Dreams and dead things

I don't like autumn. I know, every time I say that (and I have mentioned it before) there's a collective groan from the autumn-lovers.  They speak of vibrant oranges and yellows and reds and the exhilaration of kicking their way through piles of gorgeousness on brisk, bright mornings and they eat pumpkin and make chutney and so on.

I don't do any of that. Today the rain keeps on coming down and it's mid-morning but still hasn't become properly light. It's dank and miserable. My world is getting darker. Death is all around me. The few leaves that weren't blasted into next week by yesterday's storms are swirling into brown drifts. The plants need cutting back to clear away the dead stalks, spent seed pods and rotting foliage, and I'm not tempted to go and do some gardening.

Autumn is a time of decay, shrinking, dying. 

I sit here with both hands round a cup of coffee and I listen to the rain on the roof and contemplate the long months until the days start to get longer. 

I know, it happens every year. You'd think I'd be used to it. Perhaps I should stare at a white screen for a while until I get my share of daylight. Alternatively perhaps I should shut up and look on the bright side. 

It'll soon be Christmas. 

Anyway, I think I'm growing up. I've realised something about autumn. 

Leaves are falling from the trees onto my flower beds. They will eventually make a blanket over all the sleeping shrubs and bulbs and the blanket will help keep moisture in and protect the ground from frosts until it slowly composts down into the soil. The drifts of fallen leaves will dissolve into leaf mould, leaving my heavy, clay-ey soil richer and conditioned. 

Underground, I imagine the roots and bulbs snuggling down for a winter sleep and taking on board the nourishment from the soil around them. Undisturbed by footballs and footsteps, the garden rests. Takes a deep breath and sighs. Relaxes before the brighter sun, warmer temperatures and longer days start to signal that it's wake-up time. Spring rise-and-shine time. 

But autumn is for snuggling down. Putting on the heating and digging out the woolly socks.

The tree lets the leaves fall to protect itself from the relative dryness of winter - it's a survival mechanism. The dead stuff that falls and decays and is so often the focus of my autumn grumpiness is essential to the cycle of the plants in the garden. 

Things fall and die. As a result of their death and decay, something new can grow.

And if that's not a life lesson, I don't know what is. 

I'm ready for the new growth, that moment in spring when you look around you as if you were seeing for the first time and suddenly there are bright, impossibly green shoots everywhere you look. I want that. 

Rapid growth, dramatic development, shoots and buds and blooms. Colour, not darkness. Not the leaf-mould, mulchy, sodden ground wait, wait... it's a slow process. 

Maybe it's all a slow process. Maybe there's a place where dreams go to die and as they fall, limp and lifeless, they start to enrich the soil around them. Perhaps God is saying that something has to die for something to be born. The dead thing isn't lost, wasted, useless; it's a catalyst for something new and beautiful. I didn't realise that my plans were the leaf-mould of the future and it has been no fun to watch them curl up and slowly turn to compost, but I believe His way is best. 

His dreams are bigger than mine. 

So the soil of my life is being forked over by the Gardener. He's digging in some of the leaf-mould as things die and decay. He's digging deep, and it's not comfortable. If I am the soil, then my instinct is to stay dense and full of clay, but things don't easily grow in soil like that. The good stuff needs to be worked in until the whole texture of the soil changes. Until it is transformed into something fertile. 

Who'd have thought that the good stuff turns out to be the stuff that gets thrown away? 

So I am soil, and I am in need of nourishment. I am claggy clay, but partially leaf-mould and I am waiting. I am changing, slowly, imperceptibly, into soil in which God will make something grow. 

All in His good time. 

It turns out that there's a reason for autumn.




This is an edited version of a post from 2014 but I was walking back from the post office a moment ago in horizontal rain and trying very hard to concentrate on the yellow and red leaves beneath my feet rather than the cold, the wet, the slippery pavement, the sluggish mornings, the dark evenings.... 

Still working on this. 

Dreams and dead things

I don't like autumn. I know, every time I say that (and I have mentioned it before) there's a collective groan from the autumn-lovers.  They speak of vibrant oranges and yellows and reds and the exhilaration of kicking their way through piles of gorgeousness on brisk, bright mornings and they eat pumpkin and make chutney and so on.

I don't do any of that. Today the rain keeps on coming down and it's mid-morning but still hasn't become properly light. It's dank and miserable. Everywhere the world is getting darker. Death is all around me. The few leaves that weren't blasted into next week by yesterday's storms are swirling into brown drifts. The plants need cutting back to clear away the dead stalks, spent seed pods and rotting foliage, and I'm not tempted to go and do some gardening.

Autumn is a time of decay, shrinking, dying. 

I sit here with both hands round a cup of coffee and I listen to the rain on the roof and contemplate the long months until the days start to get longer. 

I know, it happens every year. You'd think I'd be used to it. Perhaps I should stare at a white screen for a while until I get my share of daylight. Alternatively perhaps I should shut up and look on the bright side. 

It'll soon be Christmas. 

Anyway, I think I'm growing up. I've realised something about autumn. 

Leaves are falling from the trees onto my flower beds. They will eventually make a blanket over all the sleeping shrubs and bulbs and the blanket will help keep moisture in and protect the ground from frosts until it slowly composts down into the soil. The drifts of fallen leaves will dissolve into leaf mould, leaving my heavy, clay-ey soil richer and conditioned. 

Underground, I imagine the roots and bulbs snuggling down for a winter sleep and taking on board the nourishment from the soil around them. Undisturbed by footballs and footsteps, the garden rests. Takes a deep breath and sighs. Relaxes before the brighter sun, warmer temperatures and longer days start to signal that it's wake-up time. Spring rise-and-shine time. 

But autumn is for snuggling down. Putting on the heating and digging out the woolly socks.

The tree lets the leaves fall to protect itself from the relative dryness of winter - it's a survival mechanism. The dead stuff that falls and decays and is so often the focus of my autumn grumpiness is essential to the cycle of the plants in the garden. 

Things fall and die. As a result of their death and decay, something new can grow.

And if that's not a life lesson, I don't know what is. 

For a long time now I've felt as if I'm stalled. I want to move forward and yet I've had no idea which way was forward. To step out in faith without knowing exactly what that meant. I had some ideas that came to nothing. God has asked me to wait, and I have not waited graciously.

I'm ready for the new growth, that moment in spring when you look around you as if you were seeing for the first time and suddenly there are bright, impossibly green shoots everywhere you look. I want that. 

Rapid growth, dramatic development, shoots and buds and blooms. Colour, not darkness. Not the leaf-mould, mulchy, sodden ground wait, wait... it's a slow process. 

Maybe it's all a slow process. Maybe there's a place where dreams go to die and as they fall, limp and lifeless, they start to enrich the soil around them. Perhaps God is saying that something has to die for something to be born. The dead thing isn't lost, wasted, useless; it's a catalyst for something new and beautiful. I didn't realise that my plans were the leaf-mould of the future and it has been no fun to watch them curl up and slowly turn to compost, but I believe His way is best. 

His dreams are bigger than mine. 

So the soil of my life is being forked over by the Gardener. He's digging in some of the leaf-mould as things die and decay. He's digging deep, and it's not comfortable. If I am the soil, then my instinct is to stay dense and full of clay, but things don't easily grow in soil like that. The good stuff needs to be worked in until the whole texture of the soil changes. Until it is transformed into something fertile. 

Who'd have thought that the good stuff turns out to be the stuff that gets thrown away? 

So I am soil, and I am in need of nourishment. I am claggy clay, but partially leaf-mould and I am waiting. I am changing, slowly, imperceptibly, into soil in which God will make something grow. 

All in His good time. 

It turns out that there's a reason for autumn. 

Dreams and dead things

Ok, so here's a thing. 

I don't like autumn. I know, every time I say that (and I have mentioned it before) there's a collective groan from the people who see it completely differently. They speak of vibrant oranges and yellows and reds and the exhilaration of kicking their way through piles of gorgeousness on brisk, bright mornings and they eat pumpkin and make chutney and so on. 

I don't do any of that. Today the rain keeps on coming down and it's mid-morning but still hasn't become properly light. It's dank and miserable. Everywhere the world is getting darker. Death is all around me. The leaves are starting to fall and blow into brown drifts. The plants need cutting back to clear away the dead stalks, spent seed pods and rotting foliage. Autumn is a time of decay, shrinking, dying back. 

I sit here with both hands round a cup of coffee and I listen to the rain on the roof and contemplate the long months until the days start to get longer. 

I know, it happens every year. You'd think I'd be used to it. Perhaps I should stare at a white screen for a while until I get my share of daylight. Alternatively perhaps I should shut up and look on the bright side. 

It'll soon be Christmas. 

Ha. 

Anyway, I think I'm growing up. I've realised something about autumn. 

Leaves are falling from the trees onto my flower beds. They will eventually make a blanket over all the sleeping shrubs and bulbs and the blanket will help keep moisture in and protect the ground from frosts until it slowly composts down into the soil. The drifts of fallen leaves will dissolve into leaf mould, leaving my heavy, clay-ey soil richer and conditioned. 

Underground, I imagine the roots and bulbs snuggling down for a winter sleep and taking on board the nourishment from the soil around them. Undisturbed by footballs and footsteps, the garden rests. Takes a deep breath and sighs. Relaxes before the brighter sun, warmer temperatures and longer days start to signal that it's wake-up time. Spring rise-and-shine time. 

But autumn is for snuggling down. The tree lets the leaves fall to protect itself from the relative dryness of winter - it's a survival mechanism. The dead stuff that falls and decays and is so often the focus of my autumn grumpiness is essential to the cycle of the plants in the garden. 

Things fall and die. As a result of their death and decay, something new can grow.

And if that's not a life lesson, I don't know what is. 

Lately I've been feeling as if I'm stalled. I want to move forward with plans and and yet things aren't going my way. I had some ideas that came to nothing. God is asking me to wait, and I feel as if I've been waiting too long already. I'm ready for the new growth, that moment in spring when you look around you as if you were seeing for the first time and suddenly there are bright, impossibly green shoots everywhere you look. I want that. 

Rapid growth, dramatic development, shoots and buds and blooms. Colour, not darkness. Not the leaf-mould, mulchy, sodden ground wait, wait... it's a slow process. 

Maybe it's all a slow process. Maybe there's a place where dreams go to die and as they fall, limp and lifeless, they start to enrich the soil around them. Perhaps God is saying that something has to die for something to be born. The dead thing isn't lost, wasted, useless; it's a catalyst for something new and beautiful. I didn't realise that my plans were the leaf-mould of the future and it hurts to watch them disintegrate and slowly turn to compost, but I believe His way is best. 

His dreams are bigger than mine. 

So the soil of my life is being forked over by the Gardener. He's digging in some of the leaf-mould as things die and decay. He's digging deep, and it's not comfortable. If I am the soil, then my instinct is to stay dense and full of clay, but things don't easily grow in soil like that. The good stuff needs to be worked in until the whole texture of the soil changes. Until it is transformed into something fertile. 

Who'd have thought that the good stuff turns out to be the stuff that gets thrown away? 

So I am soil, and I am in need of nourishment. I am claggy clay, but partially leaf-mould and I am waiting. I am changing, slowly, imperceptibly, into soil in which God will make something grow. 

All in His good time. 

It turns out that there's a reason for Autumn. 

Linking with Nacole at Six in the Sticks for Concrete Words: Finding the abstract in the concrete. This time the prompt was 'Soil'.

Autumn heart

I struggle with this time of year, God.

I suspect that's not news to you. I've been banging on about Autumn and how much I prefer Spring for quite a while now. I am surrounded by people who love the autumnal colours in the trees and have a great affection for Halloween and just see the dark nights and dark mornings as an excuse to cosy up in front of the fire with home made pumpkin pie and so on, but I don't get it.

Thumbs up to Autumn like this

I see piles of soggy leaves that I drag the children out of because we don't know what lies beneath them. I see dark mornings which make getting out of bed a million times harder than it usually is (and usually it's pretty hard) and I don't like pumpkin. 

I quite fancy a huge pot or two of copper-coloured crysanthemums outside the front door but alas I forgot to plant any and they're going for about £16 each in the garden centres so it'll be make do with the straggly begonias a bit longer I think. 

I am, this morning, what my Mum refers to as 'a cross-patch'. 

So, I am persuaded that autumn leaves (heavy sigh) do look quite nice against a blue sky. Yes, I quite like walking the girls to school amid a shower of orange and red leaves on a sunny day. But why does it have to be dark by 4pm so that we have to draw the curtains and crank up the heating so early? And anyway, I can't always have a blue sky, can I?

Kick through this at your peril

So this morning, I lay in bed at silly-o'clock just before the alarm went off and listened to the sound of rain hammering on the windows. I was warm and snuggly and my pillows were just right (how come they refuse to settle into that perfection at bedtime?) and I did not want to get out of bed. I rarely do, as you know, but the sort of day that entices me to the window is the type where there is a brightness from outside creeping around the curtains. A little sparkle on the ceiling that promises sun. My bedroom faces east-ish and if there's a sunrise the ceiling above me glows pink or orange. That's worth opening my eyes for.

This morning, nope. Dark. It could have been 2am or 4am or 6am. Time for eye-shut. 

I'm having a little complain, Lord. 

As I type this the sky is blue, the sunshine is making the few apples that we can't reach shine yellowy orange at the top of the appletrees. The japanese maples are red, gold, orange, pink. The tree-with-the-name-that-I-always-forget is a deep, rich red. 

Ok, it looks pretty. I'll give you that.

This is the day that the Lord has made...

Here's the thing. I've been trying to start my day more positively. I was reading that starting a brand new day with a heavy sigh, multiple jabs at the snooze button and the thought, 'This is going to be a bad day,' is probably a self-fulfilling prophecy. ('What a faithful God have I' Sept 2012) 

I've been trying to start the day with a word or two from you, and when my mind is struggling to shake off sleep and I'm dragging myself upright with bad grace, the line of scripture that comes to mind is:

'This is the day that the Lord has made. Let us rejoice and be glad in it.'

Psalm 118:24

Oft said through clenched teeth, too early in the morning.

Today I found rejoicing beyond me. I was thinking about the school run in heavy rain. I was thinking that today was the day that the children were having school photographs taken, and they would likely be somewhat bedraggled on arrival at school. I was thinking about how warm and comfy my bed was and how cold and wet it sounded outside. I was thinking about how nice it would be not to have to pull back the curtains. Today is cancelled through lack of interest.

And yet....

There are two words I find myself saying quite often when you and me get together, Lord God.

By the time we actually left for the dash to school, the rain had stopped and the clouds were drifting apart. By the time the photographs had been taken and my two girls were deposited at respective schools with hair gleaming and toothpaste smears spitwashed off their cheeks, the sun was sending bright rays out from behind the chimneys of the houses opposite the playground. By the time I was putting the key in the front door, the sky was blue, the sunshine dazzlingly bright and the reds and oranges and golds of the falling leaves looking, yes, alright, quite pretty.

Ahem.

I didn't think I'd get a picture like this today

This is the day that the Lord has made. Now, I'll rejoice and be glad in it.

Before it was a bit of a struggle.

Sorry.

The thing is, each new day that I wake up is a gift you've given me. I'm sorry that sometimes I unwrap my present and drop it again with a scowl. Every day that you have made is a masterpiece even if it's not to my taste. I know quite well that a bit of gratitude wouldn't go amiss. I'm sorry that I'm just like a child who puts in an order for a birthday present and then gets something else from Aunt whatever who's sent something that they need instead of something that they want.

It's that time of year that everything seems to be dying. All the plants seem to be shrivelling, dropping, retreating. Even the ones that I expect to see next year are curling up and starting to hibernate. There's a finishing feeling about it all that I find hard. In the Spring I love to see the signs of new life; the bright, vivid greens that on a painter's palette might even seem unnatural. The shoots and buds and little cheerful heads pushing up through the claggy soil. Spring seems full of hope and life and Autumn is death and a shaking of the head.

But without death there can't be rebirth, I guess. You know what the cycle of the seasons is all about; I only have a rudimentary knowledge that the plants die back for a season in order to conserve energy until the new growth is triggered by the thaw and the warmth of a Spring sun.

Do I die back for a season in order to grow afresh at a later date?

This is just how it is. To live a life with my Lord God as my Saviour I have to let the me-me-me parts of me die. To come alive in this world right now I need to change the way I think and the way I behave, which is to put to death a big part of me. To come to be with you and enter into the Life that will last forever, I'm going to have to die. Without death there is no life.

In the Book of Common Prayer it says, 'In the midst of life we are in death,' but also in the midst of death we are in life. Without Autumn and Winter there'd be no Spring.

Loving you loving me

So bring on the Autumn, Father God. You know what you're doing. Let the leaves fall, let the birds eat the berries and let the hedgehogs hibernate. Can I hibernate too?

That was just a joke.

If I left Britain for sunnier climes I think I might miss the seasons. It's no wonder we British are obsessed with the weather when there are days like today. Heavy rain, strong wind, bright sunshine in the space of an hour. Frosts in the mornings already and the occasional mild afternoon where people wait outside school in a Tshirt (not me). Golden Autumn, snowy, icy Winter, bright, bitter Spring and, well,  damp and unpredictable Summer. That's what you do well in this neck of the woods.

It's the work of your hand, and it's good. It's always good, not only now and again. I'm sorry I'm ungrateful. I've just been admiring a wall not far from here with Virginia Creeper all over it. The new leaves are shaped like hearts; beautiful strings of red and orange hearts. Almost as if you were telling me something.

'This is the day that the Lord has made. I will rejoice and be glad in it.'

Amen.

Next time I'll try to say it without a pillow over my head.

Missing the butterflies

Morning, God.

It's a beautiful morning. One of those Autumn mornings that's alright by me, by the way. The sky is a cloudless blue, the sun is shining and lighting up the reds and oranges until they glow, and it's cold enough to see your breath. Crisp and clear and cold. That's a good Autumn day. Much better than the dank and dreary damp ones that make me feel depressed. Just saying.

This morning me and my two girls snuggled on my bed and watched the sun come up. It was golden and red and orange and yellow. On the way to school Elizabeth and I saw a snail on a leaf, we saw a spider's web with dew lit by the sun, and we saw small purple flowers growing from a crack in a brick wall. Katy, resplendent today in Batman Tshirt, bounced into her classroom and announced, 'Awesome! It's PE!' and did her happy dance, to her teacher's amusement. I am just filled with admiration that a daughter of mine could rejoice at the realisation that the first lesson of the day was exercise.

I'm learning how important it is to notice the little things. The light on the appletrees. The sound of birdsong in the early morning. A small girl's dimples of delight in a Batman Tshirt. I'm learning that you're teaching me to find you in the small things. How could I see you in the big things if I routinely walk past you when you're showing me the small? Even the seemingly insignificant has your signature. The last roses. Withered tomato plants bearing the last ripening fruit. 

Lord, I'm needing to see you. I'm looking out of the window on this glorious day and still feeling out of touch. I see you everywhere but I don't feel you. There's something inside of me missing today. It's very very beautiful and all is right in my world and yet I feel heavy and weighed down.

We haven't talked much lately, have we? It's only been a day or three with only a passing word between us but it doesn't take long for me to feel disconnected. I need to hang on tight, but how quickly I loosen my grip.  A dozen excuses; I'm tired, I'm short of time, I feel this, or I don't feel that... and I turn away. I need to stop and sit with you. I have so many things to do. Good things; worthy things, but I need to stop. Stop.

A moment ago I saw a beautiful orange and yellow and black butterfly land on the wall outside the window. In my haste to try and take a photograph, I frightened it away before I got a good look. That's sort of symbolic I think. I'm trying so hard to get somewhere that I don't notice where I am. I my rush to capture the moment forever; to use it for something... I lost it.

Forever asking where you're leading me and when we'll get there and are we nearly there yet? - and completely miss where we actually are.

I'm grabbing my camera and trying to peer through the lens and missing the butterflies.

Right now.

Where you are.

Father there's so much that I want to do, so much that I want to achieve. I want to do more, do better, be better. I want to grow and change and I want to get where I'm going - or at least feel as if I'm making progress. I'm frustrated about being. I don't find it easy to stop because I don't want to. I want to move on. I know that your Plan is perfect and your timing is spot on and yet I feel like stamping and shouting and folding my arms with a scowl like Elizabeth does because you're not doing things my way. I know what I think my life should look like and I don't really understand why you're not agreeing with me. Aren't my plans good plans? I want to do so much for you.

Honestly.

But I can't offer you a single thing. There's nothing I can do for you that you need; there's nothing that you want from me. I think you're telling me that for now, I should just be. Concentrate on me and you and stop the hamster wheel thing, the running, running, trying, trying.  I'm quite sure that what you want me to be is more important than what you want me to do. It seems to me that I know this, but I keep forgetting.

Is that it?

I'm tired, Lord. Tired because I didn't get enough sleep last night and tired of feeling battered and bruised. Tired of trying to do the right thing and tired of the knot in my stomach when I get it wrong. Tired of being confused and tired of trying to work things out.

So here it is.

Lord, once again I'm dumping all this in front of you. You know all about my fears and my worries, and you know about my hopes and dreams because you planted them in my heart. I think that in your time you'll water them and make them grow, but I don't know for sure because I'm just me and you're God.

I'll trust you anyway.

Here are all the stress and anxiety and lurking unease that's weighing me down this morning. Things that I'm carrying round when I don't need to.  All the stuff that's making me feel down on a spectacular Autumn morning. You said you'd carry it for me and I'd like to take you up on that, please.

Thankyou for the sunrise and for my daughters who shared it with me for a brief few moments amid their squabble about who had used the last precious heart shaped sticker.

Thankyou for the snail and the flowers and the spider's web and the dew.

Thankyou for Katy's energy and her enthusiasm and her Batman superpowers.

Thankyou for her wonderful gentle young teacher who hardly seems old enough to be teaching my daughter but who has given her a delight in coming to school that makes my heart swell.

Thankyou for the reds and golds and oranges of the Autumn leaves and the blue sky and the sunshine and the apples on the trees.

And thankyou for the butterfly. I'm sorry I didn't take the time to stop and look.

A ray of sunlight

Whoa! God!

The sun has come out! For the first time in four months! Well, actually, more like four days! 'Tis time for celebration. And looking at those black clouds just knitting together in time for the school run, I'd better be quick.

What to do first? Hoover the car (job waiting for the rain to stop)? Get some gardening done? Clean the windows? Nip to the shop?

Since the sun has lit up a billion little dust-motes floating in the air, maybe I'd better dust.

Or I could just sit here and admire the sun on the flowers on the windowsill.  There are pink and yellow alstroemeria lit from behind and the dark red veins on the petals are standing out dramatically. I didn't know (until I just googled 'alstroemeria' to find out how it was spelled) that it is considered a symbol of friendship. Apparently the leaves grow upside down out of the stem, then twist until the top faces upwards. (This nugget of information actually had me leave the sofa to look more closely - and it's true!)

After all the rain we've been having, the garden looks so, so green. Jewel-like. A bit of sun on the apples remind me that they need picking soon and they're big and yellowy red and although a bit sharp for all but the most robust eater of apples, they make a great crumble. Now, there it is. One great thing about Autumn: apple crumble. I knew you'd cheer me up.

Since the rain has stopped (I know what you're doing there. It may have stopped now but in a few minutes when I put on my coat for the school run, you've got another humorous cloudburst planned, haven't you?). Since the rain has stopped, the birds are all over the garden. An area newly dug by my husband is a rich source of worms and the blackbirds and sparrows and robins are all over it. On the bird table jackdaws and magpies are bullying the tits away for the bread that Mum put out this morning. The neighbours' cats lurk under the bushes, tempted out through the catflap by the birds but they don't like it much because of the shower they get when they brush up against the branches.

I see you. I see you when you open my eyes to see. Just lounging here on the sofa with my computer and a ray of sunlight dazzled me for the first time in days and days. You just dropped in to say hello, didn't you?

You smiled. You wanted me to look up and see the beauty. After the rain the colours are always more vibrant, sharper, more vivid. While the rain tips down as heavily as it has recently everything is grey. For a moment this afternoon the colour came back.

Gone again now, because it's time to collect my girls from school. Time to put on the raincoat and retrieve the damp umbrella from the cloakroom sink. Find my boots and haul them on. Zip up, wrap up, head down.

Ah well.  It was a little moment. A ray of sunlight fell across my keyboard and I saw a little bit of light in a dull, dreary day. Thankyou. Thankyou that you reached down and lifted my head to see the light on the flowers, the birds, the glistening rain on the leaves. Thankyou that you never leave me, even when it's dark as dark and I'm feeling dismal.

Better go.

The first drops are on the window again. Here comes the rain.

What a sense of humour you have.

In the eye of the beholder

Hey, God.

Just a short one tonight as I'm waiting for a Chinese Takeaway to arrive and you know how my attention tends to wander when I'm hungry.

I just wanted to say thank you for making this world so beautiful. Today I went for a drive and a bit of a walk in the wonderful Derbyshire countryside and it was late in the afternoon and the sky blue. Autumnal nip in the air but the scenery was fantastic. Orange and yellow in the trees, grass looking lush and everything tinged with gold because of the low sun. It was gorgeous.  As you know, I'm not a particular fan of this time of year, much preferring the bright new shoots and hopefulness of the Spring, to the back end of the year but on days like today, I have to give it to you; you knew what you were doing when you did Autumn. 

I'm sure you are basking in my approval, aren't you? 

The other day we went to see a display of new sculpture at Chatsworth - part of the outdoor exhibition they have each year. I enjoy it; it amazes me to see what people's imaginations can come up with. I try to have an open mind with regard to 'art', for several reasons. One, it is in the eye of the beholder so I am allowed to decide; maybe something will move me. Two, I'm supposed to have an open mind rather than just fixate on the Pre-Raphaelites and conclude that nobody else can paint. Three...well, can't think of a third reason but I try, nonetheless.  

Some of the sculptures brought to mind The Emperor's New Clothes, to be honest, but some of them were nice to look at. At several points I felt like calling out to clumps of admiring people, 'But it's made of plastic! It's hideous! Look at those wonderful trees behind you! That's art!' but I'm sure you were proud of my restraint. Each to their own. clearly I'm missing something. Hmm.

It was an interesting walk, and the children got to decipher a map with all the sculptures labelled and hidden in the gardens. And they were selling ice cream too. 

Now that's Art. 

Elizabeth and Katy had an enormous ice cream each and they had a whale of a time dashing in and out of the little pathways, spotting the sculptures and telling us where we should go next. Their responses to the man-made creations were wonderful; out of the mouths of babes indeed. Katy saw a semi-transparent sort of mirrored cat shaped thing that was about twenty feet high and she stopped and gazed at it with puzzlement  before announcing that she didn't like it because it got in the way of seeing the pretty bushes. Ahem. I'm with her on that one. With all due respect and everything. 

Perhaps my daughter and I don't understand it properly. I definitely think that there might be a chance that we're not 'getting it'. Anyway, it was an experience and we had a lovely afternoon so I'm not criticising. Really. 

Nothing that these artists had made compared with the breathtaking beauty of the landscape in which they were displayed. Even the most elegant, creative, subtle installations (is that the word?) was left standing by the wonder of the natural world around them. Huge boulders, flowing water, towering trees and flowers. Acres of grass and splendidly glowing Autumn leaves.

I just wanted to say thankyou. Thankyou for surrounding me with beauty and increasingly, giving me the eyes to see it.

It makes me want to take my camera  everywhere so that I can capture the moments where you speak to me through what I see and store them away forever. So that I won't forget, so that I can show people. So that I can praise the Creator who made things beautiful and intricate and amazing just because he could. For no better reason than you wanted to. 

You are all things creative and captivating so works of art flow from you. You are nature. You are the essence of everything beautiful. 

You filled our world with treasures and it's up to us to see them and give you back the glory. 

Thankyou. 

Blue sky and Autumn leaves

God, today has been my sort of day. I'm feeling rather smiley.

It's October but the sun has shone as if it were August and the turning leaves against a deep blue sky backlit by a low sun right now in my garden are just beautiful. We've had a barbecue and the children have played outside and in a minute I'm going to take my coffee outside and enjoy the last rays before it's time to get the children ready for bed. 

I know that I moan about how I don't like Autumn, but if it were all like this I reckon I could change my mind. How about it?

It's been a very lovely week. Pottering in the garden, walking round to pick up the girls from school or doing the usual mundane errands and jobs have all been made so much nicer by the unseasonable weather. A bit of sun and a blue sky really lifts my spirits. The children thrive on being outside riding bikes, making dens, getting dirty or running about involved in some wonderful imaginary game. I love the space and the air and sun on my face. I love watching the children and I love the peace and quiet when they're indoors and I'm out. 

I need to work on this level of appreciation when the weather is more Octobery, or Novembery, and so on. My mood seems so closely linked to the weather and that's not good I'm thinking. Alright when it suits me but I turn into Ms Grumpy when it rains or when it's dark and dank.

Help me to see the wonders of every season, Father God. Whether it's the little green shoots in Spring, or the flowers in Summer, or the leaves in Autumn, or...or...the frost? in Winter. I need to find things to celebrate. I need to learn contentment, and learn how to give thanks in all situations like good old St Paul. 

'Rejoice always, pray continually, give thanks in all circumstances; for this is God's will for you in Christ Jesus.'

1 Thessalonians 5:16-18

It's easy to rejoice when it's a day like this. When I've spent the day with my family and my church family; watching the children swim, working in the church coffee shop with my new friend the Espresso Machine, chatting to people I know, looking round a Food Fair and then coming home for a barbecue on a warm, sunny, deep blue skied October day. Next week or next month when the wind is cold and there's a frost that upsets my plants and condensation inside the windows; when I don't want to venture out to take the girls to school and come back cold and soggy - then I'll remember this bit. 

'Rejoice always, pray continually, give thanks in all circumstances; for this is God's will for you in Christ Jesus.'

I think rejoicing has to be an act of will sometimes. Paul didn't tell us to rejoice when we feel so moved - we should rejoice always. Rejoice when the sky is blue and when it's grey and threatening. Rejoice when life is going my way, like today, and when it isn't, like a couple of weeks ago. Pray when I feel like praying and still pray when I don't. Give thanks when I'm full of gratitude and also when I'm cross and grumpy and feeling hard done to. Easier said than done I reckon, but I'm going to try. 

But for now, thankyou.

Today has been a Very Good Day. It's been full of good things and I've felt very happy indeed. 

It's been a surprise gift from you, my Father in Heaven and I will give you thanks.

Psalm 42 and the blues

Hello God.

I suppose I've been keeping my distance lately. I'm not sure what to say. I'm definitely struggling to pray at the moment; I keep planning to find quiet time; to sit down with my Bible and my books and maybe my computer and to find some time to think. To write down what I want to say because I can't seem to pin down my thoughts when I just try to pray in my head. I start and then within seconds I'm distracted. I can't seem to focus or find words unless I'm formulating sentences to write. 

So I guess I'd better write. 

Lord, it's Autumn. It's raining, and the trees are shedding leaves and the flowers are dead or dying and the ground is soggy and it's dank and dark and miserable. So am I. I don't like this time of year. I know you have your reasons; I know about the cycle of nature and I know about hibernation (yes please - can I just hole up till Spring? Will everyone leave me alone for a few months?) and I know about the need for energy preservation and dormant periods and so on but it still doesn't convince me that you couldn't have found a more cheerful way of doing it all.  Why can't we have blue skies and sunny days that lift our spirits? Why does it have to be a long, slow, depressing slide into Winter? 

I'm really in need of something. I think I'm properly depressed and I can't seem to get myself out of it. I'm alright on one level, getting up in the morning and going about my business, but then someone asks me how I am and I go to pieces. As long as I don't have to cope with anything - rise to the occasion, so to speak - I'm fine. But if something happens, then the poise that I've spent years mastering disappears in an instant and I dissolve.

Earlier this year I was really going well. I was excited and expectant and I felt you close by and I was loving it. Things went wrong but I bounced back and I knew you were with me, teaching me, showing me things, leading me forwards. It was great. I was on top of the world and I had an amazing sense of anticipation. I thought that you had something in store and I felt ready. That's all gone. 

I've been reading Psalm 42 and it really strikes a chord with me.

'As the deer pants for streams of water,

So my soul pants for you, my God.

My soul thirsts for God, for the living God.

When can I go and meet with God?'

It's ok for David to speak like this in the Psalms, in the Bible, Lord, but I suppose I feel a bit daft comparing myself to a deer. And the panting thing...not sure...but I just feel as if I'm longing for the closeness that I felt only a few months ago. I was in a place where I thought I could hear you. I was full of ideas, so much so that sometimes my head was so full that I couldn't scribble on scraps of paper fast enough. I was full of enthusiasm and optimism and plans for the future. Plans that I thought were your plans. I thought anything was possible. I want that back.

'My tears have been my food day and night,

while people say to me all day long, "Where is your God?"'

There are lots of tears here at the moment. It sounds like David was weeping rather than eating but you know that it's not how it works with me, God. I do the eating as well as the weeping. I lost a lot of weight earlier on this year and it's creeping back on - so that doesn't help morale any either. Where are you when I need you?

'These things I remember as I pour out my soul:

how I used to go to the house of God

under the protection of the Mighty One

with shouts of joy and praise

among the festive throng.'

Yep, exactly. At Easter this year I went to church at every opportunity. Well, that might not strictly be true and I know that there's no fooling you - but I was there loads. I was involved in lots of things, I contributed, I went to pray, I went to praise and I went to be with my church family. Right now I feel like running away. I can't pray, when I try to worship I start to cry and I am avoiding people because I can't make conversation without appearing unhinged and pathetic. I started to cry in a meeting the other week and I can't be doing that. People will think I'm nuts. 

'Why, my soul, are you downcast?

Why so disturbed within me?'

I could give you a dozen reasons why I'm downcast and then I could think of a dozen more. Life is hard. I didn't want to come back from our wonderful holiday because I knew that reality would hit back and it has; being prepared didn't help. I've spent the last few months coping with breast lumps, financial problems, employment issues, business difficulties and illnesses of members of my family; Katy's surgery (twice) and now the children are struggling with school. My littlest girl who has been through so much this year has started school and she's sad every morning and hangs onto me and it's just the final straw. 

Take this morning.  Lizzie has been separated from her friends in her new class.  The other girls on her table were together before in the other class and today they were exchanging party invitations. Each of them ended up with three and Lizzie watched as they laughed and compared notes but there was no invitation for her. My heart broke and I just wanted to say, 'Come on my little love. Let's go home.' 

Onward to Katy's class and she clung to me like a baby monkey. Her eyes were big and tear filled and her chin was trembling. Her teacher wanted a word (because she was upset yesterday at lunchtime) and Katy's little shoulders heaved even though she didn't make a sound. I was steered towards the door and as I turned to wave bye bye she beckoned me with a small movement of her hand, tears rolling down her face. The classroom assistant moved over to comfort her and her teacher told me to go. I walked away from my little girl and I so wanted to scoop her up and tell her it was alright, she doesn't need to stay if she doesn't like it. 

That's why my soul is downcast. My soul is all over the place. I don't know how to cope with my worries and I'm having nightmares that disturb me too. 

'Why, my soul, are you downcast?

Why so disturbed within me?'

Everything is going wrong, that's why. I need you and I can't find you.

'Put your hope in God,

for I will yet praise him,

My saviour and my God.'

Oh Lord I do hope in you. I keep hoping that I'll stumble upon you sometime soon; that you'll tell me the answer to some of these problems. That you'll show me what you want me to do about all the uncertainties and difficulties that I'm in the middle of at the moment. Things that need sorting out quickly and things that are more long term. I do trust you. It's just that I need to act on some of this stuff and I don't know which way to turn. 

I do sometimes get a glimpse of how life might be if I did manage to hand over these things to you. If I did actually manage to give you my worries and not take them back. Even now, I know that what I'm struggling with is the sense that I can't feel your presence; I do know that you are there. I really don't know what I'd do if I thought that you weren't there at all. How much worse life could be if there was a genuine absence of you in my life. If there were no God? I believe; I just have so many questions and I don't know how to wring an answer out of you.

'I say to God my Rock,

Why have you forgotten me?

Why must I go about mourning,

oppressed by the enemy?'

My bones suffer mortal agony 

as my foes taunt me..'

You are my Rock. I am holding on to you as if the tide will wash me away. I know that you haven't forgotten me. I'm sure David did, too; and I am aware that the stakes for him were higher than mine are now. He was King of Israel - Big Guy from the Bible; I'm just a stay at home mum who's got the blues. I am going about mourning. I keep trying to focus on positives because I know that what I dwell on will increase in size and all I'm doing is compounding my depression by analysing it. Someone yesterday asked if there was nothing positive I could tell him and I honestly couldn't think of anything at all. 

A wise friend told me yesterday that maybe I just have to stand at the moment. Not move on, not do anything, just stand. As the waves break over me, just stand. I can see the sense in this; the poetry, even, but what I don't see is how I go forward with all the stuff that I need to sort out at the moment. Phone calls that need making, letters that need writing, decisions that need making. So I can stand, difficult though that might be at times, but I can't just do nothing indefinitely.

'My bones suffer mortal agony

as my foes taunt me...'

I don't suppose my bones suffer mortal agony; I think I might have arthritis in my left thumb and my hips are often stiff, but I suppose I should be thankful that my bones are not in mortal agony. Thankyou for that. My foes aren't exactly taunting me, either. I do worry that in my own home my current defeatism doesn't exactly help your light to shine in my life. If I could bounce back again from this latest onslaught I'd be a much better witness to you than I am in my current miserable state. 

'Why, my soul, are you downcast?

Why so disturbed within me?

Put your hope in God,

for I will yet praise him,

My saviour and my God.'

Amen, Lord. I don't have many options really but to keep on keeping on and to trust that you have it under control. I know that you hold the universe in your hand and I know that you love me. You know what you're doing; it's just that I don't, and I'm hurting at the moment. I'm like Katy with tears rolling down my face and I feel as if you're walking away out of the classroom door and I don't know what to do. It doesn't seem fair that I'm on my own. I want you to pick me up and carry me. Just give me an idea of how to go forward, Lord and I will. If you want me to step out in faith, Lord, just tell me which direction?

I will praise you because I know that whether I feel you there or not, you are there. I will put my hope in you because I know that you haven't yet let me down and you won't let me down now. I will praise you because you deserve praise - you are my saviour and my God. 

I don't understand but you have told me that I don't need to understand, only to believe. 

Come soon, will you?