Come, let’s sail away, just you and I, floating on a dream, I have you tucked away inside me, and you are sleeping. You are tired from all this work of growing, and changing, and becoming. It is time to rest, and to dream about the big world that is waiting for us.
It is a world of light. We see the blue skies and the drifting clouds and the storms as they roll in. We smell the rain, and watch as the stars fill the sky. We look for the moon; now it is merely a sliver but it grows round and fat as the days pass us by. We will go driving and stop wherever we can find something beautiful. We will dip our toes into the bluest oceans, and strain our necks looking up at the tops of the tallest trees we can find,
I will cook, and we will eat together. Raspberry pancakes on a Sunday morning, mini pizzas on a Friday night, spiced biscuits at Christmas, special birthday cakes for you to celebrate the day that all of this started.
We will talk together, you and I. At first, we will share in the small conversations that only make sense to us, as your mouth learns to wrap itself around sounds and noises. Then the sounds will become words, and ideas, and stories, and songs, and jokes that no one else understands. Your mind will stretch around language, and learning, and discovering new things. I will tell you what I know about God and his world, and you will tell me what you know too.
We will discover the things that bring gladness to your heart, and try to fill your life with them, and with all of the simple things that you will need. You will have a warm bed, songs to sing, your father’s arms to wrap you tight, and all the love that I can give.
For now, all this is but a dream for you and me. But one day soon, we will be together in this big, big world. And it will be more beautiful than any dream.
Sunday, February 28, 2010
Monday, February 22, 2010
Sunday Scribblings - When Pigs Fly
She imagined pigs flying – raising their front trotters and clawing at the air, before springing off the ground with their back legs, and setting off in flight. In her mind’s eye, the sky was filled with their rotund bodies circling gracefully above the earth; their legs leaping effortlessly through the air; a chorus of grunts filling the sky as they celebrated the sheer joy of flight.
She imagined a tree in blossom; the petals of the flowers formed from currency of every colour. Dollars, euros, pounds and yen are bundled into the bright blooms. As the seasons change, the flowers unfurl and the notes are caught on the breeze and carried throughout the town. The tree then drops its seed: the coins of gold, silver and bronze, which fall to the ground below.
She imagined snow on a hot summer’s day, drifting through the humidity and heat and yet not melting. The snow gathers and glistens on the ground beneath a glorious blue sky. The children dress in shorts and T-shirts, and then go outside and play in this world made new and luminous. They scoop their hot and sticky hands into the fresh snow, and fling it at each other, rejoicing in the welcome coolness.
She imagined a chicken smiling to reveal two perfect rows of teeth; gleaming white in the sun. The people gather to see this strange sight, and to discuss with furrowed brows how this could have come to be. The vet moves in for a closer investigation, but the chicken runs off, baring its teeth as it cackles wildly.
She imagined a sunrise in the west; people awakening to a strange morning light that meets all of the familiar places at unfamiliar angles. The western horizon breaks with orange and yellow, and the world is suddenly different, with dusk light in the dawn.
But of all the logically impossible, statistically improbable, laughably ridiculous and wonderfully marvellous things she could think about, the most incredible was this: that the God of the whole universe would become a baby: a baby who cried and got dirty and had nappy rash. How strange to think that the maker of the heavens and the earth would become a man: a man who worked until his strength gave out and who carried in his heart the burdens of everyone he met and who died an excruciating death. But this thought was more than an imagining. She knew that the people still gather in wonder to discuss how this could have come to be. And she knew that this had made the whole world different, as if the sun had started to rise in the west.
“Christ Jesus: who, being in very nature God, did not consider equality with God something to be grasped, but made himself nothing, taking the very nature of a servant, being made in human likeness. And being found in appearance as a man, he humbled himself and became obedient to death -even death on a cross!” Philippians 2:5-8
She imagined a tree in blossom; the petals of the flowers formed from currency of every colour. Dollars, euros, pounds and yen are bundled into the bright blooms. As the seasons change, the flowers unfurl and the notes are caught on the breeze and carried throughout the town. The tree then drops its seed: the coins of gold, silver and bronze, which fall to the ground below.
She imagined snow on a hot summer’s day, drifting through the humidity and heat and yet not melting. The snow gathers and glistens on the ground beneath a glorious blue sky. The children dress in shorts and T-shirts, and then go outside and play in this world made new and luminous. They scoop their hot and sticky hands into the fresh snow, and fling it at each other, rejoicing in the welcome coolness.
She imagined a chicken smiling to reveal two perfect rows of teeth; gleaming white in the sun. The people gather to see this strange sight, and to discuss with furrowed brows how this could have come to be. The vet moves in for a closer investigation, but the chicken runs off, baring its teeth as it cackles wildly.
She imagined a sunrise in the west; people awakening to a strange morning light that meets all of the familiar places at unfamiliar angles. The western horizon breaks with orange and yellow, and the world is suddenly different, with dusk light in the dawn.
But of all the logically impossible, statistically improbable, laughably ridiculous and wonderfully marvellous things she could think about, the most incredible was this: that the God of the whole universe would become a baby: a baby who cried and got dirty and had nappy rash. How strange to think that the maker of the heavens and the earth would become a man: a man who worked until his strength gave out and who carried in his heart the burdens of everyone he met and who died an excruciating death. But this thought was more than an imagining. She knew that the people still gather in wonder to discuss how this could have come to be. And she knew that this had made the whole world different, as if the sun had started to rise in the west.
“Christ Jesus: who, being in very nature God, did not consider equality with God something to be grasped, but made himself nothing, taking the very nature of a servant, being made in human likeness. And being found in appearance as a man, he humbled himself and became obedient to death -even death on a cross!” Philippians 2:5-8
Sunday, January 24, 2010
Sunday Scribblings - "Yes"
In a land where truth is king, every word we speak would be a promise. Truth would anchor each word to the reality of what happened in the past or the reality of what will happen in the future. Every “yes” we spoke would be a testimony to the fact that things really were just as we said they were, or a vow that things will be just as we said they will be.
In this land where truth is king, our words would be filled with new weight and beauty. What an impressive statement it would be when a politician said, “Yes,” to upgrading all of the hospitals in the state! What a breathtaking claim it would be when a criminal on trial said, “Yes,” to telling the whole truth, and nothing but the truth! What a precious moment it would be when a wife said, “Yes,” to loving her husband for the rest of her life!
Yet in our land, our words are flimsy, uncertain things, tied only to a moment. When we say, “Yes,” perhaps it is only a shorthand way of saying, “At this current point in time, I have the intention of doing what you suggest, but I reserve the right to change my mind at a moment’s notice.” Perhaps it is even a way of saying, “I will agree with what you say, not because I think it is right or because I will do what you suggest, but merely to make you happy and keep the peace.” How weak our words become when they are tied to our flighty moods and personalities, or to our unstable circumstances!
Our hearts become a little more broken each time we find we cannot trust the words of others. An old story tells of a wicked father who raises his daughter with no contact from the outside world, and teaches her to think that, “Yes,” means “No”, and “No,” means “Yes”. From when she was very young, he always said, “Yes” when he meant, “No”, and “No” when he meant, “Yes”, and taught her to do the same. When the family’s house is suddenly engulfed by fire one night, the girl escapes onto the street, but her father remains sleeping inside. The fireman, trying to decide if he will risk entering the burning house to search for any other occupants, asks the girl, “Is there anyone still inside?” and the girl answers, “No.” The story ends there, but I wonder if the daughter, upon entering the real world, was struck by extreme confusion when people said, “No” (which in her mind, meant “Yes”) and then did not do what they said they would do. Perhaps if we are raised by parents who do what they promise and who teach us to tell the truth, we are similarly shocked when we encounter people who say, “Yes”, and then do not do what they say they will do.
Our lives should be the grand sum of the things we say yes to. “Yes” is a magical word that brings us wonderful opportunities, yet also great challenges. “Yes” should not turn into, “No” as soon as the challenges seem too tough. Such a life is an unfinished symphony, full of half-written melodies that trail off into nothingness. “Yes” should also not be said too lightly – or our lives become a modern jazz piece, with many overlapping, discordant phrases, but no connecting theme. A “yes” is a promise to keep saying, “yes” for as long as possible, even when you don’t feel like it anymore. A life full of kept promises is a masterpiece composition, a progression through the beauty of an intention, and the struggle to make it a reality, until everything that should be done, has been done.
In this land where truth is king, our words would be filled with new weight and beauty. What an impressive statement it would be when a politician said, “Yes,” to upgrading all of the hospitals in the state! What a breathtaking claim it would be when a criminal on trial said, “Yes,” to telling the whole truth, and nothing but the truth! What a precious moment it would be when a wife said, “Yes,” to loving her husband for the rest of her life!
Yet in our land, our words are flimsy, uncertain things, tied only to a moment. When we say, “Yes,” perhaps it is only a shorthand way of saying, “At this current point in time, I have the intention of doing what you suggest, but I reserve the right to change my mind at a moment’s notice.” Perhaps it is even a way of saying, “I will agree with what you say, not because I think it is right or because I will do what you suggest, but merely to make you happy and keep the peace.” How weak our words become when they are tied to our flighty moods and personalities, or to our unstable circumstances!
Our hearts become a little more broken each time we find we cannot trust the words of others. An old story tells of a wicked father who raises his daughter with no contact from the outside world, and teaches her to think that, “Yes,” means “No”, and “No,” means “Yes”. From when she was very young, he always said, “Yes” when he meant, “No”, and “No” when he meant, “Yes”, and taught her to do the same. When the family’s house is suddenly engulfed by fire one night, the girl escapes onto the street, but her father remains sleeping inside. The fireman, trying to decide if he will risk entering the burning house to search for any other occupants, asks the girl, “Is there anyone still inside?” and the girl answers, “No.” The story ends there, but I wonder if the daughter, upon entering the real world, was struck by extreme confusion when people said, “No” (which in her mind, meant “Yes”) and then did not do what they said they would do. Perhaps if we are raised by parents who do what they promise and who teach us to tell the truth, we are similarly shocked when we encounter people who say, “Yes”, and then do not do what they say they will do.
Our lives should be the grand sum of the things we say yes to. “Yes” is a magical word that brings us wonderful opportunities, yet also great challenges. “Yes” should not turn into, “No” as soon as the challenges seem too tough. Such a life is an unfinished symphony, full of half-written melodies that trail off into nothingness. “Yes” should also not be said too lightly – or our lives become a modern jazz piece, with many overlapping, discordant phrases, but no connecting theme. A “yes” is a promise to keep saying, “yes” for as long as possible, even when you don’t feel like it anymore. A life full of kept promises is a masterpiece composition, a progression through the beauty of an intention, and the struggle to make it a reality, until everything that should be done, has been done.
Saturday, January 9, 2010
Sunday Scribblings - Extreme
The span of his life holds the extremes of life experiences. Extreme devotion. Extreme loss. Extreme temptation. Extreme blessing. And an encounter with an extreme God.
This riches to rags to riches roller coaster of the man Job’s fortunes is merely a toddler’s playground ride compared to his experience of hearing from the living God. His life took him on a plunge from the pinnacle of success to the depths of suffering, and yet it is what he hears from God that ultimately makes him speechless with amazement. Even the extremes of human joy, suffering and confusion fade into the shadows when God enters the room.
We have an extreme God. He designed the blueprints for this earth. He holds back the waters from the land with his great power. He wakes up the sun every morning. He is friends with both the light and the darkness and leads them across the surface of the earth at their appointed times. He knows his way through every dark and narrow cave on the ocean floor. He stockpiles the snow, and hail, and lightning in the heavens, and knows the mysteries of when and where they will fall. When the rain falls in the lonely desert places, God sees it, and even though no human eye may ever see their beauty, He makes the wildflowers grow there all the same. He knows each constellation in the night sky by name: He has known them since they were just young stars, just starting to shine so many thousands of years ago.
Even with all of these great matters on his mind, He finds time to teach all of the mothers of the animal kingdom how to provide food to their little ones: He shows the lionesses how to hunt, he helps the ravens to find their food. He is there watching as each one brings forth its young. He gives each one what it needs, to do what it needs to do. Using the strength He has provided, the donkeys run wild through the desert, the ostriches race carelessly through the dust and the eagles soar on the heights of the winds.
Even while holding the whole world in his hands, He sees the extremes of our lives: our laughter in times of joy or great anguish in times of suffering do not fail to capture His attention. We can know that he holds our lives in His hands, even though we cannot hold Him in our minds. His purposes and plans and reasons, as well as His great love for us, are all ultimately unfathomable.
Inspired by the book of Job
This riches to rags to riches roller coaster of the man Job’s fortunes is merely a toddler’s playground ride compared to his experience of hearing from the living God. His life took him on a plunge from the pinnacle of success to the depths of suffering, and yet it is what he hears from God that ultimately makes him speechless with amazement. Even the extremes of human joy, suffering and confusion fade into the shadows when God enters the room.
We have an extreme God. He designed the blueprints for this earth. He holds back the waters from the land with his great power. He wakes up the sun every morning. He is friends with both the light and the darkness and leads them across the surface of the earth at their appointed times. He knows his way through every dark and narrow cave on the ocean floor. He stockpiles the snow, and hail, and lightning in the heavens, and knows the mysteries of when and where they will fall. When the rain falls in the lonely desert places, God sees it, and even though no human eye may ever see their beauty, He makes the wildflowers grow there all the same. He knows each constellation in the night sky by name: He has known them since they were just young stars, just starting to shine so many thousands of years ago.
Even with all of these great matters on his mind, He finds time to teach all of the mothers of the animal kingdom how to provide food to their little ones: He shows the lionesses how to hunt, he helps the ravens to find their food. He is there watching as each one brings forth its young. He gives each one what it needs, to do what it needs to do. Using the strength He has provided, the donkeys run wild through the desert, the ostriches race carelessly through the dust and the eagles soar on the heights of the winds.
Even while holding the whole world in his hands, He sees the extremes of our lives: our laughter in times of joy or great anguish in times of suffering do not fail to capture His attention. We can know that he holds our lives in His hands, even though we cannot hold Him in our minds. His purposes and plans and reasons, as well as His great love for us, are all ultimately unfathomable.
Inspired by the book of Job
Saturday, January 2, 2010
Sunday Scribblings - A New Leaf
This new leaf is small and fresh green. It is fragile and tightly curled. It is growth and new life. Somehow this plant, which for so long held the same branches in just the same way, mysteriously formed new stems and leaves and now sprouts this new growth.
A mystery too, is starting 2010 holding onto the knowledge that I am 8 weeks pregnant. I walk in humble amazement of how this tiny baby is developing and growing inside me. Out of microscopic cells now exists a small life, which has arms, and legs and a beating heart. Although the only sign I have of this new life so far is a blurry picture, this little one is already sapping my energy, taking away my appetite and stealing my heart.
As this new leaf grows into a branch, I know it will be heavy, and it will make the tree bend to support its weight. At this time, I realise that I can’t fully grasp how much change this baby (who is still just the size of an olive) will bring to my life. But I also anticipate that in time, with new life and new growth, will come flowers and fruit and beauty, and all kinds of good things.
Another new leaf which I hope to turn this year is to write more regularly and to be daring enough to put my writing in places where people might read it. I used to participate in Sunday Scribblings some years ago, and have decided to come back again for the good of my soul - to give me a prompt to write about something at least weekly.
Hello 2010...
A mystery too, is starting 2010 holding onto the knowledge that I am 8 weeks pregnant. I walk in humble amazement of how this tiny baby is developing and growing inside me. Out of microscopic cells now exists a small life, which has arms, and legs and a beating heart. Although the only sign I have of this new life so far is a blurry picture, this little one is already sapping my energy, taking away my appetite and stealing my heart.
As this new leaf grows into a branch, I know it will be heavy, and it will make the tree bend to support its weight. At this time, I realise that I can’t fully grasp how much change this baby (who is still just the size of an olive) will bring to my life. But I also anticipate that in time, with new life and new growth, will come flowers and fruit and beauty, and all kinds of good things.
Another new leaf which I hope to turn this year is to write more regularly and to be daring enough to put my writing in places where people might read it. I used to participate in Sunday Scribblings some years ago, and have decided to come back again for the good of my soul - to give me a prompt to write about something at least weekly.
Hello 2010...
The Cleaner
His job was to make the place shine, and he excelled at it. He knew exactly how to use his polishing cloth to make the marble staircases gleam. The man himself was also spotless, from the top of his shiny bald head to the soles of his gleaming black boots. Clipped to the pocket of his perfectly pressed shirt was a gold name badge: “Henri Boutin, Cleaner, The Louvre Museum.”
This was a man who took great pride in his work. His job was to clean all of the spaces around and between the greatest works of art in the world. In the galleries, he worked amongst the statues, sweeping, mopping, waxing and buffing the floors that would be walked upon by thousands of people later that day. He felt humble to have a job that allowed him to work in the midst of such great masterpieces of art.
Henri was a man of quiet habits. He lived alone in a small apartment without even a resident mouse for a pet. He rose very early, drank a single cup of coffee and took the Metro for three stops to arrive at the Louvre in the stillness of the morning, long before any tourist set their foot inside that day.
He had first started work here 40 years ago, as a much younger man. He remembered how in those days he could push his mop over the vast expanses of floors for the hours of his shift without his back aching or his feet growing tired. He was an older man now. Today was his last day of work at the Louvre. He was retiring. Henri had booked a three month ticket on a cruise ship that was going to take him to see some of the greatest sights in the world. It had seemed like a good plan when he had booked the ticket, but now he wondered how much he would miss his work here. He would miss the routines and rhythms of his life – the peace of the galleries in the early morning, the splash of the mop plunging into the bucket again and again, his habit of greeting his favourite works of art every morning. It was important that these great works of art had a clean place to live. He worried that the person who replaced him would not take as much care with the work. He imagined the dust gathering in the corners of the galleries, and sighed.
As he went about his duties on this last day, he said his final goodbyes to his favourites. He said goodbye to Vermeer’s Lacemaker, who as always was so diligent in her work that she did not even look up to see him go. He said goodbye to the statues of Cupid and Psyche, who as usual were so entranced by each other that they did not even notice him. He said goodbye to the graceful statue of Venus de Milo, who did not see that he was leaving as she stared off into space, lost in her own thoughts.
The last room on his cleaning roster was the Salle de la Joconde: the gallery containing the little Mona Lisa, the most visited artwork in the whole of the Louvre. This room needed to be cleaned every day, because it had so many sets of feet passing through it. He paused to say goodbye to her, and found that she was the only one who acknowledged his farewell. He imagined her saying, “We’ll be alright without you, Henri. It’s time for you to go and see the world.”
Henri rinsed out his mop, packed away his cleaning cloths, and sat down. It was the end of his very last shift, and he took a few moments to gather his thoughts.
“Henri Boutin.” He heard a voice at the door of the cleaning supplies cupboard. He turned to see it was Bernard, the head curator of the museum. “Henri, you have worked here for almost 40 years. Every day that you worked here, you made this a beautiful place for people to come to see the beautiful works of art. But Henri, have you ever been on a guided tour of the Louvre?”
Henri leaned back, thought for a few seconds, and shook his head. “No, I can’t say that I have.” Bernard looked at his watch. “I have half an hour before my next meeting. Let’s go for one last walk around this place, shall we?”
And so the head curator walked and talked with the cleaner about all of the things he loved in the Louvre. The curator loved to talk about the history of each piece. He told Henri how the Venus De Milo was discovered on the island of Melos, however there is debate over whether the statue is the Aphrodite or the sea goddess Amphitrite. He told him about the butterfly in the palm of Psyche’s hand representing her offering her soul to Cupid.
“And finally, let’s look at the most famous exhibit in the whole museum.” The crowds became thicker as Henri and Bernard walked through the corridors and galleries towards the Mona Lisa. The Louvre had opened to visitors half an hour ago. Henri always left before opening time, and so he had never before seen the galleries filled with such a great number of people.
So, as they entered the gallery in which the biggest crowd had gathered, Henri did not look at the Mona Lisa. He had already said his goodbyes to her. Instead, he found himself more interested in looking at the people as they looked at the artworks, seeing the expressions on their faces and overhearing their conversations. He was struck by the thought that each individual person gathered in the crowd was a greater masterpiece than any of the artworks in the entire museum. Each person was unique in design, was beautifully crafted and had a story that they were living. He wondered about their stories: what had brought them to the Louvre today, and where their lives would take them next.
He realised something he had never thought of before. If these people were great masterpieces, he too, had always been a masterpiece, working in the midst of the great works of art. And unlike the masterpieces hanging on the walls, he had not just a history, but also a story that was still to be told. With that thought, he collected his jacket, walked out of the Louvre and went home to start packing his bags to go and see the world.
This was a man who took great pride in his work. His job was to clean all of the spaces around and between the greatest works of art in the world. In the galleries, he worked amongst the statues, sweeping, mopping, waxing and buffing the floors that would be walked upon by thousands of people later that day. He felt humble to have a job that allowed him to work in the midst of such great masterpieces of art.
Henri was a man of quiet habits. He lived alone in a small apartment without even a resident mouse for a pet. He rose very early, drank a single cup of coffee and took the Metro for three stops to arrive at the Louvre in the stillness of the morning, long before any tourist set their foot inside that day.
He had first started work here 40 years ago, as a much younger man. He remembered how in those days he could push his mop over the vast expanses of floors for the hours of his shift without his back aching or his feet growing tired. He was an older man now. Today was his last day of work at the Louvre. He was retiring. Henri had booked a three month ticket on a cruise ship that was going to take him to see some of the greatest sights in the world. It had seemed like a good plan when he had booked the ticket, but now he wondered how much he would miss his work here. He would miss the routines and rhythms of his life – the peace of the galleries in the early morning, the splash of the mop plunging into the bucket again and again, his habit of greeting his favourite works of art every morning. It was important that these great works of art had a clean place to live. He worried that the person who replaced him would not take as much care with the work. He imagined the dust gathering in the corners of the galleries, and sighed.
As he went about his duties on this last day, he said his final goodbyes to his favourites. He said goodbye to Vermeer’s Lacemaker, who as always was so diligent in her work that she did not even look up to see him go. He said goodbye to the statues of Cupid and Psyche, who as usual were so entranced by each other that they did not even notice him. He said goodbye to the graceful statue of Venus de Milo, who did not see that he was leaving as she stared off into space, lost in her own thoughts.
The last room on his cleaning roster was the Salle de la Joconde: the gallery containing the little Mona Lisa, the most visited artwork in the whole of the Louvre. This room needed to be cleaned every day, because it had so many sets of feet passing through it. He paused to say goodbye to her, and found that she was the only one who acknowledged his farewell. He imagined her saying, “We’ll be alright without you, Henri. It’s time for you to go and see the world.”
Henri rinsed out his mop, packed away his cleaning cloths, and sat down. It was the end of his very last shift, and he took a few moments to gather his thoughts.
“Henri Boutin.” He heard a voice at the door of the cleaning supplies cupboard. He turned to see it was Bernard, the head curator of the museum. “Henri, you have worked here for almost 40 years. Every day that you worked here, you made this a beautiful place for people to come to see the beautiful works of art. But Henri, have you ever been on a guided tour of the Louvre?”
Henri leaned back, thought for a few seconds, and shook his head. “No, I can’t say that I have.” Bernard looked at his watch. “I have half an hour before my next meeting. Let’s go for one last walk around this place, shall we?”
And so the head curator walked and talked with the cleaner about all of the things he loved in the Louvre. The curator loved to talk about the history of each piece. He told Henri how the Venus De Milo was discovered on the island of Melos, however there is debate over whether the statue is the Aphrodite or the sea goddess Amphitrite. He told him about the butterfly in the palm of Psyche’s hand representing her offering her soul to Cupid.
“And finally, let’s look at the most famous exhibit in the whole museum.” The crowds became thicker as Henri and Bernard walked through the corridors and galleries towards the Mona Lisa. The Louvre had opened to visitors half an hour ago. Henri always left before opening time, and so he had never before seen the galleries filled with such a great number of people.
So, as they entered the gallery in which the biggest crowd had gathered, Henri did not look at the Mona Lisa. He had already said his goodbyes to her. Instead, he found himself more interested in looking at the people as they looked at the artworks, seeing the expressions on their faces and overhearing their conversations. He was struck by the thought that each individual person gathered in the crowd was a greater masterpiece than any of the artworks in the entire museum. Each person was unique in design, was beautifully crafted and had a story that they were living. He wondered about their stories: what had brought them to the Louvre today, and where their lives would take them next.
He realised something he had never thought of before. If these people were great masterpieces, he too, had always been a masterpiece, working in the midst of the great works of art. And unlike the masterpieces hanging on the walls, he had not just a history, but also a story that was still to be told. With that thought, he collected his jacket, walked out of the Louvre and went home to start packing his bags to go and see the world.
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