It's been a long time since I've heard a cuckoo in these parts - until this morning, that is. I heard just a single call, but quite clearly, and still might have discounted it had someone else not also heard the cuckoo a few minutes before (something I only realised later).
There have been substantial declines in the numbers of a quite a few of our summer migrant species (perhaps of most of them, I haven't seen the figures). Cuckoos, however dubious aspects of their lifestyle might seem to us, are one of the delights of the British summer, so not to hear one is sad, especially when the countryside round here would seem eminently suitable.
Why the decline? Probably there are several factors, and the balance of causes will be different for different species. Cuckoos require a sufficient population of the 'host' species (dunnock, reed warbler, for example) to raise their parasitic chicks - and some of these species have certainly been declining in numbers, especially in the more open countryside that I imagine cuckoos might favour. The journey itself is a tremendous test for any migrant species, of course - not helped by climatic changes, nor for that matter by trigger-happy bird hunters. And the winter quarters of these birds may also be vulnerable - desertification, pollution, increased human disturbance, for example.
Well, I'm glad I've heard a cuckoo this year . . . and I hope I shall hear it again.
Wednesday 30 May 2012
Tuesday 29 May 2012
Litter Picking
A group of us went litter picking today - all part of getting our town ready to receive the Olympic Torch. At first sight I wasn't sure there was much need for us, but it's remarkable how much we overlook. Once your eyes are trained, there is just so much of it!
Most of what we picked was the expected - nub ends and fag packets, chocolate wrappers, cans and bottles,those triangular boxes you get sandwiches in, and till receipts. Stuff dropped thoughtlessly, stuff deliberately dumped: a pile at the side of one space in the Tesco car park was obviously the result of a driver deciding to clean out his car by the simple expedient of tipping every item of rubbish onto the ground right outside his driver's door. I also found: a tea bag, a lady's shoe, an industrial glove . . . no doubt the others also had some strange finds to report.
I was inspired to sign up as a Litter Champion, with the objective of Keeping Wales Tidy. I hate to see stuff just dumped, and have a tendency to walk around for ages with bits of rubbish in my pocket or clasped in my hand, until at last I discover a bin. We live in a throwaway society, and a lot of what we buy is over-packaged. Our observations this morning suggest that cigarette smokers in particular can be rather careless about where they drop the remains of their last ciggie, or even the pack it came in - but that all of us can find ourselves tempted just to chuck stuff away, even when there's a bin not far away.
Thoughtlessly dumped litter is not only unsightly, it can also be dangerous. Glass breaks, metal cans get twisted and torn when mangled by a mowing machine, seagulls and other birds get strangled by those plastic thingies that hold drinks cans together - and so on. Well, we were glad to have spent a bit of time doing our bit, and I have to say that we received lots of positive comments from passers-by. And let it be said also that most people do use bins, or take litter home with them . . . and may I close this piece with a thank you to them, the quiet and considerate majority - for if everyone just dumped and chucked, we'd be up to our necks in the stuff!
Most of what we picked was the expected - nub ends and fag packets, chocolate wrappers, cans and bottles,those triangular boxes you get sandwiches in, and till receipts. Stuff dropped thoughtlessly, stuff deliberately dumped: a pile at the side of one space in the Tesco car park was obviously the result of a driver deciding to clean out his car by the simple expedient of tipping every item of rubbish onto the ground right outside his driver's door. I also found: a tea bag, a lady's shoe, an industrial glove . . . no doubt the others also had some strange finds to report.
I was inspired to sign up as a Litter Champion, with the objective of Keeping Wales Tidy. I hate to see stuff just dumped, and have a tendency to walk around for ages with bits of rubbish in my pocket or clasped in my hand, until at last I discover a bin. We live in a throwaway society, and a lot of what we buy is over-packaged. Our observations this morning suggest that cigarette smokers in particular can be rather careless about where they drop the remains of their last ciggie, or even the pack it came in - but that all of us can find ourselves tempted just to chuck stuff away, even when there's a bin not far away.
Thoughtlessly dumped litter is not only unsightly, it can also be dangerous. Glass breaks, metal cans get twisted and torn when mangled by a mowing machine, seagulls and other birds get strangled by those plastic thingies that hold drinks cans together - and so on. Well, we were glad to have spent a bit of time doing our bit, and I have to say that we received lots of positive comments from passers-by. And let it be said also that most people do use bins, or take litter home with them . . . and may I close this piece with a thank you to them, the quiet and considerate majority - for if everyone just dumped and chucked, we'd be up to our necks in the stuff!
Monday 28 May 2012
A Tax Too Far?
The so-called "Pasty Tax" has bit the dust (or the crust, perhaps?). No surprise, really - this was a tax initiative that had played incredibly badly in the popular press, while at the same time likely to raise relatively little money. And it's pretty clear by now that this government really does need not to offend and annoy people unnecessarily - so a swift U-turn has been performed.
"You turn if you want to. The lady's not for turning," a previous Tory PM once said. Political U-turns are traditionally understood to be bad and weak, the mark of poor government. There is some truth in that, of course, not least because the further you go in one legislative direction before turning round and heading back the opposite way, the more money (sorry, the more tax-payers' money) you waste.
Nonetheless, it isn't a weak thing to be honest. When a mistake is made, not to own up to it or to do anything to correct it would be a sort of political Titanic disaster - ship of state meets iceberg, iceberg wins. Better of course not to have made the mistake in the first place; but still, better to correct one's course than to go steaming straight on into the iceberg.
I imagine the government will seek to save face by presenting itself as responsible and responsive. "See how we listened!" they'll say. Well, perhaps governments should ask us more often what we think. Meanwhile, one feature of the current political scene has to be a growing awareness of the power of civil society, and the ways in which organised popular lobbying can be encouraged and enabled by the electronic media.
"You turn if you want to. The lady's not for turning," a previous Tory PM once said. Political U-turns are traditionally understood to be bad and weak, the mark of poor government. There is some truth in that, of course, not least because the further you go in one legislative direction before turning round and heading back the opposite way, the more money (sorry, the more tax-payers' money) you waste.
Nonetheless, it isn't a weak thing to be honest. When a mistake is made, not to own up to it or to do anything to correct it would be a sort of political Titanic disaster - ship of state meets iceberg, iceberg wins. Better of course not to have made the mistake in the first place; but still, better to correct one's course than to go steaming straight on into the iceberg.
I imagine the government will seek to save face by presenting itself as responsible and responsive. "See how we listened!" they'll say. Well, perhaps governments should ask us more often what we think. Meanwhile, one feature of the current political scene has to be a growing awareness of the power of civil society, and the ways in which organised popular lobbying can be encouraged and enabled by the electronic media.
Woodlice
My latest "Nature Notes" . . .
When I was a
boy, I was always fascinated by what today’s kids call “minibeasts” - and
woodlice were among my favourites. My
apologies to those of you who hate them, but I’m going to write about them this
month, because I still find them very interesting, and maybe you will too, for
they are in some ways quite amazing little animals, and harmless to human
beings. I am told in fact that they are
quite good eating, related as they are to shrimps and prawns, but I have never
put this to the test and have no intention of doing so! Of the 3,500 or so species of Woodlice in the
world, most are vegetarian, including all the 35 to 40 species found in the UK.
Should you
wish to keep a woodlouse as a pet, I’m told they do well in margarine tubs,
being unable to climb up the sides and escape.
They need damp conditions, so some damp soil on the bottom is good, with
something to hide under (they like the dark), and a few vegetable scraps from
time to time for them to eat.
Woodlice
have seven pairs of legs, and are Crustaceans, more closely related to crabs
and prawns than to (say) insects or spiders. In fact they are virtually the
only Crustaceans to live on land with any great success. They breathe through lungs found towards the
back of the body, on the underside.
Baby woodlice
have only six pairs of legs, and spend the first part of their lives in a brood
pouch, or marsupium, underneath the mother, leaving after the first moult when
the seventh pair of legs has been gained. There can be quite large numbers of
young, which appear to be “born” as tiny white versions of the adults, thanks
to the time spent in the marsupium. The
number born increases with the size of the adult, but broods of more than 200
have been recorded (obviously, by no means all of these will survive to
adulthood). Most British species have one brood per year.
Almost all
our woodlouse species feed on dead leaves and other rotting vegetation,
including old wood. The largest British
woodlouse, the Sea Slater, lives on seaweed - it can grow to about an inch long
(worth looking for when at the seaside).
The Ant Woodlouse has a strange lifestyle: it is white, blind, and lives entirely in ant
nests feeding on the ant droppings and associated fungi.
Like insects,
woodlice need to moult in order to grow, but unusually they shed only half
their skin at a time - the back half first, then a few days later the front. Woodlice often eat their shed skin, and this
is a time when they are especially vulnerable to predators. Woodlice are readily eaten by shrews and by
insectivorous birds, and at least one British species of spider is a woodlouse
specialist.
Thought For The Week
"This is one of the major questions of our lives: how we keep boundaries, what permission we have to cross boundaries, and how we do so."
A. B. Yehoshua
A. B. Yehoshua
Sunday 27 May 2012
Kites
One of the people I garden for was telling me that his son, visiting one day, pointed to the heavens and said, "Look, there's a red kite!" His little daughter, all of six years old, fixed her father with a withering look and replied, "Daddy, you're just being silly. Anyone can see that it's a bird! There isn't a string!"
The red kite is the symbol of Powys, and has a reasonable claim to be a sort of alternative National Creature of Wales, I suppose, for all that introduced kites have become a common sight in the Thames Valley and other parts of Britain. For many years you had to come to mid-Wales to see red kites - and even then, just to a handful of locations. Nowadays they may be seen more frequently in this area, and, though I'm not sure that there are any breeding pairs this far from their ancient Welsh stronghold to the south, I've seen a pair flying together this year on two occasions at Marton, just over the Shropshire border, so it's possible.
The red kite has also appeared in our bird log for Brookfield Road, though it was a long way up, and certainly not a visitor to the local bird tables! They are wonderful birds to see in flight, though, for they are so marvellously aerobatic. I noticed a pair flying together over the Dyfi estuary on my way by car back from Aberystwyth the other day and, though I saw them for only a few instants, the number of twists and turns each bird managed in that short time was remarkable.
When it comes to that other sort of kite, the ones that have strings attached, I'm well out of my comfort zone. Somehow they just don't work for me! But anyway, I'd rather just watch these wonderful wild creatures, and marvel at their mastery of an element that is so beyond me.
The red kite is the symbol of Powys, and has a reasonable claim to be a sort of alternative National Creature of Wales, I suppose, for all that introduced kites have become a common sight in the Thames Valley and other parts of Britain. For many years you had to come to mid-Wales to see red kites - and even then, just to a handful of locations. Nowadays they may be seen more frequently in this area, and, though I'm not sure that there are any breeding pairs this far from their ancient Welsh stronghold to the south, I've seen a pair flying together this year on two occasions at Marton, just over the Shropshire border, so it's possible.
The red kite has also appeared in our bird log for Brookfield Road, though it was a long way up, and certainly not a visitor to the local bird tables! They are wonderful birds to see in flight, though, for they are so marvellously aerobatic. I noticed a pair flying together over the Dyfi estuary on my way by car back from Aberystwyth the other day and, though I saw them for only a few instants, the number of twists and turns each bird managed in that short time was remarkable.
When it comes to that other sort of kite, the ones that have strings attached, I'm well out of my comfort zone. Somehow they just don't work for me! But anyway, I'd rather just watch these wonderful wild creatures, and marvel at their mastery of an element that is so beyond me.
Thursday 24 May 2012
Singing
I can't sing at the moment, having lost my voice, but thankfully I can still enjoy the singing of others. Ann and I had a lovely evening out today when The Sixteen came to St Chad's, Shrewsbury as part of their latest travels around the country. The music was wonderful, the singing superb.
There are actually 35 singers who will be part of this year's series of concerts, not 16, and on each specific evening, all told, there are 20 of those 35 taking part (6 sopranos, 4 altos, 4 tenors and 6 basses). Two of the pieces were scored for ATB, so were sung by just 14 voices. The quality of performance often suggested a far larger choir, and the blend of voices and the balance between parts is what makes The Sixteen so special. There can really deliver some power: I should think St Chad's seats some 600 people, and some of the venues at which they'll be singing will be considerably larger than that - but, when it mattered, they could fill the building with song.
It was still light when we emerged, and made our way through the buzz of conversation to where bats were flittering to and fro among the trees at the top of The Quarry. Unseen garden flowers scented the air as we made our way back to our car. And a sense of having been part of a really quite special experience lingered with us as we journeyed home.
There are actually 35 singers who will be part of this year's series of concerts, not 16, and on each specific evening, all told, there are 20 of those 35 taking part (6 sopranos, 4 altos, 4 tenors and 6 basses). Two of the pieces were scored for ATB, so were sung by just 14 voices. The quality of performance often suggested a far larger choir, and the blend of voices and the balance between parts is what makes The Sixteen so special. There can really deliver some power: I should think St Chad's seats some 600 people, and some of the venues at which they'll be singing will be considerably larger than that - but, when it mattered, they could fill the building with song.
It was still light when we emerged, and made our way through the buzz of conversation to where bats were flittering to and fro among the trees at the top of The Quarry. Unseen garden flowers scented the air as we made our way back to our car. And a sense of having been part of a really quite special experience lingered with us as we journeyed home.
Wednesday 23 May 2012
Blindworms
This is one of the old country names for slow worms, which are of course not worms at all, but snake-like legless lizards. The slow worm is I think the commonest reptile in the UK, but even so I've only rarely seen them. They are not snakes - like other lizards, they have eyelids, visible ear ducts and the ability to shed their tails if grabbed by a predator. Nor are they blind, but they love dark and secret places, and will often shrink backwards into dark crevices when disturbed, so I can see how the "blindworm" name came about.
I was lucky enough to come across two baby slow worms today when weeding a flower border. The garden I was weeding backs on to the old grassland of the Powis Castle estate, and the tiny slow worms, only about three inches long apiece, were hiding under an old piece of wood. Baby slow worms actually look a little more snake- like than the adults, as the shape of the head is more clearly visible. These were a gentle buff colour, perhaps just slightly greenish, with a darker brown stripe along the length of the body.
I love gardening, and today was - well, maybe on the hot side, but otherwise a lovely day to be doing it. I enjoy weeding and I'm quite good at it, too. This stands me in good stead, as so many gardeners either hate weeding or have no idea how to do it, or what to take and what to leave. So I get to weed some gardens in which other folk do things like lawns and hedges that, frankly, are a bit of a bore . . . and people are prepared to pay me to spend pleasant hours in the sun surrounded by birdsong and encountering fascinating creatures like slow worms.
While I don't think this blog is going to become just a nature diary, I suspect that, now I've started up again, rather more of my entries than before will have a wildlife content to them.
I was lucky enough to come across two baby slow worms today when weeding a flower border. The garden I was weeding backs on to the old grassland of the Powis Castle estate, and the tiny slow worms, only about three inches long apiece, were hiding under an old piece of wood. Baby slow worms actually look a little more snake- like than the adults, as the shape of the head is more clearly visible. These were a gentle buff colour, perhaps just slightly greenish, with a darker brown stripe along the length of the body.
I love gardening, and today was - well, maybe on the hot side, but otherwise a lovely day to be doing it. I enjoy weeding and I'm quite good at it, too. This stands me in good stead, as so many gardeners either hate weeding or have no idea how to do it, or what to take and what to leave. So I get to weed some gardens in which other folk do things like lawns and hedges that, frankly, are a bit of a bore . . . and people are prepared to pay me to spend pleasant hours in the sun surrounded by birdsong and encountering fascinating creatures like slow worms.
While I don't think this blog is going to become just a nature diary, I suspect that, now I've started up again, rather more of my entries than before will have a wildlife content to them.
Tuesday 22 May 2012
Thought For The Week
"When you stop giving, when you stop offering something to
someone, it's time to turn out the light."
Wednesday 16 May 2012
Goodbye
I'm not sure who, if anyone, still reads this, but you may have noticed I haven't posted much for a little while. In fact, I've decided to take a short break. Life goes on at Brookfield, siskins still call at the bird table, flowers are being planted, lawns mowed, meals cooked . . . we remain happy, and at ease.
But there are a couple of big decisions to be taken, things I shall have to do that I shall need a clear head for. I shall stand down from a number of present commitments over the next week or three - perhaps longer, perhaps not, we'll see - and this blog is one of those.
From time to time I've been able, I think, to say things that make sense, and write stuff I can look back on without wincing too much. But there've been a few recent posts I've either deleted soon after posting, or else not in the end posted at all, because they've been too self-centred, too bound up with my own stuff.
I'll be back, before too long I hope. When my head is clearer, and when one or two demons have been confronted. Till then, goodbye.
But there are a couple of big decisions to be taken, things I shall have to do that I shall need a clear head for. I shall stand down from a number of present commitments over the next week or three - perhaps longer, perhaps not, we'll see - and this blog is one of those.
From time to time I've been able, I think, to say things that make sense, and write stuff I can look back on without wincing too much. But there've been a few recent posts I've either deleted soon after posting, or else not in the end posted at all, because they've been too self-centred, too bound up with my own stuff.
I'll be back, before too long I hope. When my head is clearer, and when one or two demons have been confronted. Till then, goodbye.
Sunday 6 May 2012
Thought For The Week
"There are people in the world so hungry that God cannot appear to them except in the form of bread."
Mahatma Gandhi
Mahatma Gandhi
Saturday 5 May 2012
Cold
Years ago I used to know a man called Joe who was a keen gardener both in his own plot and as he travelled round earning a bob or two doing other people's gardens. Whenever I called, he would take me out to show me how his beans, dahlias, rhubarb, whatever, were doing . . . and at some point in the conversation he would always manage to tell me, "I've never known a season like it!" Occasionally, he would say those words with positive emphasis and a smile on his face, but not very often. Mostly they were accompanied by a despairing shake of the head and a worried expression.
Well, Joe, if you're looking down on Spring 2012, I think your catchphrase would be very appropriate, perhaps more so than on any of the spring mornings I spent looking at your garden. It may look nice, and this morning's bright sunshine was certainly very attractive; but we've had a wind today that sliced through you, and there's more to come. Today's "Daily Express" - maybe not the most reliable of meteorological indicators, but they do seem to delight in making the weather prospects for the season their banner headline, whatever else is going on in the world - tells us that the whole of May will be full of rainstorms, winds, night frosts and snow on higher ground. No summer until June, they say (adding, sotto voce, "If then"). Who knows, they may well be right.
So what price global warming, you may ask. Well, do not confuse climate with weather; nor be too surprised that our little Atlantic island should see so much variation in its spring weather (last year, beaches packed with happy holiday-makers; this year, one man and his dog, if that). Just the same changes and chances seem to be a feature of, for example, Gilbert White's "Natural History of Selborne" - and no doubt parishioners there were saying, like Joe, "I've never known a season like it!" Whatever else our weather is, it isn't boring.
Meanwhile, even though variations in weather patterns really are just that and no more, there is a serious issue of climate change still to consider. I would say that global warming does seem to be a measurable fact; and to me those who deny it seem to be either ignoring or distorting perfectly good scientific data in order to press their case. Of course, having said that, there is still a real question about whether at all, or to what extent, human activity plays a part in causing global warming. It may not be the principal motor for climate change; the observable data may for the most part be caused by natural cycles and fluctuations. But how much does that matter, anyway? For, whatever causes global warming, this is clearly the case as regards our human use of the earth: that (a) we are using the earth's resources in an unsustainable way, and (b) we are living - those of us in the richer communities of our globe - at a level and standard of luxury that cannot be shared by the others who look on enviously, and (c) even if our activity is not having a terminally decisive impact on the earth, it does have some impact none the less, it is doing damage.
So we should "live more simply, that others may simply live", to borrow a slogan. We should, surely, be looking to tread as lightly as we can manage on the surface of our planet. I can cope with a bit of unseasonably cold weather in May; it's just one of those things. But I shall not be tempted to use it as a reason to dismiss the climate change lobby, nor as an excuse to persist in the greedy exploitation of our planet's precious gifts.
Well, Joe, if you're looking down on Spring 2012, I think your catchphrase would be very appropriate, perhaps more so than on any of the spring mornings I spent looking at your garden. It may look nice, and this morning's bright sunshine was certainly very attractive; but we've had a wind today that sliced through you, and there's more to come. Today's "Daily Express" - maybe not the most reliable of meteorological indicators, but they do seem to delight in making the weather prospects for the season their banner headline, whatever else is going on in the world - tells us that the whole of May will be full of rainstorms, winds, night frosts and snow on higher ground. No summer until June, they say (adding, sotto voce, "If then"). Who knows, they may well be right.
So what price global warming, you may ask. Well, do not confuse climate with weather; nor be too surprised that our little Atlantic island should see so much variation in its spring weather (last year, beaches packed with happy holiday-makers; this year, one man and his dog, if that). Just the same changes and chances seem to be a feature of, for example, Gilbert White's "Natural History of Selborne" - and no doubt parishioners there were saying, like Joe, "I've never known a season like it!" Whatever else our weather is, it isn't boring.
Meanwhile, even though variations in weather patterns really are just that and no more, there is a serious issue of climate change still to consider. I would say that global warming does seem to be a measurable fact; and to me those who deny it seem to be either ignoring or distorting perfectly good scientific data in order to press their case. Of course, having said that, there is still a real question about whether at all, or to what extent, human activity plays a part in causing global warming. It may not be the principal motor for climate change; the observable data may for the most part be caused by natural cycles and fluctuations. But how much does that matter, anyway? For, whatever causes global warming, this is clearly the case as regards our human use of the earth: that (a) we are using the earth's resources in an unsustainable way, and (b) we are living - those of us in the richer communities of our globe - at a level and standard of luxury that cannot be shared by the others who look on enviously, and (c) even if our activity is not having a terminally decisive impact on the earth, it does have some impact none the less, it is doing damage.
So we should "live more simply, that others may simply live", to borrow a slogan. We should, surely, be looking to tread as lightly as we can manage on the surface of our planet. I can cope with a bit of unseasonably cold weather in May; it's just one of those things. But I shall not be tempted to use it as a reason to dismiss the climate change lobby, nor as an excuse to persist in the greedy exploitation of our planet's precious gifts.
Thursday 3 May 2012
Broken Things
Some people throw out broken things. Maybe most people do. I do, these days . . . I don't quite have the space here I used to. But I hate to do it, because my instinct is always to mend things, to get them working again, to make them useful again. Well, at least I can recycle, rather than just dump - and of course I do do that, whenever I can.
And I do have to be careful, given a troublesome tendency to anthropomorphise all kinds of things, not to let myself get silly and sentimental. This broken thing (whatever it may be) may have been mine for years, may have been very useful once upon a time, may have travelled through some tough times with me - but it is just a thing; and if it doesn't work it is no longer of value.
Of course, sometimes the broken thing may have been given you by someone special, or may have been the prized possession of someone special: my grandfather's old watch, for example (not that I actually have this, but I can imagine). It may be old, it may be beyond repair, but it would be tremendously difficult to throw away. I can well understand someone keeping that sort of thing; after all, it isn't only the thing it is but more - it contains and conveys something of the person remembered and the times shared. So I probably couldn't throw out something like that. In my crowded home, I'd still find a place for it somewhere.
Some people throw out broken people. I can understand how that happens. A mistake is made, a hurt is caused, a project fails, a sin is committed . . . and a label is fixed that says "failure" or "sinner" or "not to be trusted". Sometimes there is a call for revenge, other times just a wall of silence, and deliberate exclusion from the circles and places (maybe even the family) where once one was able to feel secure and accepted.
As I say, I can understand how that happens. Hurts once caused are not easily soothed or removed. It may not be possible to revive or restart a project that has failed through someone's willfulness or neglect. It may be hard to imagine that a leopard might one day lose his spots. It can be especially difficult to feel positive about a person you used to respect, rely on, perhaps place on a pedestal, and who has let you down, or played you false.
All I want to say here, to myself and to broken people everywhere, is that God does not throw out broken people. Or anyway, I do not believe he does. I believe that the instinct to mend, to get things working again, to put things right, is something entirely in tune with his will. He goes on loving what he has made. How can I bear witness to that love? Here, for me, is the beginning of ministry.
And I do have to be careful, given a troublesome tendency to anthropomorphise all kinds of things, not to let myself get silly and sentimental. This broken thing (whatever it may be) may have been mine for years, may have been very useful once upon a time, may have travelled through some tough times with me - but it is just a thing; and if it doesn't work it is no longer of value.
Of course, sometimes the broken thing may have been given you by someone special, or may have been the prized possession of someone special: my grandfather's old watch, for example (not that I actually have this, but I can imagine). It may be old, it may be beyond repair, but it would be tremendously difficult to throw away. I can well understand someone keeping that sort of thing; after all, it isn't only the thing it is but more - it contains and conveys something of the person remembered and the times shared. So I probably couldn't throw out something like that. In my crowded home, I'd still find a place for it somewhere.
Some people throw out broken people. I can understand how that happens. A mistake is made, a hurt is caused, a project fails, a sin is committed . . . and a label is fixed that says "failure" or "sinner" or "not to be trusted". Sometimes there is a call for revenge, other times just a wall of silence, and deliberate exclusion from the circles and places (maybe even the family) where once one was able to feel secure and accepted.
As I say, I can understand how that happens. Hurts once caused are not easily soothed or removed. It may not be possible to revive or restart a project that has failed through someone's willfulness or neglect. It may be hard to imagine that a leopard might one day lose his spots. It can be especially difficult to feel positive about a person you used to respect, rely on, perhaps place on a pedestal, and who has let you down, or played you false.
All I want to say here, to myself and to broken people everywhere, is that God does not throw out broken people. Or anyway, I do not believe he does. I believe that the instinct to mend, to get things working again, to put things right, is something entirely in tune with his will. He goes on loving what he has made. How can I bear witness to that love? Here, for me, is the beginning of ministry.
Wednesday 2 May 2012
Love Story
He had spent too long
being terrified of smiles,
seeing only the scimitar curve of the lips,
the threat of bared teeth,
and never daring to meet the eyes.
People smiled a lot in the sunshine, he discovered;
so he stayed in the shade.
When people smile at me
there must be some part of me they want to take, he thought,
there is something about me they long to steal.
To be smiled at, therefore, was not really safe;
he preferred not to take the risk.
And it took a long time
before someone one day got close enough without smiling
to make the right moves, and touch the right spots.
This time he smiled first,
and then she smiled too, and then they took
whatever parts of each other they wanted,
and all
in a sudden blaze of sunlight.
Tuesday 1 May 2012
Thought For The Week
"A healthy attitude is contagious, but don't wait to catch it from others. Be a carrier."
Tom Stoppard
Tom Stoppard
In The Hands Of Others
I've had some long-awaited hospital tests today, and they seem to have gone well. I shall need to wait for detailed results which should arrive in about a week's time, but nothing untoward showed up on the day.
I can have nothing but praise for the kind and efficient way in which I was treated at the Royal Shrewsbury Hospital Treatment Unit. My tests were quickly completed, after everything had been thoroughly explained to me and all the preparations had been carefully completed, and all the way through I was looked after very well indeed. There was a pleasant and relaxed atmosphere - all of it so helpful: I came in to have these tests in a fairly positive frame of mind, but that won't have been true of everyone they will have seen today. Some will have been worried, some frightened, and the calmness and kindness with which they will have been received is of vital importance.
All of us there today will have shared the one basic experience of having been, for that time, completely in the hands of others. That experience is deepened by the fact of having to leave even our own clothes behind, to be dressed in the anonymity of a blue hospital gown, and to be exposed and handled in ways we would not normally choose. One is uncomfortably aware, going in, of surrendering for that short while all pretence of being in control of one's own destiny . . . but of course, that is equally true, though not always so readily recognized, in many of the events of our lives. For example, as we travelled in to the hospital this morning on the bus, my wife and I were completely dependent on the skill and ability and safety-consciousness of our driver, as were all the other people on the bus. Even now, I can only write this because others make it possible - I don't have the ability to build or programme a computer, or for that matter to produce and supply the electricity to make it run.
We are inter-dependent, none of us "an island entire unto himself", and it's good from time to time to remember that - or, as I was today, to be forcibly reminded of it by having to surrender my body into the care of others. Without what others give and do, our lives would be so much the poorer; and may we in our turn aim always to live so that others may be lifted, enthused and enriched by our endeavour.
I can have nothing but praise for the kind and efficient way in which I was treated at the Royal Shrewsbury Hospital Treatment Unit. My tests were quickly completed, after everything had been thoroughly explained to me and all the preparations had been carefully completed, and all the way through I was looked after very well indeed. There was a pleasant and relaxed atmosphere - all of it so helpful: I came in to have these tests in a fairly positive frame of mind, but that won't have been true of everyone they will have seen today. Some will have been worried, some frightened, and the calmness and kindness with which they will have been received is of vital importance.
All of us there today will have shared the one basic experience of having been, for that time, completely in the hands of others. That experience is deepened by the fact of having to leave even our own clothes behind, to be dressed in the anonymity of a blue hospital gown, and to be exposed and handled in ways we would not normally choose. One is uncomfortably aware, going in, of surrendering for that short while all pretence of being in control of one's own destiny . . . but of course, that is equally true, though not always so readily recognized, in many of the events of our lives. For example, as we travelled in to the hospital this morning on the bus, my wife and I were completely dependent on the skill and ability and safety-consciousness of our driver, as were all the other people on the bus. Even now, I can only write this because others make it possible - I don't have the ability to build or programme a computer, or for that matter to produce and supply the electricity to make it run.
We are inter-dependent, none of us "an island entire unto himself", and it's good from time to time to remember that - or, as I was today, to be forcibly reminded of it by having to surrender my body into the care of others. Without what others give and do, our lives would be so much the poorer; and may we in our turn aim always to live so that others may be lifted, enthused and enriched by our endeavour.
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