Sentinel tree
How long have you stood on Clifftop?
How many wild seas have you seen?
How large their waves? Tossing their spume
like raging spit, into the air.
How many storms have you stood through?
How many branches have been ripped off?
See your arms
bent and twisted
From days you wrestled with the wind,
Until you learned to lean
into the gales, not fight them.
So you still stand in this breeze
waving a song of survival to me.
Your silent wisdom whispers:
"The strength is in the roots."
The secret of standing
proclaimed in silence
for those who have ears to hear.
A whisper in the wind of a long forgotten word. Hope.
A concept Idea That things could get better. Tentatively we dare to ask for Hope.
And as we hear your words of love Of a kingdom far from here yet at hand. A place where tears will cease Not ‘over the rainbow’ but covenant promise, nonetheless. Hope
We dare to nudge each other in the face of disasters and sickness, wars and quakes, floods and death – We look into each others eyes and declare it: Hope.
And as sure as Jesus on that cross promising the man who could do nothing to save himself ‘Today, you will be with me in Paradise’ – the word rings true. Resonating in trusting heart. Hope
And now like Andrew and John barely daring to believe, to hope we run, full pelt to empty tomb. A risen Christ Still loving, still promising Our living Hope
At church this week, someone asked ‘why do we sing?’
These are my thoughts:
In the beginning was the word.
The Father spoke it And Jesus came, and shared the word Bringing it to earth in human form, And the Spirit set the word to music
And the everlasting song was sung: ‘Holy holy holy’ the song in heaven ‘Holy holy holy’ we sing on earth
The bride singing with the groom.
And the Father, loving the song Said to his Servants, write down a song or two In my everlasting script. So they started to write And couldn’t stop until the book of songs had 150 of them And still new ones being sung on heaven and earth
For the song is in His heart, like His love it has no end.
We sing a new song, a song of his love And He sings songs of deliverance over us
songs of joy, songs of everlasting love songs of freedom, listen, and you hear our chains fall, broken to the floor.
How can we not sing?…. Come let us join heaven’s song…and sing.
How many hands caressed these ancient stones
where now ivywort creeps?
Beauty in timeless peace.
How many hymns of praise arose
and graced this place?
Now filled with songs of birds.
Sparrows seen by You
fearlessly approach.
A reminder that You see me.
I sit midst ancient ruins
warmed by sun
sheltered by weathered walls
soaking Your presence -
more evident here
than by golden altars
and priestly tours.
Long worn tombs of Saints surround
the sky a roof,
yet these ruins are not dead -
they teem with life.
flowers spill from brick's veins
and music all around.
God is here,
not mocked by missing walls,
but sits with us on grassy carpets
enjoying the song of sparrows and our hearts.
“Grief, I’ve learned, is really just love. It’s all the love you want to give, but cannot. All that unspent love gathers up in the corners of your eyes, the lump in your throat, and in that hollow part of your chest. Grief is just love with no place to go.” ―Jamie Anderson
The Landscape of Loss is vast.
Some say it is desert, but in my experience it is more varied than that. It certainly has large stretches of desert, but there are also roads. Many roads, all leading in different directions. There is no one way out of this place, and many of the roads are blind alleys. There are few road signs and, honestly, if you try to follow them, you may be misled or sent around in circles.
There are dangerous pitfalls and mine-shafts with concealed openings. Do not fear these, though - others have fallen down them before you and created tunnels to travel through. You will not be trapped there, with no way out. And you may find treasure in the darkness.
There are sinking sands of self-pity. Stay still too long and you may become trapped here. Though there is always a Rescuer who will come if you call and take His hand.
There are other dangers. Traffic that seemingly comes out of nowhere. You are blindsided. Hit-and-runs that leave you wounded and hurting. Strange forests of memory which may hinder or help you.
Oceans of grief to cross, when all that is supplied is a small one-person boat to cross them in.
It seems like the more losses you have, the larger this land becomes. Losses have a way of multiplying. If you lose health, soon you are losing abilities, strength, independence, hobbies. If you lose a job, soon your lifestyle suffers losses. If you lose your mind, you may lose friends. If you lose fertility, you lose your hopes and dreams. If you lose people … well, you may only lose one, but memories become lost, conversations lost, and casualties do have a way of mounting up.
You find yourself, therefore, in this Landscape of Loss, whatever it may look like for you (and it looks different to everyone). You may have gradually ventured into it, but most people find themselves knocked sideways by some enormous blow, and wake up to find themselves unceremoniously dumped in the middle of this place.
It can take days and weeks just to get over the numbing shock. To simply get up and start moving can be a huge effort when the thought of curling into a ball, hiding and sleeping can feel so much safer. But you hear the Rescuer’s voice urging you to ‘arise, my love’. It is irresistible, for you long to be rescued.
A word of warning: though other people walk this land, and there are day-trippers who may venture in to try and help, none of these people can rescue you. If you try to grab their hand to pull you out of a pit, you may both fall in. Yes, there are some who are permitted, like guides, to walk alongside you for a while, offering food and refreshment. But do not look to them to rescue you - that is not their role.
There are others like you, walking through this landscape, but each has their own path, and whilst some paths may cross, they are only wide enough to accommodate one person.
I am afraid that loneliness ‘goes with the territory’, as they say.
There is but one Rescuer. It is not likely that He will just lift you out of the landscape (though just occasionally He might) but He will always walk alongside you, even when you cannot see Him. Only He knows your way through this place. Only He constantly speaks of the destination of Hope-and-Joy that you will eventually reach. He is the one with healing ointment for your sore feet, comfort for your aching heart. Not only a Rescuer, but a Healer, a Comforter, a Guide and a Friend.
There is an enemy too, one who has many names - Accuser, Thief, Liar, Destroyer - and he is the prince of Despair. Don’t listen to him, for that empowers him. His power is limited, and ultimately he is already defeated, for how can Despair thrive when Hope-and-Joy is by your side and within you.
There is Refreshment here, though it is elusive. It feels almost impossible to continue to love and give to others on the outside, when inside you are trudging through this place of desolation. It is possible, though. When you manage it, it will be like a drink of fresh water to your parched soul. Refreshment can be nurtured. It is nurtured by practising gratitude, by learning to appreciate the small kindnesses that come your way, by giving. It is nurtured by Patience. Even patience through Pain.
More refreshment comes through Beauty. There’s not a whole lot of that here, but there is some, if you have eyes to see. Flowers do grow amidst the rubble, and there is a whole lot of Beauty that you can create. In your mind, in your hands, in your heart. Beauty is essential to your survival.
I cannot finish without mentioning Pain. Pain is a constant here, be it physical, mental or emotional. Pain can be a huge mountain, and there is no way around it. It hurts. I have no secret answer here, no short cut, no bandage big enough to cover it. Pain has to be faced. Endured as a sacrifice of Love to the Rescuer who knew Pain more intimately that you or I ever will.
‘No pain, no gain’ so they say. A nifty phrase invented, I suspect, by those whose pain was temporary, though there may be truth in it. The atmosphere in this place is laced with pain. You breathe it in with every laboured breath. I cannot tell you how to survive it. I can only point you to the Rescuer. I suspect He knows the answer, for He was the first one to blaze a path through it to the Kingdom of Hope-and-Joy.
Jesus wept.
He knows the Landscape of Loss.
You left so little behind.
No stuff.
Just garments
To be won or lost in a gamble.
A broken body
To be anointed
And buried.
And vast, empty chasms
In our hearts.
Silence in that place
Where once your words and laughter dropped like hopeful seeds.
No stuff
You left yourself behind.
And soon that broken body
Could no more be dead and hid.
Rumbles shook earth -
The dawn of resurrection life
And dead bursting from their graves.
Those seeds flourishing and growing
Where now your words of rebuild temples
Made so much sense.
And when you left
Your spirit left behind.
No stuff
But life spirit pulsing within
Whispering your words in our hearts
Wrapping us now in your garments of righteousness.
No stuff.
Just you .
Forever.
A friend asked me recently if I could send her a photo of a heart as she was doing a visual project regarding love.
Whilst I have many hearts around the house, I wanted something fresh and new. I couldn't think of anything so, somewhat hesitantly, ask God to give me an idea. Two days later I was walking along a local beach and picked this up.
Do Zoom in and see the secret heart. So much I could say about this. The heart is 'concealed' in marble within an ordinary-looking red stone. It is surrounded by glistening 'jewels'. It reminds me of how precious our hearts are - they are like treasure to God, and when Jesus takes up residence, he perfects us from the inside out. We are hid in Him, and He is within us. Inside the 'heart' itself, the marble has cracks running through it - reminding me that Christ was broken for us, the very heart of Jesus was pierced with a spear. I was so grateful to God for this gift.
A couple of weeks later, we were taking the garden rubbish to a local compost heap. It is on private land but the farmer allows us to put green rubbish there. In return we remove any litter. We dumped our grass cuttings and glanced around, picking up an old beer can and disposable coffee cup. Something midst the rubbish caught our eyes, something sparkling...
A beautiful shining heart in amongst all the rubbish.
Such a reminder that even with all the rubbish in our lives, even on days when we feel we have done nothing right, even when we feel rubbish about ourselves His Love is right there.
In times of pruning, when our branches are cut short and discarded, when we wonder if we will ever bear fruit again. When we are locked down and cannot do anything much except mow the lawn and throw away the clippings, there He is, amongst those shorn off clippings declaring:
"I love you, I love you, I love you - your worth is nothing to do with productive you are... I love YOU!!"
Lord I hate what the enemy has done
He has shut us down
In isolation.
He has stopped our mouths from singing,
Hidden our smiles
Broken our fellowship
Separated us until
We are alone
In a virtual world with no hugs.
Our world has turned grey and drab
We are surrounded by pain and need
And cannot even leave our homes to help.
But even as the dark clouds gather overhead
And mock us with ceaseless rain
I know that there is sun above those clouds.
And though some of us are lost
I see we are found in you.
Our lives are like a heart beat
Ba-boom and we are done.
But your heart beats for eternity
And when ours are done
We find ourselves in you
Forever.
We will sing in our hearts
We will smile in our homes
We can never be alone
For you are with us.
Come like a mighty wind
And blow this pestilence from our land
Many times you have rescued from the enemies hands
You have fortified our coastline
And defended our borders
And rescued our hearts.
Our hope is in your Salvation.
Lord Jesus
Bare your sword and come.
Happy Holidays
Winter Wishes
’Tis the holiday season
The Festival of Light.
When and Why
did the word ‘Christmas’
become such a threat?
A word to be avoided?
Why do we take offence
at the sight of a baby?
Poor, conceived out of wedlock
Homeless.
When I enter the darkness of the stable
I see little.
No tinsel here.
Yet I am drawn to the scene.
This babe in whom all our hopes rest
The mother lifts him and gestures.
I draw near and he is placed
into my waiting arms.
Just a baby
a chubby arm flails up and meets my cheek.
holding him a wave of love consumes me.
For somehow, he is mine own.
This child will live and grow
and die and live and be mine. forever.
What comfort to hold him
knowing this is so.
Here I can leave my pain
My disappointments
My grief.
The Christ Child will take them all
and remain with me
loving
comforting
forever.
writethelovesite 