In the early morn
When the waiting seems so long
And the darkness empty
I watch the horizon
Listen to the awakening
The songs of birds
Angels
Impatient
Until
The first light
Brushes the sky
The sun rises
from death’s dark night
into the beginning of a new day
The dawn of life
Alleluia! Christ is risen!
Chestnut coat. Long tail swishing from side to side. With mincing steps the horse slowly approaches the sea. Ears twitching. Flaring nostrils. And stops. Waiting. Then a turn, and back up the slope. Slow clip-clop along the road. Homewards bound.
Setting sun traces a path across the beach
Reflections in rippled water point the way
Into the darkness ahead.
The brightness will soon fade
Leaving blackness of night sky
Stars hidden behind clouds.
I will walk for a while
In the dark with him
Watching and waiting
Making ready
To greet the rising Sun
Mark 14:32ff….watching and praying…
The battlements surround us as we drive along the lanes. White walls taller than the car. The roadway seemingly chiselled out as though from rock. Winter has the hills in a firm grip. Yet by the coast, the snow is very gradually dissolving, snowmen disappearing to some foreign land. The snow-castle still sits proudly guarding the front path, but the turrets are crumbling under spring’s return. The battle is not yet won – snow continues to fall in odd flurries, occasionally settling for a short time. The sun seems to be winning today’s fight.
Winter’s bare reeds emerge from the white dunes, silhouettes against the white. Here and there the freezing wind has stripped the grass tufts of their blanket. Leaving them peeking through, open to the elements. The night’s frost has formed an icy crust on the snow. A satisfying crunch as I walk.
Thursday’s snow flurries turned into Friday’s blizzard. We woke to a white world, snow plastered against the window. A strange quiet. No electricity. No heating. No lights. Small camping stove out. Log fire stoked up. All day the snow continued to fall, hurling itself bad-temperedly at the ground. Tossed about by the wind, clawing at hair and face. A quick dash outside to post a letter became a struggle into the teeth of a blizzard. The path to the door and the pavement is shoveled three times. A losing battle. Inside the fire blazes, the only warmth in the house. Ice dripping from coat and hat. The kettle sings merrily on the hearth. Night draws in early. With candles lit and flames flickering the evening passes quickly. And so to bed, dressed for outside… hat and warm socks. Jumper and leggings. Duvet and three blankets. Hot water bottles top and bottom.
During the dark hours the snow still falls. A gentler dance, but just as popular. The morning light sees 10 foot drifts piled along the roads. The local farmers attach buckets to the tractors and plow the roads in the village. In the heart of the community we are safe. Cocooned from the outside world, an insulating layer of snow keeping us separate. Still no heat or light. The local rescue vehicle pops by, checking up on all. We clear the paths yet again, neighbours working together. Lunch has been cooking since dawn, balanced on the edge of the coal fire. Afterwards we emerge and playtime begins. A new member of the village appears, sitting on the bench. Soon the clouds draw in again, pregnant. Snow flurries occupy the afternoon, as the sun slowly moves across the sky. Darkness arrives and the candles are lit again. With my flickering light I climb the stairs and bury under the duvet.
Palm Sunday begins in sunshine, bringing longed for warmth into the room. A beautiful day. I go for a walk along the shore, sinking up to my knees in snow. Raid the garden for palm leaves, buried in a drift, and make palm crosses. No hope of church today – the road is still blocked to the east. By midday, the road north is finally opened. Electricity vans are seen, raising hopes. But lunch is stew slow-cooked by the open fire, and tea is toast and jam. The kettle still sings on the hearth at bedtime, and candles flicker on.
Dawn today brought relief. Blessed warmth. Sinking through to my bones. The power flicks on and off before staying on. The main wires to the village are still down, but a lorry late last night brought generators. A day of restocking. The thaw has begun, for now.
Winter cold wind blows. Flurries of sleet and snow. In the garden, work is is underway for the coming spring. Tidying, sorting, finding seed containers. In a quiet corner, the recent rain has formed an impromptu pond in a bucket. Hidden from curious eyes, sleeping away the worst of the weather, hides a frog. A welcome guest in the vegetable patch.
One step forward and two back. An old adage, but that’s what life sometimes feels like. Strolling on the beach is great, but then something will occur – not anything major; perhaps a change of mood or a change in the weather, destructive thoughts, careless words – and suddenly I’m climbing up a steep cliff, hanging grimly on as the slope seems to shift and move around me. Often the beginning of the struggle is indiscernible. Where did the scramble start? This is a questioning time in my life. While I am sure that God wants me here, in this time, in this place, often it would be have been easier to stay in my previous existence. Safe, secure, just getting on with life. Sure of what I’m meant to be doing and why.
Pausing is dangerous. It makes you think. And pray. And deal with issues you might not want to tackle. And pray again. How do you let go of the previous situation, how do you relinquish all the work you’ve put in? How do you stop? How do you be? And when all the labels, all the layers are stripped away, who is left underneath them? At times there is a deafening silence. I find myself reminded of Elijah in the Old Testament, who after wind and storm hears the still voice of God in that very silence. At times the only answer is an inward knowledge and calm that I am loved, wanted and adored by God. That the labels pinned on me by myself and society are actually not of any value to him. He has no need of them. It doesn’t stop the questioning, the thinking, the process of relearning to live. But it is there as a steady assurance. I am his and he is mine and that is all.
I saw this piece of driftwood on the beach today. I haven’t moved it into position. This is how I found it. Climbing the slope to the top. It reminded me that in my struggles, he is there with me. He has climbed this cliff as well, and now he climbs it again, with me.
Now there was a great wind, so strong that it was splitting mountains and breaking rocks in pieces before the Lord, but the Lord was not in the wind; and after the wind an earthquake, but the Lord was not in the earthquake; and after the earthquake a fire, but the Lord was not in the fire; and after the fire a sound of sheer silence. When Elijah heard it, he wrapped his face in his mantle and went out and stood at the entrance of the cave. I Kings 19:9ff
An early start today, heading eastwards into possibilities. While other parts of Scotland hide under a blanket of snow, we smile through grey cloud and mist. Wrapped up warm against the biting wind, and catching the occasional snowflake amidst the rain. The locals are dressed for the weather – shaggy coats keeping them warm. Layers insulating them from the worst this land can throw at you. They look ferocious – but are nosy, curious, friendly beasts. Just beware of the horns!
The beach is a liminal zone. Neither land nor sea. Constantly moving from one to the other. Each tide brings a new scene, a fresh place to walk. Ever changing, ever constant. A place of contradictions. A place to rest, to walk, to think. To pray. To talk. To laugh and to cry. A place for the tired times and the energetic ones. For trudges in glumness and dancing in joy. A place of exploration. A place of being. Where my deepest thoughts are spoken and my heart’s desires are expressed, spoken into the wind and the tide. For the ears of my God alone.
There are times when the silence from God seems to deafen me. When it seems as though the wind and the tide are the only ones listening. And it’s time like this that God can strike unexpectedly… a word at the right time, an unexpected ranbow, a sweeping sunset that takes my breath away. God’s gifts for me to enjoy. This little shell reminded me that as I walk along the sand, as I practice being in the company of God, he does listen. Even in the silence.
iggandfriends 