Look up

Yesterday Sue's Quiet Disruptor's blog encouraged us to look up, and today's longer weekend post focused on recovering our inner navigation - not ony by looking internally, but also connecting with other like-minded people, to find the true north of our personal compass.

I have been musing along similar lines for the past week or so. Thinking about how much our perceptions can change just by standing in a different place and looking in a different direction.

I love the Message version of Romans 5 v 2: [through faith] We throw open our doors to God and discover at the same moment that he has already thrown open his door to us. We find ourselves standing where we always hoped we might stand - out in the wide open spaces of God's grace and glory, standing tall and shouting our praise.

It takes faith, and courage, to thrown open our doors. Courage to be real - to say that sometimes we don't feel like shouting our praise, to say that sometimes we feel bogged down with the chaos around us and within us. Courage to look up - to change our perspective and recognise the greater truth.

Led into the wide open fields
She stands, head bowed, starring down
Below the expansive skies
She wallows in the dirt and mud
Sees beneath her feet only crushed grass, crushed dreams
Doubts the promises of grace and freedom
Weeps with loss of hope
While the wind patiently whispers
Look up
Glimpse the unlimited horizon
Dare to believe
You are already free

Stepping out

In my last blog I mentioned setting out on a walk with my little dog despite the very wet weather, and how the emerging sun then provided inspiration. I finished writing my poemy-piece the following day, but never posted it.

Turns out that was to be one of my last walks with Pippa. She died yesterday. So today I post in her memory.



 
Stepping out I face the storm
From the other side
I have heard the whisper:
Who will go for us?
And despite the rain,
the pain,
the risk,
My answer can be nothing but this:
Here I am, send me.

Stepping out I press on through
Taking steps of faith
for I know the way
is not to circumvent
But face the haze,
the maze,
the truth,
Trusting that I do not walk alone
Here you are, with me.

Stepping out I greet the light
Beyond the gloom
the bright sun’s rays
reach with cleansing fingers
And I emerge restored,
refreshed,
and free,
Breathing deeply the purified air
Here you live, in me.

Seasons

One of my favourite activities is taking my dog for a walk on the beach. It doesn't matter what the weather is like, I find the wide open space, vast expanse of sky, and changing moods of the sea inspiring. The best walks are often when it's raining. And I am alone. And the wind seems to whisper to me, words and phrases that weave themselves together poetically.

This morning was one of those walks. There had been a very heavy downpour but I set out in full waterproofs to exercise my little Terrier. Unsurprisingly, I was the only person on the beach. But the rain stopped and the sun came out, and I found myself reflecting on how quickly things change.

Yesterday, I friend asked the challenging question, "What 3 pieces of advice would you give your younger self?". I found it hard to narrow it down to 3... but one of the 3 I chose was this:
            Write down all your ideas, the journey is important.

There have been times when I was younger that I have felt ashamed to say "I wrote this" not so much because of how good I felt my writing was, but because of what I felt my words might reveal about me and where I was. But as I get older, I am less afraid to own the journey; to see that where I was, or am now, does not limit or define where I am going, and that there is value in the ups and downs. And I am slowly beginning to see that within every scribbled jumble of words there is some degree of merit. So I am writing down more; phrases and ideas that may one day be woven into a poem, or whole pieces that are waiting to be refined and shared.

This morning, as I gathered poetic fragments in my head and thought about how I was going to pull them together into something, I found myself thinking back to a piece that I started writing from the wind-whispered phrases on a similarly wet morning walk on the beach about 9 months ago. Before I write something new, I decided to re-visit, and finish, this piece. It says nothing about how I feel now, nor even how I felt then as it was written with someone else in mind. But that someone might now be you.

Because you said there would be seasons
I will wait in the rain,
knowing that the sun will eventually come
and these tears of mourning
will glisten with joy,
for after each day's ending
comes the new dawn.

In this season of searching and shouting
I will not loose my grip,
trusting that you will continue to hold me
until I silently find you
and open my eyes to see,
from my broken fragments
you've melded a whole.

Brother

Families can be complex. And siblings sometimes don’t get on. My children certainly aren’t best friends all the time, but there are many moments when they are and I observe them working and laughing together – like this evening when they amusingly decided to help each other cheat during a family game of cards so I couldn’t win.
And I recall the joy of playing with my little brother when we were growing up, and getting into good-natured mischief together. I still enjoy his company. And I know that I am lucky.

Many people are not so lucky. Thinking about “family” doesn’t bring them joy. And the terms “brother” and “father” bring them pain. So using those terms for Jesus/ God can be less than helpful.
But the fact remains that Jesus did walk on earth and participate in this sometimes wonderful, sometimes painful, thing we call family. A while back I was asked to write a poem about Jesus’ humanity and I found myself wondering what it would have been like to have been his actual brother, or sister. And how that fraternal closeness extended to his disciples. And extends to us now.


He stands with me
together in our father’s workshop
catches my eye
his own eyes bright with amusement
words unspoken
just an explosion of laugher
sharing life.

Here, united in our labours
his carpenter’s hands mould the wood
artfully crafting
skills honed by repeated attempts
and failures
not unfamiliar with frustration
and disappointments.

Friendships forged
bonded like family in understanding
sweet outpouring
of love now unafraid to seek assistance
trusting still
as painful tears fall unrestrained
‘til hope is resurrected.

We walk together
he laughs and works and weeps
travelling light
mindful of greater needs to be met
upturning tables
outbursts of anger misunderstood
wholly holy.

Dawn turns to dusk
I see him strain with unceasing effort
wrestling temptation
suggestions of an easier option
a way out
exhausted but not overcome
he chooses goodness.

He stands alone
surrounded by the crowds
catches my eye
his own eyes filled with understanding
heart breaking
he calls out my name
he calls me brother.