Signs of Hope and Gratitude

Mid afternoon and it already feels like late evening as I trudge to the post box and round the block for my daily exercise. Street lamps throw down spotlights along the pavement like a theatre set. Thick tree silhouettes, blocking the glow from warm windows, push the illusion further into night.

But here and there, Christmas decorations have started to go up. One house and lawn, covered in white lights like a sequined dress, switched theirs on two weeks ago – which, to be honest, felt like an assault on my eyes as I drove home.

But it’s officially Advent as of today, even if it isn’t yet December. So now I don’t mind.

In fact, I rather welcome it.

In England we’re just coming the end of our second lockdown but the majority of us will still be living under significant restrictions. There will be a short lifting for 5 days over Christmas then back into restrictions for who knows how long. It’s been a grim year.

So we’re all clinging onto what traditions we can celebrate, what routines we can still practise.

We’re all longing for some familiarity, some normality.

We’re all craving some light, some hope.

These early lights are a declaration against the darkness. They are reminders that the story isn’t finished yet. They are pinpricks of gratitude among the loss.

They are pointers to the Promise that Christmas is all about:

“In him was life, and that life was the light of all humankind. The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it.”

(Linking with https://fiveminutefriday.com/2020/11/26/fmf-writing-prompt-link-up-grateful/ )

GRIEF or not

My husband is too clever by half. When I moaned that I simply didn’t want to write about this week’s Five Minute Friday prompt, he said:

“So write about not wanting to write about it.”

Here’s the results of that. Maybe not my most subtle or profound work – but you can always blame him.

I’ve had enough of grief this year

So I don’t want to write

Of loss and pain and bitter tears

Anxiety and fright

I’ve had enough of grief these years

So I don’t want to write

Of parents gone and son’s near miss

And giving up the fight

I’ve had enough of lockdown blues

I won’t join in complaint

Of loss of freedom, friendship, hugs,

How masks make me feel faint

I’m in a different place right now

So this is my confession

I don’t want to write this week

Of dementia or depression

I’ve written of these plentifully

And I’m sure I will again

It’s just right now I’d rather stand

Outside and soak up rain

Or gaze into the winter sky

And count the constellations

Or grin in wonder at the skill of

A Strictly dance sensation

I’d rather listen to the birds

I’d rather count how I’ve been blessed

Maintain hard earned perspective

Instead of giving in to stress

I’m sorry if for you it’s grief

I’ve drowned in darkness too

But hold on for its passing

Dawn’s promise will come through

Here he is – inspiration and blessing

LOCKDOWN 2

Inspired by Five Minute Friday’s weekly prompt CANCEL https://fiveminutefriday.com/2020/11/12/fmf-writing-prompt-link-up-cancel/ here’s a poem:

Cancel concerts

Cancel cuddles

Cancel contact face to face

Cancel plans

Cancel parties

Cancel trips to distant place

Maintain prayer

And maintain worship

In personal or online space

Maintain care

And maintain kindness

Let love leave its golden trace

Practise faith

And practise patience

God’s not forgotten His human race

Fogbound: Waiting in Uncertainty

Today I’ve sent my two sons a small surprise gift each to help them get through Lockdown 2. My 25 year old’s immediate response is to try and guess what it is.

He never was great at waiting. I remember the little boy stamping his feet and crying:

“But I can’t wait anymore, Mummy! I just can’t!”

In desperation, I growled back:

“Don’t wait then. Just sit there.”

Which, to my surprise, worked.

In happier mood

There’s so much waiting going on this week: US Elections, the hope for a return to some kind of normality. And so much ahead is obscure: will there be a clear result? Will the R rate decrease to a safer level?

It feels rather like my journey to work yesterday through autumnal fog – I know where I want to get to but I don’t know how long it will take and my view of the road before me is limited.

So what is the answer to all this hard waiting? Should we ‘just sit there’ and mark time?

Well, there’s a lot to be said for making the most of a pause to our usual routine, taking the time to notice and be grateful for the small details – the crunch of autumn leaves, Strictly, the smell of coffee, electronic communication – whatever it is for you. Or using this period to consider what really matters to us rather than following our daily patterns out of sheer habit, a chance to reset and reprioritise.

I believe that patience can best be grown out of trust but I am challenged by the hymn writers’ words:

‘I do not ask to see

The distant scene, one step enough for me’

(John Newman, Lead Kindly Light)

and

‘I know who holds the future and He’ll guide me with his hand’

(Alfred B Smith, I Do Not Know What Lies Ahead)

So my increasingly frequent prayer is: ‘In Your hands, Lord. We are in Your hands.’ And I picture a tiny baby safely cradled in strong fatherly palms or I imagine leaning into God’s shoulder, His arm around me like my dad did or my husband and sons do, my safe-and-at-home place.

And instead of focussing on the insecurities of today or the uncertainties of tomorrow, at least for a few minutes, I focus on the warmth and comfort of His presence and strength as we move forward together.

Writing this in conjunction with https://fiveminutefriday.com/2020/11/05/fmf-writing-prompt-link-up-ahead/

What’s an Important Life?

Prompted by this week’s Five Minute Friday word, I remembered these two poems, written years apart but now forming two halves of a whole, a call and response, grown out of experience and openness.

STRUGGLE

I am afraid that I have become ordinary

That my life is small

And only really matters to a few

That I have done nothing

Amazing

Noteworthy

Earth shattering

That I will leave no lasting impression.

Oh I have achieved things:

The first in my family to go to college,

A profession and a vocation,

A job that I think helps restore people’s dignity sometimes,

Still happily married,

Two sons to be proud of (but can I claim them as my achievements?),

A pillar of the community in a small way.

But what is unique about these?

What have I ever done that is ground breaking

Or of lasting value to humankind?

I have wanted to be a shining star in a dark sky,

A bright flower forcing its way through a crack in a grey pavement,

A glowing example of Christianity.

But what if I have reached my peak of potential?

What if I am…just…ordinary?

**********

But what if ordinary is ok?

What if I am a square peg in a square hole

Designed specifically for me

Where I can do most good

Be my best self?

What if value and success

Are not measured in quantities?

Like numbers of followers,

Placings on a bestseller list,

Amount of people saved by a new treatment,

Pounds given away in charity,

Influential articles in esteemed journals,

Votes in an election?

What if ordinary is as worthy as extraordinary?

What if integrity is a diamond

Measured not in size but clarity and sparkle?

What if what really matters

Is the quality of our interactions

With those in our immediate vicinity:

How we treat our family,

How we behave to other motorists,

How we speak of our friends,

How much we look out for our neighbours?

What if we judged true success by

Small thoughtful acts of kindness,

Meals cooked,

Smiles,

Concerns listened to,

Words carefully measured,

Heartfelt prayers?

What if the micro is the macro?

What if the ordinary is the extraordinary?

What if we remember we are citizens of the Upside Down Kingdom

Where a fallen sparrow is seen and loved

As much as a celebrity?

I’d be a sparrow any day.

Not a sparrow but a young robin, the most frequent visitor to our garden