There is life..... outside Cambridge.

Today I was invited to visit friends out in the villages. I spend most of my life in Cambridge, living on an estate, surrounded by neighbours I don't know, 24 hour shopping, pubs within a stones throw distance on at least 3 sides... Traffic and aircraft noises an almost constant, dodging cars on my bicycle, busses, busses, busses everywhere - tourists, students...

So 'tis nice on occasion to escape to paradise. (The grass is always green tother side of the bridge.)

I declined the offer of a lift. There is a certain beauty and satisfaction in getting there on my own. In past years I may have cycled, instead opting for the train and armed with instructions starting with: "Leave the station heading accross the fields."
I just love open space, like nectar to this city dweller.

Accross the field, under a road, along the path, follow through to the church.
A nice wild and damp day, brilliantly fresh - just right for walking. Maybe a 20 minute walk to the house.

The sketch may be a little wild, but

wild countryside can be like that!

My host however, looking out of his window decided really I should have a luxurious ride in a warm and dry car, but because I left accross the fields, not via the carpark, he did not catch up with me till I was just a minute from the house.

What wonderful relaxing space this house turned out to be, amazing hosts and good company. A huge thank you to Brian, Janet, Jenny, David, Movern and Sumaya, great afternoon. Only sorry I could not stay longer to complete the feast.

Oh and Brian, I did appreciate the lift back to the train.

St Geoge's Day 2012

I spent much of this morning clearing out a cupboard and sorting the contents aswell as managing to get laundry on the line - which dried despite a forcast of rain!

After lunch, letter writing, something my readers know I love. As with all my letters, well the personal type - not the ones to the bank you know... I added quick little illustrations here and there.

The heading quite naturally illustrated St George riding out in search of dragons to slay. Happy St George's Day, to those who appreciate such things.

The weather quite often features in my heading,
Todays weather, shall we say, has been quite changeable.
But of course, it is April.

I live in suburbia, but would love someday to live out in the countryside with walks such as this on my doorstep. I do so hate the feel of pavements under my feet, far prefering a bouncy meadowy tread, or leaping rock to rock up a mountainside. Hmmmmmm - time to stop dreaming, and back to planet earth.

Looking accross my lawn last week, I noticed how well my dandelions were doing, thinking maybe not so much appreciated by neighbours. So out I went to spray them. Still looking fit and healthy mid week they got the same treatment. They had not withered by Friday, which was when I noticed I had mixed up the spray bottles! Not WEEDKILLER written on this label, this bottle was for feeding roses, and was quite liked by dandelions too!

Today they look somewhat less healthy as I too corrective action.

The Old Bedford Camper Van

From as early as I can remember our family owned an old Camper Van. It was a green Bedford with an expanding roof to give more headroom when the vehicle was at rest.

Two benches ran the length of each side at the back, the seats lifting to reveal valuable storage space. No seat belts in those days, so, you would usually find something to hold on to...

Up, below the ceiling,  2 stretcher like beds pulled out from the sides, hammock like canvas attached to both the wall and a wooden pole. More than once I would sleep up there as we travelled along windy country roads.

We used to 'camp out' on a heath, or by a stream. When it was dry we would abandon the van sleeping out under the stars. I cannot remember ever thinking the ground was uncomfortable.

Early mornings, exploring, picking blackberries, blueberries and anything else we knew to be edible. Usually even before breakfast we would have had our fill.

Cooking was done on a parafin filled primus, we crouched on rocks or logs - or if we were lucky, a camping stool. Cupping our hands round malamine mugs of steaming coffee or hot chocolate the warmth would seep through into our bodies. My mug was light blue with years of tanning inside.

The sunshine would blaze down for ever and ever, beaches, bird hides, walking, windmills, messing about on boats - playing games.

A world of fantastical memories...

Sunrise with a pen...

Holy Week

This week has been full of signposts pointing to Jesus, considering his final week living amongst us embodied in human form on earth.

I have found particularly helpful Sonnets
written and read by Malcom Guite

Palm Sunday  Monday  Tuesday  Wednesday
Maundy Thursday  Good Friday  Saturday  Easter Day

An eclectic crowd gathered for our Christian Writers group this week. I dug out my book and a pencil as Tom spoke, after a while he read us a chapter from his book - an amazing work in progress. My pencil started moving, I wondered how what I was drawing was inspired by what was going on in that room. We seemed to be drawing nourishment and learning through our faith roots together.

Sketch finnished I headed the writing side "Rooted in Faith", but had to stop at that point as we moved on.
I thought I had an idea of words mapped out in my head, but revisitting the page today other words poured out. Those words need reworking, as writers we are continually changing. But I think I understand now just a little of what God was prompting.

I imagined a plastic flower, designed for purpose of looking beautiful.
Sometimes they are made so well, you maybe poke and prod, 'Is it real? Is it not? I thought of a potters passion, or that of an athlete, digging deep into their hearts to produce what is best.

I can learn with my head all the facts on how to make a pot or run a race, and maybe succeed passably at either. But unless I have passion and dedication rooted in my heart and soul for potting I will not throw a masterpiece.

The plastic flower can only give an impression of being alive, a real plant has roots drawing up goodness from the ground.

It is easy to slip into a mechanical faith routine, led by the head and putting on a good display. But it's not being good at something, it is doing it for the right reason.

1 Corrinthians 9:24a Run in such a way as to get the prize.
Our race is not against anyone else, each one of us a solo runner.

I guess this makes me think, because sometimes I ponder the difference between

• 'doing' an act of kindness because it's the way I'm ROUTED through teaching. An action to produce a result.
• or because that's the way my heart is ROOTED in Jesus. A natural responce gaining a result.

In a worldly view, both are winners.
Colossians 2:8 See to it that no-one takes you captive through hollow and deceptive philosophy, which depends on human tradition and the basic principles of this world rather than on Christ.

Hand Written Letters

In this technological age, letter writing by hand is fast disappearing.

I spoke to a 20 year old last week who claims NEVER to have written or received a hand written letter! Emails and Texts all the time, but she thought it must be something rather special to receive a personal letter through the post penned by hand.

When did you last send a letter, not an occasion card - birthday, anniversary etc.?

I love both sending and receiving letters, sadly for every 10 I send I maybe receive one in reply :(

I have used this picture to be the first of hopefully a year long series in the 365 Project.



Multilingual Bus

Sitting on the top deck of the bus tonight was a definite multi-cultural experience. Not a seat to spare and langauges from all 5 continents floating around. I was thinking how amazing it would be if I could hear and understand each conversation!

Made me think of an inverse biblical narative, the Holy Spirit enabling disciples to talk in the tounges of a multilingual crowd, each hearing in their own tounge. And then for Peter to stand and speak, each person able to understand.
Read the story in Acts Chapter 2, a book making up part of the Bible.

Father God, you are awesome. An awesome God indeed.

A Dry Patch at St Wigglesworth

A period of drought has just come to an end in my life.
No, I have not been deprived of showers, endless mugs of coffee, or had to regulate tooth washing resources - which reminds me of a campfire sketch, but that is another story.

I have been spuiritually dry, and I would say as usual, all my own fault.
I am part of a wonderful group, who for narative purposes, I will call 'Square Pegs, Round Holes', part of the Outreach Ministry at St Wibblesworth.

The registar has it most accurately, in my case at least.
Team and Members names minggled into one long list.
There are of course, those who abely lead us, whilst others follow on. Some of the led, occassionally like to lead, whilst others that lead at times find the need to be led.

Week by week we meet, square pegs in round holes - which in all fairness is a good description of absolutely anybody and everybody, even those who have worked hard at shaving of corners and pushing outwards on the long straight lines in an attempt to appear to conform.

It was my turn this week to present the devotional, a short God Slot before dissolving our partnership for another week. Writing that, I think infact the whole meeting is God Slotted; we eat together, we drink together, share stories of our weeks, troubles, woes, joys and random happenings... we do an activity, sometimes we even cry and laugh together - all the time we are doing Community.
(There you are, I got in that good old Key Word, a supporting structure beam of church, Community.)

The email had arrived 4 weeks previous, devotions following a series. Eeek, I screeched, neither accademic nor one to follow norm and protocol.
Eeek I shouted, it would have deafened you had you heard. The following weeks I grumbled and rumbled inside, moaning about not being my thing:
"How could I possibly....?
"What right had they...?
"Grumble, rumble, groan and moan. "

Fortunately it was all in my head, a secret side of me, tucked away bubbling in it's own couldron, where no-one else could see.
God could see!

Along with that, and a spiritual dryness - a self imposed lack of scripture or prayer, and a virtual ignoring of God pacing by my side. Warning lights flashed, ignored - and of course I grumbled, rumbled, groaned and moaned.

The night before, by then I realized I was intercessing at St Wibblesworth main morning service too, I sat down to................. watch a movie!

Between the hours of 1 & 3am, way after the crescent shaped moon had dipped in the west, I knuckled down to scripture and prayer, like openning a floodgate and allowing God's grace to re-enter in...., or had he ever left?

The prayers were writ.
Another disparaging glance at the Wibblesworth Square Peg Round Hole resource, I made it to bed, sleep, this time in a prayerful and praising mood - slumbering most deeply and restfully for 6 hours.

9am is far too late for me to crawl from bed, but by 10:15, bathed, medicated, breakfasted and bandaged I was amazingly early for church. That has not happenned, on the few Sundays I have struggled in, for a while.

Over breakfast I had written in my little book of random Quirks, Thoughts and Quotes, a pondering from @scribblinghappy

"Life is an adventure given by God.

I just smile and document it."

http://www.caitlinmuir.com

En-route to church I stopped peddalling for a few moments to write

"...how important it is to engrave God's Holy Word in our hearts, not by mis-quotes or bit-quotes, or incidental study of the odd verse here and there. Instead by saturating ourselves in scrpture, prayer AND the Holy Spirit."

I am reminded of a friend encouraging me into this pool, 'Come on in, the water is loverly.'
Not untill now - I have swum there many times - do I understand what God and maybe they meant by that comment.

Another jotted down note as the service began,

When I turn to scripture and prayer, I get so excited and feel God's presence.
'Why is it I so easily turn away only idly thinking of things of the Spirit, God and Jesus, and get despondant?'

The message of the service like an arrow, straight to the point. God's Grace, Forgiveness, Strength, Courage; for me it is enough. Smack between the eyes, bullseye! Whack! POW!
What of the grumble, rumble, moan and groan.

After lunch I dug out that crumpled sheet of words which had opennly laughed at and ridiculled me for 4 weeks. This time, with poetic beauty and guidance from the Holy Spirit, yes God really did send us his Helper, words penned both on paper and in my mind; pretty soon these were shared, chatted about, thrown around and provided a fitting end to our 'St Wibblesworth Square Pegs, Round Holes' gathering - which hopefully will be chewed over this coming week.

Notes to myself...

I dug these random jottings out of my pocket at the end of the day...