I started reading a book yesterday called, “The unhurried life”. There is so much in it that I want to think about and claim for myself. This was the beginning of a few thoughts that are emerging as I read.

The unhurried saviour.

Trust was the candle that lights the first steps,
Of this one who came to bring a lighter yoke,
The burden of his world contained in endless lists,
Counting up people’s failures in a world of impossibility,
He came to a world of religious bureaucracy gone mad,
Nothing was left to the blessed sanctuary of forgiveness,
Everything measured in a theology submitted to SMART goals,
Like our daily tally’s of checklists added onto checklists,
Marked against a performance review of missing the mark,
The candle of trust is the light at the end of the tunnel,
Beckoning me to live to a different rhythm,
God loves it when we choose to dance with him,
When we say no to one more task that threatens sanity,
Instead choosing to sleep or daydream to ensure rest’s restoration.

In an evergreen world it’s easy to forget the desert,
That place where Jesus walked to by himself,
Choosing to begin everything with silence and hunger,
Leaving behind the rush and bustle of the market,
The heated theology of his day with endless discussions,
Even his friends with their earnest hopeful questions,
Needed to know that first comes the desert,
A place where loneliness is the companion who speaks loudest,
And, temptation is a constant distraction that desires
to drown out what is most needed to be heard.

The beginning always starts with a single thread,
That joins one with another
and another,
Creation forming out of a sliver of thread.

At first its:
purpose;
pattern;
shape;
Are difficult to discern,
But, slowly in the threads,
I see a shape, a pattern, a purpose,
At first known only by me,
Until it’s shared with another,
We see together,
The gift that is hard to find,
If only given a quick glance.

Life is all about rhythms – they are the heartbeat of existence,
There’s the annual marking of time that says another year passed,
New year’s comes again with its fireworks and hopeful statements,
Changing the calendar numbers and resolutions for a better me
Hair greying and another number added to experience.
Then within in each year there is the shift in seasons,
From cool winters to scorching summers,
Short days that feel cut off too quickly – not enough done,
To days lengthening that bring the swooping magpies …
Their fierce protection tell me the cycle of life is about to begin again.

Rhythms remind me that life has its limits – I am finite and life will end.
As the numbers have added up in my life I see that I am not invincible,
And, life is not so much about the words that I say, and there are plenty of them,
I know that it really is the silences that speak more about my what’s in my heart,
Once I thought that poems needed to rhyme because this is what life is like,
That was the simplicity of youth that thought everything would have a happy ending.
Nowadays I struggle with a poem that rhymes or has the perfect form,
I look for poems that match life’s rhythms – they don’t follow the primary school verse rules,
Remember the ones that we were taught to make sure that every second line rhymes?
These poems really don’t interest me much at all, For me poetry is
not the search for the perfect rhyme, it’s all about the imagination discovering words,
That speak to the heart of the creative source from where I came.

Then there is my desire for a deeper rhythm that can be my guiding light,
It’s the rhythm that satisfies the endless searching of philosophy’s deepest questions,
But, then go even deeper to seek out the nature of love’s truest source,
As the years of my life are counted up I find that this is the place where I spend most of my time,
Sure I worry about bills and family and what people say and where we will go for a holiday,
But, the place I really want to spend the most time is the shortest and longest distance to travel,
When I am busy I often will neglect it and I find that my life is overwhelmed
my list of things to do becoming a burden that I can never be free of.
It’s then I seek out that deeper rhythm or I die. I know this sounds dramatic,
but this is the truth I had to learn the hard way. I remember the despair that came
when I forgot about the sacred rhythm my life was always intended to follow.
Recently the glimpses back to the despair are always held in the light of Beauty’s words to me.

Rhythms exist in love and friendships – They require the regular pulse of new blood…
Without this fresh flow painful bruises arise are evidence of a lack of fresh life and
show the world the blows that caused them to come to the surface.
Sooner or later these blows will leave their mark on the relationship,
they can be healed but the violence that they began from also needs healing.
Love and friendships hold the capacity to delight and disappoint. Joy and sadness
are always close at hand when my heart is opened wide to another’s.
And I have have felt the worst and best of these. Love’s ebbs and flows, and lost,
friendships cherished and friendships missed are all part of life’s rhythms.
I feel the pain of a love torn apart, the wrenching of a broken heart,
and I know the pain of when a friendship is painfully discarded,
by the one that is loved. Even when I would have died for what I cherished most,
I realised too late that something had already died between us – The rhythm of life and death
doesn’t forget the beat that continues as life pushes me ever forward. But, I will
continue to love, forgive and trust. These are far better than allowing disappointment’s
painful blows to only leave hate, anger and anxiety…
It’s not just the fun times and shared moments that mark the progress of my most loved friendships,
sadness is also the painful reminder that life continues to remember my name. I am not forgotten
even in the midst of a world of broken hearts, my painful cries are heard.

Surprise is in the unexpected beauty
in what rises every day,
Light tinged with colour wakes my heart
along with my eyes,
A mounting list of drudgeries
waiting for me
As I think of what must be done,
Are forgotten in that moment
when my eyes turn toward the sun,
I love the surprise of beauty everyday,
It always renews and reminds,
New life is always waiting for its turn,
When I remember to open my heart,
To the life that rises in me each day.

I recently came across a Mary Oliver poem “Five A.M. in the Pinewoods”, that finished with these lines:

“I was thinking:
so this is how you swim inward,
so this is how you flow outward,
so this is how you pray”.
When reading the last line I started thinking about how I pray and the unique voice that God has given me. Her poem is about finding a space to consider the nature of our existence through an encounter with some deer. Her concluding words led me to write, “This is how I pray”.

When I wrote my poem I started with the creative voice of my imagination and the gift of a community in which I can share that gift. The light shining for a friend is that moment of connection created when an idea is shared with someone trusted enough to appreciate the gift that is brought. This sharing with another helps me better understand the essence of prayer.

Then as I considered the creative work of prayer I wondered about the best environment that allows my prayer to be expressed. It’s often in the midst of beauty, or stillness or daydreaming that possibility is given the freedom to be explored. Doing nothing is often the best way to birth and nurture creativity.

Finally I explored the creative work that came from making a space to explore the jumble of thoughts in my head. A poem grew out of enjoying my own unique expression of prayer. The poem is my creativity that came from allowing a space that permitted an idea to tramp through my head and take the form of text on a page.

I have discovered over the past year or so that prayer is not an endless list of requests that are streamed up to God. It has become a beautiful creative act that is a part of the imaginative work that God formed within me when he created me in his image. Prayer is a solitary work of finding ways to express to God my joy, surprise, hope and expectation as well as my disappointment sadness and loneliness. And, then when it’s shared and appreciated by others it becomes an even deeper expression of my connection with God’s community,

This is how I pray

An idea flashes,
Jolting my my thoughts,
With what could be!
The jumble of imagination,
Untangling itself,
Into a pattern of ideas,
And, seeing the light shine,
For a friend,
Who sees my imagination,
Wondering too what could be?

It’s not the peaceful forest,
Or, the first shaft of light,
Breaking into the morning,
But, in the middle of beauty,
I sit with possibility,
Silently,
Searching,
Lost in my thoughts,
The footsteps of an idea,
Tramping through the beauty,
That surrounds my still activity.

A poem captures,
And, releases,
What cannot be said,
This is how I pray,
There are many more verses,
That are best left to silence,
Prayer isn’t just what is spoken,
I mostly listen,
Learning to hear,
When the footsteps pound,
Or, when there is no silence,
I remember the gift,
Of learning how to pray.

This poem was written at a retreat after being given the image that I have attached. I was able to imagine what life will be like for me in another 25 years time.

It’s a long knowing look
Delight in a beautiful heart,
Being close to another,
Celebrating difference together,
The suprise of a shared life,
That is still unfolding,
The trust of two committed hearts,
A lifetime of understanding,
That sacrifices anything today,
For the opportunity of tomorrow,
The smile of appreciation,
At the mystery in the other.