Why not to get on a bus...

Today I was going to catch a bus home from town. I didn't. I'm glad I didn't, because I would have missed so many tiny splashes of beauty. The rain hitting my skin like a thousand tiny drops of sky. A delicious amaretto hot chocolate to warm both hands and stomach. The Narnian lamp posts of New Walk. The prison which with it's turrets must (I'm sure) feature in some incredible adventure story. The many many scores of men with their sons on the way to watch a Tigers game - so many different expressions of fatherhood. The silence of the back streets. Children racing each other to the traffic lights. The whoosh of each car as it passed me on the main road. The moment my thoughts shouted louder than the traffic and drowned it out. The inverted fleur de lys created in ironwork on the door of the bridal shop. The first star to come out. So many tiny reasons not to get on the bus...

A Perfect Moment

There is something about creating the perfect moment. This afternoon for example, I set our for such a moment. Knowing that I had some thinking to do, I made up a flask of hot chocolate (it's getting to that time of year when flasks come in handy again!), grabbed my notebook, sketchbook and Bible, oh, and Brooke's new album which is now becoming my soundtrack to this season... and drove out to the countryside to find me some space. I had three things I was looking for, a hilltop, trees (beech, of course) and a whole lot of sky. Don't you notice that in the city there is far less sky about than in the country? So, I ended up out near Bradgate Park. 


It was my intention to find a spot just over the hill a bit further out, where I spotted some incredible trees in the summer, and knew that autumn would have taken them captive with its flaming colours. I drove about for a while, partly because I hadn't quite found the right place, and partly because I was stuck on a track on the album which got me a bit lost in thought. And then I saw it. A glow of gold loomed in front of me as I drove up a hill, lined in trees. Around a bend, through a field and over a sheep's feeding trough, I caught a glimpse of more colour, and much much more sky. So I followed, winding my way uphill until I reached the brow, where I was able to turn off and caught the beginnings of a sunset in all its glory over a drystone wall. Amazingly, there was a car park, and a bench... just perfect. Grabbing my bag, I jumped out (I could sense that this would not be a lingering sunset) and made my way to the top of the hill where above some rocks, I had an incredible 360° view of the surrounding area. Breathtaking. 


And then, right in front of me the sun was slowly ebbing away below the horizon, glowing a deep fuschia pink, with streaks of gold flying out from it across the sky, and wafts of  pale pink floating like candy floss clouds across a sea of colour. It was stunning. I stood there a while, with my mug of hot chocolate, before wandering down to the bench to enjoy watching the colours fade as the sky returned to normal and night began to descend. 


Just as it began to get dark, and I started to get cold, I decided it was time to head home. Taking a different path back to the car, I found myself walking next to a shaded glade of huge beech trees, surrounded by a low drystone wall with plenty of gaps in it. Stood beneath a canopy of suspended colour, I was amazed by the variety in the colours of the leaves - I mean, I embrace autumn every single year, and yet I was astounded by the depth and variety of colour that occured on one single branch. Leaves of auburn, red, gold, bright yellow, green, ochre and brown. Some tinged with more than one shade or tone. Just beautiful. As I returned to the car, I remembered that I had found everything I had gone looking for, and found them all in one perfect moment. 


The thing is, I couldn't have created that if I'd tried. A tradition I have back home is to go outside to a grass bank outside the house and watch the sunset. Every day. I have done so pretty much every day that I've been at home since my first few weeks of lower sixth. There is something magical about the fact that every single night (apart from the rainy ones) the sun sets a completely different way. Sometimes it is sudden and violent in its dramatic array of colour, and others it almost slips away unnoticed with a glow of yellows and blues. The thing is, there are so many times where I've hoped to catch the sunset and just missed it. Or got outside just after the sun has dropped its head below the horizon, only to catch the end. Tonight, I hoped that I might perhaps stumble across it, but that was it. And I was completely blow away by it. 


When I thought about it as I drove home, it really spoke to me of God and what he does if we'll only expect of him, and then give him the space to do it how he would like. He is the great artist after all. I love the sentiment of 'Carpe Diem', the sense of seizing the day, seizing the moment and making it great. I think sometimes though it can miss that echo of needing to wait and savour the moment. It speaks of a valiant rushing out to battle at the right moment - to have that you must wait long enough to know what that moment it when it happens. Similarly, when we set our hearts to seek God, we too should allow him the time and space to truly create something great. I think today I learnt something as I dedicated that time to finding the sky, trees and hilltop. I was determined not to come back unless and until I had done so. I was expectant, that I would. And I wasn't exactly sure where exactly it was going to come from. Had I gone to the hilltop I first thought of, I would have missed the canvas that God painted for me, because it faces a different direction and the sunset would simply not have been visible. God is a God who loves and created detail, and I think in our eagerness we expect the best, but determine how it will arrive. 


I love the art of creating that perfect moment. A favourite evening activity when I'm on my own is to light candles around my room, put on a killer album, and paint. Or read. Or write. The thing is, when I do that, what I produce is of better quality but also, there is a stillness in my soul created by the sense of having arrived early for the main event. Like tonight, I arrived just before the first act. And because of that, it was so much better than I could have imagined. I think in my learning to seek God, I might try out the art of preparing for, and creating that perfect moment by making time for God, preparing the space for him, and arriving a little bit early... because I never know just how he might arrive, or what he might say, and I want to give him that space to surprise me. 

From the Inside Out

Have you ever thought about progress? I've been dwelling on the subject for a few weeks now, in between work, weddings and the ins and outs of everyday life. Driving to and from work, or walking down a green shaded lane in Ireland, I've been confronted by the idea that progress works its way from the inside out. 

Progress is incredibly hard to measure. You can feel that you are making progress in an area, and then find yourself ten steps back from where you began. Does this mean that there has been no progress made, or that the progress you made was then cancelled out in regression? Or does it mean that progress is not so much of a moving along a straight and measured line from A to B, but more of a growing, more of a stretching, and almost like another few inches in an unraveling of string. 

It is more like the unsure steps of a toddler just learning to bear his own weight on his yet untested feet. A little stumble doesn't mean that he has lost the ability to get up again, or place on foot in front of the other and learn to walk. More so, it motivates him to get up and continue with renewed determination, because he knows that he got that far before he fell... 

The more I think about it, the more I am convinced that progress works itself from the inside out. It takes a conscious decision to step out in the first place, and then again, and risk the fall. The journey from walking to running often happens more internally than we give it credit for. It is easy when you're teaching or mentoring, to feel that you are making little impact, and that progress is just not happening. In my experience though, this is rarely true. In this life, we are rarely standing still. We progress. We regress. It is an inherent part of being human. We move forwards, or backwards, progress or regress, but we are rarely standing still. 

Yet, in order to move in any direction, or more specifically, the right direction - it takes a conscious choice, and a determined effort. It also takes knowing where you want to get to. Without vision, a people perish. And without vision, progress is difficult. I'm becoming more and more convinced that each decision we face is a choice to progress or regress, to move in one direction or another. In every moment that I face, I choose to be a greater or lesser version of myself, I choose to strength or weakness, trust or fear. Of course it is natural to lose our footing at some point or other, but the measure of the progress is in how quickly we get back up and try again. 

It's that internal decision, and decided motivation that will determine the quality of our progression. Speed of progression is neither here nor there - some things just take longer to learn than others, and that is okay. More important is having that sense of where you're going, and the confidence to get back up again when you stumble or fall. It will happen, if you choose it, from the inside out. To progress is to become. 

M1

There's something about being back at home that just inspires me to write. Perhaps it's something to do with being back in the place where a lot of my dreams were born, where I first learnt to share and externalise my thoughts, and later learnt how to internalise them too... I think it is also possibly to do with the journey I make to get here. Three hours down the M1 may not ordinarily strike me as something inspiring, but oddly enough, for me, every single time it is!

I remember the first time I made the journey from Farnham to Leicester, when my Dad drove me up to begin my first term of my first year. Five years later, and that journey has changed me. Whilst the route has not altered, the scenery has changed, and so has the person making that journey. When my Dad used to drive me up, my favourite part of the journey was when we reached Northamptonshire, because at some point (and I've never quite worked out where it is, except I recognise it when we're near it) we pass an expanse of open countryside, and on the right hand side there an old farm building in the middle of a field.

I remember the first time I saw it, an old red-bricked, red-roofed single storey building, with a roof that looked not dissimilar to the kind of sloping (about to fall off) roof that you might make for a gingerbread house, the kind where the gingerbread is too soft to hold itself upright, so it caves a little in the middle. Well, anyway, it looked a bit like that, the edges of the roof not quite meeting the walls in some places. the next time we passed it, on the way back from Leicester a few months later, the roof had slipped further away from the walls at the corners, some of the tiles had fallen off, and cracks were beginning to show in the walls. Over the years, the cracks have got wider, the tiles have continued to slide off until there is almost no roof left, and little green tufts have begun to show themselves through the holes in the roof. It is like that dilapidated, unused and forgotten old building is being brought to life. As the original structure slowly crumbles into insignificance, wild saplings, shrubs and climbing plants have made it their home. Now when you look at it, it resembles more of a very cramped walled garden. And before long, the walls will give way under the weight of the greenery, and what was once a building will become a copse in the middle of a field.

This to me has been hugely significant over the years, on a quiet, rarely mentioned level, except to my Dad, who, every time we passed it would have to put up with me pointing out this dilapidated, forgotten old farmhouse. I'm not sure what attracted me to it originally - I suppose I find beauty in things which appear to be long forgotten. And there seemed to be something incredibly soulish about this place. Not much to look at in itself, to me it represents a great deal. It speaks to me of my life, of who I was five years ago before I started my studies. Over the years I have seen that building change in ways that I know I have done so too. Ok, so I haven't fallen apart or been taken over by climbing plants, but I have learnt, and had to surrender many of the ideals and attitudes that I started out with. I have learnt to be broken by the love of God, and made completely vulnerable before him. I have also learnt that the power of his love has been renewing me, tearing down the walls that I have put up between myself and him, and allowing him to make me come alive by the power of his Holy Spirit. I have never felt so content, so at ease, so simply and wonderfully alive as I do right now. And whilst I will miss that old red-bricked building by the M1, I know I won't need it on my journeys anymore...

That Literary Life

I spent this morning in Costa Coffee with my little sister, Suzie. She's in the middle of A-level English Literature coursework, and so of course, the discussion turned towards her essays, and her many ideas for them. I think it is easy to forget how much you enjoyed something once you no longer do it... or once it is no longer an integral part of your life. My life now no longer rotates or really has anything to do with authors, poetry, prose or literary theory. I still love to read, but I don't think that will ever change.

I suppose what I realised this morning is just how much I loved studying literature. In fact, how much I still do. There are skills you pick up when studying a literature degree, that you are not even aware of. Like the fact that every time I read a book, poem or even just some kind of advertisement, words, lines and ideas will stand out to me. That has come from having to look at hundreds of texts through the eyes of an essay question. I love the power of words, I love the fact that not until you read something on a page, do you fully understand exactly what it is that you think or feel about a given situation. I love that moment when you read a line of writing and you suddenly realise that right there, on that page, is exactly how you felt, or exactly what that moment was like. Almost as if, until that moment, you had not truly lived that experience.

Sometimes I think about what I would do if I was given a choice between two circumstances, like, would I choose to be blind or deaf, would I choose to only ever be able to hear melody or lyrics, or whether I could only ever write or read. The latter is one I have never quite come to a conclusion on. To be able to articulate in words something that someone will one day read and feel a sense of affinity with, or to be able to read what another has written, and have the satisfaction of knowing that right there, through that line or sentiment, you are not alone, because someone else has felt it too. Thankfully, I don't have to choose between the two. And for that, I am very grateful.

Romance

Last week there was an article in The Independent, in which relationship expert Jenni Trent Hughes states, ' We may no longer be knights in shining armour or damsels in distress, but we still want and need romance - it is part of our emotional DNA.' The more I muse over this, the more I am convinced that she is right. Perhaps not in the sense of the 'romance' which is immediately conjured in the mind's eye, but the real kind of romance. That which takes the knight in shining armour and the damsel in distress and removes from it the dated and cliched, leaving behind the heroic, chivalric, impossible quest in pursuit of the heart of another. Leaving in its very essence an adventure.

Having asked a few friends how they would define it, I received the following responses. One stated that it is 'little gestures when you least expect them', another 'the intentional pursuit of one by the other' and finally, 'being made to feel like you're the most amazing person to someone else using whatever comes to hand, be it candles and music or poetry, or simply a shared knowing look'. I love the different facets of romance depicted by each thought, but am particularly struck by the second, 'the intentional pursuit of one by the other'. This captures the sense of adventure I was talking about earlier. It also speaks of romance as an action. This is ultimately the conclusion I have reached, that romance is an action, grammatically speaking it is a verb. Something which one does, rather than something that simply is. It suggests that romance, although it may include them, is more than simply a feeling. More than a candlelit dinner, a serenade, a single rose, a mix tape or a moonlit walk. Romance is when you see something in someone else which whispers to you that it was always meant to be a part of you, and it is what you do to go out and pursue that.

I love this quote by John Eldredge in the Sacred Romance, which speaks of God's incredible pursuit of our hearts. John writes, 'Someone or something has romanced us from the beginning with creek-side singers and pastel sunsets, with the austere majesty of snowcapped mountains and the poignant flames of autumn colours telling us of something - or someone- leaving, with a promise to return.' Isn't that beautiful? It's an incredible image.

I was speaking with a friend tonight about God's plan and his timing, and we were commenting on the intricacy of this. On my drive to work on Friday I was stopped at a set of traffic lights, and feeling a little head-full, I paused to look at a tree by the roadside. Something I have been trying to train myself in, and to be honest, most of the time it comes naturally, is the ability to find beauty in everything. So, I challenge myself to stop and fully absorb what is right before my eyes, be it a fading sunset or a tree silhouetted against a gloomy winter skyline. On this particular morning it was a tree just by the side of the road, set against a sky which was definitely threatening rain. I paused just long enough to absorb the arch of the branches, the small bird finding refuge on one of the outermost branches, the graceful curvature of the trunk as the tree wound higher and higher. By the time the lights had turned green and it was time to drive on, my soul had been stilled, and my mind had been awakened to the presence of God. I was explaining to my friend how incredible that was, that the very mundane surroundings we face everyday can be a stunning reminder of God's presence. That the intricacies of that tree were in the mind of God at creation, long before the first sign of a sapling had burst from the earth. My friend then commented that in fact, more amazing than this, was the fact that God knew that one day that tree by the side of the road, bereft of leaf and life, would be a source of encouragement to me, and a reminder of his presence. And perhaps, when he created that very tree, he had that very purpose in mind.

The very idea of God romancing us is mind-blowing, and one that needs much more thought. It reminded me of a passage in Hosea, where the people of Israel have been unfaithful to God, and the previous part of the chapter is Hosea's rebuke to the Israelites. Then, it says this. 'Therefore I am now going to allure her, I will lead her into the desert and speak tenderly to her.' Hosea 2:14. The God I see in the Bible is one who again and again and again pursues us. He sees in us, out of his breathtaking grace, something which he longs to be in relationship with. He sees in us something worthy of pursuit. And he gives his all in our pursuit. It is definitely an idea which is going to take some more thought, and a greater depth of study, but even in the beginnings of understanding this notion, I am blown away by the very magnitude of  God who romances us.

To Start... or Not to Stop...

For a while now I have been thinking about the difference between starting, and simply not stopping.

Not long ago, a friend and I were walking through town just after closing hours on a Saturday, the streets were relatively empty for a weekend, but this probably had something to do with the pervasive cold which bit through layers of coats, scarves and cardigans.

Deep in conversation, we noticed little around us. That is, until we passed a lady hunched up by the corner of a building. The same thought must have come to us both, as without discussion, we stopped. Just around the corner McDonalds was still open. 'A cheeseburger and a hot chocolate please'. Within minutes, we were back. And then, we carried on.

Shortly, we came across another similar figure, hunched into a doorway. Having just stopped, we couldn't go on without stopping once more. 'A cheeseburger and a hot chocolate please'. What it was with that meal that evening, I'm still not sure. So, again, within minutes we had returned to our second friend... and then we carried on home.

That incident has stayed with me for weeks now.

What is it that bothers me about it? That we started? That we did something, that we stopped, that we acted on impulse? No. The part of this which still unsettles me, is why did we stop? Had we kept walking, I know we would have found another, and another and another.

The more I think about it, the more I wonder if this is how pilgrims of love begin their journey. I wonder if this is the bug that bit Mother Theresa, and inspired her to reach out to the children of Calcutta? Or the same rush of compassion that led Jackie Pullinger to live for years seeing God deliver thousands of people from drug addiction? Or the desperation which led Brother Andrew to return behind the Iron Curtain again and again and again

If I'm honest, I think the thing which bothers me most is that I have a dream. In fact, I have many. I spend a great deal of time thinking about the causes closest to my heart, and sometimes rashly, but most often tentatively, I think about starting.

Starting seems like the easy part. But... if I start... will I ever stop?
Maybe that's the point.

Silent Songs of Lovely Things

The son greatly wished to make a 'Song of Lovely Things' to sing to his Beloved - but he could not find singing words. He heard the voice of his Beloved saying, 'You are walking on the road where all who love me walk. Some of them walked this way singing, and they've left their songs behind them. Find their songs. Sing their words. They will be your song to Me.'

The son became full of grief, because there came a day when he could find no words to sing - neither his own, nor those of others. And yet he wanted with all his heart and soul and mind to ascend to higher places, to stand in the presence of his Beloved...

And He who is love eternal whispered, 'Then I, too, will approach you, silent in my love.' And the son entered into this silence, to meet the eternal Beloved there...  

After a while there was a sound in the gentle stillness, a voice that whispered, 'Even your silence is, to Me, a song of lovely things...'

 Amy Carmichael

His thoughts said... His father said

Nostalgia in a Coffee Cup

And thou shouldst know they all have delight

as much as their own vision penetrates

The Truth, in which all intellect finds rest.

Dante, Paradiso. 

I'm sitting in my room, tealights, a vanilla and black walnut candle burning, and a stick of incense smouldering in the corner. I'm listening to Emily Barker, a delicious new musical discovery who I was introduced to by my friend Jess. Emily's folky, and somewhat whimsical style evokes in me the sense of nostalgia that has been lingering these past few days.

I think it's something to do with transition. You know that feeling you get when 'times they are a changing' (cue Bob Dylan), and it's like you're walking a knife edge between apprehensive excitement which beckons you around the bend in the road, and a wistful glance behind you as you turn the corner? I'm there. Yesterday afternoon I took myself off to one of my favourite haunts, (I won't tell you where in case one day you find me there...) and I spent the afternoon with a hot chocolate, gazing out of the window, watching the snowflakes spinning downwards, before the sky cleared to a  bright blue tinged with rose as the sun began to set. I took my notebook with me, and wrote  a while.

One of the most thought provoking things about 'Garden State' is the whole question of what it is to be unique, and the idea that in one moment you can do something which has never ever been done before - and in that moment, you are unique. To some extent this is always true, in that I will never be able to recreate anything that anyone else has done, or at least not in the exact way that they have just done it, but all the same, I love the creativity that is stimulated by that notion. I think a lot of human discontent (or at least in the West) is based around a hunger, a search for the unique. Everybody wants to be somebody different - to do or be something different to anything that has ever been before.

I know that is true for me. Much of the frustration I feel at the moment is tied up with a feeling of impetus - like there is something I have to do, but I can't do it yet. It's like when I write a poem, often I can almost sense one beginning, but not find the words to express what I am feeling for a while. Then, all of a sudden, usually in one sitting, I write, and I have a poem. And it's almost as if in the writing of it, I can suddenly put words to, and express what it is I have been feeling. Being an external processor, this is pretty normal for me... it's sometimes not until I start talking or writing that I manage to put my finger on exactly what it is I am trying to express. This can be either quite frustrating, or incredibly liberating, depending which stage in the process I am in!

What is your soundtrack to your life? At the moment? I've been toying with the idea of jotting down in my journal the songs that stick with me at a particular time, with the idea of one day compiling the soundtrack to my life (maybe not the whole thing, it may take a while). However, the more I think about it, the key moments of my life are very much tied up with songs that I know so well that just hearing the introduction takes me back to that time.

I was thinking that I might share a few over the next few posts. First one coming up now...

Hoppipolla - Sigur Ros

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_EyI4p0yjDQ

I distinctly remember the day I bought this album, from Sainsbury's in Farnham (Water Lane for those who know it well), put it straight in my cd player in the car and drove home. I wound my way through The Sands, reaching the crescendo just as I was driving downhill through vivid green beech woods (like they always are at Easter time) against a moody grey sky. It was at a time when I had been going through a season of grieving, and was just beginning to feel alive again - and the life giving sap in the beech leaves, combined with the climactic swelling of the track, just made my spirits soar. This track will always remind me of that year, because the victory I heard in the melody, was almost as acute as that in my heart.

Anyway. That's the first one for now.

For now, take a look at this. I think you'll find it interesting...

http://makesmethink.com/

Until next time...

The Nutcracker

Yesterday I saw The Nutcracker. Our main present this Christmas was a family ticket to see the English National Ballet's performance of Tchaikovsky's The Nutcracker at The London Coliseum (designed by Gerald Scarfe and choreographed by Christopher Hampson). It was absolutely breathtaking.

It follows the story of a young girl called Clara, who receives the gift of a wooden nutcracker doll on Christmas Eve. In a dream in the middle of the night, all the toys, including the nutcracker, come to life and a battle is staged in front of the now giant Christmas tree. Following a stand off between the Nutcracker and the King Mouse, the Nutcracker is wounded. Clara is moved to action and rescues her beloved Nutcracker. He is transformed into a handsome prince, because Clara showed her love for him while he was ugly. They are carried by a paper bird to the Kingdom of Sweets, where the Prince once reigned.

The second act follows the Nutcracker Prince and Clara to the Kingdom of Sweets, where they are greeted by the Sugar Plum Fairy and her prince. They are treated to a series of dances by the inhabitants of the kingdom (some of the sweets had the most incredible costumes!). The final scenes of the ballet see the stunning Pas de Deux between the Sugar Plum Fairy and her prince, and the famous 'Dance of the Sugar Plum Fairy'. Her poise and grace was stunning. The ballet ends with Clara and the Nutcracker Prince flying home for morning.

I have to say, it moved me to tears. I can't decide whether it was the dancing, or the music (Tchaikovsky did himself proud on this one...) or the redemptive thread running through the story. The moment where the Nutcracker Prince shows his true identity in response to the unconditional love which Clara shows him, despite his outer appearance, speaks so powerfully of grace. It was just beautiful. There is something so magical about ballet. The translation of meaning into movement is so powerful, and you hardly notice that there is no dialogue. When the curtain came down I felt as though I was rising from a dreamlike state - it was simply mesmorising.

I have to say that this memory will remain with me as one of the best of 2010. I urge you, go and see a ballet. You will not be disappointed.

New Year's Ambitions for the Soul

So, I've been thinking about the coming year, and have decided to come up with (as I do every year) a list of things which I would like to do/ achieve/ change in the next year. I love resolutions, and every month or two I find myself compiling a list of things I aspire to do or be in the near future - there's something incredibly focused and inspiring about it. I love to fix my mind on greater things, and set myself challenges, because in the mundane moments of life, that is what sustains me.

2010 Soul Growing Ambitions

Finish knitting the blanket I started this year. It's a patchwork of sorts, made up of as many different colours and weights of wool as I could find, all autumnal colours. This is something I entertain myself with whilst watching a film or hanging out with housemates, and it's so satisfying to watch it develop!

Build up a portfolio of my art and photography, both of which I do for pleasure, and have no ambitions to use professionally, but still something that I recognise as a skill that needs to be honed. I also find both incredibly good for the soul. Art is somewhere I find God, and this for me has been an amazing comfort and joy in times where words have just not been able to penetrate the heights or depths of my feeling.

Speak and read French. Something which I will always be grateful for, is the fact that my dad chose to speak with us in French when we were small. It was his feeling that he wanted his daughters to grow up with a fluency in the language that he acquired in the years he grew up in France. I have to say it has worked! I love that I understand and speak such a beautiful tongue, but I recently realised that I have to be determined in keeping it!

Read more. This is always on every list I write. I find great inspiration in reading, the challenge of grappling with a text until I have really understood it, and have really appreciated what is being expressed is something I have always loved. My degree in English Literature was one of the best things I have ever done, and I revelled in this being my primary pursuit for three years! No matter how much I read, I always feel that I should read more! A few on my list for this year are A Tale of Two Cities by Charles Dickens, Confessions by Augustine, Nineteen Eighty-Four by George Orwell (how we got through a lit. degree without studying any Orwell, I'm not sure!), A Thousand Splendid Suns by Khaled Hosseini, Miracles by C.S. Lewis and The Brothers Karamazov by Fyodor Dostoyevsky. In addition to this, I'm hoping to discover some new poetry to flood my mind with.

Get an Ordnance Survey map and explore Leicestershire. I'm constantly amazed by what is just around the corner, quite literally, if you'll only look for it. This is my fourth year in Leicester, and now with a car, I have an amazing opportunity to explore it to my heart's content. I also plan on visiting the Peak District and finding some breathing places for inspiration. There is nowhere that I am more sensitive to the presence and voice of the Holy Spirit as when I'm in the countryside. For that reason alone, I am convinced that I need to spend more time exploring it!

Write letters. When I was in sixth form, I had several friends who lived a few hours away, and this began for me a season of letter writing. I can remember the anticipation of knowing that my friend had just received my letter and would no doubt be replying soon. I think that those letters played a very important part in my discovering of who I am and God's call on my life, and were sources of great wisdom. I still remember some of the advice I was given, and how I was encouraged by the sharing of life stories with another. I hope I will always be a letter writer. It is definitely an art.

Explore Camden Town. This year I set myself the challenge of becoming a tourist in our own capital city. This was sparked by a visit to Paris in the spring, where I visited my cousin Rebekah who was studying at L'Alliance Francaise. I love Paris, the architecture, the arts, the street performers, the parks, the history. I was so challenged that for the last few years I have lived within two hours of London and yet have never really immersed myself in its culture. So that is what I have spent some of this year doing. I bought myself a guidebook, and on each visit, I explored a different area of the capital. I have stayed mostly in the City of London, but this year I would like to branch out a little. First on my list is Camden Town.

Cook something new once a week. In our house we share the cooking, and I love this. It means that I have the pleasure of being fed by some pretty amazing cooks, and also, when it is my turn to cook, I find myself much more adventurous when cooking for myself! So, I have decided to capitalise on this, and discover some new recipes!

Go out for lunch alone. A strange one, I know, but over the last year or two, I have developed a taste for my own company. One of my favourite activities for the weekend is to take myself off to a quiet cafe with my notebook, or a the book I am reading at the time, and to 'just be' for a while. I revel in the space for thought, whilst being still amongst other people. I have never managed to pluck up the courage to go out for lunch alone. I am determined to do so this year.

Play my guitar. I love music with a passion, but I have to say, I am not naturally musical! I have taught myself to play guitar, but I need to work on it more. I love it when I play, but more often than not I fill my time with other things, and my guitar is left to entertain itself. The other thing is that I'm not confident when it comes to playing in front of people, my guitar playing is something I tend to keep behind closed doors. I'd love to be more confident though, so this is my challenge for 2010, to lose the fear!

Hand make all my presents. When it comes to birthdays, I love buying presents. There's something so deliciously secretive about choosing a present for someone else. I also love to hand make presents, but never leave myself enough time to do so. This year, my challenge is to hand make every present that I give away.

Explore Leicester's many unique cultures. Living in such a diverse and interesting city, I often feel that I don't really make the most of it. This year I want to immerse myself in a some of Leicester's cultural heritage and learn to understand and appreciate what makes them unique.

Make more of the little moments. Again, this is something I am always challenging myself to do. The pace of life is so fast, that I don't find time to enjoy little moments like brewing tea or watching birds take off, or noticing the cloud formations, or really enjoying what it is that I am doing. I want to learn to live in the moment, but with my eyes heavenward. That is, I want to be able to truly relish the moment that I am living in, whilst being aware of what God is doing, and saying. The last thing I wish to be said of me is that I rushed around, I did too much, and that I didn't really make the most of what it was I was doing.

That's the list, or the beginning of it at least. I think I'd better get started...

I'll keep you posted!

One of Those Formative Years

 

Last Sunday, my housemate Ruth and I got up early, made a pot of fresh coffee and found a quiet corner for a bit of a debrief. I'm fascinated by seasons at the moment, in the natural sense of summer and autumn, within the confines of time, in years and hours, and spiritually. I love that at the end of a season, at the end of a year for example, it's a time to stop in your tracks, look back and finally take in the view of the road you've travelling.

It was definitely one of those moments.

So, over steaming mugs of coffee, while the rest of the house lay sleeping and the world outside was still shrouded in morning frost, we spoke. We spoke of the things that have happened, those we expected, those that took us by surprise, the good, the great, and the downright miserable. We spoke of God, and of the future. Of all the things that were yet to take place, and of the new year awaiting us.

'It's been a great year', said I, without really thinking.

The funny thing is, it has been one of the most challenging years I have ever faced. There have been a couple of spectacularly awful moments. The loss of a dream being one of them, and the loss of  a family member another. The first six months, whilst I was training to teach, were the most exhausting and gruelling months of my life, and by the end of them, I found myself burnt out and having to leave the dream behind. The summer was one of rest and recovery, a little fraught with frustration, but ultimately, filled with the stillness I now see that my soul craved. Then came autumn, with a new house, two new housemates and no job in sight. Unemployment began the next season, and continued only as long as I could bear it, by the grace of God.

With the last of the auburn leaves, on the last day of October, a job finally appeared.

'It's been a good year', I said.

And yes, it has. I have come to a place of contentment in my life that I never thought possible. I don't think that I would have reached it without the first ten months of the year.

It was in that time that I learnt how to fight for what I believed was right. I learnt that failure is not in whether you leave the stage at the end of the act, but in how gracefully you bow as you exit into the wings. I learnt that Leicester is more green than you think, if you only walk and look for it. I learnt that the measure of who I am is not found in the comments left on my lesson plan. I learnt that what we believe beyond shadow of a doubt to be 'God's plan for my life' is not without his rewriting. I learnt that no matter how much you realise it while they are alive, the most inspiring people will always speak the loudest as you say goodbye. I learnt that no matter how hard you try, if God is closing a door, there is nothing you can do about it. I learnt what it is like to get a job as a teacher in a school you love. I learnt what it is to get sick and have to turn it down.  I learnt how to graciously respond to others' sometimes stinging opinions of the way I should/ should not act. I learnt that His are the plans that drive us to throw ourselves into him, because there is no other way.

I learnt that if you give God a time limit, he will stick to it. If you remind him of something he has said, he will see it through. I learnt that God's provision is timeless, more on that later. I learnt to always expect the unexpected, because God will never cease to surprise you. I learnt that cleaning floors at 6am is very humbling, but something that must be done when work is scarce, simply because rent is due. I learnt the joy of being bridesmaid to my oldest friend. I learnt how to create excitement in a world of application forms and waiting for responses that never arrive. I learnt how to make home made baileys. I learnt that love is perhaps not as far away as it seems, but still, more often than not, it is not meant for now. I learnt to feel completely inadequate, again and again, in temp jobs of no consequence. I learnt the satisfaction of being able to go home knowing that the job, however small, has been done well. I learnt the joy of finally, in the last working week of the year, being told that your job is being made permanent. I learnt the simple pleasure of coming home.

It's been one of those formative years. What amazes me, is that it won't be the first ten months that will remain with me as I look back on 2009, but the last two. It'll be the avalanche of things I have learnt. It'll be a deep, unwavering love for the God who was with me through it all.

It'll be a fond reminiscing of 'one of those formative years'.

'It's been a good year', I said. And I meant it.

The Call

Jesus walks (a relative stranger) into your living room while you're watching the news. He looks at you, winks and indicated the television, 'I'll take you there. Come with me!' Suddenly, it dawns on you that you've been bored for longer than you can remember, and something seems to wake up inside-the part of you that remembers how it feels to falls in love and still gets scared of the dark adn one day wants more than anything else in the world to scream so loud that a window really breaks. And so, without a word, you stand, switch off the 'far-off' vision in the corner and follow the relative stranger out through your own front door.

Pete Greig, The Vision and The Vow

I've got a lot of decisions to make at the moment. I think it's getting to that time and stage of life where I have to choose where I'm going to choose to fight my battles. They're being fought everywhere, above and below the surface. The trouble is, we're too passive, too afraid, not enough to get involved. But fight we must, at least somewhere.

It is so easy to assume that you know where you are going, and that the plan of five years ago still stands. Sometimes it does, sometimes not. You see, we follow a living God who knows of what we are made, and he knows that five years ago you wouldn't have listened to him if he had called you to this. Or if he had, you'd have rushed past the waiting to get there. He knew the waiting, the groaning and the growing were going to make you into someone. Into the someone that he is calling now. Whether the battle you are called to is the one you expected or not, you must fight.

God plants dreams in the hearts of children, I believe that. In fact, I know it as fact. I am just beginning to see that when he does, he is serious. He doesn't promise something which he won't fulfill, and he won't call you somewhere he doesn't want you to go. The route can't always be planned in advance, because he will call you out when you're not expecting it, the waiting will end when you don't even realise you're waiting anymore... but until then you must wait. Wait for the signal which tells you where to go. I want to walk the road less travelled.

Only, from here I can't see which one that is.

Love

bears its soul and jumps
into the abyss
end and beginning
plunges to this
clothed in humanity
born of the womb
awakens eternity
breaks from the tomb
time cannot stop it
nor break its fall
love my redeemer
abandons his all

C.S. Burroughs

Juggling

I've been reading a lot of e.e. cummings lately, and I love what he does with form in his poetry. I thought I'd have a go myself...

three balls
two hands
throw
catch
throw
catch throw
throw catch throw
catch
throw
thud
one falls
thud thud

with only one me
and so much to do
how can i keep juggling

throwing and catching
keep the balls in the air
throwing and catching
is anyone there

another ball
two hands
four balls
faster faster
thud thud thud thud

enough

won't somebody stop me

or teach me
or train me
or grow me
or show me

thie juggling act is too much for me
the circus i'm in has forgotten

thow catch thud

i can only perform when i'm free.

C.S. Burroughs

El Paradiso

When was the last time you thought about heaven? I mean really thought about it. For me it's something that I either take for granted or let slip to the back of my consciousness purely because right now it doesn't seem that relevant. Lately though, I've let my mind linger a little on the thought of all things heavenly. Not because I want to work out what it will be like, but more in the hope that the anticipation will somehow draw me out of the inertia I am tempted to settle for. Some would say that being too heavenly minded makes you of no earthly use, but surely the command to fix our eyes on things above is there for a reason? I don't mean to suggest that we should spend our time with our head in the clouds, but in fact the opposite, that perhaps by thinking a bit more about our destination, and therefore the reason for the journey... that we might somehow be more effective along the way.

I realised a couple of years back that God was allowing things to happen in my life in ways that I could not comprehend, and refused to understand, but despite my pain it was worth it in the light of eternity. The idea of God wanting us to suffer for the sake of it throws too many contradictions at the goodness of God, and I don't for one second believe that that is his intention. I think it is more due to the fact that we are safe. Through the blood of Christ we have been eternally found.

Eternally found.

By the grace of God we can never be seperated from him. As far as we are concerned, we are safe. Thus, I'm beginning to understand that this is partly why Christians often have to go through some pretty mind-blowingly awful stuff. It's about God's glory. And it's about the billions upon billions of people who have still not grasped the greatness of God's very real love for them. Lewis put it succinctly, 'pain is God's megaphone to rouse a deaf world' and he wasn't far wrong. I guess the beauty of it is that God allows us to go through crap so that we know him through it, but more than that, so that others can see the painstakingly painful process of us learning to praise through the pain. To glorify him against the odds, and to say that he is good despite the contradictions. Someone is always watching. I realised that if a season of pain for me causes one person to come one step closer to knowing Christ, then it was not all in vain. I also really believe in the power of an honest testimony... which does sometimes mean admitting our intensely inherent frailty in our misunderstanding or non-understanding of God's ways. In fact, I think often the tear-stained doubts speak louder than those rooftop cries of victory.

Now if that sounded like holy trite... it was certainly not meant to be. I guess I just realised that as far as God sees it all (I'm guessing here) he's got me for eternity.

Eternity.

So, momentary pain for me is nothing in the light of our never ending living that will start when this life stops... He promises to sustain me through the most horrific troubles, and through death itself. The more I let people see him in the midst of it, the more he pushes me to the edge. Because it is all about him. Absolutely. Completely.

I think we tend to fall into two main categories when pondering the heavenly is concerned. Those who think of it as something that will happen, to the extent where it is taken for granted and we live in permanent expectation of perfection, without really grasping the significance of the walking we have to do to get there. The other danger I think is to push it to one side entirely, as something that will happen but really isn't big enough for us to take into account, and certainly not something that 'holy' people ought to be thinking about anyway. I'm sure there are more, but those are two that I have definitely found myself falling into. It's such a fine line, and I know I all too often fall headlong over it... How do we find the balance? How can we live in a way where we are eternally bowled over by the awe inspiring grace of God that seeks the needy out of their filth infested ash heap and seats them with the princes, whilst being secure in the knowledge that being found eternally means we can live this life in an attitude of reckless servitude-giving our all till that kingdom come.

I'm still working on that one.

The other thing I've been working my way through lately is how I'll be able to worship him forever. I mean it's something we sing about all the time, but I just don't know if I can trust myself to be able to when I spend pretty much all my time here dodging the bullet when it comes to giving God the time he deserves... and that I need. I just don't know if I'll be able to. I mean yeah I can sing along happily about praising his name always, but if I think about how little I do it now, then how can I be sure.

Then I realised that I can't.

Every inch of the faith I have here has been bestowed upon me. The very privilege of being able to call him Father has cost the lifeblood of the beloved, and has been given to me freely. So why have I any reason to doubt that he won't do the same or even more in giving me all I need to praise him there? I think also that my view of God is going to be so shattered, blown apart and entirely remade when I see him that I think it'll take all of eternity and more to even be able to tell him how beautiful he is.

Thinking about music in heaven and about worship... Sometimes I wonder if I'll want to worship all the time, whether I'll get bored, and then I get that feeling you get when you stumble across a live band playing a song you love, and like an anthem rising, a battle cry... You realise that you were meant to be there to hear it. I wonder whether it'll be like that in heaven, whether we'll realise when we get there that it is the place we were always meant to be... the place we were made for.

Every night I try to see the sunset. At that key moment I run outside with the camera and try to capture it... just because I know that never in all of history has there ever been a sunset like there will be tonight. And every time it is stunning. Every time it is different. And every time I am silenced. The God of a million sunsets is the sun itself. If the sky goes all those shades of colour when an earthly sun sets... just imagine what it'll be like when the heavenly Son rises.

I guess it's about this.

To live in faith now for that moment then.

Pilgrim Lost

What if I don't fit...?

What if I get there at the end of all this, and find my life too big, too tall, too proud of itself to bow down to his.

Will I hasten to grovel, to dig in my dirt, to face the face of infinity I daily sought to avert? What if all of my theories, and all of my joys, and all of my pains are nothing but toys? If my seeking for known-ness was never to know, and for all my attempting have nothing to show… what then?

Radiating humility, unimaginable light, surely compel me towards fight, not flight. What if they don’t? How could I possible conceive a life inside eternity, yet daily choose to die for so much less. All my plethora of excuses can’t conceal this self made mess.

If the gap is too small, what will I miss… the meeting of his humanity with divinity’s kiss. Yet even this is so far from the worst.

If in all of my dreaming I still see myself.

Brink

on the edge
a glimpse almost seen
will then be lost in the now of the inbetween

infinity tempts
simplicity mocks
all the playing with fire could not prepare
what price of knowing the cost

born to be free
dying to live
that touch of invincible
estranged on the brink

this dream of freefalling falling falling
this dream of freefalling
the last burning dream of the lost

C. S. Burroughs

Echoes

Heart keeps beating
Love gets lost
Hope still breathing
Tears unstopped
Peace is screaming
Joy won't speak
Hope still breathing
Faith is weak
Mind over matter
Can't understand
Hope still breathing
Take my hand.

C. S. Burroughs

But...

So its really easy to be misunderstood...


The way that one heart beats is so different to another. Why should we expect to be understood? Why the craving to be known so completely, why the yearning to be at one with another, and to have nothing to explain. And why is it that the times you try and rebuild those burnt out bridges they crumble beneath your approaching footsteps?

I don't know. And I wish I could say that I didn't care, but...