Graham Chastney's Blessings

The following are a set of holiday snaps that we took while we were away in Northumbria.

A beautiful place.

I sit atop a cliff, my t-shirt still wet from the sweat that proves the effort that has bought me to this tranquil rock bathed in the sun and wind overlooking a scene of lake and mountain.

Upon the lake the wind dances a waltz with the water in patterns of rolling splendour joined occasionally by swirling white maidens.

As I sit the wind stiffens and the sky darkens, the blue hue gives way to grey.

Across the lake a lace curtain of a rain shower forms and draws nearer. The waltzing splendour on the lake gives way to patterns of fractal like intricacy, patterns within patterns, swirls within swirls, faster and faster. It’s like a street dance crew has invaded a tea-dance. This way and that way they dart across the waters.

I stand and ponder my need for shelter or a coat, but stand and marvel at the beautiful complexity of the scene as the lace curtain draws nearer.

Then, just as the curtain is about to become a veil the wind shifts to the north and street dancers move away from me and towards the town in the distance.

The rolling waltzing patterns of peak and trough return as if they had never been disturbed. Continuing in the dance until the next time the lace curtain and the street dancers return.

Thank you for making me so wonderfully complex!
      Your workmanship is marvellous—how well I know it.

Psalm 139

This evening I got in from a busy day at work. It’s hot, so I was bit sticky in my long trousers and shirt. I rarely wear a tie, but if I did, it wouldn’t have survived around my neck for the drive home.

Home, I went in search of the rest of the family. Jonathan was outside having his tea with Anna, Sue and Emily were in the kitchen preparing mine.

“We’ve picked some more strawberries, and we’ve got some red raspberries”

“Have you picked them”

“No not yet”

Still in my work clothes I headed outside to the net tent at the back of the garden where the raspberry bushes live. It didn’t take me long to find a handful of wonderful sweet red raspberries.

If you’ve ever tasted a ripe raspberry straight off a bush you know what I mean I say that they were GOOD.

If you’ve never had the pleasure then I’m sorry but you’ve really missed out on one of life’s treats.

They call them fresh in the supermarket – but it’s just not the same.

Perhaps it’s got something to do with the anticipation at watching them grow week by week. Perhaps they taste so much better because I’ve had a hand in their growth. Perhaps they just taste better because they are fresher. I don’t know?

Almost by definition, things that are called fruits taste good. Whether they are sweet or tangy or succulent or even bitter, they taste good.

But the fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness and self-control

Galatians 5