Barren Land

Last week I took a little trip to visit my parents. My route takes me over the edge of the Breacon Beacons - the small mountain range in South Wales. The scenery can be stunning - if the weather allows you to see it. However, low cloud is not unusual, especially in autumn, and on this trip the area was shrouded in a thick grey mist which only parted occassionally to reveal the empty brown hillside. It got me thinking about how mixed our reactions to autumn can be (especially in the UK). On a clear, crisp day the fall colours can be uplifting. But at other times the dark nights and cold, wet days can dampen our spirits.

Seasons are important. If we didn't have to weather the winter, would we fully experience the joy of spring? There is a passage in Ecclesiastes (chapter 3) that talks about there being a time for everything, and a season for every activity under the sun. As I pondered this current season, I wrote the following:

Now is the season of dying,
of fallen leaves
and barren landscapes.
Now is the season of uprooting,
of final harvest
and discarding dross.
Now is the season of giving up,
of tearing down
and throwing away.
The season of wandering through the wilderness
silently searching...
and finally recognising
that this is not a season of fruitlessness
but of fallow land
in quiet recovery
Patiently waiting for the new season
of sowing
and growing.

Reflections

It's been almost two months since I have posted anything. This silence hasn't exactly been deliberate, more the result of a busy few months that has included getting a new puppy and going on two road trips (one with a friend and one with family), but is strangely apt as I have been thinking about silence and stillness during this time.

My road trip with my friend took us to the West coast of Scotland. Our first stop was the Isle of Seil. Travelling the narrow roads on the way there we passed several lochs and, despite the fact that many were tidal and it was September (usually wet and windy), the water was as still as glass. Rarely have I seen such a clear reflection in such a large body of water. The photos I took failed to adequately capture the spectacle, but I was left with the impression on my heart, and a feeling that there was a message in it all.

I found myself pondering on how the reflected image was only possible because of the stillness. I am a very active person, often found busy doing things that I consider to be of worth, desiring to be of service to others and my God. But sometimes busyness is not what is needed. Sometimes what is needed is stillness.

Journeying through
ever changing landscapes,
you catch my eye,
stop me in my tracks
and
you still me.
Here beneath the infinite skies,
you lead me by the tranquil waters,
where lofty mountain heights
bow in silent reflection
of the depths
of your love,
Majesty
laid low in sacrifice.
Here I kneel
in quiet awe
for
you still me.
And I pause,
just long enough
to see,
with clarity,
reflected in the grandeur,
your face smiling at me,
for I, too, mirror you
as
you still me.