Category: Blessings

One day last week I decided to take some time off. I’ve been doing a lot of travelling and working long hours for a couple of months now. Weekends have been busy too. It was time for a break.

I’d normally aline an impromptu day off with Sue’s day off, but that wouldn’t have been possible for a few more weeks.

It was a lovely day, the sun was shining, and there was a cooling gentle breeze. I packed some lunch, my camera, my iPod, a book of walks, some pencils and a sketch pad then headed off to a small village nearby called Hurst Green. Hurst Green is the home of Stonyhurst College. John Tolkien, son of J.R.R. Tolkien went to school there. It was arguably one of the places that inspired the scenery of Middle Earth in the Lord of the Rings trilogy.

It’s certainly a beautiful idyllic place.

The map book had a new walk for me to try out, I’ve done a couple of walks from Hurst Green before, so I was excited at the prospect of seeing some new sites.

The walk set off down a lane through some woods beside a small brook. The dappled light created by the sunlight shining through the leaves of the trees was lovely.

The walk took me up a hill and then down towards the river Ribble eventually reaching the Dinkley pedestrian suspension bridge. There used to be a ferry that crossed the river at this point apparently, but now it looks a bit out of place sat in a valley not really going from anywhere to anywhere.

It was time for lunch, and time to get the pencils out.

The water levels were low and I could sit on a rock practically in the middle of the river, looking up at the bridge. The harsh straight lines contrasted wonderfully with the more subtle soft shapes of the trees. There were a couple of fluffy white clouds in the sky lighting up the iridescent blue sky. It was a scene that demanded to be sketched.

The pencil moved across the paper drawing me into the scene before me. As my eyes switched from scene to paper and back again I noticed the different trees that lined the river and the tall grass away in the distance. I noticed the flow of the water as it ambled along.

I have no idea why I don’t sketch more, the creative act makes me feel alive.

Perhaps that points to one reason why I don’t. I tend to save sketching for the times when I have the time to enjoy it. I don’t actually want to sit down and bash something out, I want to enjoy the process.

My sketching isn’t high art, but that’s not why I do it. I don’t want to spend my time asking the question “It’s pretty, but is it Art?” as the Devil whispered in Rudyard Kipling’s poem “The Conundrum of the Workshops“:

When the flush of a new-born sun fell first on Eden’s green and gold,
Our father Adam sat under the Tree and scratched with a stick in the mould;
And the first rude sketch that the world had seen was joy to his mighty heart,
Till the Devil whispered behind the leaves, “It’s pretty, but is it Art ?”

I’m not being artistic, I’m being creative.

Creativity is something that seems to be drummed out of adults, as I’ve said before. It does me all sorts of good to spend some time creating something and it saddens me that life leaves so little time to do it.

Few people are likely to see my sketches, and I’m not doing it to pass an exam, I’m just being creative.

My sketches aren’t going to an expedition, and I’m not trying to win approval, I’m just being creative.

Reading through the Bible I see a God who was and is massively creative. But God also seems that value the creativity of man.

Last week I was near Washington D.C. on business. Unlike many business trips we actually had some time see a couple of sites.

On one trip we went up into Washington D.C. and went around the sites including Capitol Hill, the Washington Monument, and the Lincoln Memorial from where Martin Luther King Jnr. gave his famous “I have a dream” speech. One of the steps up to the memorial is marked with an inscription marking the event. Standing on the step looking out I got a new sense of the historic events that took place – on that very spot.

At the end of the trip we had a couple of hours spare which we used to visit the Smithsonian National Air and Space Museum Udvar-Hazy Center. In the middle of the museum sits the B-29 Superfortress bomber Enola Gay.  This is the aircraft that dropped the first atomic bomb on Hiroshima just before the end of World War II. Standing in front of this hulk of polished metal I tried to imagine how it must have felt inside the cockpit on that day. What did they talk about on the way out? What did they talk about on the way back? How did they feel about their role in the events of 6th August 1945 as they lived the rest of their lives?

On Saturday, after my return, I went to a friend’s wedding. This was the wedding of someone who had been part of the church youth work years ago when Sue and I were involved. It was a historic event especially for the bride and the groom.

Each of these events resonate through time. Each of these events have changed the world in which I live. Each of these events will continue to change the world in which I live. Some in relatively minor ways, for me, others in more significant ways. They are all part of my history.

Few people would doubt that Jesus was a historic figure. H.G. Wells once said this:

“I am an historian, I am not a believer, but I must confess as a historian that this penniless preacher from Nazareth is irrevocably the very centre of history. Jesus Christ is easily the most dominant figure in all history.”

His history continues to resonate and continues to influence. His history continues to be a part of my history too.

(Unfortunately, I didn’t take my camera with me on my trip, so a picture from my garden will have to be a more than adequate substitute.)

I work as a technologist. My life is spent around the latest and greatest gadgets, information technology, computation, storage, wireless and all manner of things that are changing our lives. Sometimes it’s a bit like working in a reality distortion field, the stuff I am doing isn’t yet real life.

When I’m not at work I still like to use the technology (which is why I’m writing a blog), but I also like to reconnect with the real world. One way of reconnecting that I return to again and again is to potter in the garden.

There is something very cathartic about getting your hands dirty.

I try not to have an agenda when I go out, work is run by agendas, pottering requires no agenda. It always amazes me how much I find to do without an  agenda. The garden looks OK, and will probably stay looking OK without me doing anything, but having ventured out and invested some time I can see a real difference. See a job – do a job, nothing more complicated than that.

A  while ago I watched a series in which the TV Gardener Monty Don took a number of young people with drug problems through a programme that tried to reconnected them with the land. I’m not sure how successful Monty would say that the series was, but I could relate to where he was aiming.

There is something about tending the land, pottering in the garden, that connects with something deep inside me. Perhaps it’s because I used to spend hours down on the allotment with my Dad, or perhaps it’s something more fundamental than that. Perhaps it’s something deep in our very fabric.

There is something about mowing the lawn that surfaces all of my frustrations, I have no idea why. The inner conversation is often quite angry, but having been surfaced, the frustrations are normally gone, left in the pile of clippings in the compost bin.

Today I jet-washed the patio, it’s not a task that can be rushed, it takes as long as it takes. You kind of have to find the rhythm to be successful. It does me good to be in a rhythm, I prefer to be rushing, but it’s much better for me when I’m walking to a beat.

I always feel blessed after a few hours in the garden.

I would loved to have seen the Garden of Eden, I’m expecting to see something even better one day. I wonder whether it will need us to potter in it? I wonder whether we will feel the need to potter in it?

Yesterday we went walking as a family in the Lake District, starting off from Grasmere.

This week has been a weeks holiday, we haven’t been away anywhere, we’ve just made the most of pottering around at home. It’s been a good time for clearing up all of those little jobs that have needed to be done for some time, we’ve also had lots of fun.

As we were walking up towards Easedale Tarn we came across a sheep with a lamb. We could tell from the start that it was a very young lamb. It was still very wobbly on it’s feet and the umbilical cord was still fixed too.

Emily took my new camera and stealthily eased towards the lamb and it’s mother. They were both still very tired. The mother had been carrying this lamb around for some time (a sheep’s gestation period is around 5 months) and I’m sure that birth isn’t a simple thing even for sheep.

As Emily was still taking picture some people came walking down the path, they had watched the sheep giving birth only a short while earlier.

This was new life, a completely new start. But what kind of a life would it be?

This was no cosy hospital ward, we were part way up the side of a mountain it’s still quite cold up there; the wind had quite a bite. It might not be the place where we would choose to be born into but there were Herdwick sheep, specially bred to stand the conditions up there on that mountain. They were were they were meant to be.

The other week I was out walking in the morning when I took a diversion to a nearby pond. As I approached, the water rippled and there were a few splashes, there were frogs everywhere, and frog-spawn too. More new life.

Psalm 19 says this:

The Law of the LORD is perfect;
   it gives us new life.
His teachings last forever,
   and they give wisdom
   to ordinary people.

In today’s society it seems like a complete contradiction to talk about “law” giving “new life”, we expect “law” to bring rules and constraints leading to a lack of life. But that would be to misunderstand of the meaning of “law”. Other translations try to use other words to explain it better: instructions, revelation, teachings. I’m no Greek scholar, so I’m in no position to try and explain the actual meaning. My experience tells me that all of these words are kind of correct. The times I feel “new life” are when I follow in the paths that God outlines, I feel that “new life” ebbing away when I ignore them. I prefer the word “paths” because I think that it’s a better reflection of my own experience, “He guides me in paths of righteousness” as it ways in Psalm 23. The key to this phrase, for me, is the first part – “He guides” – this is no set of laws that are written down and used as a measuring rod. These are path of righteousness, paths of new life, that He guides us in, and He guides is in relationship.

So, my experience is this, new life comes through walking paths of relationship.

Emily (my daughter, 12) has recently been baking a lot, and we are all loving it.

Last night was fresh pizza.

We are not talking here about pizza made on a shop bought base, but pizza baked from scratch, making the dough from ingredients, making the sauce from ingredients, covered with lashings of toppings.

The pizza was fabulous, really fabulous.

Not only was it a blessing to my stomach, it was a bigger blessing to my soul.

Watching Emily enjoy the process of creativity was wonderful.

The joy she got from kneading dough was incredible, but that was nothing compared to the look on her face when she showed it to me after an hour when it had miraculously risen.

I had to play taxi for Jonathan while the rest of the process was pursued. When I returned the pizza was made; wonderful, glorious, pizza. Emily’s face was beaming.

There is something incredible about the face of someone who has just created something that they are really proud of. Emily’s face told the story of someone who had been on a journey and triumphed.

We can approach a task in all sorts of different ways. We can approach it as a task that needs to be done because it needs to be done or we can approach it as an opportunity. What turns a task into an opportunity is the ability to be creative within the task.

Creativity comes in all sorts of shapes and sizes, each of them makes an impact on who we are. It’s something that is deeply engrained in who we are. One of the most demoralizing things I see are people with no creative outlet, stuck in job they hate, with nothing igniting that spark of inspiration.

I believe that we are made in the image of God and God is creator; He makes things, He plans things, He changes things. I, therefore, believe that we are made to be creative and that it’s part of our character.

When I spend time with children and younger people I see creativity all of the time. One of the saddest things I see are adults who have stopped being creative because it’s been knocked out of them by the need to be grown-up, or by a feeling of not being good enough. One of the most joyous things i see are adult rediscovering creative inspiration.

Jesus loved to be around children, perhaps their creativity was one of the reasons.

I love stories. Sometimes I think that I should read more factual instructive reference books, but I love to read stories. They sometimes give a glimpse of something that a text book never could.

Last week we went on one of our quiet days in Keswick. There is something about these days that trips my brain over into a creative spin. Most of the time it’s sketching, I rarely feel inspired to sketch at other time, but on quiet days I can draw anything. This time it was different though, this time it was a story.

Here it is for you:

The Wet Windows

Short-sighted as I am I sat before a wet window. It was raining outside and the wind was blowing it around the window. All I could focus on was those wandering droplets and the drips in the puddles just outside.

I tried to focus on the trees beyond but my eyes and the raindrops wouldn’t let me.

Beside me was a book of beautiful landscape photos. I tried to experience the scenes they portrayed. They were calm and peaceful, but still only pictures.

Then my friend tapped me on the shoulder. “Shall we go on a bit of a journey” he said.

“But it’s raining and the wind is blowing a gale out there.” I replied.

“You’ve got your boots and your coat haven’t you?” He retorted.

I no longer had an excuse. So off I went out to the car and picked up my waterproof coat and my walking boots. My friend was already prepared by the time I got back.

“Which way shall we go?” I asked.

“You choose”

“Why don’t we just walk across the church yard to the church?” I jokingly suggested.

“Come on Graham that’s no adventure.” He replied with a smile.

So off we set, down the road away from the church.

As the wind blew harder still my friend undid his coat and pulled it above his head like a sail, just like we did as children. “Feel that force!” He excitedly shouted.

A bit further along there was a huge puddle. My friend was off again, hop, skip and jump, both feet, straight into the middle. He laughed like a giddy child.

We carried on until we came to a bouncy bridge over a flooded river. “Look at the power in that.” He said. “Feel that low rumble of water over rocks.”

A little further along we reached a lake. “Wow, look at that” he exclaimed “it’s amazing to think that it’s all just a load of raindrops.”

“Shall we stop here?” I suggested.

“Let’s go a little further.” He encouraged.

We headed off into the woods.

After a little while there was a path to the right.

“This way?” I questioned.

“Let’s carry on this way a little further.” He replied.

Eventually we reached the edge of the woods and were greeted by the spectacular view of a mountain looming over us.

“Are we going up there?” I quizzed.

“No, this is far enough for today.” He comforted.

“So, what was this all about?” I asked.

He talked as we returned.

“Well it’s like this Graham.

“It’s OK to sit inside where it is safe and warm but you are only ever going to get a window view, and on days like today that view is always going to be distorted by things in the foreground.

“The only way that you are going to get any more than that is to get out into it.

“Pictures can only show you a glimpse of the possibilities; they are no substitute for the real thing either.

“Your glasses are a bit like my words to you; they let you see clearer and further, but you still need to get out there to really experience it.

“I let you choose the path because I know that life is full of all sorts of possibilities. I’m not here to dictate to you which of those possibilities you should choose. I want to join you on the journey through them. I want to show you the exciting things that I have made for you along the way. I want to be there when you discover new and exciting things.

“Sometimes I’ll encourage you to stick to a particular path that you have chosen, other times I’ll encourage you to travel a little further. On other occasions I’ll let you know that we have gone far enough.

“I could have let it be a glorious sunny day. I let it rain because I wanted you to experience how the rain and the wind made you feel. You can feel more alive in the midst of a storm than you can on any sunny day.

“Remember Graham, life is a journey, one that I want to walk with you. Today has just been a glimpse of that journey.”

Perhaps it wasn’t a story perhaps it was more than a story?

This time of year brings with it wonderful sunrise skies in my part of the world. If I get the timing right my morning walk is spent gazing into the skies and watching the colour and light change minute by minute. Starting with deep dark purples the colour builds to vibrant reds, settles into golden oranges, finishing with the a combination of cloud and blue that tells me I’m in Lancashire. I start my journey in darkness seeing little more than the outline of people and objects as I pass them by, I finish my walk in full colour with the light bouncing off the morning dew and frost.

My job involves me taking short flights up and down England on quite a regular basis. I love having a window seat and watching the cloud formations. The shapes and structures are fascinating. I wonder at what the conditions were that made a cloud form in a particular shape and why it all looks so solid. Why do they form such straight lines? How far have they travelled? How long will they last?

I’m currently on a train travelling into London, it’s morning. The sky has changed several times already. At the moment the sky is a light yellow, the sun is breaking it’s way through mist and is starting to driving away the frost. The patches of white on blue look like someone has come along with two sponges covered in white and blue paint and splattered them randomly across the sky.

When I walk in the mountains I sometimes get the feeling that I am going up into the sky. Ascending into another realm, stepping out of the day-to-day and into the world above. I want to stay on the top and bath in it.

Sometimes when the sky is blue I like to lie on my back and just soak it in.

The writer of the proverbs said this:

Three things amaze me,
   no, four things I’ll never understand—
      how an eagle flies so high in the sky,
      how a snake glides over a rock,
      how a ship navigates the ocean,
      why adolescents act the way they do.

Proverbs 30

I know what he means.

It has been cold recently. I know that cold is a relative thing and actually it’s not been that cold in global terms, it’s barely been below freezing.

When I am working from home my dress is somewhat dressed-down, especially on my feet. I like the freedom of not having to wear shoes. My circulation isn’t great though and if I wear nothing on my feet they soon get cold. Once they are cold it take hours to warm them up.

Nice warm socks are a real blessing. Once my feet are warm I’m warm.

Socks seem to have come a long way in recent years with new fibres that make your feet warm without making them smelly, for this I am also grateful.

This morning was a walking morning. It ought to have been a gym morning, but my back is rather sore at the moment –  that’s what you get for going to see a physiotherapist.

It all started as a very normal morning as I headed into the woods. This weekend has been a rather wet one in Lancashire so I was fully togged-up with my walking boots, walking trousers and breathable water-proof techno-coat. There were the usual collection of dog walkers looking like their dogs (I’ve often wondered whether dog walkers are afraid of their pooch finding a died body, because that seems to be the way that most of them are found). We exchanged the usual pleasantries as we passed, I was just another walker out for a stroll.

Half way around my walk just as I was trying to decide which way to walk next, all of the normalness changed. There in the middle of the path, in the middle of the woods was an object. In it’s place this would be a normal everyday object, but here it was out of place it was out of context.

As I approached my eyes took a little while to work out what it was that they were seeing in the pre-dawn light. Once I had worked out what it was though, a question came thundering into my head – “well it can’t stay there, someone will have to take it back”.

That is where my dilemma started – “someone will have to take it back” – but who? It’s a bit of a walk to take it back and the person taking it would look daft taking this object through the woods, they’d get all sorts of strange looks from passers by. My conscience was telling me in no uncertain terms that I should take it back. I had found it, so I should take the responsibility. If I didn’t take it back it could just stay there for weeks getting steadily more vandalised. On the other side of my head were all the arguments about how much effort it would take and how silly I would look. I was just out for a normal pleasant walk and hadn’t bargained on this distraction. I had a busy day ahead after all.

My conscience won.

This is how I found myself pushing an ASDA shopping trolley through the woods, through a housing estate, across an empty car park and back to it’s home in consumer land.

People have trolleys in supermarkets, not in woods. The impact of this object on the reactions of other people was remarkable. Without the trolley, everyone would give you a simple “hello” or “good morning”, their faces barely changing as you pass. With a trolley the response was entirely different. People no longer knew how to respond, was I a normal walker with a trolley, or was I something else? Some of them tried to ignore me and not say anything, those that did had a strange questioning look on their face.

Jesus behaved in all sorts of strange ways and many people didn’t know how to respond to him.

He spat on the ground to make mud and then put it in someone’s eyes to make them well.

He spoke to an outcast lady from another race.

He told them stories that they didn’t understand.

Perhaps it’s not surprising that they look at those of us who follow him with similarly strange looks.

In each of these situations Jesus blew apart their context, they had a certain perception of who he should be but he was something entirely other.

I delivered the trolley back to its home where I hope it will stay.

Look what I found on my desk this morning.

I don’t think I need to say anymore.

Thanks Emily.