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

Oh Christmas Tree, Oh Christmas Tree

Let Me Not Keep Christmas . . . . . . . .

"Let me not wrap, stack, box, bag, tie, tag, bundle, seal, keep Christmas.
Christmas kept is liable to mold.
Let me give Christmas away, unwrapped, by exuberant armfuls. Let me share, dance, live Christmas unpretentiously, merrily, responsibly with overflowing hands, tireless steps and sparkling eyes.
Christmas given away will stay fresh—even until it comes again."

Linda Felver

Emmy's song lyrics... ( The one she is playing in the picture ;0)

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Lord, I need you here with me,

In the morning, noon and night,

Even in the depths of my dreams.

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Lord I need you here with me,

Even when I feel I'm strong.

I am still a child in your arms.

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Take me, Take me,

Where your star shines in the night.

Wake me, Wake me,

Bring me to the morning light.

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William Cullen Bryant:
"O Father may that Holy Star

grow every year more bright,

And send its glorious beams afar

To fill the world with light."

Collecting Scraps

John Muir:

Let children walk with Nature, let them see the beautiful blendings and communions of death and life, their joyous inseparable unity, as taught in woods and meadows, plains and mountains and streams of our blessed star, and they will learn that death is stingless indeed, and as beautiful as life.

Blaise Pascal

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

J. Lubbuck:

Rest is not idleness, and to lie sometimes on the grass under trees on a summer's day, listening to the murmur of the water, or watching the clouds float across the sky is by no means a waste of time.
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We have been collecting Scraps....
Simple words of thanks, for simple joys. This is a child's way of communion. Pieced together into a Sunday afternoon scrapbook. Pages filled with the wonderment of details. Stiched together, little by little. From the details in nature, to the familiar ways of those dear and close, or the well worn pages of a well loved book sitting cheerily uptop a pile of even more upon the table. Scraps woven together by strong, stitches. Stitches, hand sown with love and care. By His hand.
For this is a gift He gives. A gift that transcends circumstance. A simple gift for all who Hope in Him. A binding of thankfulness. A prayer that weaves in and out of the din and the clatter and the noise just in the same way as it does the peace, of silence and the glinting of icy sunlight between the branches of winter trees.

Scraps of fabric woven together to make a life. Piece by piece. A life for Him, with Him and through Him.
Fragments of beauty, love, joy, memories, voices, dreams, green grass, laughter, songs, sunlight, quiet rain, falling leaves and budding blossoms.
With a thankful heart ready to embrace a love that can turn all things to grace.

And Why not visit lovely Ann's lovely peaceful place for gentle encouragment and inspiration. And many others who are walking in the way of thankfulness over at the GratitudeCommunity...

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

pIECES Of oUR daY

As the brittle and stark days of winter leave trees bare against granite skies. Emmy captures the last blinking glimpses, lingering gazes and fading traces of Autumntime.
Here is our day through her eyes.
With the pictures she found.
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A sycamore leaf surfaces from the birdbath.

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Early morning shivers, blue and crisp as any day in early spring might.
Clouds rustle against the trembling edges of emerald green Bayleaves.
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Details, flutter, pause, wonder, glint. Unassumingly. Washing the days in their own colours. Defining the hours, with their own outlines.

As afternoon wanes, birds chirrup amongst the naked branches of a sycamore tree.

Emmy's candle made of the leftover's of candles, a glass ramakin, some essential rose oil and... Glitter...of course! Will it be lit today? Or saved for tommorrow :0)

Books undercovers! A few favourites ready for an evening read with little ones.

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Lot's of "helpers" making a mess, *ahem* I mean a set of birdfeeders of course!

And here is what you will need, so Emmy tells me:

• 2 and a half cups of wild bird seed.
• half a cup of raisins
• 1 packet of lard
• Lots of wiggly. wriggly messmakers!
• 4 sturdy twigs donated by a kindly nearby tree
• 8 pieces of garden string
• A dust pan and brush and a nice big bowl of soapy water for the floor afterward ;0)

One last picture to share as the pieces of our day scatter gently to the earth like the last of the Autumn leaves. ~

A day with Matilda

Tilly "washing" her little toy dog!

She loves to wear her "Bella- Mina" (Ballerina) dress all day ( everyday) :0)

This week we have started learning phonics! And the best place to start? The begining of course :0) So here is the letter A!!! Both upper and lower case! We have found lots of animals and other things to colour in that start with the letter "A" Online. Letter A Printable Activities Animals A to Z
"and then we found a couple of great sites online for signing. Here's a really good one....
babysigns Which I'm starting up with the girls this year.

Here Tilly signs the letter

"a"

For
apple ( lower two pictures!

And here is the painting she made with Bujana to go along with our bible story for this evening. "The lost Sheep"