“Some people came into my room and rushed in and rushed out and even when they were there they were not there….
Some people who came in just for a moment were all there”
Ann Morrow Lindbergh, Bring me a Unicorn, 1993
Sometimes I just want people to listen. To listen to the jumble of words I am saying. To stop, look me in the eye, be present with me. I may not be speaking deep, profound truths, just what has happened in my day. But, to me, that is profound.
Often we half listening, waiting for the moment to interject with my news. Our gaze wanders, we think of checking a phone, we nod blankly, not having really heard. We are not really present with the person, and we miss what they are really trying to say.
How do I spend time with God? Is it a rush into His presence with a list, one eye on the clock, ready to rush out again to the next thing?
“What if the hour you spend (in prayer) is when you refocus on Jesus so that you carry His presence with you into the other twenty three hours of the day with a heightened awareness that He is with you…”
Brennan Manning, Franciscan Priest in How to Pray, by Pete Greig (2019).
There is a place for asking. I’m focusing on just sitting with Him. Turning my face to His. Tuning my ear to Him. Being present…in His Presence.
It’s the start of fasting and preparation for Christmas in line with monastic tradition. It reflects Lent, the preparation for Easter.
In a world obsessed by Christmas, but clueless to its meaning, I find it helps to think of Christmas not as a frantic festival. Instead I choose to prepare for it with some quietness, reflecting on what is about to happen. I do some internal housekeeping, prepare my heart for the arrival of the King.
I’m using the next 40days to slow down and focus on Him. I’ll reflect on how His coming to us was announced, revealed through the ages, through people. I’ll reflect on each passage in different Bible versions, in quietness. Each week a different announcement, preparing people for the coming King.
Week 1 – Isaiah 9 v 6 – 7: what the prophets said
Week 2 – Luke 1 v 5 – 19: what the angel said to Zechariah & Elizabeth
Week 3 – Luke 1 v 26 – 38: what the angel said to Mary
Week 4 – Luke 1 v 39 – 45: what Elizabeth said to Mary – what John said even in the womb
Week 5 – Luke 1 v 46 – 55: what Mary said to God
Week 6 – Luke 2 v 8 – 20: what the angels said to the shepherds
I’ll still be making Christmas cake, seeking out gifts, writing cards, seeing family, but with a focus on His arrival. A celebration of peace on earth and in my heart.
This beautiful clematis has been in my garden for many years. My Dad gave her to me. He told me how to look after her as he knew her well. She likes full sun on her leaves, but cool roots, so put her in the centre of the garden, but cover her soil with some smooth stones to shade her feet. She likes to climb all summer, and rest in winter, so water and feed well in summer; prune back and let her rest in winter.
I followed his instructions. It took a while to get it right as she is particular and likes thing how she likes them. She will only grow in certain places and loves lots of water. I was not sure of pruning her in Autumn, but have found she actually likes it very much. She rewards me with a dazzling look twice a year: first in May in pink, then in August in white.
The end of this summer I was away for a week. It was very hot for the end of August and she dried out. When I returned she was not looking good, dried brown leaves; I thought I had lost her. I wondered what to do and decided that, despite her sensitivities, I needed to introduce her to some changes. I cut away all the dead branches, right to her soil. When I did so I could see the soil was tired and empty, so, I lifted her out of her worn out pot and soil and planted her in a bigger pot with delicious, nutritious new soil. I watered and fed her well. I moved her to a west facing fence to soak up some late evening light. I even introduced her to a new friend – a lovely anemone that blooms full pink in autumn.
In my heart I thought she would not live. Slight hope was that she would survive winter and perhaps pull through for one last summer. I carried on with my life and hoped for the best, expected the worst.
Then one morning, I looked out, and there she was – just like in my picture. Dazzling in her pink and white stripe. Two colours at once!! Not one flower, but many, many flowers, and buds. Her anemone friend was weaving through her lower branches, she was budding and blossoming … in October and still now in November! So late in the year!
I often ask God to talk to me, to inspire me with His wisdom. He always does, if I slow myself to listen to Him. Often I find the answers I am seeking are right in front of me. I think of Jesus’ instructions to ‘consider the lilies of the field, how they grow‘. He is telling me that the world around me can teach me so much if I will just slow myself down enough to look and consider. Or as another way of saying it is ‘observe with attention’.
So I observed with attention this clematis. I considered and reflected on what I could learn from her and how she grows. I started thinking about change. How often I resist change. I like things the way they are. It’s comfortable. It suits me. Why upset everything with a new way of doing things? Why did they put in a new roundabout so now I have to go to work a different way? Why do I need a new debit card when the old worn one is fine? Where did that lovely coffee shop go? Why is they job no longer what I hoped it to be? It is just all so emotional and complicated. The change is sapping my energy. Why can’t it all stay the same?
The clematis had resisted change. She insisted on being in a certain ‘spot’. Her choice was good. She bloomed twice a year. But actually, the new ‘spot’ is even better. She is not just just surviving, she is thriving! Stripes and buds and late blooms and a friend. She and I didn’t know this, but now we do. Change may not be easy, but without it, there would be no moving from the past to new possibilities. My husband often says ‘God can see around the corner’. Not sure how theological correct that is, but he is right. I have often resisted change as I can become content with dry ground, dying leaves, lack of nourishment. I don’t want to peer around a corner. Let’s just stay same as it ever was.
But thankfully the Lover of my Soul wants so much more for me. He nudges and pushes, He moves and tends, He moves things around, and … often He doesn’t even ask me! The new roundabout, the new job, the new coffee shop even the shiny new debit card… they are actually doing me good. I needed to go through the ‘change barrier’. It wasn’t easy, but it has turned out better. And just like the clematis, I am not just surviving, I am living and thriving. Life. Abundance. Flourishing.
Stand at the crossroads and look; ask for the ancient paths, ask where the good way is, and walk in it, and you will find rest for your souls.
Recently I had a difficult decision to make. It was difficult because it wasn’t a choice between good and bad. This may have been easier as I’ve enough experience to know that outright bad choices are not good for me. Don’t pat an angry dog. Don’t eat too much cake. Caffeine after 4pm. None of it is good for me, so I walk as far away from them as possible.
Instead this was a choice between two seemingly good things … and it was so hard!
Now, I am quite a reflective person; I like to think about and talk about difficult choices with others. So I talked with people I trust. I told them my dilemma, my options. We discussed the pros and cons of each choice. It was amazing. They listened. Shared with me their opinions and insights. Each time I felt encouraged, guided. I now knew what to do!
But it also created a problem. It seemed that everyone had a different opinion. One day It would seem that one pathway was right. The next day it seemed that the same applied to the other pathway. I had lists for and against. I had Bible verses for and against. I was like a well versed lawyer, able to argue both ways. But I didn’t have peace. Nothing seemed to settle.
I thought the pressure of the deadline for the decision would help. It would become clear. I thought it would all leap out at me and there, on the wall, would be the writing directing me which way to go. But it didn’t happen. Why was it all so hard?
In desperation I did what I should have done first. Stopped. I stopped talking. I stopped calculating. I stopped straining my eyes to find an answer. I just stopped. And I stopped and sat quiet with Him. I stopped and sat quiet with Him, with my Bible on my lap. I asked Him for the ancient path; the path that would bring rest for my soul.
As I sat quiet, I remembered my journal, my notepad that has lots of scribbles. Sometimes they are just me writing out my thoughts, frustrations and joys. Sometimes it’s a doodle. There are lots me writing my signature over and over when I cannot get the words out. Sometimes it’s a written prayer. Me asking Him. Him sometimes speaking back to me. Mostly just a still time, to ponder.
I read back through my entries earlier in the year. I had some notes I had made in Lent where I had followed Radio 4’s Ignatius Loyola Retreat. I had listened to Father Dermot Preston and Mary O ‘Duffin’s sermon on Christ’s temptation in the wilderness. He said ‘most choices in life our life are between good and better’. He reminded listeners of the 3 temptations posed to Jesus by the Devil. The last temptation was so obviously bad – he asks Jesus to ‘fall and worship’ him. There was no way Jesus would ever do this. But the first is ‘falsely innocent’ – ‘turn these stones to bread’. Surely this was not so bad a bad thing to do? Jesus was hungry after 40 day fast. But Father Dermot pointed out that the choice was between the seemingly good and the better. A seemingly ‘good’ choice would miss the better and ‘dislocate an integrity in the core of His heart’.
My choice was the same. Not quite on the same grandeur of Matthew 4, but something of the same. I needed not the good answer, but the better one. The one that rang true with the integrity that God had put in the core of my heart. I stilled myself, and asked Him for the better path, the ancient path where I would find rest for my soul. And in the quietness, just me and Him, He whispered the better way.
Sunrise, Cei Newydd, Tuesday 20th July 2021… about 5.10am.
On Mon 19th July 2021 there was a sunrise in Cei Newydd, West Wales. I know because later that day I played on the beach and swam in the sea and the sun was high in the sky. I watched the sun set and was thankful for a good day. But… I didn’t see the sun rise.
On Tuesday 20th July 2021 there was a sunrise in Cei Newydd, West Wales. I know… because I was there.
I got up in the half light of a warm summer morning. There was an eerie glow on the eastern shore. All was still. The land and sea seemed to be holding their breath. Gradually the sky lightened to bronze and the dawn shadows started to lift. Then it appeared…. a dot of dazzling white pierced the folders edge of the sea. At first so small and far away, but totally captivating. I gazed as the dot grew rounder and larger and …gently lifted and slowly rose up from the horizon into the sky.
I know this happens everyday, all over the world. It has done so for 10s of 1000s of years before me and hopefully will continue to do so for 10s of 1000s of years after me.
If I live to be 80 years old I will live over 4,000 weeks. How many sunrises does that hold? How many will I see?
Having the time to slow down and watch this one was special. It reminded me of the smallness of me and the vastness of space. That this world, this planet, is a rock spinning in an enormous universe. My eyes can be so focused on the ground beneath my feet that I miss the enormous miracle taking place in the cosmos around me everyday.
I felt delight. Like when a child squeals in laughter at the ingenuity of their parent. I smiled at the cleverness of my Heavenly Father. He was putting on a spectacular show, with such skill and dexterity. “Oh the cleverness of You!”
I felt respect for the integrity of the Creator. He doesn’t mind if I watch or not. He will do this work, diligently each day. Sculpting each sunrise and sunset. He neither slumbers nor sleeps. He does not need the applause of a crowd. He delights in His handiwork. He creates eternally. He delights in the one. He delights in me.
I felt loved. Douglas Coupland said that when you watch a sunset it’s like it was made…just for you. This moment felt like it was just for me. A special gift. An audience of one with the Divine Artist.
And … I knew it will be ok. Whether I watch it or not, He is pulling the sun up from the horizon; He is moving him on his way. He is guiding him through his daily path. He is spinning the world in the vastness of space. He’s got me. He’s got us all.
Lord, I can’t see You; yet You see me – help me to remember that.
Hugh Barney, 2015, Celtic Daily Prayer Book 2.
I am so pleased to see April! I hear you already … “but you can’t ‘see’ a month”. Oh, but you can! April comes from the Latin Aprillis – meaning to open, to blossom. Everywhere I seeflowers and leaves opening, unfurling, blossoming.
I take my steaming mug of tea, wrap myself up in my thick, woollen cardigan and walk to the corner of my garden. Here a neighbour’s white cherry tree overhangs my summer swinging chair. No cushions now, but I lie on the empty chair and smile at the bountiful, clustering, fresh white faces above me. The little apple tree in my garden has leaves, as does the small red cherry tree. In a few days they will burst into a blush of pink.
My favourite tree to see at this time of year is the magnolia – especially the ‘Soulangeana’. Each year it is crowned with white and pink, tulip like blossoms. You have to be quick. They last so briefly. But the sight will last in your memory all year. My Mum and Dad in Law have a wonderful magnolia. I missed it last year due to lockdown, but saw it last week.
I also missed the magnolias in my local country park last year. As I walk the dogs in the parkland, I see the towering Cedar of Lebanon over the walled gardens. Last March I could see the buds on the tops of the magnolias – just peeping over the top of the walls. I planned a visit inside the gardens the next weekend – but lock down happened. The parklands and gardens were closed.
Though I could not visit, I knew they were blossoming. I imagined what they would be like. I described them to myself, like Mary Lennox describing the garden to poorly Colin in ‘The Secret Garden’. Through all of April I kept thinking of them, knowing they would be opening and blossoming. I saw them in my mind, if not with my eyes.
Sometimes I can lose sight of where I am in life. Sometimes there seems no rhyme or reason to my day or stage of life. There can be whispers of insignificance, overlooked, forgotten. Does anyone ‘see’ me?
I will instruct you and guide you along the best pathway for your life;
I will advise you and watch you progress.
Psalm 32 verse 8 Living Bible
Last May I saw some swans and their new brood of 9 signets, making their way up the local water way. I was amazed at how the parents watched and called to their little ones as they all navigated through an overhanging tree. They were so tended and gentle, yet caring and clear in their guidance.
Last April my Dad died. Lost my Mum over a decade ago. For at time after each losss I have felt a bit more adrift in this little boat called life. The anchors to my childhood are gone. The ones who knew me, raised me, loved me, just for being me and not for any other reason, are gone. I am in my little boat and drifting around. Sometimes in a world of so many competing ideas and suggestions, the road forward can be difficult to navigate. I’m a few decades in and still I sometimes need a steer, from someone who knows me and has my best interests at heart.
Last week I was thinking of El Roi, the God who sees. It is good to know that when I cannot see Him, He sees me. But I need more. I need not a watch from a distance God, but someone who cares enough to look me in the eye and guide me. Like the Swan parents, leading the way, gently guiding, giving instructions, guidance. I could see them leading and guiding their brood forward; I could hear the little ones peeping back and see them following.
This week I read Psalm 32 and was reminded me so beautifully my Heavenly Father does this. He watches and if I will let Him, He will guide me. And not just at the beginning of my life, but all through it my life. And not just a few handy tips and then backing off to do something else, but He sticks around to watch my progress, all of my life. It’s good to know He’s got me. He’s got you too.
I will instruct you and guide you along the best pathway for your life;
I will advise you and watch you progress.
Added little video of them swimming to my fb page 🙂
extract from ‘The Bright Field’ by R.S. Thomas (Laboratories of the Spirit, MacMillan, 1975)
I am surrounded by endless information, comment, chatter. Look at this! What do you think of this? Do you want this? You should see, read, watch this! I can multi-task, eat and walk at the same time, drive and listen to music, help with homework whilst doing a shopping list. I can bounce into people, pop into shops, click onto social media. My head is so full and yet my soul is can be so empty, starved of nourishment. “A dry and weary land, where there is no water” Psalm 63 v1.
A few years ago I felt my soul was withering. The endless rota of life was exhausting. I was dashing through life, but running on empty. I made a few changes that were good for my soul. One was picking up a camera. When I look through a lens and compose a photo it is like I gain new sight. I see with ‘fresh’ eyes. The common and everyday that surround me take on a new interest and glow. I slow myself and redirect my gaze. I want to know what I am looking at and not just assume that I can ‘see’ it. I slow down, I notice.
How many times do I pass a ‘bright field’ and not really ‘see’ what is there. Not notice the treasure right in front of me? Yet I am surrounded by pearls of great price everyday. The opening of a yellow and purple crocuses, the chatter of hidden sparrows in a nearby hedge, the sight of a wiggling worm munching through soft spring earth. The smell of warm bread, hot coffee, zesty tangerines. The heart sharing of a friend, the smile of a neighbour, the sigh of my dog as he snuggles on my lap. A simple walk back to my car that is slowed by me having to turn and wave to my delighted grandchildren; after each step they shout “Bye Nanny” and so I turn and wave and shout “Bye” back to them.
This was a glorious Spring weekend. I drove to the local coast. It’s not a tourist spot but just us locals and dog walkers who go there. Not white sands and blue waters, but the muddy brown flats of the Severn Estuary. But as I gazed out to sea, the sunlight dancing on the far off water and making the sand banks glisten, I knew it was a pearl of great price, and it nourished my soul.
Today is February!! Farewell dark and dismal, January. Janus , two faced month of resolution and reflection – locked down into dark days and cold nights. Welcome February – februum – Roman month of cleansing. Washing away the languor of lockdown. Revealing signs of hope.
Today, the first of February is special in Ireland. It is the first day of Spring and also Saint Brigid’s Day: “Now it’s St Brigid’s Day and the first snowdrop/ In County Wicklow,” (Seamus Heaney, On St Brigid’s Day). Saint Brigid was a welcomer. She was renowned for her hospitality and generosity. She gave her father’s sword to a poor beggar; a friend’s store of food to strangers. She asked Bishop Mel to pray for some women and as he did so he saw the Holy Spirit fall on her and anointed her a Bishop … in the 5th century!
I think her welcoming spirit got heaven’s attention. I discover the word ‘welcome’ comes from an old English word – ‘wilcuma’. It is a noun meaning ‘a desired guest’. Oh how Spring is a desired guest! A much longed for guest. It has been a long, hard, dark, lockdown winter and I can hardly wait for the arrival of Spring.
From my kitchen window I watch the passers by with my dog Max. He has keen eyesight and loves watching too. Some days I pick him up and we look together at the empty street. Lockdown has limited the number of people out and about, but it is cheering to watch people going by, going about their lives.
For Max, he is looking for a desired guest. He gets so excited. He whines in anticipation. Maybe someone will go by? Oh the joy and barking when someone does – especially if they are walking their dog. He barks so loud they can hear him in the kitchen!
We watch the pavement. I look through our border of withered summer lavender. Searching for anyone, anything. And then I see them. Tiny lime green crocus shoots, rising up around the bare hawthorn tree where they have been buried all. You are the smallest flowers in the hedgerow, I see you. Your tiny arms outstretched to welcome the warmer air, the lighter days. Ah, little flowers, you teach me. You may be small, but your welcoming heart and generous spirit has got my attention.
Today there was snow. It was promised yesterday, but we get so little that I hardly dared to believe. I always wait for it to arrive.
Something woke me at 4am. Nothing sudden, but a strange pre – dawn light shone through my bedroom curtains. I had to looked. Snow! Silently, gently, endlessly it was falling. It rested on trees, bushes, roofs, gardens. I gazed in wonder at the muffled wonderland.
When I got up later I could hear chatter and giggles in the street outside. Children shrieked as they were pulled on toboggans, dogs snuffled and yapped, snowballs thudded. The snow had brought light, laughter, and a welcome lilt to the usual monotony of Sunday lockdown.
I headed to the local park. It was mid morning and the clouds were parting to reveal a clear azure sky. Acres of grassland were tinted with icy blue. The larch, the redwood, the fir were all dressed in smooth ermine, elegant and magical, like Jane Austen ladies arriving at a winter ball. It was breath taking, ethereal. People were dotted everywhere: walking, running, sliding, falling; standing and watching.
As I looked closer I noticed that so many were taking photos. So was I. It was a moment I wanted to capture and look back on. The light and sights were so unique. I needed some sure memories for later. Keats talked of ‘slow time’ on the Grecian Urn and a photograph is a modern attempt to slow and preserve time, to manage it. Tomorrow this glittering world would be gone; it would vanish as silently as it came. Water droplets were already trickling off branches; fields of snow were being ripened by midday sun. They evaporated into a dazzling mist before our eyes.
I am old enough to have seen a fair few snowy days! The snow was as it ever was: built into snowmen, kicked in the air, thrown as snowballs. It was cold and sparkly, dazzling and mysterious, gentle and beautiful. It was as I have experienced before. I have photos from other snowy days, just as special. I could have avoided the cold and stayed home with my photo books, my memories of other snowy days.
But… I would have missed today’s magic. Thoughts were shared, sights were seen, sounds were heard that were unique to today. No matter how hard I try, it will never be today again. And today I relished all the immediate delights of now, here, this. Now is the miracle that I am living in.
Eckhart Tolle said “If there is no joy, ease, or lightness in what you are doing, it does not necessarily mean that you need to change what you are doing. It may be sufficient to change the how.….Give your fullest attention to whatever the moment presents” (The Power of Now, 1999,p 56)
The people of the Exodus 16 were told to gather manna for one day. They had no supermarkets, cupboards or fridges. God sent them bread, unique bread from heaven – manna. It fell from the sky each day – like snow. The people took what they needed for that day. Thanked God for it. Trusted He’d provide more tomorrow. Enjoyed today. If they tried to take too much, to same some for tomorrow, it would go mouldy.
The miracle of snow today reminded me that now is the most important moment of my life. To look about me and see the wonders of this day. Like the snow, it does not last forever. There is indeed a time for ‘was’ and for ‘will be’, but often they crowd out ‘is’. What is in front of me now? Who is next to me? What sound is filling my ears. What is that smell? What can I reach and touch and notice … right now. This moment is a miraculous gift…it is the present.
Into the heart of things 
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