after Cavafy and Don Paterson
This rolled up charcoal sketch -
it’s a good likeness.
It was drawn slowly, one long
late summer evening
at 43 Oxford Road. I’d say
it caught his strength –
though I have him more lithesome;
so much the prone David you’d say
he was almost perfect ... Yes, he looks
so much more lithesome,
now my body keens him
from this distance. From here.
All these things are very old – the sketch,
the green bedroom and the evening.
July 2009
Tuesday, 14 July 2009
Friday, 19 June 2009
Thanks for the devil I didn’t know
after Alice Oswald -
A is for Angel,
fallen among equals in this devilish alphabet.
B is Brimstones and Burning
desire: much glowing, smoking, igniting, and combusting.
C is for both crypt and coffin
in which you place a person
as he puts forth beseeching hands into darkness.
D E F is the Deaf and Dumb finito silence of the quite dead.
Grace is for the intercessions
prayed by hearts and minds on earth as in heaven
that a soul may be saved from destruction and live.
Else it’s H for Hades and hell.
I, by far the most familiar and inward looking devil,
I is work for hands grown idle
that tried to toil and fold an origami devil but failed:
impossible to spread the thumb and fingers, then valley fold
(repeat other side):
neither paper (red, flimsy) and time (short) fit for purpose.
Whereas J and K both, for Jinn and Knave,
are mother’s ruin, maid’s downfall.
L M N is a lemon strung up high
together with seven red chillies bending back the Eye,
which malicious glance may mean a man withers and goes down to the pit.
O is “Oh my God, Other people”
for P and Q are the Prince and his mother, the Queen
issuing forth wearing Prada.
R is Rebellion personified,
who ruins and destroys by leading astray through many lies, deceptions,
temptations, enticements;
putting to proof, accusing, testing, then actuating to govern poor sinners.
And S is the salt other people throw over
left shoulders, backwards, to blind the devil, keep him at bay:
ensure a safe distance.
But T is for “Talk of the devil, he’s sure to appear;
speak of an angel you’ll hear wings.
Then U for Usurper is the illegitimate claimant
who already made himself king of the world, without he ascended the throne.
Plus you’ve V which is the Voice of the Devil (illumined by Blake)
and W for wisdom with a difference:
a palace no less, reached by roads of excess
whilst riding not horses of instruction, but tigers of Wrath.
Last X is for the eXorcist
whereby Y for Yaweh is restored
and the Z in BeelZebubb cast out.
All’s right. God’s in His heaven. But easy does it...
There’s an old devil called love.
A is for Angel,
fallen among equals in this devilish alphabet.
B is Brimstones and Burning
desire: much glowing, smoking, igniting, and combusting.
C is for both crypt and coffin
in which you place a person
as he puts forth beseeching hands into darkness.
D E F is the Deaf and Dumb finito silence of the quite dead.
Grace is for the intercessions
prayed by hearts and minds on earth as in heaven
that a soul may be saved from destruction and live.
Else it’s H for Hades and hell.
I, by far the most familiar and inward looking devil,
I is work for hands grown idle
that tried to toil and fold an origami devil but failed:
impossible to spread the thumb and fingers, then valley fold
(repeat other side):
neither paper (red, flimsy) and time (short) fit for purpose.
Whereas J and K both, for Jinn and Knave,
are mother’s ruin, maid’s downfall.
L M N is a lemon strung up high
together with seven red chillies bending back the Eye,
which malicious glance may mean a man withers and goes down to the pit.
O is “Oh my God, Other people”
for P and Q are the Prince and his mother, the Queen
issuing forth wearing Prada.
R is Rebellion personified,
who ruins and destroys by leading astray through many lies, deceptions,
temptations, enticements;
putting to proof, accusing, testing, then actuating to govern poor sinners.
And S is the salt other people throw over
left shoulders, backwards, to blind the devil, keep him at bay:
ensure a safe distance.
But T is for “Talk of the devil, he’s sure to appear;
speak of an angel you’ll hear wings.
Then U for Usurper is the illegitimate claimant
who already made himself king of the world, without he ascended the throne.
Plus you’ve V which is the Voice of the Devil (illumined by Blake)
and W for wisdom with a difference:
a palace no less, reached by roads of excess
whilst riding not horses of instruction, but tigers of Wrath.
Last X is for the eXorcist
whereby Y for Yaweh is restored
and the Z in BeelZebubb cast out.
All’s right. God’s in His heaven. But easy does it...
There’s an old devil called love.
June 2009
Tuesday, 9 June 2009
Double Take
I saw fish farm breeding pools glint silver
down in the valley. I was mistaken.
I saw limed-oak silver ribbons festoon
early morning roadside fields. Wrong again.
Not rivers and lakes. A trick of first light:
sheets of food-grade cornstarch and polythene
tunnels litter, smother and wrap the hill sides.
A green and plastic fresh made-over land.
June 2009
down in the valley. I was mistaken.
I saw limed-oak silver ribbons festoon
early morning roadside fields. Wrong again.
Not rivers and lakes. A trick of first light:
sheets of food-grade cornstarch and polythene
tunnels litter, smother and wrap the hill sides.
A green and plastic fresh made-over land.
June 2009
Saturday, 6 June 2009
Just show up, day after day
I make the daily half hour offering:
tender in silence, with all due reverence,
here at the altar of long suffering.
Not pleading exactly, more like praying
how long Oh Muse, how long? Nevertheless
I make the daily half hour offering
after twenty plus years, still aspiring,
with all due humility, for success.
Here at the altar of long suffering.
I repeat the mantra again, yearning
to become a published poetess:
“I make the daily half hour offering.”
Without a result, nothing forthcoming
I doubt its power, its effectiveness,
here at the altar of long suffering.
Then eureka! I should have been writing
as well, when together with my presence
I make the daily half hour offering
here at the altar of long suffering.
May 2009
tender in silence, with all due reverence,
here at the altar of long suffering.
Not pleading exactly, more like praying
how long Oh Muse, how long? Nevertheless
I make the daily half hour offering
after twenty plus years, still aspiring,
with all due humility, for success.
Here at the altar of long suffering.
I repeat the mantra again, yearning
to become a published poetess:
“I make the daily half hour offering.”
Without a result, nothing forthcoming
I doubt its power, its effectiveness,
here at the altar of long suffering.
Then eureka! I should have been writing
as well, when together with my presence
I make the daily half hour offering
here at the altar of long suffering.
May 2009
Wednesday, 20 May 2009
Let It Go
When I was a little girl I thought I understood perfectly what my mother meant when she said life’s not fair. We were poor and endured misfortunes. But in retrospect I don’t recollect that we suffered that much, nor that I really minded my friends were better off.
I was probably cushioned by the knowledge that there were many who had far less than us and I suspect I understood the maxim: God helps those who help themselves. I never doubted that I could and would help myself; and I now see that life had been unfairly balanced - in my favour - because I had what it took to manage life’s vicissitudes and to succeed.
This philosophy served me well for many years. I even came up smiling when I was diagnosed with MS shortly after my fortieth birthday. Compared to many I was lucky: the progress of my illness was slow, I had a warm and caring husband, and we didn’t want for anything.
Fifty is the New Forty!
I wonder if I hadn’t been looking at life through rose-tinted spectacles. As I approached my fiftieth birthday two things hit home. Firstly I began to really mind that other people had a lot more than me and to realise it was unlikely – given my age and circumstances – that I’d improve on what I now perceived as an unsatisfactory lot. I had fancied I was destined to be special, and that everything comes to those who wait. I had been labouring under a misapprehension.
Secondly I saw, as if for the first time, what old age can mean. I encountered many elderly people who were depressed, uncomfortable and frightened. As I witnessed minds and bodies falling apart I began to appreciate how unpleasant the end of life and the process of dying might be.
I see now these observations were not unconnected. Further, that each of the crises which occur every ten years or so throughout our adult life come with attendant lessons, or – as Hamblin says – opportunities. The mid-life crisis, which for some doesn’t kick in until they approach retirement can seem particularly poignant: the best years are past and the rest is downhill all the way.
I came to myself
I began to pray for my own discovery: that I cease to be what I had always thought I wanted to be and find myself anew, in the Divine.
When, like the Prodigal Son I came to my senses, it ceased to matter that I would never see some places or do some things. I could let that go. But it did matter that I had been guilty of the sin of an unlived life: I had failed to enjoy the beauty of the earth because I had taken it too much for granted whilst bogged down by my petty anxieties. And I repented that I had sometimes loved in a false way and in too short a measure. In the words of Simone Weil, I had ‘turned my gaze in the wrong direction.’
I could have avoided all this, and much more. I had failed to pay attention to the details of my life. And I had allowed myself to be seduced by the glamour of this world: by the notion that I could copy someone else’s success (far easier to do that than to risk being true to myself).
My Hearts’ Desire
Thomas Merton maintains that intense busy-ness and the pursuit of a false self go hand in hand. Frantic self-expression had indeed become synonymous with my self-assertion - the opposite of loving behaviour. I had created an increasingly false self and become less able to love with a pure heart. In the midst of life I had forgotten about the need to seek out the agenda of my life.
To discover the agenda of our lives - which is set neither by others nor ourselves, but by the Divine – is a process that takes a whole lifetime. Confusion, uncertainty and doubt, which are a natural part of life, will prevail to distract us. But, depending on what we desire most in this life (and beyond it), our souls will either grow and blossom or shrivel up.
Our task is to discriminate amongst our longings and attachments and, if appropriate, to let go. For what we desire most in this life - what we really want and long for – shapes and judges us.
Accepted by Love
Whilst looking the other way I had become defined and tormented by what I desired and possessed. In so doing I had become blind to the infinite worth of who I am. I no longer believed and trusted that I was loved and valued for myself. I didn’t see that I was accepted by Love; love which is tested and proved in our ability to let go: of seeming securities, possessions, of our loved ones and, ultimately of life itself.
Mary Oliver tells us that to live in the world we must be able to do three things: to love what is mortal; to hold it against our bones knowing that our own life depends on it; and, when the time comes, ‘to let it go, to let it go.’
The inspiration for this article came from Learning to Dance by Michael Mayne and Finding Sanctuary by Abbot Christopher Jamison
I was probably cushioned by the knowledge that there were many who had far less than us and I suspect I understood the maxim: God helps those who help themselves. I never doubted that I could and would help myself; and I now see that life had been unfairly balanced - in my favour - because I had what it took to manage life’s vicissitudes and to succeed.
This philosophy served me well for many years. I even came up smiling when I was diagnosed with MS shortly after my fortieth birthday. Compared to many I was lucky: the progress of my illness was slow, I had a warm and caring husband, and we didn’t want for anything.
Fifty is the New Forty!
I wonder if I hadn’t been looking at life through rose-tinted spectacles. As I approached my fiftieth birthday two things hit home. Firstly I began to really mind that other people had a lot more than me and to realise it was unlikely – given my age and circumstances – that I’d improve on what I now perceived as an unsatisfactory lot. I had fancied I was destined to be special, and that everything comes to those who wait. I had been labouring under a misapprehension.
Secondly I saw, as if for the first time, what old age can mean. I encountered many elderly people who were depressed, uncomfortable and frightened. As I witnessed minds and bodies falling apart I began to appreciate how unpleasant the end of life and the process of dying might be.
I see now these observations were not unconnected. Further, that each of the crises which occur every ten years or so throughout our adult life come with attendant lessons, or – as Hamblin says – opportunities. The mid-life crisis, which for some doesn’t kick in until they approach retirement can seem particularly poignant: the best years are past and the rest is downhill all the way.
I came to myself
I began to pray for my own discovery: that I cease to be what I had always thought I wanted to be and find myself anew, in the Divine.
When, like the Prodigal Son I came to my senses, it ceased to matter that I would never see some places or do some things. I could let that go. But it did matter that I had been guilty of the sin of an unlived life: I had failed to enjoy the beauty of the earth because I had taken it too much for granted whilst bogged down by my petty anxieties. And I repented that I had sometimes loved in a false way and in too short a measure. In the words of Simone Weil, I had ‘turned my gaze in the wrong direction.’
I could have avoided all this, and much more. I had failed to pay attention to the details of my life. And I had allowed myself to be seduced by the glamour of this world: by the notion that I could copy someone else’s success (far easier to do that than to risk being true to myself).
My Hearts’ Desire
Thomas Merton maintains that intense busy-ness and the pursuit of a false self go hand in hand. Frantic self-expression had indeed become synonymous with my self-assertion - the opposite of loving behaviour. I had created an increasingly false self and become less able to love with a pure heart. In the midst of life I had forgotten about the need to seek out the agenda of my life.
To discover the agenda of our lives - which is set neither by others nor ourselves, but by the Divine – is a process that takes a whole lifetime. Confusion, uncertainty and doubt, which are a natural part of life, will prevail to distract us. But, depending on what we desire most in this life (and beyond it), our souls will either grow and blossom or shrivel up.
Our task is to discriminate amongst our longings and attachments and, if appropriate, to let go. For what we desire most in this life - what we really want and long for – shapes and judges us.
Accepted by Love
Whilst looking the other way I had become defined and tormented by what I desired and possessed. In so doing I had become blind to the infinite worth of who I am. I no longer believed and trusted that I was loved and valued for myself. I didn’t see that I was accepted by Love; love which is tested and proved in our ability to let go: of seeming securities, possessions, of our loved ones and, ultimately of life itself.
Mary Oliver tells us that to live in the world we must be able to do three things: to love what is mortal; to hold it against our bones knowing that our own life depends on it; and, when the time comes, ‘to let it go, to let it go.’
The inspiration for this article came from Learning to Dance by Michael Mayne and Finding Sanctuary by Abbot Christopher Jamison
Thursday, 16 April 2009
Blind Man’s Buff
Who’s there? I am.
Where from? A place dark in earth’s bed.
First wrapped, then sloughed,
coming away in fragile brown paper layers.
Then defused
swollen
silken
still-born.
I peeped out and saw myself:
a prize won at the coconut shy
resting between forms.
This, I surmised,
with its crocodile tears,
with its legless and bald old man’s pate, its rings,
its crescents and grudges and slices
this is onion. For the moment.
This is when the fork
nudges at my not-as-firm-as-it-looks flesh
and finds me yet
protesting my fate.
So I resisted and clung
clothed in leather in the teething allotment gardens
mournful being sown and grown
and eaten up and sown...
Where from? A place dark in earth’s bed.
First wrapped, then sloughed,
coming away in fragile brown paper layers.
Then defused
swollen
silken
still-born.
I peeped out and saw myself:
a prize won at the coconut shy
resting between forms.
This, I surmised,
with its crocodile tears,
with its legless and bald old man’s pate, its rings,
its crescents and grudges and slices
this is onion. For the moment.
This is when the fork
nudges at my not-as-firm-as-it-looks flesh
and finds me yet
protesting my fate.
So I resisted and clung
clothed in leather in the teething allotment gardens
mournful being sown and grown
and eaten up and sown...
Make your own onion
I
Glue two halves, four quarters,
or approximately eight
three-dimensional crescents
Decoupage crisp layers
of fragile brown paper.
Cherish, burnish with ochre.
Plug with string fibres
dust with dry earth
taper, make a wick
Do not
ignite
II
Inflate a small balloon with Plaster-of-Paris
glaze with crackle finish, hide underground.
Pull down chill of winter damp, introduce spring:
a ‘grow your own pearl’ sprung from the dark
Glue two halves, four quarters,
or approximately eight
three-dimensional crescents
Decoupage crisp layers
of fragile brown paper.
Cherish, burnish with ochre.
Plug with string fibres
dust with dry earth
taper, make a wick
Do not
ignite
II
Inflate a small balloon with Plaster-of-Paris
glaze with crackle finish, hide underground.
Pull down chill of winter damp, introduce spring:
a ‘grow your own pearl’ sprung from the dark
19 March 2009
Knowing Onions
We call this a leek -
we ditch the green, eat the white -
not a green onion.
Likewise this spring onion.
My American cousin
we ditch the green, eat the white -
not a green onion.
Likewise this spring onion.
My American cousin
3rd February, 2009
Wednesday, 22 October 2008
Parting is such sweet sorrow
The first thing I said on waking was, “Please ... let it not be spring when he leaves - a parting at a time of new beginnings. You must know it would break my heart to see gambolling lambs and cavorting daffodils, just then ... When the earth cracks open don’t let me be mocked by the portents of new life, and fresh beginnings. I would rather not live than see the fruits of the union twixt earth and heaven.”
I leant over and prodded Freddie awake. “You must know autumn would be much better; when the world has begun to ease off, before its descent into the things of darkness, into hibernation. That’s where I must be if I’m to survive this.”
“Yeah,” she muttered, “Where light will not be welcome, and no comfort at all. Grant me an inhospitable landscape, and short, short overcast days; dull skies, and no natural warmth.”
“That’s just what I would have said.”
“You already did,”she grunted. “We’ve been rehearsing this tired old speech for weeks now.”
“Not in so many words, we haven’t - Oh bless! You must have sneaked a look at the latest draft when you came in last night."
“When,” she asked as she unzipped her sleeping bag and clambered up off the floor, “Are you going to get us some decent coffee? Surely, it’s not unreasonable to ask you to do that much round here.”
“How do you know I haven’t already? You haven’t got as far as the kitchen yet.” Freddie put on a sock. “Don’t look like that,” I muttered, lying back in my sofa bed nest. “I’ve been so busy at work, this past month, as well as the rest. Writing the script, and getting everything ready for the big day.... Come on, darling, don’t sulk - we agreed - it needs to be perfect.” Freddie buckled her belt.
I sat up, stretched and considered what to wear. “I’ve been thinking. Green would be so much better for Tuesday.”
Freddie sat down, and smoothed my hair back from my face. “But we’d agreed, black, Sylvie. We agreed all this right from the start - months ago. Because she thinks it’s finished and that they’re never going to see each other again.”
“Hmm. But she knows he’ll be coming back, and that they’ll carry on like they always have.”
“She doesn’t know that.”
“Yes, she does.”
Freddie sighed. “Why are you doing this to me? You know it’s important that she’s distraught when he goes – for his sake.”
“OK, OK,” I placated, “She’ll wear black; I’ll do it just like you want - it’s just that I thought green was more positive; it’s – you know - the colour of growth.” I picked up Freddie’s hand and examined her nails. “It’s an idea isn’t it? How about her saying one thing and wearing another? It would keep an audience guessing. ‘Cause anything could happen, couldn’t it?”
“We’ve been through this a thousand times. It’s important to be consistent. He needs to be 100% focused on her needs, and worrying about how she’ll cope whilst he’s in the States. So it stops him from – look she won’t be wailing and carrying on if she doesn’t think he’s going away for ever; yeah?”
“She could be pretending, and about to do something positive with her life, like - a course in – I don’t know, Romanian.”
“That’s enough. You are not helping. Christ! Will you look at the time?” she said, shoving unwashed feet into her Birkenstocks, “I’ve got to get going; early seminar.”
I got up and pulled on jogging pants. “Jesus, I wish I’d never agreed to do this.”
Freddie, kissed me and gave my shoulder a squeeze. “Come on, you know why we’re doing it like this. It’s important, remember?”
“Yeah, yeah. Treating it like a game will help you to cope.”
But, what, I thought - as I brushed my teeth - about me? Freddie going to see a shrink about her fear of flying was meant to help her with coping strategies. Not, I spat, drive me into the arms of the nearest sane man.
I leant over and prodded Freddie awake. “You must know autumn would be much better; when the world has begun to ease off, before its descent into the things of darkness, into hibernation. That’s where I must be if I’m to survive this.”
“Yeah,” she muttered, “Where light will not be welcome, and no comfort at all. Grant me an inhospitable landscape, and short, short overcast days; dull skies, and no natural warmth.”
“That’s just what I would have said.”
“You already did,”she grunted. “We’ve been rehearsing this tired old speech for weeks now.”
“Not in so many words, we haven’t - Oh bless! You must have sneaked a look at the latest draft when you came in last night."
“When,” she asked as she unzipped her sleeping bag and clambered up off the floor, “Are you going to get us some decent coffee? Surely, it’s not unreasonable to ask you to do that much round here.”
“How do you know I haven’t already? You haven’t got as far as the kitchen yet.” Freddie put on a sock. “Don’t look like that,” I muttered, lying back in my sofa bed nest. “I’ve been so busy at work, this past month, as well as the rest. Writing the script, and getting everything ready for the big day.... Come on, darling, don’t sulk - we agreed - it needs to be perfect.” Freddie buckled her belt.
I sat up, stretched and considered what to wear. “I’ve been thinking. Green would be so much better for Tuesday.”
Freddie sat down, and smoothed my hair back from my face. “But we’d agreed, black, Sylvie. We agreed all this right from the start - months ago. Because she thinks it’s finished and that they’re never going to see each other again.”
“Hmm. But she knows he’ll be coming back, and that they’ll carry on like they always have.”
“She doesn’t know that.”
“Yes, she does.”
Freddie sighed. “Why are you doing this to me? You know it’s important that she’s distraught when he goes – for his sake.”
“OK, OK,” I placated, “She’ll wear black; I’ll do it just like you want - it’s just that I thought green was more positive; it’s – you know - the colour of growth.” I picked up Freddie’s hand and examined her nails. “It’s an idea isn’t it? How about her saying one thing and wearing another? It would keep an audience guessing. ‘Cause anything could happen, couldn’t it?”
“We’ve been through this a thousand times. It’s important to be consistent. He needs to be 100% focused on her needs, and worrying about how she’ll cope whilst he’s in the States. So it stops him from – look she won’t be wailing and carrying on if she doesn’t think he’s going away for ever; yeah?”
“She could be pretending, and about to do something positive with her life, like - a course in – I don’t know, Romanian.”
“That’s enough. You are not helping. Christ! Will you look at the time?” she said, shoving unwashed feet into her Birkenstocks, “I’ve got to get going; early seminar.”
I got up and pulled on jogging pants. “Jesus, I wish I’d never agreed to do this.”
Freddie, kissed me and gave my shoulder a squeeze. “Come on, you know why we’re doing it like this. It’s important, remember?”
“Yeah, yeah. Treating it like a game will help you to cope.”
But, what, I thought - as I brushed my teeth - about me? Freddie going to see a shrink about her fear of flying was meant to help her with coping strategies. Not, I spat, drive me into the arms of the nearest sane man.
Thursday, 2 October 2008
Life in its abundance
During this summer – the wettest on record – we have been reminded that the weather is one of the things we can’t control. To that most would add that neither have they been able to control how they’ve been affected by it.
For many the weather will have been irrelevant. I am thinking of the terminally ill, their families, and of Fiona in particular. She is expecting her first child. And by the time it’s born she will have lost - in the space of six months – the two most significant men in her life: her father and her husband.
Where there’s life there’s hope
I cite Fiona’s example, because her courage in the face of tragic circumstances is remarkable. She owns neither religious faith, nor any particular hope in a life hereafter. What she does have is hope for her unborn child. Life for her, and her husband’s parents, will go on. Their grief, with its attendant anguish will have a focus. They will hold in their arms a tangible reminder of a loved one and the promise of a new future.
My friend’s profound loss, together with news of the Indian monsoon, has reminded me that most of us don’t have much to complain about. When it rains we don’t lose all our possessions, which only ever amounted to all that could carried in a handcart. And, it’s rare in this country, in this century, to lose a middle-aged parent and a young spouse in quick succession. We do well, therefore, to reflect on the gift of our lives, and to count our blessings.
Born Free
There will, of course, be times when we too will feel anything but blessed. Life is unpredictable, and the shards of life’s disappointments can wound. But we need not be damaged by them. We have been created free and intelligent people blessed with an ability to choose our response.
Accordingly we are not programmed automatons, for whom God arranges no suffering. It is inevitable that one’s person choice may mean suffering for another. God neither causes us to suffer nor desires it, but God is not going to remove the possibility. Instead God will be with us every step of the way, through our triumphs and disasters, making our lives bearable and also sharing in our joys.
Forgiveness
In Matthew 10:8 Christians, and others, are taught that our response to God’s amazing grace should be to freely give; to love as we are loved. If we strive constantly to forgive, we shall ourselves be forgiven.
Otherwise we distance ourselves from God; we fail to love one another, to treat others as we would wish to be treated and to understand others as we would wish to be understood. Thus we must overcome the bearing of grudges - against anyone, or anything - the desire for revenge and the wish to punish those who have offended us.
Prayer
If we ask we will be given the strength to bear the impact of whatever befalls us. God knows we are vulnerable and that we get hurt, but if we are to become fully human we cannot be protected from life. As such God rarely works to change the real world. Instead, everything that happens in our lives – good or bad - can be a means of deepening our capacity to become fully human and to enjoy life in its abundance.
Prayer ensures we can enjoy a loving relationship with the living God, no matter what. By it we will be granted the help to take what comes and grow through it; granted thereby the opportunity to become what God intends: ‘profitable servants’ who have realised the fullness of their potential.
published in New Vision
For many the weather will have been irrelevant. I am thinking of the terminally ill, their families, and of Fiona in particular. She is expecting her first child. And by the time it’s born she will have lost - in the space of six months – the two most significant men in her life: her father and her husband.
Where there’s life there’s hope
I cite Fiona’s example, because her courage in the face of tragic circumstances is remarkable. She owns neither religious faith, nor any particular hope in a life hereafter. What she does have is hope for her unborn child. Life for her, and her husband’s parents, will go on. Their grief, with its attendant anguish will have a focus. They will hold in their arms a tangible reminder of a loved one and the promise of a new future.
My friend’s profound loss, together with news of the Indian monsoon, has reminded me that most of us don’t have much to complain about. When it rains we don’t lose all our possessions, which only ever amounted to all that could carried in a handcart. And, it’s rare in this country, in this century, to lose a middle-aged parent and a young spouse in quick succession. We do well, therefore, to reflect on the gift of our lives, and to count our blessings.
Born Free
There will, of course, be times when we too will feel anything but blessed. Life is unpredictable, and the shards of life’s disappointments can wound. But we need not be damaged by them. We have been created free and intelligent people blessed with an ability to choose our response.
Accordingly we are not programmed automatons, for whom God arranges no suffering. It is inevitable that one’s person choice may mean suffering for another. God neither causes us to suffer nor desires it, but God is not going to remove the possibility. Instead God will be with us every step of the way, through our triumphs and disasters, making our lives bearable and also sharing in our joys.
Forgiveness
In Matthew 10:8 Christians, and others, are taught that our response to God’s amazing grace should be to freely give; to love as we are loved. If we strive constantly to forgive, we shall ourselves be forgiven.
Otherwise we distance ourselves from God; we fail to love one another, to treat others as we would wish to be treated and to understand others as we would wish to be understood. Thus we must overcome the bearing of grudges - against anyone, or anything - the desire for revenge and the wish to punish those who have offended us.
Prayer
If we ask we will be given the strength to bear the impact of whatever befalls us. God knows we are vulnerable and that we get hurt, but if we are to become fully human we cannot be protected from life. As such God rarely works to change the real world. Instead, everything that happens in our lives – good or bad - can be a means of deepening our capacity to become fully human and to enjoy life in its abundance.
Prayer ensures we can enjoy a loving relationship with the living God, no matter what. By it we will be granted the help to take what comes and grow through it; granted thereby the opportunity to become what God intends: ‘profitable servants’ who have realised the fullness of their potential.
published in New Vision
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