A Living Prayer... "Walk with Him Wednesday "

There have been times when no matter how much I prayed or read the bible the only thing I felt was a longing, an ache, an aridity to the words I spoke.

So often it is easy to forget that the bible is a living word it is not simply a set of syllables to be learnt by rote and kept within ones own heart under lock and key.

So many times just the words, themselves, mysterious, rhythmical, poetic, simple and true as they are breath soft as a summer breeze through my body, a shiver of light and a tremble of truth. Sometimes just a simple phrase or paragraph glints like sunlight through the branches of trees defining with clarity the world around me and all that is within me at the same time.

These moments are beautiful and wondrous but the word cannot remain within the stillness of a page. The ink of the living word seeps into lives, spills over the edges and runs a river of baptism across the dividing lines between body and spirit. It is a stream of freshwater that moves within our hearts.

The word is fluid and omnipotent. It is a moving current that flows towards the ocean, not a stagnant pool that evaporates to nothing under the sun.

The key to releasing the word is the faith to live the word in Love. ”If you obey my commands, you will remain in my love, just as I have obeyed my Father's commands and remain in his love.” John 15:10 Putting the word into practice, step by step, moment by moment.

Allowing it to work through our body, transforming us into an instrument of Gods love until our actions may become a living prayer.

A living prayer follows all that is beautiful and good. Allowing the word to envelope and contain a heart, flow within and around it, mould and fashion it, break it and fix it. A prayer that takes our feet and hands to be the feet and hands of Jesus in the world.

We know that we have come to know him if we obey his commands. The man who says, "I know him," but does not do what he commands is a liar, and the truth is not in him. But if anyone obeys his word, God's love is truly made complete in him. This is how we know we are in him: Whoever claims to live in him must walk as Jesus did. 1 John 2:3-6 A prayer that is more than just a spoken word permeates all actions with the blood of Christ and the love of God.

"lIVING THE wORD" "wALK WITH hIM wEDNESDAY OVER @ hOLY eXPERIENCE Image courtesy of Jupiter im ages

Remembering what truly matters... "Post it " notes to myself...

Being right with Jesus before I try to be right with anyone else.

Taking off the shackles of the mind. Sinking down into the still waters dwelling in the heart.

Remembering that peace increases with trust, whatever the outside circumstances

Taking life without the frills. Eating simple. Mind, body and soul.

Reaching out to touch the truth in the kind of beauty which comes unadorned.

Not forgeting that it's the the inside of the cup that needs the most attention.

Welcoming the outsider into my heart. The one who opposes me. The one who threatens me. The one who other's reject. See how the reflection in another's eyes is deep within a part of my own self.

Embrace. Love.

pHOTO : My hand after spending a morning planting, painting and play doughing with the girls.
Real, true, unpretty, but touched with the fabric of the everyday life I love and embrace.
Better than a french manicure.

Counting Blessing,...

With inspiration from the 1ooo gifts list over at Holy Experience...

I'm counting mine everyday...
in faces of joy,
giggles,
sisters becoming best ever friends,
kicking up grass in the garden playing tag,
the laughter (and tears) that come with growing, learning and forgiving one another on a daily basis.
Seraphina's funny faces,
Matilda's funny expressions,
Bujana's sincere heart,
Emmy becoming a beautiful young lady before my eyes, strong, certain of her beliefs yet full of gentleness and compassion for everyone.
Listening to Emmy read chapters of "Little Women" or "Hinds Feet on High Places" or her favourite parts of the Gospels while I sew in the evenings.
Cuddling up in on blankets and cusions in the garden in the afternoon with Bujana reading stories and picture books.
Listening to shrieks of joy as 3 littlest girls splash in the cool of the paddling pool.
Hearing my husband read fairy stories to my youngest girls behind me right now, with gentleness and fun and silliness, giving each character a funny voice, stopping now and again to chat about the pictures... "look Tilda this princess must be you, she's all in pink"
The soft breath of a summer breeze against the curtains.
Lavender oil foot rubs for the girls after a bath time.
The girl's summery, patterned printed dresses blowing on the line in the afternoon.
The prayers and love of true friends who accept me just as I am, flaws and all.
My mother bringing sweet peas from her garden for us today on a surprise visit, as she does, , and when she does never forgetting to bring little treats for the girls in brown paper bags ( jelly babies, raisins, trail mix, white sugar mice or berries)
Emmy's maple and lemon sponge pudding with custard after Sunday dinner.
Chatting with my "little big" girl about this that and everything else, listening to her thoughts.
Sitting out in the garden in the evening with my husband, sharing the day, laughing about silly things and amazing at the blessings God has brought us.

Listening...

God I hear you say...

Love as you have been loved.
Forgive as you have been forgiven.

Suffering brings you closer to me.
Yield to your pain, I AM with you.

Do not put anything before me.
Come to me first to be your healer, counselor, guide, teacher, friend and lover.

Ask yourself does whatever I am doing increase my love?
Or does it distract, confuse and come between us and what is truly nessecary.
Be like Mary, sit at my feet. Learn what is the essential. It lies between us. It rests in the heart, like a pearl, shining love, just love.

Let your voice become small. There is too much talk.
Let yourself fall freely into my arms, rest a while.

Gaze upon me.
See how I love you as a child.

Take off the masks,
Let the masks fall away from others.

Perfection is not a set of rules,
Holiness can only be found in Love.

See how I love you just as you are.
Love other's this way too.

See how I forgive and embrace you just where you are.
Forgive and embrace others where they are too.

Let love be the only motive.

here. now

• Take one moment at a time.
• Dwell in the heart of each moment.
• Still the waters of your mind
• Do not fall beneath their surge.
• Sit with me upon the banks
• do not be absorbed by the currents and swells.
• Take the route I've mapped especially for you
• I will navigate the course.
  

With love for a friend. "The Passion is in the letting go"

The passion is in this letting go.
You will find
yourself again, beautiful, shining
full of life.

A soul grows in the dark
of the earth, giving itself away
piece by piece,

stem, sepal, seed,
Becoming smaller time and time
again, becoming
pollen drifting,

and the gentleness of rain, the warmth
of sunlight in the morning
after a bitter night of frost.

The melting snow, white
petals unfolding,

Opening

Becoming.

True.

Beautiful.

Shining.

Full of life.

Memories of my Father in the garden...

My Father has had a hard life. He’s getting old now and age is bearing down.
These days he enjoys simply sitting in our garden watching the children swing and slide and dig and run making the happy sounds that children do. Somehow children always seem to bring a gift of carefree joy to the deep rooted seat of age.


As shadows lengthen and daylight dilutes into sepia, he can still find a quiet spot in a garden to think, murmur on politics, philosophy or random ideas. Occasionally giving advice on which plants would suit the soil conditions best. Last year it was peas and runner beans, they add a lot of nitrogen to the ground apparently.


My father has always been the kind of person you would remember. He is one of life's eccentrics.
But now old age and a weary body take his footsteps along a quieter route, slower, simpler, treading a pace that can't be forced.


And it is a change of season for my Dad, who like a sailor has had a life of extreme weather conditions. He is used to the challenge of the sea!
In his day, he could claim a mountain in a morning, but now the slow, aching, walk upstairs overwhelms.


He lived for some years in the deserts of North Africa learning how to understand the extremes of both the sun and the storm.
Here, beside the window and the potted plants and the dried flowers threaded with spiderwebs on the sill, life seems to have reached a plateau and it is the hardest yet to acclimatise to.


Still a little abandoned corner of life soil, often left neglected and unnoticed. A place to pile uprooted weeds and fallen leaves.... Now sprouts green. And where tear sodden earth was trod underfoot.... Flowers now grow at his feet.
Four small girls blossoming abundant. An unlikely adventure, but maybe the best yet.
Straining tendril from dehydrated earth to quenching light.


My Dad was a horticulturalist, (maybe that explains all these garden metaphors:)
He had a very messy greenhouse, pots everywhere, and a very messy garden too, full of over zealous jungle like plants.
It was not much of an advert for his business , but it’s the way he liked it.


The greatest peace I’ve seen him have is in nature. Times when we walked the dogs and stumbled upon some secret, undiscovered woodland, and he would just look around and pick out the names of the wildflowers in Latin. Or in the garden with a fork digging out potatoes, staring up at the sky for long stretches in-between, hands resting on the wooden handle, boots deep in trenched earth.
Or watching sea birds catch fish along the coast with an ancient pair of binoculars in hand and silence as a companion.
In my mind the muddy boots of hard times stay at the door. Only flowers will grow in the soil of my memories of him.


One of the greatest gifts my Dad has passed on to me is the connection between God and nature. It is something that has made a deep impression on me, like a footprint in the clay of my heart.
Whenever anyone asked him what he did for a living, he would reply, "I paint with a spade"
We used to make fun of "his art" by saying that it must be of the abstract variety.
But growing tender plants in the greenhouse, exploring nature's heights and depths or uttering a quiet prayer in the silence of a church, were all an embracing of God for him.

When I think of my father I see stormy, grey skies falling head over heels across ragged fields of grass. Potatoes cooking in the embers and tasting wonderfully of like mud and charcoal. The chink of a September sun glinting on the sharp edge of blue tide in the distance. Pheasants and hares hanging in the garage door, homemade scrumpy and apple cores in the compost.
Scraping lichen and moss from grey granite....

"These rocks have been here for a million and more years and they'll be around for a million more after we're all long gone."

A well worn expression (one of my Dad's many) 'oft' used in times of reflection.
Always made me feel infinitely small and grounded and afraid and secure all at the same time.

Truly, we can't build anything physically eternal, in this life. Time will fray and unravel the loose strands of our creations one day. But in nature we can always sense the eternal essence of our creator.


He holds the fabric of our lives in his hands. However torn or frayed or mismatched the pieces are He weaves them in to a new garment.

Bodies age and deteriorate, but my Dad's soul somehow stands as an oak set against the setting sun.
Or a sea bird hovering over the granite tides.

Regardless of the toll time takes on tired bones and the memory dug-well of a life lived to the brim... yet somehow only just truly savoured.
It will stand a little quieter, a little softer a little truer. Weathered maybe, but accepting of the seasons. Both the winter frost and the sunlight of summer.


Reaching only further and higher as the days pass.

Tuesdays Unwrapped at "Chatting at the Sky"

Sometimes...

Sometimes I feel an deep ache. It hits me suddenly and without warning. In the middle of washing up, or the moments of quiet, the shade of blue of the sky.
My heart hangs heavy, pangs silently, a sudden outburst of rain fills my eyes.
I feel like mercury pushing the clouds out of the corner of the picture in the Spring time Primavera But I can only chalk blue skies with my mind. My thoughts are a clear meadow, but my heart is a sunken valley where the rain pools.
Yet there is sunlight all around me and flowers in small hands, so many gifts.
It's only the undrawn picture, the unfashioned memory which falters my smile. It is the one small hand I will never touch. The little body I will never hold, the smile I will never see,
and I mourn it.
I grieve for a little child I never knew, yet know more intimatly than any in some ways. Because now she enfolds my soul in the wings of prayer as I once held her little body beneath my heart.

The Invitation...

It doesn't interest me what you do for a living. I want to know what you ache for and if you dare to dream of meeting your heart's longing.

It doesn't interest me how old you are. I want to know if you will risk looking like a fool for love, for your dream, for the adventure of being alive.

It doesn't interest me what planets are squaring your moon. I want to know if you have touched the centre of your own sorrow, if you have been opened by life's betrayals or have become shrivelled and closed from fear of further pain.

I want to know if you can sit with pain, mine or your own, without moving to hide it, or fade it, or fix it.

I want to know if you can be with joy, mine or your own; if you can dance with wildness and let the ecstasy fill you to the tips of your fingers and toes without cautioning us to
be careful, be realistic, remember the limitations of being human.

It doesn't interest me if the story you are telling me is true. I want to know if you can
disappoint another to be true to yourself. If you can bear the accusation of betrayal
and not betray your own soul. If you can be faithless and therefore trustworthy.

I want to know if you can see Beauty even when it is not pretty every day. And if you can source your own life from its presence.

I want to know if you can live with failure, yours and mine, and still stand at the edge of the lake and shout to the silver of the full moon, 'Yes.'

It doesn't interest me to know where you live or how much money you have. I want to know if you can get up after the night of grief and despair, weary and bruised to the bone and do what needs to be done to feed the children.

It doesn't interest me who you know or how you came to be here. I want to know if you will stand in the centre of the fire with me and not shrink back.

It doesn't interest me where or what or with whom you have studied. I want to know what sustains you from the inside when all else falls away.

I want to know if you can be alone with yourself and if you truly like the company you keep in the empty moments.

Oriah Mountain Dreamer

Notes to self...

Seek holiness only that it may make you more real, transparent and loving to others,

Remember truth is only revealed to little children. Imperfect as they are they have the heart soil of deep emotion, sympathy, eagerness for friendship, trust, a simple soul, persistence and endless, boundless hope in whatever circumstances they find themselves in.

Search out beauty, and FIND IT. Even in the stains of life God breathes His love.

Don't be afraid of other's kindness. Be the child you were before your heart was broken by life. Fearlessly embrace every trace of goodness that comes your way.

God sees the heart, think only good of others, think their intentions pure every time.

At the end of the day all that really matters is what He knows of your heart. What other's may or may not think is not important.

Stay silent for a time and listen to His voice at some point each and every day.

Make life an on going creation. Make life a poem, a song, a painting. See the colours.

Take joy from the simple things.

Know that suffering, frustration, loneliness, discomfort and longing only draw us closer.

Know that joy, wonderment, being in love, peace and thankfulness only draw us closer.

Don't put barriers between ideas, things, people, places. Seek oneness.

Do something to reach out in Love to someone outside your home at least once a day.

Seeking Silence...

It was just over two years ago, sometime before lent.
our little newborn baby lay beside my feet in the moses basket, swaddled in hand knit blankets and lost within deep, pre-birth, womb like sleep.
It was mid-spring and the days were getting longer leaving drapes of sunlight dappled, leaf shadows across the wooden toy box and floor.
And the fibres of me simply sought to find the silence and peace that stilled the branches on the trees. Become the fearless bark, the transparent leaves, the praying branches.
Here was the silence, stark, immense yet somehow so very fragile. I had to seek it, it would not impose itself upon me. I gazed intently upon my new baby child's porcelain expression, the light dancing on the cream knit wool, once mine years before, words filtered through the silence into nothing, like muddy water sifting through sand.
The silence.
It quenched, and did not leave a longing.
And a part of it began to follow me through the days...

A few rambling ponderings on Sin and Forgiveness,

One thing I love so much about the Bible is that God uses the most unlikely people to reveal himself to, to use, to draw close to and to work through. It could have been such an easier book to read with Perfect Disney like heroes and villains a God of perfect authority and predictability and a nice neat, comfortable ending. If it had been anything less than divine revelation it just might have been more like that.

King David was an adulterer and murderer. Moses too was a murderer and "slow of speech", Jacob (a name which actually means cheat in Hebrew) lived up to it by cheating his brother out of his father's promise, Saint Paul was a persecutor of Christians, Samson was prideful, Solomon was led astray and the disciples of Jesus ( before the resurrection) give the impression of very ordinary humanness.

Yet King David was a man after God's own heart, the law of the old covenant was revealed to Moses, Jacob's name was changed to Israel the nation through which that covenant would be made, Saint Paul was redeemed on the road to Damascus without any initial repentance on his behalf, God did not let Samson face humiliation, he "listened to Samson's prayer and granted his wish," King Solomon's words of wisdom make up two books of the old testament and Jesus's disciples were the mottled, slightly roughened ordinary looking rocks on which the church was founded.

When asked the question "Why did God Blind Saint Paul? " at Sunday school the other week Bujana put her hand up with the innocent, simple yet wonderful answer " So he could listen"
That's how God works in his Mercy and compassion for us. He blinds us temporarily so that we may listen. So that we may more acutely sense His ways and His words.

Yet sin also acts as a blinder to God.

As fallible and frail human beings we are agents of both perfection and imperfection, as Saint Paul says we are "Clay jars concealing a treasure"
Yet our imperfection is also used by God who's ways are not our ways. Imperfection draws God's mercy and love into the depths. Like the stake of the cross. Our sin drags down into the decay of the earth, the dust from which our "Clay jars" were formed.

Yet there is a purpose. We can reach down so that we may (through Jesus) raise up what is lost and low to the heavenly heights.
That it may be redeemed.

As in Jacob's vision of the angels ascending and descending ladders from earth and heaven. We also make ascents and descents on our journey in faith.

Often we find ourselves wrestling with God on the ground though. We fight against our natures, we spend time dwelling on our sin, we try to hide our nakedness. Instead of basking in God's love and compassion for us and trusting in his working no matter whether we are at the bottom or the top of that ladder or simply somewhere in between.

To be at the top is wonderful, we can see clearly a wide perspective, there is not such a great need for faith as we can see the results of it. Then we begin to feel strong and confident in the steps we have trod and pride begins to take hold. The Lord seems to cut the ropes beneath our feet as we descend once more. Yet he knows these ways better than us. This is how he works through us.

And right at the bottom of the ladder as it becomes harder to just trust, we can feel like we have failed, but this is where the work really begins. As Jonah prayed...
'I have been banished
from your sight;
yet I will look again
toward your holy temple.'

We are humbled by our sin so that we can never look down on another who sins. This is a blessing from God and should be treasured.

There is a lyric in a Smashing Pumpkins song called "Disarm"which goes....
"The killer in me is the killer in you, my love"
The sin in another whether a seed, a small shoot or a full fledged strangling weed is the same sin in us but at maybe a different stage of development.
With enough nurturing in darkness, the same seed in us could easily sprout into the fully grown weed that we hate in another.

Sometimes the Lord wants us to be shining like stars, a light on a hill, a reflection of His glory. Sometimes he wants us, I believe, to be fools for his sake. Vulnerable, not perfect Hollywood heroes with shining white smiles, but a little broken, confused, shamed, a reflection of His passion. Hung upon a cross of seeming contradictions.

Yet as with King David, what seems to matter most to God is not the "perfect sheen of superficial appearances, but a humble, trusting, gentle and loving heart. To trust in His goodness no matter where we are even if we are in the depths of sin. Which we all are at all times to some degree or another.

King David trusted in His God's mercy at all times. And more than anyone else of his time he gave God his heart, imperfect and troubled though it sometimes was.
And that is all is asked from us, I truly believe. Not a dwelling upon our sins. Dwelling upon sin has more to do with us than God. Penance without love has more to do with us than God too.
To enter the kingdom our hearts must be like a child's. What child doesn't rejoice when forgiven by a parent? Most children simply take forgiveness and unconditional love from their parents as a given. What child ever second guesses it's loving parent's forgiveness? What child ever continues to ask for more punishments for it's past behaviour? No a child skips away in carefree knowledge that all is blotted out. For the parent always knows the child's heart no matter what the outward behaviour may seem to be from one moment to the next. And it is this child's heart which the loving parent holds in view at all times. That is how our heavenly father sees us I believe. He sees the innocent heart that he first created in us.

"for God sees not as man sees, for man looks at the outward appearance, but the LORD looks at the heart."

Supplies for 2009...

It starts with a blank piece of paper. With open hands and an unmarked canvas, waiting in the quiet. No expectations. Just. A Cream coloured piece of paper. Slowly but surly the words come through the silence of the page. Like gifts.... My Scripture for 2009: Old Testament: Isaiah 43. Fear not for I have redeemed thee, I have called thee by thy name; thou art mine.When thou passest through the waters, I will be with thee; and through the rivers, they shall not overflow thee: when thou walkest through the fire, thou shalt not be burned; neither shall the flame kindle upon thee. New Testament: John 15:4-5 4 Abide in me, and I in you. As the branch cannot bear fruit of itself, except it abide in the vine; no more can ye, except ye abide in me. I am the vine, ye are the branches: He that abideth in me, and I in him, the same bringeth forth much fruit: for without me ye can do nothing. 

My Word for 2009: COURAGE. 

  My Quotation for 2009: “In the evening of life, we will be judged on love alone.” Saint John of the Cross 

My Saint for 2009: Saints Joan of Arc and Saint Bernadette

Before the Manger

I have a very dear member of my family, who is of a very practical turn of mind.
She likes to say things like, "Yes but you have to live in the real world" and "well you just have to get on with it don't you" And she knows what she is talking about much more than I do, she has lived the most self giving, generous (and hard) life of anyone I know. She knows we love her very dearly (don't you ;0) She is unassumingly wonderful, kind and (though she may not like me to divulge....she has the warmest of hearts.)
From her I have learned so much, gifts of the "soul kind"
And she is right, we (I) do have to live in the real world and yes, we do sometimes, whether we like it or not, just have to get on with it. Circumstances can be harsh, crushingly so.
So I was pondering on all this as I was driving home from the shop this morning, my two year old hiccupping breathless sobs after having a tantrum on the way to the car because she wanted to ride in the trolley instead of her baby sister and there was only space for one.
Mmmm, Yes this is the real world, difficult at times, frustrating, often painful, intimidating, fearful, matierialistic, fast paced, individualistic, and as a Christian I also have to live in it. I can't run and hide, cut myself off, seperate completly and permanently. Jesus certainly didn't.
He " just got on with it."
And so must we all.
You know the old children's song about going on a bear hunt and coming to the forest singing
" you can't go over it, you can't go under it, you have to go through it"
Well we all do have to "go through it" Yet... something very wonderful can happen to the "it" we have to go through when we face struggle with the faith and love and hope of God, I'm thinking. The way this lovely person does, so beautifully, unfalteringly, with dignity and grace. Can I too ?
When there is so much pain there seems no hope, yet we still hope. When there is so much darkness we can't see even our next step, yet we still walk with courage and faith. When we are hurt deeply and intentionally, yet still rise from the ground with love and forgivness in our heart. Something, truly, stunningly wonderful happens. Something that transforms the bleakness, harshness and darkness of the world with the power of God's love.
He does not want us to discard the world, like a piece of litter, He loves the world and all people as we love our own children, but more so, our calling ( my calling) is to live it's sorrows and joys through His gifts of faith, hope and love. To see the beauty in the ugliness and the hope in the darkness.
Which in turn, transforms ourselves, and all those we come in contact with. It adorns the ugliness with authentic beauty, and nurtures hope like a tender shoot through the darkness.
Advent becomes not simply a season, it becomes a way of walking, waiting, loving, being. A walking in faith (to a little stable), a waiting in hope (for the birth of the child), a loving in suffering (the way of the cross the way to life).
So I can walk slow to the the Lords pace. Even when it feels like the world is rushing by like a motion blurred photograph around me, I can take joy from a frost coverered leaf or berry. When there is a pull to buy more and more, I can turn away and instead give more and live a little more simply. And live that simplicity and with hope in my heart. When there is struggle and frustration I can use His love, wisdom and patience to "come through it". When there is mess, and anxiety, I can look to His face and trust, "come throught it."
And in a very small way I can bring that "coming through it" as a gift before the manger.

( With thanks to Kath for the inspiration. we
LOVE you so :0)

Creating a Manger

"Be Still and know that I am God" (Psalm 46:10),

Stillness, a word that evokes so many wonderful things for me.
Quietness, peace, acceptance, a listening ear, a raising of the eyes, the planting of the feet.

When I become still, really still, I realise that I am in fact simply waiting. But waiting with a sense of peace, instead of a longing. Advent is the time for waiting isn't it.

But sometimes it's not easy to yield to my heart when my mind is racing with so many things...
So I must try to remember that when I feel myself begin to get caught up in the whir of the wheels of wrapping, organising, making, baking. Crushed under the cogs of last minute preparations, the arrival of sudden guests, the unexpected, unplanned happening that can turn my plans head over heels...
When I find my heart hardened by the length of my lists, falling headfirst into the lie that, Christmas has to look, or be, or sound, or smell, or taste a certain way. Lord,
Please remind me to be still. To sit for a while with you. Take moment by moment. Receive your simplicity and peace so that Christmas can become what it should be. Something far from my own plans and ideals. Something far more simple. Let me let You bring Christmas to me. The way it should be. Cast from your mould, Your form.

It is so easy for me to place more importance upon my actions, (What I do) Instead of on my heart, my prayer, (What I am)

It can be hard to still.

With our doing their is a visible measuring stick. Goals can be set and accomplished for all to see. Results are tangible. The tree, the cookies, the mince pies, the shopping, the nativity, the carol service, the helping here, the volunteering there, the wrapping, the cards, the......
Prayer, (being still) is planting a seed in dark earth.
Results are slow at times, sometimes they remain unknown by the one who prays.
But for all the doing we do, the Child cannot be born in a carved manger or shop front stable, or a perfectly prepared dinner and a beautifully laid table, he does not come wrapped up or signed at the bottom of a card.
He is born through the heart. The heart of each person. In some way in some form.
Our heart is the manger.

And at the busiest times. Advent in particular, isn't prayer (stillness) the prerequisite I must remember. To do all I do prayerfully. Prayer is surely the hinge upon which all my doings should turn.

When it is hard to slow and still as demands press down I must remember that it is at these times I need to still the most.

The stillness that comes from waiting prayerfully changes things from the inside out, from within, preparing our work, preparing the grounds, giving strength and wisdom and grace so we may do our work well.

I was thinking as I wrote this that work without prayer is a little like sacrifice without love as Saint Paul puts it: "If I speak in the tongues of mortals and of angels but do not have love, I am a noisy gong or a clanging cymbal. If I have prophetic powers and understand all mysteries and all knowledge, and if I have all faith, enough to remove mountains, but do not have love, I am nothing. If I give away all my possessions and hand over my body to be burnt but do not have love, I gain nothing."

In sculpture their is a term often used called "negative spaces" which describes the area around and within the sculpture as a form in it's own right. The form created by the artist is held in tension with the negative spaces of emptiness surrounding it and within it. It is these spaces of emptiness that create the very definition of the solid form.

"A Vessel is useful only through it's emptiness. "
Leo Tse

Sometimes I think that prayer works as a these negative spaces do. Almost unnoticed, yet opening windows of space and light along life's paths.

So... I pray that I will find the still places, the negative spaces, dwell for a while, So that the form of my own sculpture begins to fit His mould, His form, a little more.

Carve out a space, a warm place, within my own heart for the Christ's Child to be born.

Beneath the Surface

It’s amazing how even the smallest stones in the depths of the river effect the way the water moves at the surface.

The softly spoken reflections of the artist Andy Goldsworthy surveying the “Rivers and Tides” that are the living canvas of his own work.

Art always seeks to reveal the hidden. Find the cause behind the effect.
And although seemingly obscure, even the smallest particle of dust contains within it, the memory of a supernova. In the hidden depths of our heart, we also contain a memory. A memory that its stirred during advent in the way a seed stirs in the frozen, clay soil of winter.

Awoken slowly by a breath of warmth.

A breath of Hope amidst the barren effects of a cold season.

Along the embankments muddy reddened iron pebbles sunken into the riverbeds like red blood cells. Releasing unseen energy and nutrients that feed the life of the water. The small grey slates, plain and ordinary shifting placidly like miniture platlets in the cold depths.
All, in their way, choreographing the dance of currents and ripples that collide and tangle like silk ribbons along the river’s surface.

These unseen things effecting the seen.

• A prayer for the one we love.
• An unnoticed, sacrifice offered once again without hesitation.
• A father’s blessing for his grown child.
• A friendly welcome for a stranger
• The hope to keep forgiving.
• A place of communion carved out of chaos, Before the storms calm with words of faith that whisper “Peace be still”
• A heart that can yeild and remain still to hear that same whisper amongst the clatter of pots and pans and streaming tears.
• As well as in the singing of childish songs never forgotten.
• Sincerity offered, to a jaded ear.
• A joyful reminder returned gratefully to a weary heart.
• The bringing of hope’s candle in the dark corners of the world.
• A gift freely given,


• A Bread broken apart.
  And shared out.
  

Under the surface, unseen, hidden, waiting.
Preparing a course for the rising waters.
Digging deep in the times of drought.
Channelling, streams back to their source.
Each prayer, each sacrifice, each kind word, a gift.

Recieved and given back with in an open palm.

In Advent there is much happening beneath the surface of tinsel and trinkets and gift wrap and holly wreaths of commerciality.

A child is soon to be born in a poor stable in an out of the way town. A place hidden from obvious view.
His birth announced first to the poor, the lowly, the humble and childlike. The ones who are hidden, obscure, unknown, unassuming, unremembered.

Bearing “Beneath the surface” gifts for the babe in the manger. Gifts of the heart.

Each one a small shell that carries the song of the sea as a memory within, till once again the waves reclaim it as their own.
Rising and falling, rising and falling beneath hope's breath.

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Blaise Pascal:
"The least movement is of importance to all nature. The entire ocean is affected by a pebble."

Thanking study in brown for the reccomendation of Rivers and Tides

Tilling Over

“Jesus assumed our flesh; let us give him our own. In this way he can come into the world and transform it.” -Pope Benedict XVI

In a way I take Him everywhere with me.
He is my hands when I hold and comfort a crying child, stroking the hair, wiping the tear dampened cheeks. He is my feet when I walk along the peaceful mountain places and also when I tread the bustling city streets.
Sometimes He takes me to places of quiet, sometimes places of mess and noise and dischord. Other times I am lead to a place of joy, and at other times a place of suffering.

Maybe this is what, a life lived for Him, with Him and through Him becomes. A transformation that begins with me and ends with Him.

Just as a seed holds the blossoming tree so we, each one of us, hold the kingdom in our hearts. And it is from the heart that we are led.

It seems that Jesus often sought out the difficult ways and the narrow ways, the deep valleys and the back streets of the lost and broken before the high, transendant peaks of this world.

He went to the depths of life so He might illuminate them, redeem them, raise them up to the heights in his own resurrected body.

Still, must I, at times follow even here? Beyond my comfort zone. Beyond myself.

Must I step out into a bright light and open space I don't recognise? Become vulnerable?

Like the winter trees striped of their leaves. Simple, naked silhoettes embracing the stark, frozen sunlight of late November.

I like symmetry, order, comfort. I like to design a situation I can plan, regulate and control.
Sometimes it is hard for me to take His hand in mine.
When He comes in the form of a stranger who may upset my routine, or a sick and sleepless child, a messy chore I‘d prefer to leave for tomorrow, or a lonely neighbour, I would rather visit some other time. I begin to loosen my grasp. I busy my empty hands with my own tasks instead of His.

I try to make Him live through me, through my limited, awkward, unyielding body.

Instead of simply letting myself live through Him. Through His limitless, given and graceful form.

I find myself too busy and troubled to simply sit at His feet as Mary did. And seek His still voice in the whisper.
The whisper that can lead me so very gently to the places I really need to be and to the things I really need to do.
To hear a whisper takes a quiet and yielded heart.

Yet oftentimes I clatter around with my dust pan and brush, my dish cloth and scourer looking to clean up the corners, make things look tidy. Even if only in my mind.
Though maybe it’s the messy parts are what I have to get my hands dirty with at times. Embrace in fact.
The difficult places, the narrow roads.
To dig deep into the earth of life where the rot and decay can be over turned, to give life to new shoots. There is growth in the mess of it all, glory in fact, in the opportunity to turn goodness out of a little dirt.

Hard work, tiredness, the monotony of chores, sickness, the crying child, the untidy rooms, the needy and lonely ones I neglect to call on, the unkind comment someone made the other day that still lingers, are all opportunities to dig deep and plant a seed.

A seed that can be planted in my own heart first.

A place where the noonday sunlight of hope and the gentle watering of faith upon that seed may, in time, pollenate a whole garden of budding blossoms.
It is a strange yet beautiful fact of nature that it is only when the flowers have past their bloom and are about to fade and wither that they become most fruitful. For it is not in the beauty of the unfurled petals that they hold their life. It is from their very heart that they release their seed. Their hope of new life.

The soil of my own expectations is constantly being tilled over.
His order and beauty is grown from the earth up; from the depths of the soil to the heights of the heavenly kingdom.

"That Christ may dwell in your hearts by faith; that ye, being rooted and grounded in love, May be able to comprehend with all saints what is the breadth, and length, and depth, and height;" Ephesians 3:18

And during the times when the hard clay of all my pride and selfishness is softened to a fine rich soil, my own limitations are over come by His limitless.

You drench its furrows and level its ridges;you soften it with showersand bless its crops.
Psalm 65:

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Does the farmer plow continually to plant seed? Does he continually turn and harrow the ground? Does he not level its surface And sow dill and scatter cummin And plant wheat in rows, Barley in its place and rye within its area? For his God instructs and teaches him properly.
Isaiah 28

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... For, behold, I am for you, and I will turn unto you, and ye shall be tilled and sown ...
Eziekiel 36

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For the earth that drinketh in the rain which cometh often upon it, and bringeth forth herbs meet for them by whom it is tilled, receiveth blessing from God
Hebrews 6 >>

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the ploughman shall overtake the reaper, and the treader of grapes him that sowe the seed: and the mountains shall drop sweetness, and every hill shall be tilled ... Amos 9:13

SACRIFICE ( A post revisited and updated :0)

(c) Tomo Yun www.yunphoto.net/hl/photobase

It is in a womans nature to want to nurture, protect and care for those around them. I've been thinking about this for a while now.

Sacrifice is the way of a Christian life. It is a beautiful aspect to our faith.. The beauty is that when we give we are really only giving a little of something up in order to recieve a part of something so much greater.

Yet, sometimes (at times) even the giving of ourselves can be done for the wrong reasons. We can overly focus on one thing or another and this in itself can weary us. We forget that this is a sign that we are not leaning upon HIM enough. Either by seeking HIS word, praying or doing the thing HE wants us to do even though that thing in itself may seem less important or rewarding or noticable or grand.

"Take my yoke upon you, and learn of me; for I am meek and lowly in heart: and ye shall find rest unto your souls."

I remember when I only had two girls instead of four! I would get so tired all the time. I was wearied, much more than I am now. Looking back I was not taking HIS Yoke upon me but my own carefully crafted one. The one of " a perfectly clean and well presented home" The one of
"looking especially after my appearance" and the one of "Taking on responsibilities" outside the home which although seemed like they were the right things to do, were in fact simply feeding my sense of personal fullfillment. They were serving my identity, not my soul and not my God.

Jeremiah 6:16 Thus says the LORD, "Stand by the ways and see and ask for the ancient paths, Where the good way is, and walk in it; And you will find rest for your souls. But they said, 'We will not walk in it.'

Eventually, and somewhat conversly with nothing left inside to give I felt myself become even more burdened, even more incapable.

God does provide us with the strength to continue on our ordained path when we need it. He is our rock and fortress when we become weak. Through faith and obedience we are given the grace to endure struggles in life. But sometimes we try to take our own ways instead of his.

Our nurturing, protecting and caring starts to involve issues such as control, pride, idolisation. An attempt to recreate the ideal, picture perfect life that our minds and hearts desire and aspire to instead of allowing life itself to mould us gently.

"Abba Abba Father. you are the potter we are the clay."

We have to allow those gentle rivulets of turning clay change us slowly. If we try to speed up the wheel our whole pot will collapse!

If we are taking on more than we can handle it may be the case that we are not listening to that still, small voice of God within us.

It maybe that we are trying to plough our own field without the necessary tools instead of Gods field where every tool is provided when needed.

By stepping back a little we allow others the opportunity to flourish and grow. My husband and children all help with the chores around the house. I do the largest proportion, which is only fair as I don't work outside the home, however my husband is as hands on with the little ones as I am. As a wife and mother my duties don't stop at 5 pm and as a husband and father my husbands don't either.

If I as a wife and mother take over every responsibility from childcare to household chores am I not robbing other members of my family of the chance to learn how to serve in love and grace within their home. It warms my heart to see my little ones eagerly clamber up the stairs, polishing rags in hand in search of any piece of wood they can find to shine up good as new : )



Robert A. Heinlein: "Do not handicap your children by making their lives easy".


I take great pleasure in watching the older two care for their youngest siblings.


"There are only two lasting bequests we can hope to give our children. One is roots; the other, wings." Hodding Carter

The impression of Jesus related within all of the gospels is one of resounding peace. The time for every eventuality was pre-ordained, he knew this and did not contest it. And He wanted to give this same gift of Peace to us too.

"And Jesus answered and said unto her, Martha, Martha, thou art careful and troubled about many things: But one thing is needful: and Mary has chosen that good part, which shall not be taken away from her."

I believe God means for all his people whether they be, young or old, male or female, both within the realms of family and community, to work together in praise and servitude for him as well as each other.

Even the best of intentions can come undone if they are not in keeping with Gods plan.

Sometimes all we are asked to do is take a breath.

Inhale his word;

receive his grace.

Here is a great link on the subject from The Flourishing Mother called Take my yoke I found the other day :0)

Blessed be your Name

And the ransomed of the LORD shall return, and come to Zion with songs and everlasting joy upon their heads: they shall obtain joy and gladness, and sorrow and sighing shall flee away.(Isaiah 35:10)

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For ye shall go out with joy, and be led forth with peace: the mountains and the hills shall break forth before you into singing, and all the trees of the field shall clap their hands.(Isaiah 55:12)

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Sometimes I look at my life and I feel so overwhelmed. How did I get to be so blessed?
Everyday is filled with grace in some way or other. Yes, there are struggles and tears and trials amoungst the joys and wonders but there are gifts.... Hope, Faith and Love! Transforming and transfiguring all into a song of praise!

Praise that finds a voice to sing with even when the tears sting and the heart aches. Still and silent. A waiting praise where hope flickers once more from the dowsed embers. The ashes of all sorrow. A flame of Love brought to life by the oxygen of a faith in something greater, and more wonderful than we may ever behold. And there is beauty here.

For the whispers of clouds Bring grace and blessing in abundance. And behind them the sun still shines on and on.

All is written by His hand. All is planned " Every hair is numbered" and peace dwells in the sanctuary of His word, that formed the beautiful world, His breath that gives life to all, the children's smiles, the eucharist, the sun that rises in the morning.

There are times when life is really full and bursting at the seams... it seems! Yet droplets of joy sparkle across the whole picture, right to the frayed edges and muddy clots of running colour.
Droplets like Moments, intermissions, silences, pauses, undulations, cadences punctuating the movements of life.
And I think of this song : ( remember toturn off the blog music at the bottom of the sidebar to hear the clip :0)

For life is like a poem.

And my poem is a Poem of Praise. The hope, the mess, the crazziness, the tears, the fears, the wonder, the joy. Blessings. In. Abundance.

And I give Thanks.

Beautiful girls enjoying their books before getting ready for bed.

A new composition on a Sunday afternoon.

Trying so hard with her little wooden needles and ball of moss green wool :0)

These two are best friends :0)

And one funny little baby girl who keeps trying to take a ride on her toy cars, and trains and .... now it looks like it's this poor caterpillar's turn :0)

I Dance

Many days I feel inspired and ready. Awake and prepared. I seek adventure, activity. I bring out the paints, the glue, the baking tins and the food colouring!!!
We walk, we sing. The house *feels* ordered. My list is checked. By the end of the day my human desire to achieve, control, be strong and have all the loose ends tied up is fulfilled. I feel adequate, I feel good enough. This is my measuring post.
But then are some days when… well, I just don’t measure up to this measuring post *I designed and made for myself* The housework is muddled and feels as though less has been cleaned, tidied, polished or vacuumed than before the day begun. Children are sick, or grumpy, or clingy. I am not focused, inspired, organised or even completely present! Vagueness blurs the definitions of what I try to *be* and what I have tried to *create* and *maintain* This idealised or *idolised* vision of a *perfect* wife, mother, homemaker, servant of God etc…etc…….
A day like this can feel like I am trying to painstakingly unknot a tangled ball of wool only to end up in the tangled ball of wool!

I feel my inadequacy and my flakiness and I get impatient. The dust I rarely notice on the skirting boards suddenly glares at me. Becoming more important than the rest my body requires or the child that clings to my thigh.
Yet, oddly I have begun to see that the *muddled* blurry days are trying to show me something. They are in fact a gift.
My failing is not, in *not* living up to my own expectations but by prioritising them over what really matters most.
What is God trying to show me on days like these?
Maybe he is simply asking me to relinquish control and be still. To rest in His love, to take His yoke, to accept His peace, to allow His beautiful grace to restore my soul, beside still waters, upon greener pastures.
On days like these I have found that I find peace when I take the time to simply read more of His word, pray more, concentrate more on the cleaning of “the inside of the cup” than the outside.

Yet also accepting when there are still a few stains at the bottom from my stubborn resistance :0) It’s okay, I’m learning.
So on days when a cloud hovers over my resting instead of clearing a path for me to walk forward. I'll find myself hearing the words “Be still and know that I am God” In the whisper over and over in my heart there is a well of water that is living.
Even though I want to rescue myself from the mire, God simply want’s me to wait and be still. To feel the soft earth under my bare feet for a time.
To think on the heart stuff.
Humans are creatures of both action and contemplation.
On days like these the Lord simply wants me to sit at his feet as Mary did.
Slowly I find myself reaching out, finding peace, quietening, cuddling little ones under blankets, eating something simple instead of an elaborate dinner, forgetting about bath time, singing songs. Not pushing it.
Like hand writing a letter to a friend. Not an email. Nothing functional or efficient just a little piece of poetry. A scribble with a pencil on a new sheet of paper. It doesn’t even have to make sense.
And so I think it’s okay.
Times in life like this, or when I’ve been pregnant, nursing, looking after lot’s of small children, sick, or overwhelmed, or simply just unable to see my way through, all give me a chance to reflect.
I think my children need to know that I’m not perfect, that I also need to retreat, at times, I need time, need help and also need forgiveness too. A cardboard cut out, forever smiling Mummy is not real, not humble and not healthy. I cry sometimes, they cry sometimes. We’re all human. I think children need to know it’s okay to feel a whole spectrum of emotions. Emotion is good.
The beauty is in embracing it all. The dirt and dust we have been made of by God’s hand as the seasons bring life through their changes.

“A time to scatter stones, and a time to gather them; a time to embrace, and a time to be far from embraces.
A time to seek, and a time to lose; a time to keep, and a time to cast away.
A time to rend, and a time to sew; a time to be silent, and a time to speak.”
(“ A time to weep, and a time to laugh; a time to mourn, and a time to dance”)

So I’m dancing. To the tune of dolls house pieces on the floor, books upon the unmade bed, the smell of banana bread baking in the oven to have warm and spread with butter for lunch, As I write this the soft snoring of my two little ones resting. A friend with a gift of a picnic basket in the back of her car. My four year old making her bed this morning so proudly and me smiling at the bumps in the duvet and the dog-eared sheets.
To the music of a life, messy as it is, being lived!

I dance.