. Maybe I cannot hear because I don't want to. I don't want to hear His beautiful voice and walk away because I'm scared.

I remember years ago there was no fear. I strode ahead, unchallenged. Prideful. Abandoned. It was all good. It was the right way at the time.
With each step, as the sole of my shoe began to wear and peel back, so did the soul of my very being. It was a striping away. Little by little I have been left with the core of who I am.
And sometimes that core looks pretty flimsy and brittle. Sometimes it doesn't feel very weather tight.

I am cautious now, I don't want to rush, I know what pain feels like. I know the way is not easy.

In the days when there was nothing to lose there was no gamble to take. When we had no money, security, and our family could be divided by a scrap of paper signed by a home office department offical. His hand was the only thing that kept us from slipping away from each other. We grasped tight.

Now I have everything.
And I have to keep putting it all into His hands?
Really?

Giving the first fruits of every blessing back to providence.
Turning them over to Faith alone.
Each handful of grain thrown back down to the ground.

Yet maybe, just maybe that grain is what makes the bread for the journey.

Manna for the desert.

Store and plenty for the promised land.

Walking with Him on Wednesdays over at Holy Experience

"A Ship Aground"

2010-11-23T16:18:00.034Z

"A Ship Aground"
J.M Turner

So what do you do when you can't pray for months on end, or read your Bible, or any book almost that even comes close to the word "God."

Still all you have ever wanted is God?

This question has etched unending circles within me.
Breaking down the waxy flesh, eroding down deep to my metal.

The answer?
It's echoed brief, transient "I don't knows." And with it the falling behind. Figures ahead blurring to vapour.
Intangible.

My heart becoming tearless and sanitary, yet the ache it holds only hollows out wider with the low circling "whys?"

The first year I tried to force myself into the routines that had once fit so snug and secure yet now only seem to suffocate.
For most of the second year, I lay dormant half engaged. Half aware.

Now I'm pushing away, against the heavy clay that seems to have buried me alive in ideas and feelings that don't belong to my own soul.
The well intentioned "cut and pastes" that sever paragraphs of my own story with the familiar phrases of others.
An gown laced with ostentation's.

When I was a child I was taught only a few stories in the Bible. I went to church haphazardly and I hated it.
The church and those who went to it seemed so distant from the simple friend I knew as Jesus.

It was He, not they, who stayed beside me when I stood alone in playground. Wiping my tears when I hid lonely beneath the frayed blankets of my bed at night, waiting, mute for the headlights to sallow my walls.
He was the only one who picked me out of the doorway that was my bed and bid me come to a better place. Promising He'd never leave. He'd stick it out through thick and thin.
He was the only one who never judged when rejection took itself out as anger. When we waited in the rain for a bus for an afternoon at the ward to visit Dad.

Until about 6 years ago my heart was shards, pieces of glass, stained the colour of a night sky.
It was a shattered image but in the broken pieces, through the deep darkness, I recognised my old friend Jesus.
He spoke to me, tended my wounds. I found Him there in the fragments.
He had never left.
He'd just been wearing the scars of his own bruises. To show me I wasn't alone.
The swollen, disfigured beauty of the cross can be hard to recognise any other way maybe.

Since then I've become comfortable and settled. And grateful, so, so grateful, yet....
He seems to have ebbed away. Left me on the shore, stranded.
Or so it seems.

My feet stand on solid ground here upon sands of a secure home, regular meals, love, laughter, family and the safe duties that come with it all.
For once I am not treading water. Yet, reckless sailor that I am my heart crazily yearns for the salty, sea air. I yearn to walk out upon the waves. Feel the grip of His gaze keep me afloat above the swell.
Now, I look out upon calm, waters, still as mirrors.
I am preoccupied with my own image there. Forgetting that Peter had to keep his eyes raised to meet God's to stop submersion to the depths.
His saviour's steady gaze not his own stumbling feet were to be the focus for his walk.

I used to know what Jesus meant by, blessed are those who mourn, those who go hungry for justice, those who are poor in spirit.
Now, sometimes I feel a little overfed and lethargic.
And I feel a little over dressed for a share of His simple supper.

Maybe it's because I'm not used to being settled or too comfortable. I'm used to high adrenaline scenarios and vast expansive emotions for my daily portion.
My soul feels desensitised.

Before I "arrived here" I hardly ever touched my Bible. Maybe I was afraid of it. I just couldn't understand anything past the sermon on the mount, and the gospel of John. Often, if I'm honest, I still can't.

The prayers that I whispered out into the stillness, in those days were reachings out. As flowers in dark woodlands reach toward the glades of sunlight once the bitter frost has evaporated.

There were no schedules.
No rules.
Just His voice.

I don't believe this time I've had following traditional religious routes and routines has been wasted. It's had it's place in my journey. But I feel like God is leading me back to that place of simplicity.
That place of the heart.
The place He met me all those long lonely years ago as a child.
Undressed of everything but the simple robe He's laid upon my knees.

The Jesus of my heart finds me unadorned.

Away from the crowd, and the clamour and the words.
Away from the expectations, and the definitions, and the well worn paths made for other's shoes to tread.
Good paths, for them, but not me.
My feet need to feel the soil again, cool, moist. Bare.

Without a map, sign or compass expect for my love for Him, I feel like Jesus is leading me back to the beginning of me.

Though I'm still outside He is calling me through the gate to the warm hearth.

Inviting me to the wedding banquet in the perfect dress.

Nakedness.

"Ship on Fire"
J.M Turner

'

In Christ Alone

2010-11-21T16:55:00.000Z

{Inhabit}

2010-11-19T17:54:00.025Z

I am excited to join "the little list" today to ponder upon the word {inhabit} and what it means to me.

{Inhabiting}

Can it be a way of being?

Perhaps it is a way I can learn to open my arms wide and embrace all that surrounds me. With all eccentricities and imperfections intact.

Maybe {inhabiting} simply accepts without measuring the reality it holds against some external (or internal) standard or idea.
Or far away dream that must wait patient.

The word {inhabit} feels tactile.
It curves around me like an embrace, holding me gentle right where I am.

And in the safety of it's dwelling I am able to see, beneath the surface tempest,
to the deep stillness below. The water that keeps me afloat.

My home, the place which I {inhabit}, is a boat from which I can take anchor,
or sail far into new worlds.

{inhabiting} is a courage that steps out in to the unknown...
or simply learns how to BE HERE NOW.

In the moments of discord I can wait assured here ...{inhabiting}... as lessons seep slowly through.
And I too begin to see, beauty sparkle grand in every unpainted corner and chipped dresser of my life.

To {inhabit} is to indwell.

Whether that be a corner of my home, or a corner of my heart.

To be truly present is to {inhabit}

An unflinching presence and love which weaves strands of gold through the everyday shift apron of my days.

Etching soft, the outlines of my soul upon a small corner of the world.

What is Providence?...

2010-11-17T19:02:00.013Z

"Mary as the Dalit Mother"

"So how many are you planning on?" She asked me quietly, eyes glazing over seemingly endless words.
"Oh, gosh, well I've always seen myself with six, even as a child, but, well, we really enjoy having the children, I don't know, maybe more, maybe just five." I smiled weakly though her eyes remained intent upon her work.

Her next question came out of the blue of silence and the restless sound of overworked paper. It froze me still.
" The thing is how are you going to support them all?"

My eyes skidded over her skating black marker ticking deftly across boxes, dancing and crossing, through names and dates.
My mind worked her words in to hot glue and I stuck fast.
No response came.

I felt my face flush instantly. My eyes skirted across the falling petals of fading flowers left dry inside an old glass vase beside a blind sealed window. My heart wilting too.

Then slowly, from cloying mud thoughts, a sentence began to form.
" Well we are blessed to have had everything we've needed with each baby."

What I wanted to say with all my heart was how I trusted in God. How I trusted in His providence.

With the bursting joy of His Grace I wanted to show where I had come from.
The distance I had stumbled across.
The brokeness I'd swept up, kept in a plastic bag like debris from a war.

I wanted to explain how she would never have seen my smile or the colour of my eyes those years past when she'd said hello on the stair.

Yet how now from clay, the vivid shape that He, with His beautiful carpenter's hands was beginning to fashion from me. Day by day. Moment by moment. Child by child.

The shape of a Mother.

A shape hollowed out by Love to Love still more.

A shape curved around to cradle close.

Broken down and made anew with each new life.

And I wanted to laugh loud of how I knew with all of my being, that if He could take me from there to here, then He could take me anywhere! Bring me anything I needed for His Good Glory. For His Good Glory was all I wanted since the day He gave His gift to me though my hands were empty and too cold to cup.

But what people usually think of when you say the word "providence" is comfort, wealth, health, success.

The way we're told to see it. The way the world sees it.

And I knew if I said the word "Providence", somehow, it would not hold the weight of it's true definition in that small, sterile room. Inside those tiny checked boxes.
It's just not that sort of neat and tidy word.

Because providence for me doesn't count for a small measure of comfort or convenience. A perfect life pulled out of a hat.
I've known a different kind of providence to that.

I've known of a providence that sometimes means going without.
Taking less, surrendering more.
A kind of providence that feeds a soul not just a body.
A providence that promises an eternal life, not just a temporal one.

A providence that whispers love notes in my ear, telling me the secret of life. The secret that at times, I'm actually Blessed to have less.
When I'm taking my bread from Him alone. One flake of manna at a time.
Instead of mass produced, store bought slice upon slice.

I so badly wanted to tell her how I'm not afraid of that kind of providence, because it leads me gently to a place of true fullness.

Isaiah 40:11 "He will feed His flock like a shepherd; He will gather the lambs with His arm, and carry them in His bosom, and gently lead those who are with young."

That what may seem lack here, is great richness there. In the beautiful kingdom he takes me to.

Matthew 6:33 "But seek first his kingdom and his righteousness, and all these things will be given to you as well."

And that although I can't see around the next bend, He has my path carved out perfectly.

"Trust in the LORD with all your heart and lean not on your own understanding; in all your ways submit to him, and he will make your paths straight."
Proverbs 3:5-6

How my security is not based on the size of my income but by what I am willing to give of myself to Him.

A couple of weeks ago I was able to get an hour or so at adoration. I had been waiting for that hour for sometime it seems :)
There were a thousand things on my heart that fell in prayer and swollen tear. The pew sparkled bright with salty droplets that day!
Questions slowly wrestled free from the barb of my defences.
Wandering aimless over the times when I have seen a child have to let go of something beautiful because we couldn't turn finances into dreams. Their worn threads simply not stretching far enough to tie loose ends.

And then the words of others critisism.
Questions and raised eyebrows of countless times like those at the hospital echoing loud. Hovering bleak over my muted fears that it all may be true.

Somehow there in the soggy fold of my sleeve He came close.

He drew me toward Him and it was real touch I felt and real words that I heard breathing life anew.
And the words ran rivulets through my heart. Warming it up, making it come alive. Like the first ray of Spring sunlight, I heard Him speak.

" Child remember you are blessed! You are blessed to have less." "Don't seek the treasure and the wisdom of the world, seek the treasure and the wisdom of my kingdom. Then you will never go without."
Looking down upon my hands I saw my fingers trace the same words on liquid thin paper.

"Blessed are the poor in spirit for there's is the kingdom of heaven."

What is providence?
Providence is that which promises all I'll ever need.
To remain in Him.

"Peace I leave with you; my peace I give you. I do not give to you as the world gives. Do not let your hearts be troubled and do not be afraid." John 14:27

She is a Clown

2010-11-10T16:39:00.009Z

She is a clown, they laugh on cue,

that newspaper garland audience

The camera zooms close, lost, confused
Dissolves beneath her clicking heel.

Limp and wilting, her audaciousness
flickers out like a firework in a damp black sky.

Silence lingers longer
than the pause after a poem

Fifteen minutes hardly felt
A breath exhaled, a bubble burst

Hollowed out and plaster cast
from the brink of stone worn balcony bars

Flung back too fast toward the stars
like a paper aeroplane from the back of the class

A weeping, drunk strung mannequin
Dancing limp with broken limbs

To the song of our relief
Upon a stage

Of buried grief
That silences our own.

Reality TV shows have brought their own sense of tabloid justice to our culture. Where the "least of these", the vulnerable, the simple, the hurting and the weak are prodded, pushed, pulled and paraded for entertainment.

And compassion dissolves in the verdict we make and the stone we cast shatters more than illusions.

There dwells no grace.

Or truth or love, there is no "real" voice, dignity, respect or justice under those glaring lights and that heavy eyeliner.

We, curious and safe, unobserved watch numb.

As voices are raised, anger glorified, self righteousness praised.

Maybe it's the product of always feeling like the odd one out. Maybe it's because I know what it is to be poor. Maybe it's because I'm not hardly half a step away from the bruised and battered, the shamed and broken. But I find myself nearly always on the side of the one being singled out.
The one desperate for a hand of friendship and a smile of affection thought they push it away time and time again.

If she is a clown then so am I and my make up is running.

Falling away from the stereotype and the label.

Embracing the fresh clean skin of true beauty and "real" Reality.

"The Spirit String" Imperfections and Grace....

2010-11-06T10:09:00.005Z

I found this beautiful piece of wisdom over at "A Bit of the Blarney" today :)
We are knit together with love imperfections and all!

The Navajo Rug

In a Navajo rug there is always an imperfection woven into the corner. And interestingly enough, it's where "the Spirit moves in and out of the rug." The pattern is perfect and then there's one part of it that clearly looks like a mistake. The Semite mind, the Eastern mind (which, by the way, Jesus would have been much closer to) understands perfection in precisely that way.

Perfection is not the elimination of imperfection. that's our Western either/or, need-to-control thinking. Perfection, rather, is the ability to incorporate imperfection! There's no other way to live: You either incorporate imperfection, or you fall into denial. That's how the Spirit moves in or out of our lives.

From Breathing Under Water:Spirituality and the 12 Steps

Grace...

2010-11-04T21:25:00.018Z

I have been reading some beautiful thoughts on grace recently.

The way I see grace is that it is the freedom to accept love and give love without fear.
To accept yourself as loved and beloved. To realise that you are actually, truly and completly beautiful in the eyes of your maker. Stainless.

I am not always beautiful in my own eyes, but when Grace gently removes the scales from vision I begin to see who I am in God. And in God I am a beloved, beautiful child.

Grace ignores the tugs of guilt and shame and the rule book of stale offerings.
Grace loosens hands from laws that bind, ideas that prevent us reaching out to one another in gentleness knowing we are all one and the same.
Grace does not draw dividing lines between us, marking the right from the wrong in ever decreasing fractions of earth.

I don't know much about a souls journey. But years ago, I ran far away from God, for a long time I lived parched and undone. Then one day, alone and bathed in quivering, cold tears it found me. Grace.

It wasn't the Bible, the law, the church, a saint, a sacrament, a scripture tract that brought me the gift first, the gift first came unattached. Free and beautiful.

Transparent as glass and solid as steel, Innocent as a child, strong as a Saviour.

Grace transformed my life from that moment.
Overwhelmed with grace those years ago, I took all it offered unquestionably. My hands open, childlike and expectant.

Soon enough I began to find the edges of the path my feet had found themselves on.
Suddenly, the truth of my heart, the weight of the gift given, His greatness, my smallness, took me low and I groped in the dark for the hem of His garment.
As Rumi says I suddenly realised how I had been " dancing drunk on the edge of the roof", without knowing it.

A heart needs all sorts of lessons before it can carry love pure from source to earth and back again. I don't understand them all and I don't know if it's the same for everyone. Good thing is God knows. I trust He is working these lessons through me. Painstakingly slowly maybe. But I need quite a bit of work you know :)

Today, Grace is my word, my number one, my focus, my point of center and truth.

Like Serena so beautifully says we must focus on what Jesus did, not what we did wrong (and continue to do wrong).

Yet I am constantly reminded by my fumbling and stumbling that I must continue to water the Grace He bestows with a willing heart that follows His lead, till His work is finished in me.

We all have different ways of "following" and nourishing the spirit of Grace.

But whatever way that is our own it must have Love at it's core and center. Love will never put the rulebook first. Love tends to abandon itself wildly like that :) Well that's what I've found.

Ultimately God's offering of Grace is greater than any sin.
We are given freedom in Him, not to shut off and divide ourselves but to go out from ourselves and into Him. Then from Him into the world. Loving fearlessly, wildly, deeply as He loved us first. Bestowing grace lavishly, as it was bestowed upon us.

Maybe Grace is a question of perspective.

The turning toward Jesus, instead of ourselves. Embracing His open armed gift instead of rejecting our own messy truth.
We cannot fix ourselves by any other way than accepting His gift of Grace. By turning to Him and away from ourselves.

Letting Him heal our heart pure again, step by step.

Each moment a renewal of His promise to us...
“He who follows Me shall not walk in darkness, but have the light of life.”
And our promise to Him to follow His commandments of love.

These are vows of a marriage, written by Grace and consumated by Love.

At first she came to me pure...

2010-10-31T12:00:00.009Z

"COUNTRY CHICKS" VICKIE WADE

At first she came to me pure,
dressed only in her innocence;
and I loved her as we love a child.

Then she began putting on
clothes she picked up somewhere;
and I hated her, without knowing it.

She gradually became a queen,
the jewelry was blinding...
What bitterness and rage!

...She started going back towards nakedness.
And I smiled.

Soon she was back to the single shift
of her old innocence.
I believed in her a second time.

Then she took off the cloth
and was entirely naked...

Naked poetry, always mine,
that I have loved my whole life.

Juan Ramon Jimenez

..And so maybe it is with a soul's journey too.

For the Weary...

2010-10-28T18:27:00.001+01:00

What it really means to go to battle.

2010-10-25T09:05:00.012+01:00

We took the girls to see "Legend of the Guardians" on Saturday. Apart from being an incredibly symbolic film in many ways, one quote particularly struck me.

The old wizened and battle scarred owl guardian Ezylryb, who had first written of the legend, confronts his brave young apprentice Soren, eager for battle, with the thought.
"Being a hero and going out to war against darkness is not glorious, it is simply a matter of doing the right thing over and over and over again... even if you end up looking like this." (Scarred and featherless and weary in his case.)

Certainly the old bird is nothing close to what the keen, young owlet was expecting his hero to be.

Similarly, " doing the right thing over and over and over," is never the glory wallow we might have imagined it to be.

It can be hard, lonely, painful.
Mundane, monotonous, numb.

One by one it plucks out the elegant wing feathers and leaves us on the ground.

It makes us realise that our motives were never wholly pure anyway.

And yet, somehow, it still seems the only way.

"Then Simon Peter answered him, Lord, to whom shall we go? thou hast the words of eternal life."

Every day is made up of the choices I make.
The life I make is built,
stone by stone
on the thoughts I think,
the things I spend
time doing,
the memories I invest in...

My finished draft is crafted from these pieces of cloth woven.

A story is written, words are etched into times tapestry.

Both the times I did what what wrong, knowingly running from my deep truth, and the times I did what was right over and over and over again....even if it means ending up...
"looking like this :)".

Like a Child...

2010-10-17T09:37:00.002+01:00

"Faith strips the mask from the world and reveals God in everything.
It makes nothing impossible and renders meaningless such words as anxiety, danger, and fear, so that the believer goes through life calmly and peacefully, with profound joy - like a child, hand in hand with his mother."

-Charles de Foucauld

Stumbling over Middle Ground.

2010-10-15T09:19:00.004+01:00

"It is a poverty to decide that a child must die so that you may live as you wish."
-Blessed Teresa of Calcutta

Praying, weeping and reaching out for the radical with Ann today...
click here to read

Despair.... And What Cures it.

2010-10-12T09:13:00.009+01:00

Sometimes it's easy to forget that despair can be a sin.
It happens when we begin to beleive there is no hope. That we are unsalvagable.
Despair takes root when we begin to believe God to be a hard task master like the man with the one talent who buried it in fear and shame.

Or maybe we start to see Him as unfair or a mean controlling judge who will never be satisfied.
I've been feeling the weight of my failures and faults for a long time now. And they have played their part to make me more humble, contrite, honest and compassionate toward others...
They have also allowed me to undertand deeply that there is no good in me except God.
*
But they have also led me to despair.
*
The gentle childlike way I used to see my Father, even in times when I was clearly ignorantly selfish, mean or greedy has slowly evaporated under the weight of not being good enough.
The fear that I was abusing the abundant grace and protection I had been given has left me feeling hopelessly lost.
*
Last night I woke up in the middle of the night drenched in the worries that had once all but disappeared from sight yet have of recent times become recurring. Yet instead of falling fitfully back to sleep as usual I found myself becoming really angry with them.
Despair is a loss of hope. Ultimatly, a loss of hope leads to a loss of faith and that faith loss can leave emotions that are either highly charged or numb and empty.

But I am so determined as I write this. I will trust in a loving God. I will trust that Jesus takes me broken as I am and accepts and loves me still.
I will trust that He forgives me even though my failures are frequent and often repetitive.
I will trust in His gentleness and Love.

Despair blinds the windows of the house which is our soul, yet Hope lengthens the horizon of what we presume possible. Fear stagnates in our hearts like an unmoving pool, Faith moves freely and is not afraid of her dream.
From both sources, Hope and Faith, streams Love. I will learn to sail on that ocean once again.
The water of their promise washes all else away.

To Seek His Face Alone.

2010-08-06T16:09:00.006+01:00

"Who may ascend the hill of the LORD ? Who may stand in his holy place?

He who has clean hands and a pure heart,
who does not lift up his soul to an idol
or swear by what is false.

He will receive blessing from the LORD
and vindication from God his Saviour.

Such is the generation of those who seek him,
who seek your face, O God of Jacob.

Selah"

Psalm 24.

Here are two of my very favourite parts of the Bible...

The first is the Beatitudes. They tell me so much about the nature of our God.

He is there with you, covering you, loving you, embracing you. You who are poor, lonely, abandoned, forsaken, peace loving, merciful, persecuted, hungering for God's goodness in this fallen world... He is Emmanuelle. God with us.

Now when he saw the crowds, he went up on a mountainside and sat down. His disciples came to him, ²and he began to teach them saying:

³"Blessed are the poor in spirit,
for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.
⁴Blessed are those who mourn,
for they will be comforted.
⁵Blessed are the meek,
for they will inherit the earth.
⁶Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness,
for they will be filled.
⁷Blessed are the merciful,
for they will be shown mercy.
⁸Blessed are the pure in heart,
for they will see God.
⁹Blessed are the peacemakers,
for they will be called sons of God.
¹⁰Blessed are those who are persecuted because of righteousness,
for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.

¹¹"Blessed are you when people insult you, persecute you and falsely say all kinds of evil against you because of me. ¹²Rejoice and be glad, because great is your reward in heaven, for in the same way they persecuted the prophets who were before you.

This one is from my sidebar. I have tried to practice this and often failed. I pray that I may always remember that Love indeed comes before all else.

For all else is worthless without it.

"If I speak in the tongues of men and of angels, but have not love, I am only a resounding gong or a clanging cymbal. ²If I have the gift of prophecy and can fathom all mysteries and all knowledge, and if I have a faith that can move mountains, but have not love, I am nothing. ³If I give all I possess to the poor and surrender my body to the flames, but have not love, I gain nothing.

⁴Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. ⁵It is not rude, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. ⁶Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. ⁷It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres.

⁸Love never fails. But where there are prophecies, they will cease; where there are tongues, they will be stilled; where there is knowledge, it will pass away. ⁹For we know in part and we prophesy in part, ¹⁰but when perfection comes, the imperfect disappears. ¹¹When I was a child, I talked like a child, I thought like a child, I reasoned like a child. When I became a man, I put childish ways behind me. ¹²Now we see but a poor reflection as in a mirror; then we shall see face to face. Now I know in part; then I shall know fully, even as I am fully known.

¹³And now these three remain: faith, hope and love. But the greatest of these is love."

1 Corinthians 13.

Taking a small break for the next few weeks...

2010-08-04T22:47:00.000+01:00

Enjoy the rest of your summer friends )

No Man's Land

2010-08-04T08:46:00.008+01:00

"Life Prevails"
Ishmael Shamout

I wander through a city

Dislocated by memories,

Scarred by shattered debris of distant past.

The crushed blooms of setting tides linger in salty concentrates,

Like congealed blood,

Against trembling, blue horizon,

Loitering footsteps lace the pavement with un-swept cobwebs,

Soft bullets of innocent sunshine,

Puncture the metal sky.

Braclets of tangled light loop through the people,
Hope glances defiant.
From dirt smeared panes of glass.

Part of One Shot Wednesday

To be Happy

2010-08-02T13:10:00.019+01:00

Me watching Television for the first time in months, captivated.
Bodies swinging, music thudding, heartbeats rising like heat wave.
She said they danced and got drunk to express their joy. To be happy.
The Amish girl in the long blue drape of dress, bobby pinned, white scarf hiding long golden hair was silent a moment.
Staring somewhere afar her words came slowly, quietly, assuredly... "When I want to be happy I pray to God." She said...
When I want to express my joy I praise God....

And I wonder... In which flower do I find my nectar?
My joy.
Sometimes there seem so many to choose from.
Brightly coloured, fragrant, sweet.

"You have made known to me the paths of life; you will fill me with joy in your presence.'
Acts 2:28

In His presence my joy is awakened and I can praise too.
The thankfulness, dew, upon parched lips... a prayer... Till I am quenched and thirsty no more.
*
*
*
A daughter who is a friend.

Quiet pre-dawn mornings spent with candlelight, tea and His words.

Children that never fail to help me take off the layers of my heart.

The ache that draws me closer to His feet.

Being able to help my parents when the need me.

The joy of walking in Him regardless of what is going on around me.

Apples stewing on the stove.

Lavender biscuits baked by Emmy for breakfast.

Some wonderful thrift finds over the weekend. Things prayed for and found when needed.

Making crafts with my girls.... a great joy.

The emerald green grass sparkling in sunlight after the rain.

Begin at Once...

2010-08-01T00:05:00.004+01:00

"Begin at once; before you venture away from this quiet moment, ask your King to take you wholly into His service, and place all the hours of this day quite simply at His disposal, and ask Him to make and keep you ready to do just exactly what He appoints. Never mind about tomorrow; one day at a time is enough. Try it today, and see if it is not a day of strange, almost curious peace, so sweet that you will be only too thankful when tomorrow comes to ask Him to take it also."
-- Francis Ridley Havergal
*
*
*

"Let love be your highest goal..."

1 Corinthians 14:1

Beautiful words found here from here today....

Journeying toward the shores of Heaven....

2010-07-29T14:14:00.006+01:00

" That same evening, when the sun appeared to be sinking into the vast stretch of the waters beyond a golden path of light, I went with you to sit upon a lonely rock. I gazed for ages on this path of light, and you said it was the image of the path to Heaven when grace lights up the way.
Then I thought of my heart as a tiny ship with white and graceful sails gliding down the middle of a path of gold, and I resolved that I would never sail it out of sight of Jesus, so that it might voyage
swiftly and in peace toward the shores of Heaven."

Something beautifully apt for a blog named "Sailing by Starlight" from Saint Therese's "Story of a Soul"

And there I knelt

2010-07-28T16:15:00.003+01:00

"Mary Magdalene"
Nik Helbig

I used to find as a young girl,
Prayers written in the dirt,
A sacred secret told in clay,
Heaven traced within the earth,

One day I looked and saw the stain,
Upon my skin, the pigment, shame,
I washed and starched my eyes to white,
And stared and stared toward the light.

Till all was bleached and red and raw,
And blood poured where,
Dirt had before,
And tears baptized my leadened face,
In salt preserved I laid to waste,
My body draped in icy lace.

No more sand ran between,
My fingers were too weak and clean,
No temperance, to mix my clay,
I found I turned to dust one day.

Somehow the secret, still preserved,
Within that dust, the silence heard,
And memories began to stir,
Like seeds beneath the darkend earth.

I woke one day to the same song,
That had woken me so long,
Ago, into another world,
And there I knelt to kiss the dirt.

One Shot Wednesday Poetry

Let us Listen...

2010-07-24T08:51:00.002+01:00

"Let us listen for the Lord’s voice, so that we can reach his place of rest."

~ from morning prayers

Made of Clay

2010-07-21T21:45:00.011+01:00

I become distracted, overfilling myself with the wrong foods, carrying the wrong burdens, instead of simply taking His yoke.
Till I am broken once again.

I become impatient. Desecrating sacred moments with dissatisfaction. Writhing anxiously with tasks incomplete. Aching. Deep. Emptiness.

And somehow I forget all about the beauty that swells around me pleading me to simply stop still and notice.

The decor of four sweet girls feels like clutter and background noise to the foreground of "me" and "mine". Sudden territorial instincts bare their teeth. I thought these nets had fallen away since I'd caught that big fish.

I wake up wishing it was time to go to bed, disinterested in the day. Grasping for "me" moments in the thin broth I've made for us all to swallow. Wallow in like an unmade bed.
And I do swallow the stinging tears that fall down my cheeks as I crawl to my feet asking the same monotonous questions.

Why is this pattern of feeling like I'm failing grace... His Love for me, ever repeating itself through the days like a faulty roll of film?

There are the beginnings when I rise from a bed of hot tears and shame.
And the middle parts, soft and full as a cool pillow. Where I lay my head silently filling myself with His forgiveness. Sitting there in the half light listening, waiting. My empty hands open, my tears cried out, my heart somehow healed in the baptism of saline. My body feeling like debris.
Me the publican, unable to even lift my eyes heavenward.

Oh how the earth tugs. How it's gravity pulls me down.
Yes, something deep within me remembers deep that I'm made of nothing but dust and water. Substance of the fields that grow both wheat and weeds.
Yet the weeds take no careful hand to help them grow, the wheat, a little more so.
I am clay. Fragmented from being hardened, moistened, shaped and broken over and over again.

Has the Potter been trying to fashion me into a golden chalice for so long ?.... Still here I am a breaking, leaking, earthen pot.

Since from the muddy ground I emerge once again. Dust myself down, allow the stains to evaporate into His light once more.

How hard it is for a hurting heart to let go of the mess. To let Him just carry the burden, wash my feet, Heal my heart.

And every time I am sure my vision is secure. Till once again I falter and fall.

My King, you fell three times, yet I haven't stopped falling since we met. Both in love with you and over myself. I'm such an obstacle aren't I.
It's not you. It's me.

I quietly pray soft as a whisper, that somehow through it all, you are working in me still. Through these falterings, falls, tears, embraces, faltering falls again.
Maybe that is what Hope is for.

Hope that the brokenness in me can be worked into good once I turn my face toward You again God.

Doesn't good solid clay need a little tempering sand and grit to keep it strong?
It's what I've heard.
Maybe my "temper" will be the humility I've needed for the alchemy to happen.

And one day this grit, dust, ashes, water of a soul will become gold in Your Hands.

"To appoint unto them that mourn in Zion, to give unto them beauty for ashes, the oil of joy for mourning, the garment of praise for the spirit of heaviness; that they might be called trees of righteousness, the planting of the LORD, that he might be glorified."

Part of Imperfect Prose Thursday over at In the Hush of the Moon

Some great mid week reads...Enjoy:)

2010-07-07T00:20:00.001+01:00

The danger of being right
Characteristics of a meek and gentle spirit
Knowing when to stop
And finally, something very, very beautiful to refresh a weary soul :)

God Bless friends!

2010-07-06T19:25:00.003+01:00

I'm doing a series here over the next couple of weeks ... :)
I'll be happy to have you over for a cuppa :)....

Praise Songs on the Wing...

2010-07-06T11:05:00.000+01:00

I swear the birds recognise beauty like we do.
Flying high into shimmering sun brimmed mornings then silhouetted against slow, smouldering sunsets.
On the verges of light , they sing praise songs upon the wing.

I pressed my ear to the glass late the other night and was compelled to open the window wide to the sound, of hymns being sung to the sky, to the ebbing golden waves, drawing out with the tide of time.
Another day done, eclipsed by darkening blue gauze. A net fine enough to let even the smallest, dimmest stars shine through, like diamonds.
And the birds noticed. They sang the song of the angels at the foot of the throne, in their own way.
They saw God in the clouds and responded.

My eyes were dim that night, they had been filled with too many words, too many ideas still unprocessed, chores still left undone. I was not "singing, praise songs on the wing."
I felt the edge of my own time ebbing away too fast and was racing through tasks just to catch up before it slipped away. Would there be a sliver left before tired eyes would drag tired bones upstairs under covers of night and sleep?

...Maybe, if I had found my "praise song upon the wing",

maybe my tasks would have too become a song. A hymn of giving, within a small pile of gently folded clothes perhaps.

I could have been reaching out to touch the silence of the branch ( socks, vests, cotton, wool) till roused to sing from somewhere deep within. Roused to sing a song that weaves the strands from darkness to light, from night to day, from confusion to clarity, from frustration to praise.

Where is my song when I am flustered, busy, living on the surface, tossing about upon the stormy waves? The unfinished tasks, the hundred voices grabbing for attention, the gnawing feeling that maybe, somehow, I'm failing.
Is my song perhaps in the noticing of the beauty in these moments? Can I see God in the clouds? If I do, do I respond?
In many African cultures a call and response song is used to bring spiritual meaning into everyday work.
God calls all the time, through both the silence and the storms.
It just comes down to me to notice and respond

By noticing, the whisper in the whirlwind, I can bring the song to the surface of each and every day, where Jesus can still the waters of my soul and the souls of those that sail with me in my little boat.

"Awake now, he told the wind to pipe down and said to the sea, "Quiet! Settle down!" The wind ran out of breath; the sea became smooth as glass" Mark 4:39

Looking out from this window, across the windowsills and shelves that curve around each room I notice all the bits and bobs that we accumulate, the ornaments getting dusty under glass, the clothes getting creased in the drawers.
Yet in the aching notes of this song, they seem to me like cheap imitations of beauty. Clumsy distractions, compared to the naked, fragile, ever moving, yet ever still beauty of God's creation left untouched.
The quiet breathing of a song so rarely heard in the ever quickening pace of everyday contemporary life.

In my own life, I keep carpets vacuumed and sinks wiped down, but how often do I see the beauty of it, the gift in the giving, the still song within the movement of life the " praise songs on the wing".

For He is everywhere. He is the whisper at the center. And the song on the breeze.

God grows in the quiet upon a little piece of bark on an old tree, God moves breathlessly inside a seed caught in the wind, God sings in the morning sunlight echoing across leaf and petal.

"Jesus said, "I am the light that is over all things. I am all: from me all came forth, and to me all attained. Split a piece of wood; I am there. Lift up the stone, and you will find me there."
Gospel of Thomas

He moves and breaths in the tiny fibres that make up the fabric of life. All we have to do is notice.

Today, as I open my window wide and let the first morning light into my day.
I will notice, like the birds, I will respond.
And as I flit and fly and soar and glide from moment to moment I will try to sing my own "praise song on the wing".

"Then he was told, "Go, stand on the mountain at attention before God. God will pass by."
A hurricane wind ripped through the mountains and shattered the rocks before God wasn't to be found in the wind; after the wind an earthquake, but , but God wasn't in the earthquake; and after the earthquake fire, but God wasn't in the fire; and after the fire a gentle and quiet whisper."

My praise song wakens from the whisper today...

* Reuniting with a long lost cousin
* The sweetness of tears and reconciliation
* The slow road that opens ears to the whisper of His voice in the storm
* Feeling God's embrace through my life, the ups and downs the highs and lows
* Knowing He loves me
* Knowing He is faithful to me even when I haven't been
* The beautiful souls that take me a little deeper and a little further on up the road
* Sweet Williams on my window sill and smiles behind the door
* The sound of birdsong always the sound of birdsong
* A gentle saviour
* The staff of the shepherd that guides
* Wildflowers along the roadside
* Natures stories and songs
* Warm waves, dipping toes, immersing bodies
* Salty air
* Fish and Chip suppers
* His word illuminating a tired heart
* My children singing Abba Father with me cuddled in bed, eyes sleepy, bodies weary after a day of running wild, stomachs full and souls overflowing.

For these and so more I slow, quieten and still to give Thanks...

photo credit by mehmedakif

When blogging hurts

2010-06-29T21:47:00.000+01:00

Words are written so easily. The silence of the page hardly rebounds. Keys fall loosely, fluidly, without a sound. Mute and rhetorical.
Thoughts overflow upon a hungry white screen and they cannot be diluted or dammed. Emotions seep in drunken abandon.
They create waves, like ripples, ever widening.

Funny, how it's been women whom I relate to least, the ones furthest from my own theology, background or ideology, that I find myself standing beside in spirit as my own hands cup these keys.

Somehow things such as this lie beyond ideology.

All those loose social frameworks that collapse so quickly under the skin, the calloused crust of life. The places we can so easily recognise in one another if only we look a little deeper than the surface unrest. The places of fear, love and tears, both happy and sad. Memories, childhood and children. Old age, illness, loneliness, brokenness, imperfection, regret, faith, fear, and the hope that somehow remains regardless.

Blogging, as with life, work, school or any other place where individuals gather into groups within a group has it's own rules, hierarchies, cliques and tribes.

I don't really fit in. I'm too much of one thing to be another and too much of another to be just one :) Most of the time I just scribble out my heart even though I know I'll never be a writer. Feeling the release of simply letting words fall out from fingertips. Realising how hard it can be to quell the flow.
Or I might record small moments of beauty and grace in this little space here. Staying out of the way like I did at school. Mixing a little with every tribe, still happy to be alone, doing my own thing.

Bullying in the blog world, seems to be getting worse. Maybe I'm just noticing it more.
There are blog parodies, with their very own blog buttons. The purpose of their existence being simply to ridicule other blogs. So much time and effort spent on negativity. Feeding distrust and division.

It makes me so deeply sad. I can't explain why. Somehow it reminds me of the rush predators get when they smell a little blood.
Fraying threads of red glint in blue vastness, and suddenly there is a feeding frenzy. All the fish in the sea clamouring to take a bite.

A few days ago, somebody may have said something a little off key, maybe their words could have been chosen differently.... but the reaction, like a landslide just got bigger. Till everyone involved became knee deep. Mired, smeared, dirtied. I watched on the sidelines half guilty observer, half paralysed by dismay.
Feels like something bigger than a blog post became damaged somehow.

Grace, is such a beautiful word. So underused. Thrown around as if it were a rag doll, yet how easily broken to pieces like china.

So many things distract, harm, hurt.
There is a woman, I know only through the letters she types, she is really different from me, but today I felt her pain and alienation.
And the subtly of bullying disguised as discussion.
Thin veils these computer screens.
Still not so much between us and the world. As between us and our true selves.

Before the Daystar...

2010-06-28T20:13:00.011+01:00

I have been listening to some beautiful old Christian chant today.
Hearing these old prayers takes me to a time before any divisions between the followers of the Messiah they knew as Yeshua and the one we know as Jesus.

There is starkness and simplicity in the voice that calls out from the silence of the heart.

The vision hard and clear as ice, undistorted by comfort and years. Echoing as if from the mountain where Jesus once said how the poor were blessed by God and the persecuted welcomed to His Father's Kingdom.

A prayer in spirit and truth trembling from a time where following the way was as simple as it was hard.
I hear Eastern scales undulate a Latin landscape. Text, ancient as a stone and carved from David's own song to God. And words draw long shadows in the evening light of bowed head and bended knee.
The sound, both a meditation and a sigh.
The prayer mat and the rosary may not be the destination as Rumi says but they realign the day to point towards what really matters. The essential. His face.
And I wonder on the kind of prayer that takes a cry from the heart to five or six different notes on a scale simply to render a single syllable.

"For me prayer is a surge of the heart, it is a simple look towards Heaven, it is a cry of recognition and of love, embracing both trial and joy."
-St. Therese of Lisieux

A surge of the heart. Embracing. Trial and Joy. A cry. Recognition. Love.

Broken apart and made whole again on the suspension between one breath and another.
We meet with God here. In the space between. Neither the whirlwind, nor the fire, but the whisper.

A soul that prays like this. Slow, deliberate, true, full. Gathers and gleans grace from grace.

Tecum Principium
( used at Midnight Mass)

	-- Ps. 109.3, 1 --
Tecum princípium in díe virtútis túae: in splendóribus sanctórum, ex útero ante lucíferum génui te.	With Thee is the principality in the day of Thy strength: in the brightness of the saints, from the womb before the day star I begot Thee.
Díxit Dóminus Dómino méo: Séde a déxtris méis: donec pónam inimícos túos, scabéllum pédum tuórum.	The Lord said to my Lord: Sit Thou at My right hand until I make Thy enemies Thy footstool.

- Ps. 2.7 --
Allelúia. Allelúia.	Alleluia. Alleluia.
Dóminus díxit ad me: Fílius méus es tu, égo hódie génui te.	The Lord hath said to Me: Thou art My Son, this day have I begotten Thee.
Allelúia.	Alleluia.

-- Ps. 95.11, 13 --
Laténtur caéli, et exsúltet térra ante fácimen Dómini: quóniam vénit.	Let the heavens rejoice, and let the earth be glad before the face of the Lord: because He cometh.

-- Ps. 109.3 --
In splendóribus sanctórum, ex útero ante lucíferum génui te.	In the brightness of the saints, from the womb before the day star I begot Thee.

Blinded by Stuff

2010-06-24T19:47:00.000+01:00

Blinded by Stuff

The Morning Glory of the Soul

2010-06-18T09:06:00.009+01:00

The wind blows a long lingering sigh. The crop parts at it's mouth. A ragged grass stained river.
Thick blueness hovers low. A storm is passing over.

"Look" she says you can see the bind weed now."

It's true. Seems like over night the tendrils snaked up and around our proud poppy plants withering them, lifeless. Bringing them low.

Untangling the fibrous twine is a delicate job. Before long the long slender ethereal green of the Poppy stalks snaps loud like a pea pod.
The web of weeds is loosened. But at a cost.
About three or four beautiful flowers, on the brink of bloom fall limp to the ground.

Bind weed, my daughter reminds me, was often planted in Victorian country gardens. It was called "Morning Glory" after it's pure white bell shaped flowers that open at first glance of the rising sun.
It wasn't long before our good intentioned Victorian cousins realised that the roots of the Morning Glory scuffle tenaciously and mercilessly under the ground meshing a net around the roots of other plants, sucking away the goodness from the earth.
They drink the soil barren.

The beautiful innocence of their white flower, blooms at the expense of the rest of the garden.

What you see is stark white petalled grace and the forest green of heart shaped leaves.
The truth lies hidden beneath the mulch of composted soil.
The Morning Glory thrives on the demise of others. For it's tendrils grow centimetres per day, strangulating the life from that which it grows among. Soft soil soon hardens to clay.

Sometimes I'm easily, intrigued.
Curious... Captured by that which looks good, informative and perfectly arranged on the outside.
My appetite is aroused. I eat without thinking much about what I'm satisfying myself with.
I plant a handful of seeds in my hungry heart. All taste good, all fill the space. A fresh tilled bed looks so bare. Fear grasps handfuls of anything. The seeds fall and scatter.

"And when the woman saw that the tree was good for food, and that it was pleasant to the eyes, and a tree to be desired to make one wise, she took of the fruit thereof, and did eat."
Genesis 3:6

A petal unfurling in the first rush of morning light belies it's intention and truth.

Sometimes it takes a season to recognise the difference between a wheat sheaf and a tare.
Inexperienced gardener that I am.

By the time I feel the barrenness within. The tendrils have already half strangled.
The moisture becomes vapour, the glory fades at the touch.

A few blossoms will be lost in the weeding. A humbler, inwardly stronger plant may grow in time from the pruning hand.

I pray.
I pray.

Wheat and Chaff

2010-05-29T16:59:00.006+01:00

"It's about separating the "Wheat" from the "Chaff" isn't it?"

Her words bring me round like a splash of cool water thrown across the blurred edges of filmy, sepia, stained sleep.

"The things we choose to focus on. Some is wheat. Some is chaff. We need to concentrate on feeding up the wheat."

My heart skims a worn place with frayed hems. Because I know it's true. It's in the unseen depths of what we choose that eternity dwells.

God's kingdom doesn't always grow above the ground. We might see shards of it through the blue of a clear morning, or glints of it in the red ink speckles of a meadow poppies. But, truly, the wheat grows still and straight and golden from the spring that runs under the soil.

When the wind blows the chaff is gone.

How much of my time, my life, my work is made of chaff?
I wonder in the half light and her questioning gaze hangs lucid and free.

When the Spirit is upon us....

2010-05-18T14:23:00.000+01:00

Yesterday my little girl Emmy became an adult in the church. She got confirmed!
How the tears welled up from my heart, happy tears, till all they could do was roll themselves unselfconciously down my cheeks...

My Father who is very ill made it somehow and what beauty came from that. He had tears in his eyes too. I caught them before he noticed.
The air truly trembled with the breath of the holy spirit within the church. Joy in abundance!
What a wonderful thing to witness!

The Bishop spoke about what it means to truly live with the spirit in your life.
He said, that the way we can best "be" Jesus in the world and give Jesus to others is to truly and authentically be ourselves. Having fidelity to our true nature and the places it leads us.

I remember, years ago, thinking identity was like another layer, something you "put on".

Maybe it was a collage made up of pieces of the people you most admired. Maybe it was a front that protected your heart from being broken by the world. Maybe it was following the rules that help you become popular in school. Or the value you got from being especially good at something.
Maybe, sometimes, it just came down to a new dress and a coat of bright red lipstick.

But those are just billboards. True identity is all about taking the layers off one by one. Becoming at one with your true life, the life hidden in Christ. The real true you!

The you that fragments into others till you can feel their pain, forget to judge, understand and forgive their sin as you need them to yours.

The fragments that turn you into a piece of a bigger picture. A body that goes out from itself again into the world to love and be loved. To fall apart again and to be healed.

When the Holy Spirit touches us, no more do we belong to ourselves, but to something eternal.

And now my child, my dear Emmy (emmanuelle - "God with us") goes out into the world her heart forever changed, enlarged, anointed, and beating now not only for her own life but for His too.

Becoming Mulchy

2010-05-06T08:46:00.008+01:00

"I've become more mulchy" I exclaimed to my husband this morning over my chai.
Seems an odd word to come to mind "mulchy. But, it kind of fits somehow.

The other day I took my girls to the Saturday market in town.
Matilda spied another little girl about her age and they spontaneously started playing hide and seek around the stalls.
Her mother smiled at me. "Look, how they can just be best friends without even knowing each others names"!
The mum ( about twenty five, trendy, bleached hair) and I chatted for a while laughing over the eccentricities of children... and how to get our girls to sit down for five minutes so we can pull a brush through their hair before they run off. She said she used to use roly poly olie as a bribe now she just puts it on first:)

And as I went on my way I noticed something reflecting in the glass window of the shop front ahead of me.
I saw that I was smiling as I walked.
It caught me off guard. My heart panged.

I've become "mulchy". Like the leaves. As I get older, I feel my inner eccentric old lady make herself at home more and more in my beingness. I smile as I walk, I talk freely, I am myself and I am at home. I think less and less of what I wear and I don't cross examine my thoughts before I speak. "Will I sound silly, does it come off as strange, what will this lead to."

I used to worry about the children's behaviour too. They are really good girls anyway but I think it was instilled in me, the judgements of others since being pregnant with my first daughter at 18.
I had pink hair at the time which didn't help with the responses toward me. People made up their minds before even knowing my name, and their ideas certainly didn't include wanting to be friends.

Strangers would tell me off in the street for small things like carrying my baby with only socks and no shoes on a summer day.
I felt worthless, something to be picked over. Little, by little, piece by piece, torn from my value. The truth of me was a shame. I listened. I believed it.

I became protective over my perceived abilities as a mother. I closed off more and more. Retreated behind a painted shell of conformity. And for quite a long while, it even felt more comfortable. A suitable arrangement. I wouldn't ever get hurt, cause I would never open up, give myself away to intimacy, let go and fall into the mulch of the world, beauty, mess, joy, hurt and all.

Now if the girls fuss a little I think mmmmm, maybe they're giving that young mum over their with three boisterous little ones and an armful of shopping a bit of relief, like she's not the only one that has a bad day. I'm very protective about young mothers that I see. And I never, ever judge by appearances, I know the harm that can do.
The coldness of people is brought out into relief when you dress or look differently. I have lived on both sides.

So the mulch part?

I'm not trembling, lonely
upon the branch anymore, neither tender and green
nor brittle and faded.
I've fallen.
I'm on the ground, in the mulch, ready to be open and brave to what comes. Becoming mulch, the earth, hoping, just that I might, in time to come, give a little back to the tree that taught me how to let go and just be.

When your wound reveals your hidden life.

2010-05-05T08:35:00.012+01:00

I'm trying to hide my wounds. Been trying.
Truth doesn't always look pretty. Beauty, real beauty comes at a cost.

The real kind of beautiful shatters all images.
It can't be seen on the outside of life, the pleasant, painted exteriors. This kind of beautiful can only be touched by the heart, the upper chamber, the secret place.

The path is narrow isn't it? That wasn't just a saying.

So narrow, at times, I think I might have to fold myself into nothing just to walk it. And steep.
The air is so thin, didn't really imagine that.

In my head were pictures of transfiguration's, lush greenness, hope budding wild flowers along the way.
...Scenes from the book of "Beautiful".

The real way is all darkness to the eyes, it's only beautiful to the soul.

Seems I was rescued from the cross, only to be given the choice to take it up again.

But this time for Love not the consequences of pain and fear.

And I want to, in His embrace I want to. But then the burden comes and I shrink away.

I forget that He will bring the breath, and the strength and the journey. All He asks is I bring myself, real, true, broken, wounded as I am.

He recognises my beauty through my wounds.

But when I feel so far away from refreshment, and the clarity of clean, clear, reviving air that I start to lose consciousness of what really matters, where my life really comes from. I become muddled and distracted.

I let too many thoughts crowd Him out. And a thousand voices mingle like debris around me like strangers at a party and I feel just as lonely. I wonder, am I alive still beneath it?
Has he held onto me even when I let my hand slip away?
Busy with my own "My chasing's after the wind".

I have motives I don't want others to see.
I want the honey and the sweetness, but without the sting of the bee.

I want God's breath to live inside of me but I don't want the brokenness that let's it in.
Making me touch the sharp shards, the edges of my nothingness, my emptiness, the truth of me, when I'm left to my own devices.

I gaze at the false pictures of me that flatter my walls. There are ones that look like a good imitation of everything I want to be. Holy, simple, true, pure in heart, peaceful, childlike, gentle...
Humble.
All the while knowing I'm gazing in the wrong direction. I should be looking for Him.
As the lover in Song of Songs, ran barefoot through the streets after her beloved...

I plaster, paint and build. Yet love causes me to tear down, peel back, expose the naked structure, the wound of my heart.

I know that those pieces, those images of goodness that decorate the walls of my house are like fragments of truth buried deep in my soul. And they are the shore I keep trying to sail toward in my small boat, on a tide that has been turned against it by the gravity of "me".
They are fragile images of my true life "hidden" with Him. And sometimes they haunt, ache, tremble, weep.
Like memories that reflect from the water's surface of what was once and could yet be.

But without His grace all I'm left with is the truth of me. Empty images of beauty that cover the cracks like cheap make up.
The harshness of my voice rasping from the parched land within.
The stone that is my heart, beating without love, just ambition and pride.
The dress I wear to give others an impression of who I am or (who I want to be).
Without really being.
The stuff I think I need to become closer, closer to completion? Like a never ending project that only demands deadlines (and a documented proof of existence).

So this becoming? What is that?

"The beginning of Me is the end of you. You can't make or build this image. Dig down deep, giving yourself away to love. piece
by piece. Till.
All that's left, is Me."

And I gaze at the face of Love, and the heart exposed. Wounded weeping. Salt tears, of baptism.

The desert hermits found God, carrying nothing in their hands but wounds.
Their longing was the loudest call. Louder even than their lives.
Their longing gave all away to purchase a field with a treasure. And the treasure.
Was it their own heart?
Alive, beating, real, deep, down,
down in the dark earth.
A heart resurrected by His Blood. His life. His breath.

Their wounds raised, not hidden and festering, but open wide to the healing Breath.

And they looked like fools didn't they?
Wearing their garlands of thorns.
Still how they must of gleamed like crowns in the sunlight.

Thankful for Grace

2010-05-04T12:43:00.011+01:00

Slowly, quietly I come.
Along this path again. my feet tread, my heart trembles.
Like a bird inside my chest.
The weeds can look like flowers too you know?
Pretty, useful, important.
Stuff.
Entangles, distracts, turns the soil of my heart to parched clay.
I stumble over briers I had not even noticed, I
fall and feel, the barren ground of my soul.
I need to stop. Turn. Gaze.
And let the silence wash over me like a wave of clear, cool, water.
These things, this stuff, worthless as dead idols.
And I sacrifice to them time and time again, thinking that it's important to pay
attention.
Plan, organise, structure. Control.
And the vine I planted is dying, the fruit is drying on the branch.
And all the while I'm watering the weeds and leaving my garden to ruin.
But the fragrance, the fragrance of the blossoms he left me all those years ago,
Somehow still lingers on the breeze.
Reminding me, waking me bleary eyed and sober.
So I stand to walk again, along the waters beside the green, green pastures.
A little gentler, a little smaller, a little softer, thankful.
Always.
Thankful for grace.

"But one thing is needful: and Mary hath chosen that good part, which shall not be taken away from her."

"Unless the LORD builds the house, its builders labor in vain."

Photo by Emmy

A small soul

2009-11-12T11:51:00.012Z

A small soul with a small little light, but (hopefully) a light none the less.

Right now, for lots of reasons, I would rather use the words of others, than my own.

Feel free to join me now and again on Wednesdays in my little corner of the web for "Walk with Him Wednesdays."

God Bless Friends.

Saint Isidore the Farmer

2009-11-08T19:03:00.003Z

It is not the feast day of Saint Isidore the farmer today but I came across this little reflection on his life today and wanted to share.

In March 1622 five great saints were canonised together. They included four of the giant figures of the Catholic Reformation: St. Ignatius, St. Francis Xavier, St. Teresa and St. Philip Neri. The fifth, St Isidore, stood apart. He founded no order, he accomplished no great deeds (apart from tilling the land); he neither left any teaching, nor inspired ant disciples. He was, in fact a simple farm worker, born in Madrid, who spent his entire working life in the service of the same wealthy landowner. With his good wife, Maria he bore one son, who died in childhood. He knew the hardships, the toils and the sorrows of all farm workers then and since. And he displayed the simple though profound faith so common to campesinos the world over. He attended Mass daily and prayed continuously as he worked in the fields. In Isidore's case however, his faith was attended by visible signs and wonders. It was reported, for example, that angels were seen assisting him as he ploughed, He was famous for his generosity toward those even poorer than himself. His table was always open to the indignant, while he was content to live on the scraps left over. His kindness extended to animals. One winter day he was so moved by the sorrowful noise of some hungry birds that he opened the sack of corn he was carrying and poured out half of it's contents. Though witnesses scoffed at this prodigality, later, at the mill. the bag was found miraculously to be full.
Other similar stories are told of this holy peasant, who died on May 15 1130. Yet for all the miraculous legends, what most stands out is the very ordinariness of his life. He is simply one of the " little ones" so beloved by God. Though not a monk he passed his life in "work and prayer."
Though poor himself he poured himself out in charity. Though happily married he communed with angels. In the list of canonised saints his type is surprisingly rare; in heaven, presumably, less so.

From All Saints, Daily Reflections on Saint, Prophets, and Witnesses For Our Time (Robert Ellsberg)

Scripture meditations for the day...

2009-11-07T11:23:00.003Z

Mid-morning reading	1 Samuel 15:22
Is the pleasure of the Lord in holocausts and sacrifices or in obedience to the voice of the Lord? Obedience is better than sacrifice, submissiveness better than the fat of rams.

Noon reading	Galatians 5:26,6:2
We must stop being conceited, provocative and envious. You should carry each other’s troubles and fulfil the law of Christ.

Afternoon reading	Micah 6:8
What is good has been explained to you, man; this is what the Lord asks of you: only this, to act justly, to love tenderly and to walk humbly with your God.

The Descent

2009-11-07T10:05:00.012Z

"He had a dream in which he saw a stairway resting on the earth, with its top reaching to heaven, and the angels of God were ascending and descending on it."
Genesis 28:12

I have been reading about the lives of Gandhi, Mother Teresa and Martin Luther King with the children as part of their study of heroes in history. While reading, I couldn't help but notice similarities at the beginning of their extraordinary works.

In each life there is a pattern of descent. The leaving of the mountain of transfiguration and the returning to the valley of persecution.

Martin Luther King had strove to leave Birmingham for a brighter and more liberated future in the Northern states, only to return with a soul desire to help free those still languishing in chains of oppression. Mother Teresa left her beloved Loreto, and the life she had dreamed of since a child to serve the poor in Calcutta's slums. A place where she found both interior and exterior darkness, brokenness and suffering. And Gandhi returned to his roots after living a privileged life abroad to serve the cause of the poor and ordinary Indian people repressed under colonial rule.

In each life there is a pattern of descent, a return, a going back.

After struggling to attain higher ground, and gaining the perspective and the freedom of it's promise, they each in turn, returned carrying within them a spirit of sacrificing love that could only give itself away. As candles brought to life by love's breath they walked into the darkest corners of the world to offer illumination. God must of known, that they could keep the flame alight even in places where there seemed to be know air or life at all.

And I think of Hannah, who on receiving the answer to her most arduous prayer, without thought, gave up the most precious gift of her son Samuel to the Lord.
And Moses who spurned power and position in exchange for the plight of his own people.
And of course Jesus who chose to bare the crown of thorns instead of the crown of a worldly king on the Palm Sunday preceding his passion.

An ascending and descending, of a ladder between heaven and earth.

"And He said to him, "Truly, truly, I say to you, you will see the heavens opened and the angels of God ascending and descending on the Son of Man."
John 1:51

2009-11-06T12:22:00.003Z

Turn your face away from my sins

and wipe out all my transgressions;

create a pure heart in me, God,

put a steadfast spirit into me.

Do not send me away from your presence,

or withdraw your holy spirit from me;

give me again the joy of your salvation,

and be ready to strengthen me with your spirit.

for you do not delight in sacrifices:

if I offered you a burnt offering, it would not please you.

The true sacrifice is a broken spirit:

a contrite and humble heart, O God, you will not refuse.

Be pleased, Lord, to look kindly on Zion,

so that the walls of Jerusalem can be rebuilt,

Then indeed you will accept the proper sacrifices, gifts and burnt offerings;

*

..."and you will find rest for your souls"...

2009-11-05T19:02:00.010Z

"learn from Me, for I am gentle and humble of heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy and my burden is light”

Jesus says there is a rest that comes with carrying the burden He gives.
Maybe this peace will not be for the body, neither the heart or the mind perhaps, but for the soul Jesus says here the soul will find it's rest. Embracing His burden, His yoke.

Maybe Jesus is saying that true peace can only be found when all is given for the soul, all is carried for the soul.
A deep peace for simply trying to do what God wills. Both simple and hard.

This peace comes along with the humble and gentle spirit which Jesus asks us to learn from Him.

These words humble and gentle rise and fall upon my heart. And I feel the sorrow of their absence well within. How I pray for them. How very far I am from them. I see patient, loving, generous, brave long suffering souls all around. While truly, I am like little fragments of mediocrity glued together by pride lol :)

A humble heart gives no resistance. A humble heart will not strive against humiliations but will embrace them.
And gentleness, is soft, crushed perhaps, broken? Probably. An empty state that cannot take or assert anymore, only give and accept.

A gentle heart must feel God's Love for hearts and their absolute need for His. Maybe only in carrying some of the burden of the broken is there relief, for the gentle soul.

And a humble spirit will stand aside while trusting simply in the stillness for itself. Knowing somehow, someway, He will come and lead her on with nothing of itself to give Him but it's willingness to be lead.

And there will not be that nagging fear of world's demands or standards or ideals. A humble and gentle spirit will be quenched by His will alone.

And there will be the rest.

There in the giving of all, to the carrying of Love's burden....

Ambition, ideals, idols, wants, desires, curiosities, failings, proofs, doubts...

There He will be with open arms giving,

The Peace Only He May Give.

Purchase the joy of full surrender...

2009-11-04T19:40:00.003Z

The workings of God within us carry out in the course of time the designs which Eternal Wisdom has formed in regard to everything. In God all things have their own design, and His wisdom alone knows what that is. Though you read the will of God in regard to others, this knowledge cannot direct you in anything. In the Incarnate Word, in God Himself, is the design after which you were meant to be formed and which is the model of His work in you. In the Word, the divine action sees that to which every soul must be conformed. The Holy Scriptures contain one part of this design, and the divine activity formed by the Holy Spirit within the soul completes the design set forth by the Word. We must understand that the only way of receiving the impression of this eternal design is to remain quietly submissive to it, and that neither effort nor mental speculation can help us to attain it.

Is it not evident that a work such as this cannot be effected by subtlety of mind, skill, or intelligence, but can only follow on our submissive self-surrender to God’s will, yielding ourselves like metal to a mold, or canvas to the brush, or stone in the hands of the sculptor. Is it not clear that a knowledge of all the divine mysteries which the will of God carries out in all ages is not what makes us conformable to the design the Word has conceived for us? No, it is the impress of the divine Hand. This imprint is not graven on our minds by ideas, but in the will by its submission to the will of God.

The wisdom of the simple soul consists in being content with its own business, in confining itself within the boundary of its path, and not going beyond its limits. It is not curious about God’s ways of acting, but is content with God’s will in regard to itself, making no effort to discover hidden meanings by comparisons or conjectures, but only desiring to understand what each moment reveals. It listens to the voice of the Word when it sounds in the depths of the heart. It does not ask what the divine Bridegroom has said to others, but is satisfied with what it receives for itself, so that moment by moment by everything, however insignificant or whatever its nature, the soul is sanctified without knowing it. In this way the Bridegroom speaks to His Bride, by the solid effects of His actions which the soul accepts with loving gratitude without curious scrutiny.

Thus the spirituality of such a soul is perfectly simple, absolutely solid, permeating its whole being. Its actions are not determined by ideas or by a tumult of words, which by themselves would only serve to inflate pride. People make a great use of the intellect in piety, yet it is of little use, and often detrimental to true piety. We must make use only of what God’s will gives us to do or to suffer, and not forsake this divine essential to occupy our minds with the historic wonders of God’s work, but rather we should increase these wonders by our own faithfulness.

The marvels of these works of God, which we read about to satisfy our curiosity, often tend only to disgust us with things that seem trifling, but by which, if we do not despise them, God’s love effects very great things in us. Foolish creatures that we are! We admire, we bless God’s action in written history, but when His love is ready to continue this writing on our hearts, we keep moving the paper and preventing its writing by our curiosity, to see what it is doing in us and what is is accomplishing elsewhere.

Forgive, divine Love, these defects; I can see them all in myself, and I have not yet learned what it is to abandon myself to Your hand. I have not yet yielded myself to the mold. I have walked through all Your workshops and admired all Your works of art, but have not as yet had the self-surrender needed to receive even the bare outlines of your brush. But at last I have found You, my dear Master, Teacher, Father, my beloved Friend.

Now I will be Your disciple; I will attend to no other school than Yours. I return, like the prodigal, hungering for Your bread. I relinquish the ideas which tend only to satisfy my curiosity. I will no longer run after teachers and books; no, I will use them only as Your holy will ordains them, not for my gratification but to obey You, by accepting all that You send me. I will confine myself solely to the duty of the present moment in order to prove my love and leave You free to do with me what You will.

Father Jean-Pierre de Caussade - Purchase The Joy of Full Surrender

Thanks to Catholic Spiritual Direction for the link

Which is the One spiritual habit that has changed your journey ? (Holy Experience) Walk with Him Wednesday...

2009-11-04T14:13:00.026Z

Ann asks this question today over at Holy Experience...
What is the One Spiritual Habit that Has Changed Your Journey?

And the one phrase that keeps coming back to my heart is this... eat regularly!

But this is food of the soul kind! And it is delivered by..
Regular Prayer stops throughout the day.

Even though I can't always find the words to pray the words find me. They have been written somewhere deep in my heart, by The One who made me. Like a seed, they simply need the watering to grow from the darkness.
And like this little sycamore, I need the courage to fall from what I know, what I hold to, my materiel success or failure. Be opened by Love's wounding.
And trust, despite outward signs... that God alone sees the heart.

So, even when I can't locate those words myself. I find them reflected somehow. They speak for me, when words fail me. Prayer... Yes, it is more a practise of love than an active work.

And when this becomes the one priority all other priorities fall into place.

All work is useless and vain without the infusion, prompt and grace of His love anyway. For a plant to grow strong, the roots need feeding regularly.
"I am the vine, you are the branches. He who abides in Me, and I in him, bears much fruit; for without Me you can do nothing." ...
And I have had to make the time. Make it!
Because I am so in need of it. I fail far too easily without it.
"Unless the LORD builds the house, its builders labor in vain."
And I wonder, how is it that so many things can seem important, uncompromising to the day, demands over spill before me and yet these times, just for Him and Him alone become, so very easily, secondary.

Yes I call out to Him like a child when I need Him knowingly. And I whisper praises in His ear when I am met with undeserved grace, beauty, love. But that is in the middle of my doing.
Sometimes I need to put all that aside and simply be with Him alone.
The desire to eat bread for the body comes before the desire to eat bread for the soul, so many times. I wait for restfulness, peace, quiet, my own pursuits, pleasures and leisure's, then Him. Then only. Him and I alone.

I know that my soul wastes away without sustenance. While it is emptiness and privation that motivates longing in the stomach! The longing grows in the soul only with sustained nourishment, or so it seems.

You see, a soul doesn't live to eat, it eats to live! How wonderful is that!
It doesn't take so that it can take again which is so often human nature isn't it.
No, it shares the broken bread of grace, so that it can give, and give out again.

I read again from the hours today... "Love is always patient and kind; it is never jealous; love is never boastful or conceited; it is never rude or selfish; it does not take offence, and is not resentful. Love takes no pleasure in other people’s sins but delights in the truth; it is always ready to excuse, to trust, to hope, and to endure whatever comes."

I stand upon this holy mountain of goodness and grace and look down upon my life.
How far below this beautiful ideal I am. How much I need these words to live in my own barren life. Give breath to my actions, my thoughts, my days. Turn my heart of stone to a heart of flesh.
And so someway, somehow. These hours are carved out of a day.

They bring my empty bowl to His alter each time. And each time He serves so that I may become a better servant. And learn to serve Him in those around me.

Pray the office today by clicking on the link below




For years the office of hours has sustained, nourished and
regularly fed souls throughout each day.
If read everyday for a month, 
The book of Psalms will have been completely
recited.
Complimentary readings from both OT and NT, feast days
along with spiritual writing and prayer have been the food
for many a hungry heart for centuries past.

Visit Ann today to read more reflections on the journey...

All Saints...reflection on the Beatitudes.

2009-11-01T08:16:00.008Z

What I love about the Beatitudes is that they say so much about the nature of God.Our great God blesses the small, the forsaken, the persecuted, the mourners, the meek, the peacemakers, the forgiving, the just, the childlike and pure of heart.

Blessed are the poor in spirit,
for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.

Blessed are they who mourn,
for they shall be comforted.

Blessed are the meek,
for they shall inherit the earth.

Blessed are they who hunger and thirst for righteousness,
for they shall be satisfied.

Blessed are the merciful,
for they shall obtain mercy.

Blessed are the pure of heart,
for they shall see God.

Blessed are the peacemakers,
for they shall be called children of God.

Blessed are they who are persecuted for the sake of righteousness,
for theirs is the kingdom of heaven."
Gospel of St. Matthew 5:3-10

Glimpses through trees

2009-11-01T08:00:00.000Z

Everyday, the leaves fall more and the branches become a little barer.
I hear the birdsong still, dancing upon the silent bough.

A tree is like a human soul, yet there is perfection there.
Their roots take only what is necessary from the earth. The leaves absorb the whole spectrum of colours from the sun.
With it they make food.
Embracing the toxins of the atmosphere around them, transforming them in to pure air exhaled.
They make an abundant home for all creatures.
Birds, foxes, owls, rabbits...
Even we find shelter beneath their generous canopy in the midst of the storm, whose arms reach only toward heaven as the rain spills.

They provide wood for all needs, from fire to furnishings.
They warm, sustain and provide shelter.

Year upon year the leaves begin to fall.

And with them, the soil is replenished once more. From beauty, to ashes. From death to life.

Bees gather from their blossom in the springtime.
And the memory still lingers faintly upon the air like pollen.

Even now as they become, brittle, stark and naked as deadwood upon the flame of Autumn.
Hands reach quietly, obscurely, embracing the taut, white canvas of the sky.
Immovable, except for the breeze. And they don't resist it's swell.

Something, invisible, eternal, sacred.
Like church spires along the horizon.

They stand in praise of Him who made them.

Photocredit: starbeard

Come to me all who labour...

2009-10-29T08:55:00.009Z

"For he calls out to everyone, saying: "Come to me, all who labour and are heavy laden and I will give you rest". Is it not, after all, a most ridiculous and fruitless labour to be swollen with lust, continually to be tortured with anxiety and worry, fear and sorrow, for the objects of your passion? "

Saint Bruno

(Pray the office today, by clicking on the banner below)

2009-10-29T08:15:00.000Z

‘If the bow is kept continually taut, it looses its resilience and becomes less fit for its works’.

Saint Bruno

Invisible, Elemental

2009-10-22T17:19:00.004+01:00

The soul, he said, is composed
Of the external world.

There are men of the East, he said,
Who are the East.
There are men of a province
Who are that province.

There are men of a valley
Who are that valley....

The Mandoline is the instrument
Of a place.

Are there mandolines of western mountains?
Are there mandolines of northern moonlight?

The dress of a woman of Lhasa,
In it's place,
Is an invisible element of that place
Made visible.

"Anecdote of Men by the Thousand" Wallace Stevens

Lingering thoughts shared here, from here.

Photo: miss604

John Bradburne.... "Vagabond of God"

2009-10-17T13:18:00.008+01:00

"God's love within you is your native land.
So search none other, never more depart.
For you are homeless save God keeps your heart."
(JRB)

I learned a little about John Bradburne when a wonderful priest called father David who works with orphans in Zimbabwe, as part of an organisation called Mother of Peace, came to visit our church some time ago.
This Holy man has a truly humbling and inspiring story I would love to share.

John, who described himself as a Strange Vagabond of God, was a layman and a member of the Third Order of St Francis.
He lived a life of poverty that seemed almost directionless to many, until he found his true vocation, caring for lepers in Zimbabwe.

Many of his patients needed considerable care which John Bradburne gave them with unstinting devotion, until his murder in 1979 at the end of the war for Independence.
After Bradburne
was shot, the local people wanted to hide the body for fear of reprisals
from white security forces. As they were carrying it away, they heard a
choir singing, dropped the body, and ran. However, when they turned back
they saw a strange white bird, with three beams of light ascending
heavenward, hovering over the body. The villagers fled in fright.

Since his death there have been many signs of John's close friendship with Jesus.

Here is his story...

Beauty.... and the Liturgy of Life.

2009-10-10T18:07:00.003+01:00

I love it when I am put into other people's shoes, feeling and experiencing other people's temptations, ideas, sorrows, desires. I have become (over time) grateful for when this happens because it has humbled me so much, it has also caused me to sympathise with people I would have very quickly judged.
The other day I was driving through town. I had many different tasks to do, appointments, time constraints, on top of sleep deprivation and just general anxiety which I'm prone too get when stuck in town anyway. I'm sure I have sensation issues, lights, noise, crowds.... just effect me in a bad way, anyhow....
Emmy noticed this beautiful V line of geese, make it's way across the sun mottled sky above us and pointed it out to me.
Beauty has always been so important to me. It stops me hard. I am compelled by it. I have, on occasion, been caught frozen solid in the middle of a crowded street by a glint of sunlight through the branches of a tree, or forgotten my bag on a bench to wander into a little grove of dappled light on the path ahead.
But for some reason that particular day, the juxtaposition of this sacred ritual of flight in the heavens and the stress of the streets reacted toxically within me.
I felt nauseous and irritated.
I simply didn't want the distraction!
Oh, how beauty has become devalued in our highly industrialised world. We simply don't want the distraction. Everything has become streamlined to manage the practicalities of life efficiently. The sacred journey of the geese, the lichen of every green hue imaginable upon the bark of a horse chestnut tree, and the little spider upon the quivering leaf are left unnoticed by most. The deep truths that speak to our very soul within the natural world are not penetrated for the sake of gleaning a breadth superficial knowledge with the questionable agenda of our mental trawling.
Art always reflects it's society. These days even the art we see hanging out upon the walls of modern galleries has become almost utilitarian in it's aesthetic approach. Soulless and aspiring to look factory made, image after image betrays the mark of a Warhol print from his own pre fab style "factory" line productions.
In many ways, art has become about image rather than intent.
With the constant noise of technology buzzing around us and the demands of a life that turns upon it's dizzying axis, children (adults too) have very much, lost the ability to notice, to observe, to recognise beauty.
For economies sake houses are losing their individuality and workmanship. Products, estates, high streets and interiors emphasis the contemporary twin attributes of being streamlined and functional. Our cities are built, not to reflect the art and civilisation of a nation anymore, they are set into the hardened mould of capital gain.
But we humans are not soulless robots.
A thing done for nothing more than the sake of beauty is surely valuable indeed, within it's own right. It's usefulness or economy should not be it's primary reason for existing.
Is it ours?
The Bible tells us that we have been made to know, love and praise the God of heaven and Earth.
Problem is that these days, these high ideals have become relegated to the sidelines of life. The edges and the hard shoulders, for making small pit stops only when we break down completely.
Life is liturgy. It is discovering of the essence of God within all things. It is the fibonacci sequence within nature, ratio's golden rule!
It is harmony, both inner and outer. Yet we are losing segments of the sequence, we are messing with the DNA of the liturgy. The liturgy of life itself, the Word made flesh.
Noticing, observing and recognising beauty in the natural world around us and in the reflection of this in art was what the great philosopher's of the past saw as the very purpose of life.
Education and life wasn't about the repetition of tasks for the sake of both the individual and national economy, it was for the nourishment and expansion of the soul.
How many people take wonderment. How many people have been taught, or shown how through example, to take wonderment from the simple beauty's within nature.
Children, I truly have come to believe, need to been in nature regularly. They need to be taught the liturgy of life.
I'm glad Emmy noticed. It is becoming a gift, noticing. May I always be able to slow down, stop and stare at the sun glinting through the shivering branches of a city tree lifting it's leaves in praise from the 2 by 2 sqaure patch of dirt along the road.

Photo credit: NaPix -- Now in Sapa VN

Two kinds of Emptiness....

2009-10-01T09:36:00.005+01:00

Emptiness is a very common complaint in our days, not the purposeful emptiness of the virginal heart and mind but a void, meaningless, unhappy condition.

Lives are overcrowded, filled with trivial details, plans, desires, ambitions, unsatisfied cravings for passing pleasures, doubts, anxieties, and fears; and these sometimes further overlaid with exhausting pleasures which are an attempt, and always a futile attempt, to forget.

The whole process of contemplation through imitation of Our Lady can be gone through , in the first place, with just that simple purpose of regaining the virgin mind, and as we go on in the attempt we shall find that over and over again there is a new emptying process; it is a thing which has to be done in contemplation as often as the earth has to be sifted and the field ploughed for seed.

At the beginning it will be necessary for each individual to discard deliberately all the trifling unnecessary things in his life, all the hard blocks and congestion's; not necessarily to discard all his interests forever, but at least once to stop still, and having prayed for courage, to visualise himself without all the extras, escapes, and interests other than Love in his life; to see ourselves as if we had just come from God's hand and gathered nothing to ourselves yet, to discover just what shape is the virginal emptiness of our own being, and of what material we are made.

We need to be reminded that every second of our survival does really mean that we are new from God's fingers, so that it require no more than the miracle which we never notice to restore to us our virgin-heart at any moment we like to choose.

Excerpts from "The Reed of God" by Caryll Houselander

Photo: Romulo fotos

Please Pray...

2009-09-30T09:02:00.003+01:00

Please pray for these brave women. Persecuted for simply loving Jesus.

Finding my life

2009-09-27T10:23:00.006+01:00

Still
Be still heart

The storm will not last
don't let the bitter winds
turn you to ice
Come inside.

Sit still and remember
the seed I planted deep inside you long ago...

....As a child you watered it well without even
understanding, you just fell right down and
cupped your little hands into the river's depth

But now there are other concerns
and they grow up like weeds
around the garden of the child
who played among the reeds...

....Sit still a while and remember
where you found me last

I am always here.

"The eyes to see, the ears to hear"

Just sit a while with me,
your own heart is the eye of the storm
that aches in the skies of your thoughts
See my face and not
the wailing rains and swelling tides
they will subside
the waters still
and then you will recognise once more
my reflection upon the
surface of all things

Child, if you can find my heart and my life
within all
...you will find where yours dwells too.

When the river moves within...

2009-09-26T13:03:00.006+01:00

When you do things from your soul, you feel a river moving in you, a joy.
Rumi ~

Lucid, free, laughing,
banks are burst, with, mere vapour
and the residues of rainbows.
I seek beginnings...
... and endings, promised pots of gold,
Yet as with all ancient stories, each colour cannot,
be caught, trapped in the thin ink furrows of a black pen,
currents edi
each one smooth as
the side of a diamond, breathless,
you emerge from the water
dripping light and somehow
I've just got to climb into that un-moored boat and
lean into the rapids too.

See! Joy cannot solidify!

Only spill into a thousand
pieces from it's source.

Image:LSMAVERICK

abandonment. God at every step....

2009-09-21T19:52:00.006+01:00

*
*
*
"Everything is intended to guide, uphold and support you. Everything is the hand of God. God’s action is vaster and more present to you than the elements of earth"

Purchase the Joy of Full Surender.

when only the eternal...

2009-09-18T19:49:00.006+01:00

What of this life

will count the day only

eternity remains

what of the time ive had

the things ive built,

created, made,

the fabric

of each day

displayed

Undone and bare

as a winter branch

beneath transparent

touch of truth,

A blossom grows silently

at the end of a branch, maybe,

On that day,

I may find

the end of

myself there too

Doodle poem prompt ( in 60 secs or less) courtesy of LL) inspired by this

I hear singing...

2009-09-17T19:18:00.005+01:00

I hear singing

Her voice a bubble

of certainty

and hope

rising

on the breeze

Into the blue unknown.

Poem doodle (thanks to LL for the idea:)

Different Expressions of Faith ... article to share)

2009-09-16T18:27:00.002+01:00

The Amish girl who loves you

great article here that I could really relate to over at pursuing titus 2

Photo: cindy47452

Just do the next thing

2009-09-14T17:38:00.009+01:00

Just do the next thing.

Do it with all the love and purpose you can.

Without thinking further

Off into the distance, where

input must equal output

income balance outcome

and the expectation of something better somewhere

someplace, somewhen ... else

can only ever underestimate

the aching sweet

beauty of the

"just now"

I have here with you.

He loves me just as I am...

2009-09-05T21:55:00.004+01:00

Just thought I'd do something a little different...
I picked up a book at random, turned to a random page and thought I'd write the first paragraph I came across here it is...

"He loves me with all my weaknesses, with all my inherited and acquired defects, he loves me as I am, with my idiosyncrasies and my temperament, my habits and my complexes.
... Just as I am."

From the book "Love" by Earnesto Cardenal

With the giving... ( A Poem inspired by Mother Teresa)

2009-09-04T20:27:00.002+01:00

In an embrace,

In a smile,
In the eyes of a stranger
who stayed
When shame danced
drunk with despair
in the rain.

In the pouring

of dreams to a child's empty bowl,
rattling along the fractured
paths falling
between the broken
seams swelling

where lonely tears
seep into the fabric
of absorbed tomorrows

And yesterdays' concrete -
covered dreams sleep
too deep
to be woken.

mutely softly,
still,

silently stepping

over lines

that divide.

That run aimlessly beneath the surface

Across the brokenness

It's in the touch

of a pencil thin mark
sound like the
one gentle voice
above the white noise

of railway stations and
police sirens
falling change...
....sun drenched rain...

In the seeking beyond

the lush green fields

and a vision
that can reach
a lower kind of ground

crossing rivers that wade
between the currents
of race, creed
colour, sound

till something once lost
may again be found

The precious cradled
gently
un-bound.

It's in the space between

the vapour of breath
where hands cup
emptiness
and call it fullness

this touch
of thankfulness

Yes

the kind of love
that sees the mess

and still loves

and a heart
that can only
grow greater

with the giving

Isaiah 58, What the gospel Demands,... He to whom much is given....

2009-09-02T09:18:00.022+01:00

I have been really struggling over the last week or so. Since watching this series of talks on what the gospel demands.... Especially this one. lIFE shattering!

And reading Isaiah 58 daily as a bible study with some friends...

... Sincerely, I've come to question so much about the way we live- I live as a christian.

What is God asking of us - me? I was born here in an affluent country. My geography has placed me at an advantage over my brothers and sisters in developing nations. Here I have been scanning the Internet for home school materials while another child cannot even afford to learn to read and write.
I see pictures of horrific poverty from the comfort of a PC screen. And what is my response? Is it the response of a follower of Jesus?
What does God want me to do with this advantage, this privilege, this position? Indulge myself and my own at the expense of those at the door.
Throw scraps from the feast at my table to those with nothing across water and continent?

Can we -I be a Christian. a follower of Jesus and also be rich?

And I am, rich.

How rich are you? >>

I'm loaded.
It's official.
I'm the 384,123,909 richest person on earth!

We (as a family) have thought along the lines that we are not really rich simply because the bills take nearly everything by the end of the month. But, the very fact that we have bills means we have mainline electricity and clean water on tap.... on tap! It also means we have shelter for our family and our own transportation.
This means we are most certainly rich.

More than one out of six people lack access to safe drinking water, namely 1.1 billion people, and more than two out of six lack adequate sanitation, namely 2.6 billion people

According to estimates, 100 million people worldwide are literally homeless. They have no shelter: they sleep on pavements, in doorways, in parks or under bridges. Or they sleep in public buildings like railway or bus stations, or in night shelters set up to provide homeless people with a bed.

The estimated number of homeless increases to 1,000 million people if we include those in housing that is "very insecure or temporary, often of poor quality - for instance, squatters who have found accommodation by illegally occupying someone else's home or land and are under constant threat of eviction; those living in refugee camps whose home has been destroyed; and those living in temporary shelters (like the 250,000 pavement dwellers in Bombay)". This is according to a 1996 report by the UN Centre for Human Settlements (Habitat).

At the most basic economic level, homelessness is caused by poverty and unemployment. The poor simply cannot afford adequate shelter.

The numbers would surpass 1,000 million if we include "all people who lack an adequate home with secure tenure (ie, as owner-occupiers or tenants protected from sudden or arbitrary eviction) and the most basic facilities such as water of adequate quality piped into the home, provision for sanitation and drainage".

We've been really praying over this. Asking God, what can we do? I am coming to believe that He is calling me in His word to leave all in His hands, to trust more and more in providence. To turn away from the fear that leads to tying up all our resources in accounts, insurances, pensions, and mortgages. There are so many who cannot afford housing which is a basic human need, simply because so many who can afford, stretch budgets to buy up property thus pushing the prices above and beyond what is acceptable or affordable.

As I read and listen I see that really all we have been given are gifts from His hand, everything we have belongs to Him not us.

How would God use the resources we have as Christians? Would He say go ahead, it's okay to have more than you need while there are people dying at the door? Or would God use what we have to clothe the naked, help the lost, feed the hungry, counsel the sorrowful?

Some of us are given much so, that we can give much for His glory.

Luke 12:48
"From everyone who has been given much, much will be demanded; and from the one who has been entrusted with much, much more will be asked."

God gives us a time to embrace His love, grace, forgiveness and prosperity in His land for the time to pass along the abundance, the "overflowing cup" to our neighbours standing with empty hands before us.

Luke 6:38
"Give, and it will be given to you. A good measure, pressed down, shaken together and running over, will be poured into your lap. For with the measure you use, it will be measured to you."

Deuteronomy:26 1-2
"When you have entered the land the LORD your God is giving you as an inheritance and have taken possession of it and settled in it, take some of the firstfruits of all that you produce from the soil of the land the LORD your God is giving you and put them in a basket."

Can being a Christian really become a state of mind and heart only?

Doesn't living water not become stagnant and stale when not allowed to flow freely, from the plentiful river to the trickling stream to the empty cup in a child's hand?

Faith in the word will transform my heart and mind till giving up and following becomes the only way to go.

A narrowing road that leads only to life.

A fearless road that trusts in providence in a radical way.

A hard to see road that clears a way for the kingdom of God before the kingdoms of this world.

Jesus put it plainly, he cut everything through with the sharp edge of the truth. He said,

"Luke 16:13 "No servant can serve two masters; for either he will hate the one and love the other, or else he will be devoted to one and despise the other. You cannot serve God and wealth."

Speaking to the rich man who wanted to follow Him Jesus said...

" How hardly shall they that have riches enter into the kingdom of God. For it is easier for a camel to pass through the eye of a needle, than for a rich man to enter into the kingdom of God."

We often think of nuns and monks who take vows of poverty, as something special. But their simplicity of living, believing, being is surely nothing but the basic acceptance of the gospel message for all Christan's.

Can we be Christians who spend weekends shopping for more, making Christmas lists that indulge our every lust and engorge our homes with more "stuff".... Be in the mindset that always says bigger, better, more?....

Can we (I) as Christians hoard money, insure every inch of our lives, buy expensive food or products that have been bought for less than the farmer who grows them or the factory worker who sews them can live onto be shipped half way across the world for our convenience?...
Is it possible?

When a (conservative estimate) of over 25,000 children die each day from hunger.

Which is equivalent to:

1 child dying every 3.5 seconds
17-18 children dying every minute
A 2004 Asian Tsunami occurring almost every 1.5 weeks
An Iraq-scale death toll every 16–38 days
Over 9 million children dying every year
Some 70 million children dying between 2000 and 2007

Can we really say that we are followers of a gospel that says GIVE, at every turn?

Is Jesus unacceptable to me the way He really is?

I pray, pray, pray that I can accept Jesus and His word the way it is. And I pray, pray, pray that I can become acceptable to Him through living it like I believe it.

Yes, Really believe it.

Not just for the day that it suits me, but for the day when it doesn't.

Cos' if I did- we did, really did believe ...

Maybe the Kingdom really would come.

The Kingdom that is an upside down, back to front kind of a place...

When Jesus saw the crowds, He went up on the mountain; and after He sat down, His disciples came to Him. He opened His mouth and began to teach them, saying...

"
Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.

Blessed are those who mourn, for they shall be comforted.

Blessed are the gentle, for they shall inherit the earth.

Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness, for they shall be satisfied.

Blessed are the merciful, for they shall receive mercy.

Blessed are the pure in heart, for they shall see God.

Blessed are the peacemakers, for they shall be called sons of God.

Blessed are those who have been persecuted for the sake of righteousness, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.

Blessed are you when people insult you and persecute you, and falsely say all kinds of evil against you because of Me.
Rejoice and be glad, for your reward in heaven is great; for in the same way they persecuted the prophets who were before you."

But if we take the comforting words of the Bible to sooth and strengthen us, surely we must also take the ones that are hard and challenging with just the same confidence.

Exodus 12:8 "That same night they are to eat the meat roasted over the fire, along with bitter herbs, and bread made without yeast"

And don't these words, if really believed change perspective, transform heart, radically alter mindset and turn life upside down and back to front.

In these passages from scripture, God is confronting us with the consequences of throwing scraps to the poor and walking grandly in our own self built cocoon of affluence.

Luke 16:19-31

"There was a rich man who was dressed in purple and fine linen and lived in luxury every day. At his gate was laid a beggar named Lazarus, covered with sores and longing to eat what fell from the rich man's table. Even the dogs came and licked his sores.

"The time came when the beggar died and the angels carried him to Abraham's side. The rich man also died and was buried. In hell, where he was in torment, he looked up and saw Abraham far away, with Lazarus by his side. So he called to him, 'Father Abraham, have pity on me and send Lazarus to dip the tip of his finger in water and cool my tongue, because I am in agony in this fire.'

"But Abraham replied, 'Son, remember that in your lifetime you received your good things, while Lazarus received bad things, but now he is comforted here and you are in agony. And besides all this, between us and you a great chasm has been fixed, so that those who want to go from here to you cannot, nor can anyone cross over from there to us.'

"He answered, 'Then I beg you, father, send Lazarus to my father's house, for I have five brothers. Let him warn them, so that they will not also come to this place of torment.'

"Abraham replied, 'They have Moses and the Prophets; let them listen to them.'

" 'No, father Abraham,' he said, 'but if someone from the dead goes to them, they will repent.'

"He said to him, 'If they do not listen to Moses and the Prophets, they will not be convinced even if someone rises from the dead.' "

Isaiah 3: 14 - 26

The LORD enters into judgment against the elders and leaders of his people: "It is you who have ruined my vineyard; the plunder from the poor is in your houses

What do you mean by crushing my people
and grinding the faces of the poor?"
declares the Lord, the LORD Almighty.

The LORD says,
"The women of Zion are haughty,
walking along with outstretched necks,
flirting with their eyes,
tripping along with mincing steps,
with ornaments jingling on their ankles.

Therefore the Lord will bring sores on the heads of the women of Zion;
the LORD will make their scalps bald."

In that day the Lord will snatch away their finery: the bangles and headbands and crescent necklaces, ¹⁹ the earrings and bracelets and veils, ²⁰ the headdresses and ankle chains and sashes, the perfume bottles and charms, ²¹ the signet rings and nose rings, ²² the fine robes and the capes and cloaks, the purses ²³ and mirrors, and the linen garments and tiaras and shawls.

Instead of fragrance there will be a stench;
instead of a sash, a rope;
instead of well-dressed hair, baldness;
instead of fine clothing, sackcloth;
instead of beauty, branding.

Your men will fall by the sword,
your warriors in battle.

The gates of Zion will lament and mourn;
destitute, she will sit on the ground.

Ezekiel 16:49
"'The sin of your sister Sodom was this: She lived with her daughters in the lap of luxury—proud, gluttonous, and lazy. They ignored the oppressed and the poor. They put on airs and lived obscene lives. And you know what happened: I did away with them.

*

What it comes down to for me is is the Bible the truth. Is Jesus telling the truth.
Do I believe it?

*

Thessalonians 2
"They perish because they refused to love the truth and so be saved. For this reason God sends them a powerful delusion so that they will believe the lie and so that all will be condemned who have not believed the truth but have delighted in wickedness."

*

The modern "rich" christian church has, in many ways become a powerful delusion. A cover up for a false religion.

*
James: 1 - 27
"Religion that God our Father accepts as pure and faultless is this: to look after orphans and widows in their distress and to keep oneself from being polluted by the world."

*

Culture, consumerism and materialism have become a powerful delusion.

The only way to see through the delusion is to accept the truth to the point where it can be transformative in our lives.

There are Christians dying and persecuted all over the world right now. And I wonder would we -I be able to stand up and suffer for Jesus in the same way. Right now I don't think I would.

If I can't even follow the basics how will I ever have the strength to face the real tests of faith that so many Christan's have had to face over the centuries.

Grace is given in the giving. If I can't give, how can I receive?

Revelation 3: 15-18
"'I know your works: you are neither cold nor hot. Would that you were either cold or hot! So, because you are lukewarm, and neither hot nor cold, I will spit you out of my mouth. For you say, I am rich, I have prospered, and I need nothing, not realizing that you are wretched, pitiable, poor, blind, and naked. ¹⁸I counsel you to buy from me gold refined by fire, so that you may be rich, and white garments so that you may clothe yourself and the shame of your nakedness may not be seen, and salve to anoint your eyes, so that you may see. "

I don't want to be lukewarm. I don't want to be blind to the suffering of 30000 children and countless more adults and old people every day.
I don't want to simply throw scraps from my abundance. I want to learn how to give from my poverty. Like Deepa.

Lord, awaken me to the suffering world,
Give me the grace to give
of myself,
my time,
my resources,
my abundance,
Knowing that they are yours not mine
Each person a unique child
in your sight
beloved
to you
Give me eyes to see
as you see
The ears to hear
the cries that you hear
The faith to believe
Your word truly
as it is.
Heal our comfort hardened hearts.

Amen.

Matthew 5 -13
"Let me tell you why you are here. You're here to be salt-seasoning that brings out the God-flavors of this earth. If you lose your saltiness, how will people taste godliness? You've lost your usefulness and will end up in the garbage."

If We don't Live it properly, who will?

Multitude Monday

2009-08-31T07:55:00.005+01:00

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This week gratitude started like the podding of peas.
One by one little blessings appearing beneath broken shells. Opened shells.
Bright green sweetness popping in little mouths. And a mad scrambling under a tent, peas and all, when the sudden afternoon rain shower blew over!

Yesterday, thankfulness was a birthday cake for Daddy, that was meant to be blue but ended up green because you made the icing with yellow butter cream :) (It was even more delicious)

Then two hours alone with Tani on his birthday. Talking, opening up, sharing, shedding shells, becoming real, vulnerable, making deeper connections, walking, laughing over silly jokes that make no sense to anyone else but us. Remembering when we first met all those years ago! How did all this happen four girls and this! All within what seems to be a heartbeat of a time?

Slowly, steadily with His hand the opening of the protective shell we've built around our lives, our family, so to share more, give more, bring in more, abundantly, the seeds of His own harvest, not ours only.

Recognising deep within my soul that God brought me and him together from the very beginning.
How, really we are the missing pieces of each other. Two halves of a pod around four little peas!
How I love him for his heart, his courage, his honor and honesty, his childlike spirit,
his creative mind, the sacrifices he makes for us, some little, some very big, all given as gifts, the love he has for us, the ways he shows it in small ways and big ways every day.

Then the unveiling of beauty. As summer fades seamlessly into the velvet hems of autumn. That drape like an endless evening.

The golden, dappled light of late August. pools around and swells my heart with thankfulness.

If I could swim in the light of an autumn sunset!

Indigo blots on white linen, amethyst storm clouds set in platinum sunlight.

The flush of sudden rain. The sparkling emerald leaves, when the shower is over.

Little apples fresh picked from the branch, red as little sun blanched cheeks, bitter sweet delicious to taste.

Pots of jam, plum and damson berry. Shades of Autumn, bottled, fragrant, concentrated.
Perfect spread thickly on warm crusts.

Warm cups of tea beside a basket of knitting on a quiet evening of early bedtimes after a busy, blustery, outdoorsy day.

Trusting in God in the letting go.

As one season moves toward another.

“In the same way, any of you who does not give up everything he has cannot be my disciple.”

2009-08-29T10:36:00.002+01:00

I have watched this series of talks during this last week and I have been utterly moved, convicted, and shaken to my soul.

(Linked originally shared by Tonia and Seth)

Rich Christians in an age of Hunger.... (More Prayerful Thoughts)

2009-08-29T10:34:00.006+01:00

"This is the kind of fast day I'm after:
to break the chains of injustice,
get rid of exploitation in the workplace,
free the oppressed,
cancel debts.
What I'm interested in seeing you do is:
sharing your food with the hungry,
inviting the homeless poor into your homes,
putting clothes on the shivering ill-clad,
being available to your own families."
Isaiah 58

"He will answer them, 'I'm telling the solemn truth: Whenever you failed to do one of these things to someone who was being overlooked or ignored, that was me—you failed to do it to me.'Mathew 25

James 5:1 Come now, you rich, weep and howl for your miseries which are coming upon you.

Luke 6:24 "But woe to you who are rich, for you are receiving your comfort in full.

Luke 16:25 "But Abraham said, 'Child, remember that during your life you received your good things, and likewise Lazarus bad things; but now he is being comforted here, and you are in agony.

1 Timothy 6:9 But those who want to get rich fall into temptation and a snare and many foolish and harmful desires which plunge men into ruin and destruction.

He who gives to the poor will lack nothing,
but he who closes his eyes to them receives many curses.
Proverbs 28

Photo credit Mio Cade

Let my soul be at rest again...

2009-08-25T09:01:00.003+01:00

Let my soul be at rest again,
for the Lord has been good to me.
He has saved me from death,
my eyes from tears,
my feet from stumbling.
And so I walk in the Lord’s presence
as I live here on earth!

Psalm 116 7-9

Photo credit: KarenR-TB

Some Other Summer Day

2009-08-25T08:38:00.004+01:00

beneath the soft petaled
veil the past and future lay
bare, trembling
vulnerable, upon the thin
balance between yesterday
and tomorrow
you could call it
faded beauty but
only without the eyes
to see the vision embraced
inside a little green pod within
it's heart
All petals have to fall, all veils
come undone
pollen must fade to memory
and colour absorb into
the ground
before
a life can be reborn
in a hundred different ways
across the grassy plains of
some other summer day.