Blog

Nov 10

LEARNING TO LIVE WITHOUT

So this is how it is, this learning to live again; this living with the sorrow and withoutness. Another lingering look back, not wanting to forget.

I shall not forget.

There comes a time to move on, a time to learn to live again. To learn to live without.

To live with it, my grief and sorrow; that emptiness which once she filled. My memories.

Her love.

For love does not die. I love. She loves still.

But not here.

And so the space which once was her filling and her loving is my withoutness. I do not want the space to be filled with other people, other things and so I must, I need, to learn to live with it.

From here until.

“Finally, be strong in the Lord and in His mighty power.” Ephesians 6:10

Not the finally as we often think of finally – in our terminology that means “I’ve got to the end at last.”

Like a long sermon.

No, for I shall not get to the end of my withoutness.

But “from now on, from now until the end.”

From now on it will be like this.

She will be…

Oct 30

THE PATH

I followed a path that day.

In pale, golden, dew-drenched morning. Following where it went.

The path led me on, beckoned me.

Took me between beautiful old buildings, stretched out enticingly, looked so easy to walk.

Undulated gently at my feet.

I walked.

Walked enjoying walking, filled with the sense of purpose and pleasure, pleased to stride on in freedom and rhythm.

Then – the path twisted. Hid what was around the corner. Took off uphill.

Barred the way with a stile to climb.

Narrowed.

I followed.

Climbed.

Onwards and upwards.

Then

The sign pointed down

down across the field.

The path was but a footprint of previous walkers

a mark in the grasses

wet with dew

hard to follow.

And it seemed to end at the far trees, looming and dark and unknown because unseen.

But still the sign pointed me on.

In trepidation I followed, trusting the sign and its pointing finger.

IS this is the way to go?

Straight on.

And so through the leaves, sunlight, dappled on the path, illuminating the way, joyful in my heart.

Leading my feet to the rough staircase

up through the woods

on to my home.

Thank you Lord

For the pathway I tread -

marked out by You

pointed by Your finger.

Sometimes…

Oct 11

Living Legacy

Fitzroy Square. Cream buildings, a veritable heritage.

Leaves swirling, greyly autumn.

Blue plaques on walls to mark the homes of famous men and women.

I look and read and try to imagine this or that person living in this space, looking out of that window, watching these trees shed their leaves. A blue plaque as living legacy, reminder of who they were, what they did, the length of their stay.

And I think of my legacy. What will I leave? Who would want to remember me?
My children, offspring from our marriage, carried in my heart and on my hip for so long, and now carried simply in my heart - as they carry their own on hip and in heart.
They will remember. But what will they remember; and their children, my grandchildren, and perhaps their children too. What will they remember of me? What will they remember me for?
And the only thing I want for my legacy is that it should be my prayers for them. Prayers reaching down through the generations, unto the third and fourth generation. To pray for my children, for…

Sep 14

The Fosse Way

The Fosse Way.

Ancient, straight, unbending.

Full of old memories.

Roman soldiers marched it. Horse carts stuck in its mud. Cars still drive most of it. My friend and I walked some part of it today, heads tossed about in the wind, hairfree, carefree, glad to BE.

We walked. We talked.

Glossy black cows and speckled herds were over the hedgerows.

We found blackberries sweet, small, sun-kissed.

There was a sadness in each of us, a year or more of hard places. Parents departed. Children making nests empty. Struggling spouses. Illnesses. Finances. Life.

And the book I recently encountered. Eucharistic moments – the breaking of bread, the giving of thanks in the brokenness, the miracle ensuing. Looking for charis, gifts of God, so often unnoticed yet there for our accepting.

We strode on, the ground dry and cracked, the path hard to our feet.

And then.

The farmyard, horses, a tractor from which to stand aside. The gate to the next field, always open – always there a puddle thick with farmyard mud to straddle.

More dry earth, more fields, more cows. More sun and wind and glorious freedom in the views.

Sep 11

Tenth anniversary of 9/11

Try praying says the banner.

It blows in the wind which blows the people and the sounds and the smells of fast-food-side-stalls.

Try praying.

Prayer before anything else or there won’t be anything else.

So why did I not pray?

Why could I not pray?

9/11 and a daughter missing.

A phone call abruptly cut off as a Tower collapsed.

Her scream and the line going dead.

Hours of not knowing.

Manhattan had swallowed my daughter.

An eighteen year old daughter and her second day at work.

I could not pray.

I could worry.

I could cry.

I could cling to my family.

But I could not pray.

Words would not come.

Shock took over.

And then friends prayed. Friends there, friends here. Friends nearby and friends far away. Friends with comforting arms outstretched.

I felt cut off. Longing to be back in England because America was closed down. Stranded. But not wanting to leave my daughter.

Wherever she was, however she was.

Try praying.

But sometimes prayer is impossible. Its words will not come. I am stranded – on a mat stranded, unable to help myself. I need carrying friends, friends who will bring me to the feet of Jesus.

Ten years ago…

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