Painting By Numbers

Oh dear
it seems to me that you’ve been
all these years just
painting by numbers:
filling in all the right colours and
making sure no spaces were left;
never going over the lines.

And from a distance
it all looked OK.
Get closer though
and there was no sparkle,
no lightness, brightness of touch,
no spirit.

So why not for once in your life
ignore what the numbers in the boxes
tell you to do?
Draw a moustache on the lady’s face,
paint the sky pink if you like.
Let the sun shine in, and
make your bit of the world
a little crazy.
Dare to be just happy.

And even though
they won’t like it,
just do it,
just do it, for what do
“they”
know anyway?

. . . when all “they” are is
numbers.

Thought for the Week

The cows of the North earn twice as much as the peasants of the South. The subsidy received by each cow in Europe and the United States is double the average salary earned by peasants in the poor countries for a whole year of work.

A Nice Cup of Tea

It's not the solution to every problem, but a nice cup of tea (or coffee, I'm not that choosy) can often provide the break and the breathing space we need, so that things settle into place and problems find themselves met by solutions, or maybe just no longer seem so desperately important.

And, if the solo cuppa can achieve quite a lot, the shared pot of tea or coffee is so often a life-saver, or near enough to it. A problem shared is not always a problem solved, perhaps, but in my experience it's happened often enough to be worth a try! So thanks for today (you know who you are, if you're reading this), and thanks as well to all those who're prepared to make time for others, to listen, to share and to converse, as the tea or coffee is poured (or indeed, when appropriate, a pint of Hobson's or the Reverend James). The world would be a whole lot poorer without this ministry, in which we can all share.

Memo to self: carrot cake seems to help a lot too, but only one slice, or you won't want your supper!

Winter thoughts

Enjoyed watching the last 'Autumnwatch' of the series on BBC last night, even though sometimes the presenters get tempted into doing a bit too much presenting and not enough just letting us see . . .

But I suppose it must now be winter. Meteorologists count winter as beginning on 1st December, although the calendar start is the solstice, 21st December or so (not sure exactly what date this year). This year's mild weather has allowed us to remain autumnal right through to the end of the month (I'm presuming here on the last few days), but this is a transition time of the year when one can never really be sure what to expect. Last year winter was well and truly under way by now, and the world around us here was thoroughly frozen!

For me the defining factor is daylength. I don't handle these dark evenings well, and hate having to drive at the evening peak at this time of the year. I'm sure my body is telling me it wants to hibernate - and yet, at the same time, I'm finding it hard to sleep. Nature around us has its rhythms; trees shut up shop, frogs and toads hibernate, squirrels aim to have laid in enough food to take things easy, summer birds leave us and winter birds arrive from the north. We, on the other hand, try to follow the same routine, same time out to work or school or college, same time back at night, whether it's summer or winter. It's no surprise that our bodies protest!

Fragile

A busy day yesterday, which included going out for my first run in ages - only a short jog, but as always I felt so good afterwards. But then a crash overnight, and a poorly tummy, and next to no sleep, and not too surprisingly I'm feeling totally wrecked today!

Well, it's a timely reminder of how fragile I am, of how fragile we are. We get those times when we reckon we could take on the world and win; but it ain't really like that, for any of us. For all of us, whoever we are, whatever little victories and achievements may come our way in life, time wins the game in the end. "Remember, O man, that thou art dust . . ."

Let's hope for a better day tomorrow; but it is good (in retrospect, if not at the time) to be reminded every so often just how weak and vulnerable we really are!

African Sunrise

A sliver of blood stains the eastern horizon:
somewhere beyond those hills
the Indian Ocean is giving birth to the new day.

Soon enough the time of burning heat,
with its confusion of dust and wheels and songs and smiles,
hard sales and shouting voices;

for now, though, all is quiet,
the world is still nestled in dark velvet,
still balanced and cool,
still waiting for that first cock to crow.

Thought for the Week

You can't stop people shooting at you, but you don't have to give them ammunition.

Cleaning the car

I really need to find time to clean the inside of the car today! It's amazing how stuff builds up - old leaves and bits of grit that you bring in on your shoes, especially at this time of the year; fuel receipts and sweet papers, papers I've needed for a meeting and not needed afterwards, notes with directions to places I shan't need to find again, lollipop sticks (I never eat lollies, so I've no idea how these get into the car, but they do) . . . and loads of dust.

Physically, I find that it's a much more demanding task to clean the OUTSIDE of the car, but I need a lot more psyching up before I get to clean the INSIDE. I spent a little time wondering why, but of course the answer's obvious. Everyone gets to see the outside, and only I and those closest to me get to see the inside. As with so much in our lives, we're prepared to take much more time and trouble getting the bits everyone sees looking good, than we do on the bits that are mostly hidden from view.

Well, I've been spending a good deal of time over the past months getting to grips with the inside stuff - as should we all. Advent approaches, the start of a new Church year, one of the many chances the calendar gives us to clean up and start afresh. And if we think we don't need that, whoever and wherever we are, we're just fooling ourselves! Now, where did I put that car vacuum?

Peace

Dig no more graves
in this sweet earth.
Let your bloodied streets lie still,
and may mothers grieve no more.

Listen - your children are singing songs of hope:
let them be your prophets;
do not burden their young hearts with the iron weight of revenge.
Why should their chosen paths be changed
simply because old men refuse to forget?

Let the past be past and gone, and
leave uncrushed the gentle blossoms
that flower in these fragile places.

So set down your drums;
let the bugles sound no more for war, and
fold away the standards that went before your armies.
Let the dreams you dream be peace.

Come, dare to embrace, and smile.
Leave go of the winter frost that so hardens your hearts;
you do not need it, it has been your soul's death.
Let this good earth be warmed by a new-born spring,
and, neighbours once more, taste the coming of summer
under those old drowsy olive trees
as the white doves take wing.

The answer is chocolate . . .

. . . now, what was the question?

Busy

A busy day today . . . one or two visits to make first thing, then some gardening work for a friend, then collecting Poppy boxes, then out for an evening meal with Ann and Evelyn (Ann's Mum), then with Ann to choir practice with Guilsfield Singers. It's been a lovely day, and I really enjoyed my three-and-a-bit hours tackling Estelle's dandelions and bindweed, and some strange roots which I finally identified as great willow-herb (or codlins and cream, to use one of its old country names). It's rather a fine plant, in its place, but I made an executive decision that Estelle's garden was not that place, and hoiked them all out. I'll have a go at getting a small gardening business going I think - though realistically it's not going to bring in much work until the spring!

Anyway, my main observation is just that it's amazing how much more tired one feels after a day of doing not very much, than after a busy day like this one. Maybe it's just my programming from childhood (or even from birth) - but it's been great to have spent a day doing good and useful things, and I'm feeling fine!

Remembering

A few of us from Halfway House Male Voice Choir (not the best male voice choir in the world, but probably the most fun to sing with) were singing at the funeral service of one of the Choir's founder members today. The church was very full, and as ever there were all sorts of stories and recollections being shared as people chatted outside the church and at the reception. At a time like this (as one old boy told me) things that happened half a century ago and more seem as fresh in the mind as yesterday.

I found myself reflecting on how music is one of the things that, for me, make sense of it all. I always wake up with a song in my head, and I'd find it hard to imagine a world without music. Certainly, for me, many memories are borne on musical wings . . . there are snatches of songs that, when I hear them, instantly transport me back to this or that special time in my past.

We sang Gwahoddiad and Morte Christe, and Lily of the Valley, and I think we sang them well. I hope we did: I know our aim was to do our very best. And in the service we were instructed to 'lift up our eyes to the hills', as Psalm 121 was read, and I'm sure we all did just that, as we journeyed home, in my case around the lee of Middletown Hill. The beauty and grandeur of the world about us here speaks as eloquently as any choir of angels of the glory and the creativity of our God. But isn't it wonderful to reflect that this God also loves each one of us with a tenderness that is as though I, and you, were the only person he loves. We can't do that; but God does. Praise him, the Lord of life and light and peace.

Thought for the Week

How come I've never seen a headline saying: "Psychic wins Euromillions"?

Fell From The Sky

He fell from the sky, or so it would seem, his naked body
causing a degree of consternation
where he lay in the street.
He fell from the sky, or so it would seem; and
the traces of wax on several feathers
found drifting not too far away
might suggest
his wings had not been equal to the task.
But on such a sunny day
it was not too hard a landing,
and no bones, they say, were broken;
only a last light had gone out.
No bones were broken;
only the hopes that yet remained
had been torn from his grasp.

This week's thought . . .

Save the earth! It is, so far as we know, the only place in the universe with chocolate . . .

Yesterday

Notes written for a couple of local publications, yesterday . . .

Fairly early on a sharp and frosty Sunday morning not far into November, I was out walking along the lines near Leighton. The sheep stood solemnly watching me from a small field at the village edge, part-shrouded in mist. The field oaks and the hedgerow hawthorn were still well clothed with leaves, the lower leaves of the hawthorn yellowing, as pigments already in the leaf showed through to replace the green of chlorophyll. All along the tops of the hedges, spiders’ webs glistened with dew.

I had parked by the church, where redwings, winter thrushes from the Arctic, were attacking the berries. Rabbits ran out out from a hedge ahead of me, to pause and watch me unafraid from the stations they took up within the field. A proud cock pheasant and several brown females were prospecting the ground under a spreading oak, while a mixed party of small birds, mostly great and blue tits, moved busily through the branches above.

From the fields above me I could hear the distant shouts of workers moving and feeding the sheep. Then, as the farm truck made its way down to a gate further along the lane, I spotted a brown hare making a splendid dash across one of the upper fields, to disappear along the edge of the wood. Behind me there came the sound of jackdaws: three birds flew across the lane in front of me, while the rest of the flock continued to fuss and quarrel somewhere out of sight. Further away was the cough of a raven.

The church bells began to ring, clear as crystal on the still air, with an echo that almost fooled me into thinking there was a second tower ringing a distance away. Mixing with the echo was the distant cawing of rooks.

Turning to walk back towards the bells, I was able to catch the distinctive undulating flight of a great spotted woodpecker. I imagine it had been working its way up a substantial dead tree that stood in one of the fields; I watched it fly into a small stand of trees not far away, but could not see where it had landed without my field glasses.

Arriving back at the church, I noticed the redwings had moved on, perhaps disturbed by the cars arriving for morning worship. A movement at the edge of the car park attracted my eye: a wren, busily searching through leaf litter. Highland cattle stood solidly in the adjacent field, steam rising from their nostrils. The bright sun was turning the wooded hillside opposite into gold. What a wonderful place this is, how rich our valleys and hills!

(The picture of a rook was taken last week in Krakow - they seem really tame there!)

Autumn leaves

Arrived back today from Poland, a short visit to Krakow, where I took this autumn leaves picture. A letter waiting for me when I got home was at first sight disappointing - I had, I think, been building up my hopes, and at first sight the letter failed to match up to even the smallest and weakest of them.

Then I read the letter again, to find it wasn't as negative as I had first thought. The wishes expressed were all positive, but it was clear that I would need to prove myself if my hopes are to be fulfilled. I thought awhile about how in life we take a great deal on trust, we take immense risks, really, with whether people can and will deal with us fairly and honestly, fulfil our trust in them, match up to what we need them to be, have the skill we need them to have. Think of the past twenty four hours: I've had to trust kitchen staff not to poison me, security staff to deal with me honestly, the pilot of my place to know how to fly and ground control to give him the right instructions (and much more besides). Now I, for my part, know I can do and achieve and carry out honestly and obediently all that might be required of me (and that I will, given the chance).

But the simple fact I now have to live with is that last time I messed up, which meant I hurt people and let people down. So now I can't expect to be trusted in the way I might have been before, the way most of us are, most of the time. Now I have to prove myself, and that will take time, patience, and a measure of work. I understand that, and it's no good being upset by it. Insofar as the welfare of others might depend on things I do and decisions I make, those who might wish to entrust a measure of responsibility to me have to be sure I can handle it - that it won't break me and I won't hurt others.

Forgiveness, for the Christian disciple, is about the God who goes on trusting us, even though last time we messed up. It's about the father still accepting the prodigal as his son, even though by taking his inheritance in advance he was, effectively, declaring that to him, his father was dead. There's a human sort of forgiveness that says "I let you off, you're forgiven" while in fact never forgetting, and never quite trusting again. And that's prudent, and sensible, and managerially sound. But God loves like a fool, forgives like a fool. He has forgiven me, and he forgives you too; that's what he does, that's how he is.

So why the autumn leaves? Well, mainly just because it's a picture I'm pleased with. But autumn leaves are a sign of dying, of things passing away, of a change (I suppose, unless you really love winter, and I don't) for the worse. November can be a depressing time of the year, but we don't have to be in hock to the November blues. I could be depressed at the letter, but I find to my slight surprise that I'm not. The journey continues, autumn or not, and it's a faith journey on which I am accompanied by grace. For in God's calendar, every season, even the times when we think we've thoroughly messed up, contain the eternal hope of spring. By grace we are reborn as resurrection people, forgiven, healed - and forgiving.

Tuesday November 1st

All Saints' Day, and a day of mixed emotions, not least because of a family funeral - a time for memories of times past as well as all the catching up one does with relatives and friends not seen for a while.

Many 'trick or treaters' called last night, all, I'm pleased to say, sensible and supervised by parents. So no sweets left in the house now! I don't have a problem with the keeping of Hallowe'en, and I remember it being well kept in my home church, with traditional activities like apple bobbing. But I have mixed feelings about the way it's kept now, and cringe a little when I hear people say (as I did the other day) "It's my favourite festival of the year!"

Our Hallowe'en keeping in the past was by tradition a time to get scarily close to the 'things of the dark' (and we do seem to enjoy that kind of scary), but at the same time to expose their lack of substance and ability to harm those who choose to live in the light. In other words, whatever pagan festival of magic there may have been in that slot, the church was keeping it very much as the Eve of All Saints. We discovered, were reminded, where the real source of power lies, and that love always wins out over hate, light is triumphant over dark.

Today we simply seem to be celebrating the grim and ghoulish without any critical engagement. I suppose that, seen as something that's just done for a laugh, that this is harmless enough, and indeed, for most people in most situations, no harm is done. But the way is open to some credulous and easily led minds into something that is, when taken seriously, a dark and harmful antithesis to faith, to do with the possession of magic which is about acquiring and using power, rather than the offering of prayer which is about seeking and serving and responding.

Having said that, I don't think the Church should oppose Hallowe'en in the way that some have sought to do. If anything, that only serves to increase the allure. But it should use it, in the creative way that - as I recall - it used to (with scary parties and fun things to do together, but with a theme of light and good, rather than dark and evil). And if that were to result in the fading out of the American import of trick or treat, well, for me anyway, no bad thing!