Time for Beauty

The charity I work for runs a Foodbank. In addition to receiving public donations of dried and tinned foods that make up the basic food parcels we supply to those in need, on three evenings a week we pick up food from a local supermarket just after closing time. Food that has reached its sell-by date, had its packaging slightly damaged, or just been overstocked. Perfectly good food that can’t be sold but can be taken by us and offered freely to the hungry. 

Sometimes we are given other expiring items like bunches of flowers. 

Once, there was a plant. 

A few withered leaves and bare stalk. Considered worthless, it was thrown out. And possibly would have been thrown away if I had not seen it. For about 9 months it has sat on my windowsill. I have watered it and waited. Last month a bud appeared. Now the orchid is flowering. Every time I look at its delicate beauty it brings me joy. More joy than it would have done if I had just gone to the shop and bought it perfect condition. 

One of my fears for my children is that they are living in a world that moves so fast, with everyone expecting instant results, that they might miss out on knowing the deep joy that comes from waiting.

There is a time for everything,
and a season for every activity under the heavens.

In this high-speed world
of fast food
and instant messaging,
Child, do not be so eager
to avoid the wait,
do not confuse the dormant
with the dead,
nor overlook the potential
of the slow.

Know there is a greater joy
in the anticipation
of the blooming,
in the evidence
of hope not misplaced,
than in the hasty
grab and go,
split-second gratification
of the quick.

There is a time for everything,
and everything is made beautiful in its time.

The River

Continuing on the theme of beach wanderings, the other thing that often grabs my attention is a river that I regularly cross on my walks. The river is always there, but it is never exactly the same - we'd be surprised if it was, because we know that rivers flow and move and change course. Change is an expression of the life a river has. So I wonder why we sometimes are surprised or fearful when we encounter the same in our own lives?

We stand at this fragile border
watch the river cut its course.
See the shifting boundaries
and discarded debris,
as the once familiar landscape
silently transforms.
We have passed this way before,
but now we pause -
marvel at the motion,
watch the emerging patterns
briefly establish
and slip away,
acknowledge change
is a certainty
for things that move.

Exposed

It’s been a while since I wrote a poem. There have been a lot of half formed ideas and musings but nothing concrete that I wanted to share until this:

In my recent beach wanderings I have been fascinated by a couple of exposed old tree stumps; they are well worn and must have been there for years buried under the sand but only now, because the beach profile has undergone natural changes, can we see them. It made me think about the people I have known for years and how they have changed over time. This poem is for the people who I now truly see.

And you have weathered storms
that shifted sands
and rocked the boat.
Stood your ground
while certainties slipped away
beneath the waves
of change.
Remained here.
Forever dependable,
but not unaltered,
As the receding tides
expose your fragile layers
and reveal the beautiful truth
of who you have always been.

Immanuel

This Christmas the one word I have kept coming back to is "Immanuel", the name given to Jesus in Matthew's account of the virgin birth. But the verse in the gospel is a quote from the old testament scriptures. 

Isaiah chapter 7 tells a story from around 735BC when Ahaz was king of Judah. Israel is divided and the northern kingdom is marching against Jerusalem in order to tear apart kingdom of Judah. God speaks to the prophet Isaiah and tells him to go to Ahaz with a message. Ahaz is told to not be afraid nor lose heart, and then God tell him to ask for a sign. However, Ahaz refuses saying that he will not put God to the test...
Then Isaiah said, "Hear now, you house of David! Is it not enough to try the patience of humans? Will you try the patience of God also? Therefore the Lord himself will give you a sign: The virgin will conceive and give birth to a son, and will call him Immanuel." Isaiah 7 v 13&14

It seems a strange sign for God to promise in the midst of the battle. And stranger, yet, when you consider that it was not fulfilled until centuries later. But the more I have looked at this story, the more parallels I see between the struggles faced at time of Ahaz, the story of Jesus's birth and life, and the state of the world in which we now live.

This may not seem a very Christmassy poem, but this is Immanuel - God with us. Here and now.

You are with us here.
Here, where the wars rage
and nations quake with fear
divided
and broken
once-united peoples
fall.
Here, where treaties are debated
and signs are offered
tested
and rejected
with pious purity
man lies.
Here, with the forgotten people
seemingly insignificant for centuries
silent
and unnoticed
gathering on the margins
of faith.
Here, with the virgin
meek and mild.
Here, with the child
broken and rejected.
Immanuel.
You are with us here.

Shoreline #3

I see you.
Recognise the shattered remnants
of protective shells cast aside,
See paltry mountains rise and fall
overwhelming you as you slide,
Note the sculpted trail of contours
formed by paths you’ve tried,
Burrowing deep beneath the layers
silently you hide.
But I see you.

Shoreline#2

Beneath the sand of Swansea Bay is a layer of blue clay. Twenty five years ago it was barely visible - I recall a field trip as part of my civil engineering degree where we all donned wellies and trekked across the sand to dig holes and study the stuff. Nowadays it lies exposed in lumps moved along the shoreline.

Lifted from your bed of slumber,
you embrace the change.
Smoothly moulded
by the movement
of the rolling waves.
But tides do turn
and shunned by sea
you return to shore.
Tumbling slowly over land,
unwittingly exposed.
Embedded here
remains the debris
of your journey’s end.
Sands will shift
and you will rest
hidden from sight once more.

Shoreline #1

I have always found the coast fascinating. Memories of geography field trips and family holidays to the southern coast of England where over the years I observed the power of the sea eroding the land, as rocks crumbled and the paths I walked on as a toddler sank beneath the waves. Then I moved to south Wales and observed a different set of processes, the sand shifting around the bay causing dunes to rise up one end while exposing bedrock and clay at the other. And an awareness of the increasing battle between nature and mankind as bulldozers regularly redistribute the sand back along the beach, and the sea deposits along the beach the rubbish we have let pollute it.

I walk along the shore almost daily. Often my eyes are drawn to the open expanse of sea, and it inspires me. However, this week I decided to challenge myself to write a number of short poems that focus more on the shore itself. This is the first.

Along this boundary
between fluid movement
and solid ground
you will find the scattered pieces
of what was
and what will be.
Hope
and heartache
lie exposed
by ever changing tides
as man and nature
draw their battle lines.

Held

As the global pandemic continues, I am aware of the widely differing thoughts, opinions and approaches that surround me; news reports and analysis all seem to contradict and, at times, I find myself unsure which way to turn as I question what is true, and how best to protect those I care about. It is easy to end up feeling alone in trying to make sense of it all.

Last weekend I was reminded of a poem I wrote for the Presence Project on the theme of Protection. It was based on Proverbs 4v6:
"Do not forsake wisdom, and she will protect you; love her and she will watch over you."

It was good to be reminded, once again, that I am not alone and I don't need to rely on my wisdom to get through this. I am held and supported - by friends, family, and by the One who is above all. So I am putting this here today (along with a cute picture of my puppy because that always helps!) in case you too need reminding that you are not alone.

In arms secure we are cradled
Nurtured here with hidden strength
Whispered through the fearful night
Mother’s words
our comfort.

Stepping out we seek our own paths
Weighty teachings laid aside
Deaf, we turn to walk away
Forgetting,
we are exposed.

Wandering lost through desert lands
Until enfolded in your shadow
Experience and insight entwined
Father’s truth
our shelter.

Drawn together in shafts of light
Illuminating the darkest corners
Watching over one another
Brother’s wisdom
our protection.

Blessing

These past couple of weeks, I have thinking about Blessings - partly from reading John O'Donohue's Benedictus and partly due to the new A Blessing chapter just released by the Presence Project.

 

This week, as my children return to school, I have also been thinking about routine. I like patterns, I like to have structure in my day, to divide things into manageable chunks (and to be able to achieve something within those periods). And I have always found something attractive about the monastic way of life, not that I have any desire to be a monk/nun, but the idea of a regular pattern of drawing aside for prayer and worship - matins, lauds, prime, terce, sext, none, vespers, compline - marking the passing of time throughout the day with an awareness of God's presence. The blessing I wrote below has arisen from this idea.

 

May you wake to the sound of singing as day dawns,

a chorus of praise rising from creation,

And know that you are surrounded.

 

May you feel the warmth of the sun on your face as you rise,

the gentle kiss of your heavenly mother,

And know that you are loved.

 

May you pause in your busyness,

at intervals throughout the day,

cease your toil,

and lift your head.

May your eyes be opened to the wonder of life,

bestowed by the creator on his created,

And know that you are included.

 

May you not hesitate to lay aside your doing as dusk falls,

rest from your striving and simply be,

And know that you are accepted.

 

May you lie down with tranquility at the end of the day,

cradled in your heavenly father's arms,

And know that you are safe.

Jacob's fight

I have always loved the passage in Genesis 32 where Jacob wrestles with God. As a teenager, I was always struck by Jacob's determination not to let the man go unless he blessed him. I wanted to be that person – knowing what I wanted and not giving up until I got it. Then, a couple of weeks ago, an Anglican clergy friend of mine mentioned the passage as being the reading for that Sunday (and made reference to the hymn Come, O thou traveller unknown by Charles Wesley) and I found myself looking once again at the passage. However, this time I saw a different story: I saw a man wrestling not from a place of strength and determination, but from weakness; Jacob is afraid and alone, about to meet his estranged brother who has every right to kill him, but rather than take flight, Jacob fights – fights with the feelings within himself, with his God, and with acknowledging who he is. The story ends with Jacob overcoming (both God and man), but the wrestling does not leave him unaffected.

In this place of fearful loneliness
I must wait,
to face the consequences
of past mistakes
the paths of deception and regret
I’ve walked.
There is no running now
no hiding
from the pain I caused
the brother I cannot repay-
A thousand gifts
could still fall short.
The debt may cost my life.

In this place of overwhelming dark
you find me,
wrestling with my very self
the endless doubts
and questions
of what I’ve done.
Holding on
to hope unseen
wounded,
but never giving up,
You challenge me
to acknowledge who I am,
and embrace my life.

In this place of dawning light
you bless me,
call me by a new name
redefine who I can be,
for I have struggled
and have overcome;
In my weakness
I find strength,
the courage
to limp towards the truth,
Where I meet mercy
running to greet me,
and offer me new life.