You saw me

This week it feels appropriate to share a poem I wrote a while back...

Sometimes I feel like I am not really seen by the people around me. Sometimes I don't want to be seen. Sometimes I do, but then doubt that what might be seen will be accepted. Hiding is easier. Honest relationships are hard.

Sometimes I am glad that there is someone who always sees me. And is the truth.

You saw me
unformed in my mother’s womb,
a pure bundle of possibilities.

You saw me
lying naked and exposed
in a world beyond my understanding.

You saw me
run with faltering steps,
speeding unprepared into confusion’s abyss.

You saw me
standing tall while flailing inside,
drowning in the silent fear of failure.

You saw me
broken.
torn open.
until with dawning truth

I saw you
gently walk with unfailing clarity
to cover my misshapen perceptions
and re-form me.

Candlemas

Growing up a was aware of the church celebrations of Christmas and Epiphany, but after that there seemed to be a long period of dark winter nights of nothing until Lent. However, in recent years I have become aware of the celebration of Candlemas. February 2nd, 40 days after Christmas, 40 days from birth to the day when Mary was allowed to enter the temple, offer sacrifices and be cleansed from her impurities.

The account in Luke 2 vs 22 - 38 mentions Mary's encounters with Simeon and the prophet Anna. I have always wondered how Mary felt on this day. And in the days preceding it. In many ways she was an ordinary girl, to whom extraordinary things were happening. Encounters with angels, an unplanned unusual pregnancy, a birth miles away from the family and home. The bible tells us of her faith and humble acceptance. But I imagine that at times Mary just longed to be normal, longed for predictability. I imagine her coping with all the emotions that accompany dealing with a newborn infant - joy at new life, struggles with lack of sleep and feeding worries. And I imagine her approaching the temple that day feeling a little relief at being able to follow the normal jewish traditions... and then she is reminded again that the life she holds in her arms is far from normal. But this life has come to bring life -unpredictable, but abundant life for all.

Blessed beginnings
humbled by His holiness
I open my hands,
my heart,
my womb
to his will.
Called to journey
lonely road to stable bed
I trust in his plan,
his way,
his revealing
of his son.

But there are days of doubt,
of fearful darkness creeping in.
Days when I long for normality,
for things to be as they were.
But they will never be.
All has changed.

Presentation and purification
traditions observed for generations
I am renewed,
refreshed,
reminded
of his promises.
Waiting ancients
approach the holy child
I open my ears,
my eyes,
my arms
here is the Light of the World.

All will be well.

Epiphany

Yesterday we returned to "normal" life. I went back to work, the kids went back to school, and our Christmas decorations were packed away and returned to the attic for another year.

And, in doing so, I was reminded of a poem I wrote this time last year:

On the twelfth day of Christmas the wise men come to call,
And she lays the baby Jesus in bubble-wrap, crib and all,
Switching off the lights, she takes the bare tree down,
The wise men stand and watch, on their faces a frown;
Gifts are discarded and the tinsel is packed,
And she wonders why Christmas always ends with this final act.
Is this now our epiphany: that the Christ can be packed away,
Sealed in a box, hidden in the attic for another day?
After such a long journey, did the faithfully shining light,
Simply just vanish or get extinguished by the night?
As she looks to the future and ponders the past,
She finds herself longing for a hope that will last.
So on the twelfth day of Christmas the wise men come to show,
To all seeking a home, the safest way they know.

Dormant

At the start of 2019 a friend mentioned to me how she always selects a word at the beginning of each year that captures a sense of the year ahead, and she asked me what my word would be.

After some thought I felt that there were two words for me for the year ahead: Waiting and Change.

I commented at the time that they aren't words that I normally put together - change, for me, tends to be a more driven thing; I like to have a plan and know where things are going. But there was a sense that 2019 wasn't going to be about planning, it was going to be about waiting and seeing changes emerge around me, and from within me.

This weekend as I revisited my words, I was drawn to the image of seeds. Lying dormant, alive but not yet active. Waiting for a change that cannot be forced. We can plant seeds, and provide the correct growing conditions, but other than that we just have to wait and trust that eventually, once the seed has broken open, something beautiful will bloom.

Buried beneath the layers
laid down
through time and choice
we wait
for these seeds of hope
to bloom

Now is not the time for toil
nor striving
within this protective shell
we wait
alive with possibilities
yet dormant.

Time passes in silent moments
breaking open
the fragile dreams we hold
waiting
until with unforced change
we begin to flourish.

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.

Breathe

Continuing with the theme of perception and perspectives, I thought that this weekend I would share a poem that I wrote a couple of years ago.

I wrote it during a road trip to North Wales with a friend. Driving through the beautiful scenery and breathing deeply of the fresh air, we had plently of time to talk and reflect. In one conversation my friend, who has a disability that means she can't now walk far without assistance, mentioned how initially she had been reluctant to start using a wheelchair. Some small part of her thought that using a wheelchair was restrictive, whereas the reality is that it has given her much more freedom. It started me thinking about the things (objects or circumstances) that we may initially perceive as restrictive and limiting but, when we choose to embrace them and view them from a different angle, can actually be the very things that free us.


I dare you to pause
Contemplate the rhythm of the rise and fall
as air,
held within the confines of a structure designed to sustain,
expands and is released.
You fear the vessel will restrain and restrict
Shackled to the repetitive in and out
But this is freedom
Drinking deep
Allowing this breath to enter every part
Choosing to expel the weighty remnant
Until weightless you soar on wings like eagles
Alive and free.

I dare you to dream
Look up and see through renewed eyes
how smoke,
rising from the confines of a structure designed to direct,
expands and is released.
You fear the loss of focus
But in expansion not a single molecule is lost
Invisible it touches all
Expanding horizons
Choosing to imagine more than the mundane
Allowing the impossible to become a possibility
As fearless you fly carried by the wind
Alive and free.

Dawn

Perspective can drastically alter our perceptions, as I reflected on in my last post.

Over the summer I helped take a group of young people away on a big youth camp. It was fun and rewarding hanging out with the teenagers, but I didn't get a lot of sleep! One morning I found myself awake at 3am and, despite my body still feeling exhausted from the previous busy day and gone-midnight bedtime, I was unable to go back to sleep. Initially I felt frustrated, but then I began to hear the birds starting to sing and recognised the precious joy of being able to greet the new dawn.

You wake me in the morning
dawning
realisation
that a multitude of voices are singing
bringing
glory to their maker.
Rising from slumber
embracing wonder
as emerging light
dispels the night
you invite me to join the chorus
of this creative day.

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.