stop weaving

Breathtakingly beautiful orthodox liturgy.

"Jisas yu holem hand blong mi"

 

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.

The Artisan Well

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

Beauty for Ashes

"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...

What lasts?

"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.

To Seek His Face Alone. A Final Post.

I write this post because I have felt it well up from the depths of my heart for a long time now.

Mulling it over... Along with the words of dear wise souls.

I also want to say before I begin that this is the way I feel that God is leading me personally, through the scripture and counsel He has given me. I can't in any way speak for another.
I am also, not, in any way saying that personal blogs are wrong :)
All I'm saying is that, as with everything, there is potential for profound goodness and profound evil in equal measure. The possibilities within the Internet create a wide path of endless choice and voice.
It needs great strength of character and continual soaking in His Life to navigate the waters of the world wide web without getting ship wrecked on some distant shore. Far from the land your compass was originally set for.

The Internet is so vast, so expansive. It has great capacity for both good and evil. It is true that we need to bring the light of Christ's Love into a dark world. But as frail humans, the darkness can all too often extinguish the light within us we try to carry.
It suffocates the light with noise, images, controversy, ambition, pride, ideas, ideologies...Idols.
Until we can find ourselves so dowsed by darkness we are left groping around it for a guiding light ourselves.

Instead of looking to our own intuition we look to planners, methods, manuals, e-courses and blog posts.
Instead of turning to God in our confusion, poverty and need we type google into our browser.

And then we wonder why are hands are too full, our hearts numbed, and our minds often scattered and overwhelmed.

It is information overload for our souls.

And where is the whisper?

The whisper of God is lost in the endless words, the avalanche of ideas, the continuous inspirations of better homes, better families. We forget that God has a unique and beautiful plan for each of our lives. We are not called to imitate each other. We are only called to imitate Him.
Follow after Him.
And it is all too easy to flick through beautiful images. So elusive we can only wrap their outer shell around the curve a camera's lens. Leaving behind nothing but a thin vapour that can never be truly or deeply inhaled into our hearts.

Photo shopped photographs, intimidating and imitating a reality that can only ever come short of the gloss. And we all fall short. Ending up breathless and panting for the taste of real food. Not the quickly grabbed fast food gulped down without savour. But the slow, silent descent of Manna. "Just enough" for each day.

In the transaction we trade the whisper for the white noise.

"Then a great and powerful wind tore the mountains apart and shattered the rocks before the LORD, but the LORD was not in the wind. After the wind there was an earthquake, but the LORD was not in the earthquake. After the earthquake came a fire, but the LORD was not in the fire. And after the fire came a gentle whisper."

But before the whisper of His voice can be heard. We must go through the wind, the earthquake and the fire that burns off all the dross.

Evil always tries to stand in front of God. Act as a barrier.
Sometimes it looks like glass, seemingly benign and transparent yet truly as opaque as granite.
Similar to the identities and images we recreate upon a screen perhaps?

And the thing is it's easy to notice when something is obviously ugly. We can look at it and immediately identify it as unpleasant. But the enemy is known as the father of lies and he knows that it is easy to intoxicate with beauty and images. Mirages of truth.
"When the woman saw that the fruit of the tree was good for food and pleasing to the eye, and also desirable for gaining wisdom, she took some and ate it. She also gave some to her husband, who was with her, and he ate it." Genesis 3:6
And we try to eat of the images, fill ourselves with them. Gain knowledge, nourishment even. Make reproductions of them out of our own lives.
Yes, beauty can decieve.

Jesus's kingdom was an upside down kingdom. The prophet Isaiah says "He had no beauty or majesty to attract us to him,
nothing in his appearance that we should desire him."
Jesus's kingdom was all about the inside of the cup, not the outside.

In the Kingdom of God the broken are saved but the proud and self satisfied are sent away.
"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;
and the rich He has sent empty away."

"Sent the rich away empty."

And now I see why the more I gather unto myself... And save and upload and download, and link-click, the emptier the inner stores feel.

And I remember the man who did what many of us would. Thinking we were simply being sensible in securing our future.
The one who harvested more than enough wheat that he built himself barns for the surplus so that he could live on it in time to come.
Yet that very night God came to him saying.. " This night I demand from you your soul"
Not wheat sheaves, not proof of production, not barns full of the fruits of your labour.... God demands the soul.

And isn't information wealth? Aren't we rolling in information dollars? And isn't it all too easy to swallow a glut of it that leaves you overfull, nauseous and leaden?
The Internet has the power to provoke so many sins... Gluttony. Envy, Pride, Lust, Greed.
Yes, it also has the opportunity to promote great virture. But only in small measure compared to that of basking in His Word, par-taking of the sacraments and journeying with the stories of the saints.

Most of the world doesn't own a computer. Jesus certainly never did.
He didn't even write a single word down in dust. He was The Word. He lived His truth. And He invited us to selflessly, fearlessly, completely and undividedly live ours too.

The smallest seed was the seed Jesus used to describe the kingdom of heaven.
His kingdom is an upside down one you see. You have to be as small and as simple a little child to enter in to it.
I pray to learn childlikeness once again. To be smaller, quieter, simpler.

The saints and desert fathers lived obscure, unknown lives.
Yet their love for God alone is a testimony to the words of Jesus's own prayer. "Thy kingdom come, thy will be done on earth as it is in heaven." By decreasing in themselves He could increase in them. And in so doing His presence in the physical world was increased.
They became His hands, His feet. The hands that give up all else, to drive the plough through the furrows.
Remaining empty of themselves. To themselves being nothing so they can ever more easily carry the cross.
It is hard enough to carry a cross. Let alone if your hands are already overflowing with lists, supplies, products and endless vain works.
And we browse. An afternoon away.

And I can't even look at sites like this anymore because they remind me of how far I am from Him and His call as my hands sit curled around a mouse, my eyes fixed upon a screen instead of His face.

There are some who have specific call. Like Katie, and what they bring is truth and light. Their message is not noise. It is His Gospel.... Being lived. There are so many beautiful, inspiring souls along the way, who Live His Word. And their writing flows abundant thereof. Souls who bathe in His living, quiet streams and then irrigate our parched land with their stories.
And we breathe deep His fragrance in their words and art.
I think He is now simply asking me to also live a little more and talk a little less. Listen to Him a little more.

I saw a couple yesterday on TV. The man was English, the woman Thai. They were married and so obviously devoted and in love though they could barely communicate or speak each others languages. "I can see his heart" the woman said of her husband. "And he is a good, kind man."
Talking can sometimes be the worst of communicators. It replaces our intuiting anothers soul, their essence, their dignity. We simply hear the words and forget the spirit. Monks have been wise to this for years. Many of them keep a rule of silence and abstain from idle chatter.
"My dear brothers, take note of this: Everyone should be quick to listen, slow to speak and slow to become angry"
James 1:19

But the internet is changing beyond recognition many ways in which we encounter the world and relate to it.
The vocation of artists (in the broad sense of that word) is in particulalr being redefined.

Poets, artists, writers, crafters are all being transformed beyond anything we have ever known through the World Wide Web.
Once an artist or poet grew from the soil in which they were planted, in silence and experience and soul and heart. Now the over saturation of product has devalued the art of true artists. And compromising your soul to self promote and become noticed is a constant temptation. I know because I've been there as poet, artist too.
Now the the endless tweeting, networking, blogging, face booking are claiming the sacred spaces where inspiration finds it's food. And they are planting tares.
Life. Commercialised. Branded. Patented. For Sale. Disposable.

Communities are fragmenting, the bonds between people breaking down. The old widow and lonely single mother is forgotten for face book. Our neighbours company exchanged for a virtual alternative.

God has been making this whole thing feel like a grey area on and off for some time.

Now the white is dividing from the black and my path has become more defined.
I sincerely believe He wants me to stop writing online. He also wants me to use the Internet very sparingly always ALWAYS coming to Him first for my soul food.

I have felt the prophet Habakkuk speaks alot about situations in our modern world and this passage in particular of Habakkuk speaks to me strongly right now...

"What profit is the graven image when its maker has formed it? It is only a molten image and a teacher of lies. For the maker trusts in his own creations [as his gods] when he makes dumb idols.

¹⁹Woe to him who says to the wooden image, Awake! and to the dumb stone, Arise, teach! [Yet, it cannot, for] behold, it is laid over with gold and silver and there is no breath at all inside it!

²⁰But the Lord is in His holy temple; let all the earth hush and keep silence before Him."

I've been confused in the past, wondering if it is the enemy trying to discourage me. I love to write and as a natural introvert I have found a medium of expressing feelings through the written word that would otherwise remain silently within. But God doesn't need me to write nonsense for His Glory to be made known. His light shines best through those who strive to be obedient to Him.
All other light is vanity and illusion. Remember lucifer is an angel of light. But his light is a false light.
I pray that I will live a life striving to fast, pray, listen and then obey. Tending to my garden of grace daily.

"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 Savior.

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

Selah"

Psalm 24.

Love, Blessings, Light and Peace to all my friends that have given me such warmth and friendship here. you mean so very, very much to me.

If you would like to correspond with me simply e-mail me at the address on my sidebar. ->

God Bless.

xx

Before I go I'll leave you with 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.

And the second 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.

To be Happy

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.

Journeying toward the shores of Heaven....

" 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"

Let us Listen...

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


~ from morning prayers

Some great mid week reads...Enjoy:)

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!

Becoming Mulchy

"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.

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

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

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

"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...

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...

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.

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

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...

"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)