Monday, June 29, 2009

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.

Friday, June 26, 2009

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.

Thursday, June 25, 2009

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.

When eternity sends an Angel to change our shape....



"What we choose to fight is so tiny!
What fights with us is so great!
If only we would let ourselves be dominated
as things do by some immense storm,
we would become strong too, and not need names.

When we win it's with small things,
and the triumph itself makes us small.
What is extraordinary and eternal
does not want to be bent by us.
I mean the angel, who appeared
to the wrestlers of the Old Testament:
when the wrestler's sinews
grew long like metal strings,
he felt them under his fingers
like chords of deep music.

Whoever was beaten by this Angel,
(who often simply declined the fight),
went away proud and strengthened
and great from that harsh hand,
that kneaded him as if to change his shape.
Winning does not tempt that man.
This is how he grows: by being defeated, decisively,
by constantly greater beings.

Extract from "The Man Watching"
Rainer Maria Rilke

Tuesday, June 23, 2009

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"


Monday, June 22, 2009

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.

Sunday, June 21, 2009

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

Saturday, June 20, 2009

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.

Friday, June 19, 2009

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...

Monday, June 15, 2009

The depths about us...


"Cold of the sea is counterpart
to the great fire. Plunging
out of the burning cold of ocean
we enter an ocean of intense
noon. Sacred salt
sparkles on our bodies.

After mist has wrapped us again
in fine wool, may the taste of salt
recall to us the great depths about us."

Denise Levertov
Extract from the poem "The Depths"

Friday, June 12, 2009

A Poem about Light...


The ripples on the water reflect light,
shatter it into shards of heaven,
undulating liquid hills and valleys.

The leaves of trees become transparent within light,
they absorb light and transform it into something life giving,
life renewing.

The dandelions open with a start when light shines upon them,
they respond instantly.
Before releasing their own food for the bees and the butterflies, the soft breeze and the children of another Summer.

Yet concrete absorbs light,
Deflects, rejects, instead of reflects.
Breeze Blocks are porous,
they eat light, turn it into tiny fibres,
Light does not echo, It can only rebound from the dead end irony of a city street, like a soggy football sucker-punching a wall.
And slide aimlessly like a tear stain on a child's cheek, down the beaten steel of high rise windows.

Light has many mansions, each with a colour of it's own.

Am I leaf dancing in the breeze recycling sun and rain in equal measures? The dandelion's, childish hands, attracting butterflies and bees? A glimmer on the wave, signaling to the shore with Morse code?
Saying, " let go, let go, let go.
The only way I can live is to breathe."...

..."Let the light give birth to me."

Sunday, April 12, 2009

HE IS RISEN



H
appy Easter

Monday, February 16, 2009

Mother Teresa's "Anyway" Poem


This can be found written on the wall in Mother Teresa's home for children in Calcutta:

People are often unreasonable, irrational, and self-centered.
Forgive them anyway.

If you are kind, people may accuse you of selfish, ulterior motives. Be kind anyway.

If you are successful, you will win some unfaithful friends and some genuine enemies. Succeed anyway.

If you are honest and sincere people may deceive you. Be honest and sincere anyway.

What you spend years creating, others could destroy overnight. Create anyway.

If you find serenity and happiness, some may be jealous. Be happy anyway.

The good you do today, will often be forgotten.
Do good anyway.

Give the best you have, and it will never be enough. Give your best anyway.

In the final analysis, it is between you and God. It was never between you and them anyway.-

Saturday, February 14, 2009

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."

Thursday, February 05, 2009

Evening Prayers


"If you reach out and put your hand into holy fire it won't hurt you because Jesus's hand will be there inside holding it."
Bujana during prayers ~

Because of the Lord's great love we are not consumed,
for his compassions never fail.
They are new every morning; great is your faithfulness.
I say to myself, " The Lord is my portion;
therefore I will wait for him."

The Lord is good to those who hope in him, to the one who seeks him; it is good to wait quietly
for the salvation of the Lord.


Monday, January 19, 2009

Some great blogs I've discovered over the last couple of months :0)

A bowl of Moss and Pebbles Beautiful, peaceful blog authored by a very talented young Christian Artist

This and That Susanne's faith filled posts are very inspiring to me.

Urban Servant An incredible family is all I can say!

Journey Mama A Mama of four in India. Rae writes beautifully, movingly, with humor and grace.

A Catholic Calling Sharon shares her faith in such a great way. I always enjoy reading her thoughts.

Streams in the Desert Devotions

The Beehive Lots of colour, imaginative and insightful writing from a home school family.

The Rose Garden Beauty and Peace are the two words that come to mind when I think of the Rose Garden.

Ordinary Life Magic Great Homeschooling Unschooling magic found here!

Barefoot toward the light I'm always given lots to ponder on after a visit at Barefoot towards the light :0)
And I have found some great book recommendations through the wonderful treasure chest of quotes, interspersed throughout Barbara's articulate articles!

A Sowers Heart Gentle devotions.

Saturday, January 03, 2009

Pictures from last year

Hi this is Emmy here today! Mummy has come down with the flu and she thought I might like to have a go posting on her blog!!! She asked me to choose some pictures that made me think about the last year, pictures that gave me the best memories of things we'd done together as a family. So here they are! It did take me a long time to put them all together here but I had fun doing it!




matilda and fina seem to have grown so big since this picture was taken.

Flying kites.Tilly has here swim suit on here over her little smock top heehee. She does love her swim suit!Seaside
In August we welcomed the arrival of some baby bunnies.

Hut in the woods
Fina loves her dollies.
Christmas morning.
The Christmas dress Mummy sewed for me.
Bujana's birthday! She is five now!!!
Two little princessess.