We love this game ‘Ticket to Ride’. It’s so beautiful to play. The detailed illustrations, miniature trains, railway journeys across European cities from turn of twentieth century names. Yes we’re competitive to beat each other, but the journey to the win is interesting and delightful. So far, no unresolved disputes as we are in a good mood, no matter who wins… I think!
I’ve travelled a lot by train over the past few years. I actually rather enjoy it. The ease of not having to drive in traffic-jammed roads, but instead sitting at a window seat and look out at the rolling countryside. If I have a table seat, I can work on my laptop, coffee on hand, headphones in ears, favourite music playing.
But then recently I went north on a train, and it was not so much fun. I arrived at the station early, only to be told that my train had been cancelled. I was told to quickly jump on the one that was about to leave. I grabbed any seat. There were no tables, and I balanced my laptop & coffee on my knees. My original train was a straight through – no changes; this one had a change. At the change, there was no follow on train! I was going to be very late for a meeting! Thankfully I was provided with a taxi for the last hour.
Nevertheless, intrepid explorer that I am, I made it! The taxi driver was actually chirpy and played some good dance music. We drove through lovely countryside. I was only a bit late for my meeting, and my waiting colleagues welcomed me in with gave me a mug of tea. They insisted on checking ahead for any train cancelations for my trip back south. Only when they were sure I could get back, safe and sound, did they start the meeting.
Funny really. The day didn’t go to plan, but it actually went well. I will remember its twists and turns for a long time. I got to meet and talk with someone new, to listen to different music, to see beautiful countryside. I really felt cared for by my work mates. None of this would have happened if things hadn’t gone ‘wrong’. Oh, it would have been easier if it hadn’t. But the niggles of the journey actually made the day more memorable, an adventure, with unexpected treasures just waiting to be found.
Isaiah chapter 1 verse 18, New Century Version Bible
We had been to the top of the hill with the dogs, escaping the stuffed up Christmas house. It was a crystal clear day with the glorious mix of sunshine and breeze to spotlight and blow the cobwebs away from the corners of our minds. On our way back down the hill we saw this bench: simple and sturdy and yet bathed in a golden light, inviting us to sit, and stare. We did. Dogs between us. All of us squinting down the rolling fields, woods, little towns and to far off estuary, glittering in the late afternoon.
Then we got talking. It was good to be here. Just us. But who would we most like to sit with up here? Not like a dinner party guest – all concerned over food and manners and meaningless talk, but just someone to talk to on a bench, whilst just taking in the view and chewing life over? We thought of parents and grandparents, some who’d died. How we’d like to sit with them now, at our age, and talk with them as ‘grown – ups’, share some life experiences, listen to some sage wisdom. Know that we we were loved and accepted, just who we are. Maybe share a smile or a chuckle at life’s mishaps, surprises and happy times.
We thought of well known people living and from the past that we will never meet, but would be nice to exchange a thought of two with. C.S.Lewis, Maya Angelou, just to name two. Be good just to listen to anything they had to say, roll it around our heads and carry it on with us, like a precious stone.
Most of all we agreed we would like to sit there with, well, Jesus. Just Him and us…on the bench. Maybe we could ask Him a question. We weren’t too bothered by the bigger questions, but would like His insight on the everyday. He would look out over the estuary, and those ageless eyes would reflect the shimmering sea, just as they had all those years ago when He sat talking with His fishermen friends. Or when He had spoken the seas into existence and looked over the vast oceans, and rested. He would listen and be present with us as we mentioned what we are up to, what we are worried about, what we are looking forward to. Perhaps he would give us a little bit of insight, a little light along the path of this day. Maybe even a story to help us remember what He said to us, to help us to think it over in the coming days. He might smile, tell us something to make us smile, put His arm around us and tell us we are loved. We knew he would simply listen, maybe nod, maybe ‘mm-hmm’.
Then we thought, but we don’t have to come up a mountain to take some time to chat with Him. We just had to find a bench somewhere in our day, and sit down next to Him. He always likes to chat things over with us, give us a hug.
You know, if I’d made a flower, it would be simple. Like a Michaelmas daisy. Simple petals. Bright stamens. Delicate colours of lilac and lemon contrasting with the bottle green leaves.
But I didn’t and cannot make a flower. I can draw some, photo others. Marvel at their loveliness. But I can’t make one palisade cell. They astound me.
William Blake has a series of poems called ‘Songs of Innocence and Experience’. Here I find poems including one about a lamb and also one about a tiger. You may know the famous lines of the latter:
Tyger, Tyger, burning bright,
In the forests of the night:
What immortal hand or eye,
Could frame thy fearful symmetry?
William Blake, ‘The Tiger’ from Songs of Experience 1789 – 94
When I read it as an undergrad it struck me: ‘What does the creature (the tiger) tell us about the Creator?’ In fact Blake goes on to say:
Did hesmile his work to see?
Did he who made the Lamb make thee?
Sometimes we think we have the sum of God. He’s like this. He does that. He’ll do this. We can’t figure out other people, our friends, family, spouse, but we think we have the measure of God!
No we don’t! That’s what Blake was trying to tell us. God makes gentle lambs and fiery tigers. He’s awesome. He’s gentle. He made us. Loves us. But we am so far from working Him out. How can a finite creature do that to an infinite Creator?
Each year the late summer display of climbing Passion Flowers in my garden remind me of Blake’s Tyger. Same flowering time as Michaelmas daisies. Similar lilacs and yellows. But wow, what a zany mix of the spectacular, bizzare and striking. A starfish of a flower, reaching out its arms to heaven, displaying a tiered extravaganza of petals and sepals. A face surrounded by an exotic lilac and mauve lion’s mane. And all this in one flower.
The Michaelmas Daisy and the Passion Flower live near each other in my garden. Both are marvellous creations, in their simplicity and complexity. Like Blake’s lamb and tiger, they remind me that their, and my, Creator is immeasurable more than I can fathom, and yet He calls me friend. I’d best not put Him in a box. Better to stand back and wonder. He is magnificent.
There have been times when I think we do not desire heaven;
but more often I find myself wondering whether,
in our heart of hearts,
we have ever desired anything else
C.S.Lewis, (1940) The Problem of Pain. Chapter 10: Heaven
Sometimes I have struggled with the thought of heaven. I don’t just mean the process of getting there. Dying. Moving on. Passing away. Going, as Hamlet says to “that undiscovered country from whose bourne no traveler returns.” (Act 3, Scene 1). It is not something that anyone who is alive can hope to avoid.
My struggle is more about the place. Where is it? What is it? What on ‘earth’ will I do for all that time? Traditional images and impressions picture a place I am not keen on. A place in the clouds, full of bright lights and hymn singing…for ever! A place of endless crowds, endless noise, all doing the same thing … forever! A place where all I learned in this lifetime is gone. Where I am no longer me, but one of a massive throng. A bit like the Borg in Star Trek, I am ‘assimilated into the collective’.
The Heaven I would like is one that is interesting and captures my attention. A place that is like now, but with no pain, sadness, death. A place that makes sense of my life now and gives me hope that there is a purpose in living forever. That the life I live now is not a waste, but preparation for more. Not so much a place, places: vast countries to find and explore, new things to discover, people to meet and friendships developed. A place where I can actually talk with God, rest with Him, live with Him, with nothing in the way between us. As the Puzzle the donkey declares in last chapter of The Last Battle “Further up and further in”.
In his chapter on Heaven Lewis puts it like this. He says, that there is a longing in each of us, for something, but we do not know quite what it is, or if we will ever get it, but the longing for it is so real.
“something which you were born desiring, and which, beneath the flux of all other desires …you are looking for, watching for, listening for”
Lewis, p. 150
I so know what he means when he says about those moments, when we feel real joy, a connection with something we have always longed for. He says it could be looking at a beautiful view, being with a friend, listening to water ‘clap’ against a boat.
Whatever it is, it’s a moment when the world seems to stand still because you have had the ‘inkling of something which you were born desiring’ and even say “Here at last is the thing I was made for”. He calls it ‘the secret signature of each soul’. The hallmark crafted into each of us by our Creator. It will be different for each of us, but it is the same longing.
The soul is not the spirit. My spirit is the eternal part of me that will live forever. It lives in my body, that will die. My soul is the seat of the passions, of creativity, of enrichment and fun. Here are my emotions expressed: sadness, joy, fear, anger, disgust, surprise. Heaven is a place where, more than ever, my soul is alive and in touch with the One who created it.
This chimes a chord with me. My husband is my greatest friend. We marvel at how much we have in common, similar likes, views, opinions, pastimes. Our favourite time is, well, together. But there are differences too. We both love to read fiction, but very different books. We can watch the same film, but see different things. We can want to do different things on a day off. I have likes that are mine, skills that I have developed because of what I like, hobbies that I have pursued, friendships that are mine. He has all this too, and we love this about each other. It brings richness to our lives. We talk about them and value them. But they are different.
The heaven I seek is where my soul finds its true home. It is where it was always designed to be. A place of harmony, and yet safe enough for individuals to develop and thrive. Where the passions and interests woven into me now are allowed to fully develop and blossom, for all eternity. The desires of my heart, the interests of my soul, this side of heaven, are not just for now, but just the start. He has more for me to do, and be. More of Him for me to experience and know. I think that is the heaven I am looking for. I think it is all I have ever really longed for.
“In your presence there is fullness of joy; at your right hand are pleasures forevermore.”
Psalm 16:11) English Standard Version.
Lewis, C.S., 1940, The Problem of Pain. London: Harper Collins.
Lewis, C.S., 1956, The Last Battle. London: Harper Collins
Roddenberry, Gene, 1966 – 69. Star Trek. Paramount Pictures.
I belong to my beloved, and my beloved belongs to me.
Song of Solomon Chapter 6 v 3 (King James Bible Old Testament)
This is a picture of my wonderful daughter in law Lara, cuddling my wonderful cavalier Bertie, in my wonderful garden room. I love it because I love them both and they both look so snug and at home – together. Home feels like this to me. A place to be me, safe and secure, loved and relaxed, shared with people I love. A place of belonging.
I remember feeling very different. I was far from home in a foreign city on a work trip. It was a good trip, lots of friendly people, in an interesting capitol city. We had an afternoon off and together went to see local attractions; had delicious food, relaxed. Some decided to carry on and go out into the city night; I was tired and headed back to my hotel.
I walked back alone through this beautiful city, full of people, alive with activity. It was interesting to take it in and look around. I like to ‘people watch’ and notice what people were up to, how they were interacting. It was warm Saturday evening. They were glad to be together, laughing and talking.
But as I passed them and looked into their faces, they looked straight past me, through me. I meant nothing to them, their eyes did not flicker with recognition as they saw me. No one treated me bad but neither did anyone treat me well. Who would care if I lived or died, or made it back to my hotel? I was a stranger. I did not belong
It was such a strong feeling; an upsetting feeling. I could not escape it or change it by running to friends and family. I was far away from home. All my family in my home country were asleep. My wifi was intermittent. I just had to experience it and taste this for a while – what it was like not to belong. It was cold and grey, and unnerving.
Belonging is such a beautiful thing. It is a treasure. It gives me meaning. To share life with family and friends. To have a chat with someone who really cares about what I am saying and notices what’s going on in my life. To have the privilege of listening to someone as they tell me their story, their hopes and fears. To journey with them through a time in their life.
Perhaps this is why Solomon’s words mean so much to me. They also astound me. I read them as a message from God to me, reminding me that He loves me and I belong to Him. Not just from afar, but journey life with Him. He will listen to any of my stories, tells me His stories. It gives my life meaning. It is a mystery and a treasure of great price.
I belong to my beloved, and my beloved belongs to me.
Song of Solomon Chapter 6 v 3 (King James Bible Old Testament)
We live life living, loving, laughing in death’s face
Poster in my RE classroom circa 1980… I was too young to note who wrote it.
Yesterday morning I went for a walk. It was a warm, sunny May day. The trees, their leaves, the grass beneath them was lush and rich. Birds were calling and looking after their new families.
I bumped into my neighbours; a young couple, out walking their dogs. We stopped and chatted. My dogs larked about with theirs. They joyfully announced that they were having a baby in September. We laughed and delighted together at this wonderful news.
Yesterday evening I looked out of my kitchen window. There were two ambulances parked opposite, their blue lights frantically flashing. My elderly neighbours’ garden was full of people: their children and grandchildren. All eyes were fixed on two paramedics who were working tirelessly together, alternating to give CPR to someone on the grass, behind their low garden wall. Annie was watching on from her zimmer. It had to be George.
After, an agonising age, the paramedics stopped pumping his chest and sat back on their heels. Heads bowed low. There was nothing more they could do. His family looked each other in disbelief and grief. Some looked and silently cried; some quietly sobbed and held each other; one ran out of the garden and around the street, wailing.
As the defibrillator was put away, as the medics began to peel away, as the family went into groups to hug, I gently walked across the road and slipped through the family to Annie, sitting briefly alone on a chair. She was looking in disbelief at the pale blue blanket on her lawn covering George. I hugged her. I cried with her. As her silent tears fell she said “He was chopping wood to take to be recycled tomorrow”.
Later that night I reflected on the two events and the contrast: new life beginning; experienced life ending. Two people in time: one about to enter this world; one having left. Neither having control over the day of their birth or death. Tomorrow is now today. George is gone. He did not know he was going yesterday. It was just another day.
I think about how thin is the veil is that divides life from death, between now and forever. As a child this scared me. What was life? What is death? I was not from a family of faith. No one could help me with these questions. I started to look for God and ask Him. I reached out to Him, talked to Him and He found me and listened. He answered some questions, not all, but some. I discovered that simply knowing that He was in control took away all the fear of the unknown. That this life now is just the start of something eternal.
I also found out that each day I live is not random but designed by God.
16 Your eyes saw my unformed body;
all the days ordained for me were written in your book
before one of them came to be.
Psalm 139 v 13 – 16 – Good News Bible
I keep a journal, take a picture, video a special moment. But He has already ordained all my days. The Hebrew word for ordained is ‘to mould, to form, to squeeze into shape … like a potter with clay. Gently working with me, my life, to be something that is lovely.
Life is so precious and fleeting. I don’t remember my birth. I don’t know when I will die. But my I do know that all of my days are ordained. He doesn’t just check me in and out of this world, He knows and is intensely interested in my every day and has written about all of them in His book. Not just special days, but all my days.
What is it we want in life? As I age, the clearer the answer becomes. To be loved … and to give love in return. I could sit in a house of gold, write with a diamond pen, on the finest sheets of paper. But what would this matter… if I was not beloved?
I don’t just mean romantic love. That may happen, that may not. I mean to give and receive love from an other. From a friend, a colleague, a neighbour, someone in my family, a pet. The most life saving love I have received has not always been from humans, but from animals. Devoted and caring, following me on paths, even into hated water, because they would not leave me…such is their love.
I have walked through some really difficult times. But it was the love of others… and my choosing to receive their love and to love them, that helped walk me through. Sometimes it was not even someone I knew. It was a someone in a book, a film, a song: a life lived but hard time shared helped me to feel that I am not alone. Friends present, or not, got me through storms, warmed me in the winter, brightened the sunniest days. It was the connection and that mattered.
There is risk. The beloved may remove themselves. They may move away, fade away, turn away, pass away. The pain of love lost can be unbearable…at the time. But is it not ‘better to have loved and lost/ Than never to have loved at all‘ (Alfred Tennyson – In Memoriam). For though we may lose the object we loved, we gained the assurance that we were loved. Cared about. Mattered. Noticed. That we were beloved on the earth.
Into the heart of things 
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