Sad poetry in the unsuspecting

Today for the first time in possibly about nearly three weeks, I walked on an 'adventure' on my own. Favoring the echo of my feet on the pavement, I could sense the stares of urban life around me and the throbbing bass of passing cars as no metronome for my pace. It took me forty five minutes to walk home, which normal takes me ten/fifteen minutes however home I arrived feeling a small sense of accomplishment and hope; which I will admit my soul needs.

There is a sad kind of poetry in the unsuspecting. For every catastrophe that befalls us there was a time before when we were quite oblivious. Little did we know how happy we were then or what was even around us. If only we could learn to celebrate, truly celebrate, the 'ordinary' days; the ones that begin unremarkably and continue in unnoteworthy fashion. Days like yesterday or the day before, when the irksome things were slight and passing; the fuzzy edges of an early morning headache, the spilling of cuppa tea or falling of a spoken word in the wrong place. It makes me wonder if these are the days to prize, the days on which to pause, to give thanks more so than the days that are full of wonder, miracles and clear celebration. And in doing so, maybe we acknowledge that we are ready, we're poised, if the skies were to fall, we'd have a chance of catching them. 

For me, the past three weeks I have felt like the skies have fallen and the meaning of catching is still blurry. 

Yet I am starting to feel like winter season will have an ending… a little while off yet maybe little bits of new buds are starting to form… 

(I'm highly aware that this is an open blog anyone can read, so am often cautious about putting too much details on it as I often try to email through that. I have been ill with a virus and my eyes have been giving me a few problems, both of which are coming right…Thank you Lord.)

One thing I know for certain is family have pulled me through, strengthen me, shined light when I couldn't see. Normally the word family often does (still at times) sit uneasily for me. For other people it may mean rambling dinners with elbows on tables and old jokes been repeated and smells of baking dough, roast and anticipation of home time. Or laughter and warm embraces with feelings of celebration, joy and wonder. Or just a house on a street, handprints pushed into soft cement; the knotted, fraying ropes of an old swing in an oak tree. But for me?? I often question its meaning, its a word that undoes me like the snagging of a thread on a jumper that runs, unraveling quickly into the cup of my hands. Especially if Im caught off guard or in a moment of wonder. 

In all the unravelling has left me with an unique thread, a thread that is been put back together in a new shape. It has unconditional love, pure grace, as the knitting needles and Lord as the designer and craftsman. Its hard to see what is forming yet there is a sense of beauty about it already. Its a test on some levels to leave my human, societal contrasted image and embrace the Lords design for me. The beauty is unmeasurable and beyond my control… 

Apart of me feels like I have been given a gift. Its like I have unlaced the string its shrugged off at all four corners. I pick at the sticky tape and rip the edges in frustration. I place my palms flat on its surface awaiting for a moment to sense what is coming. Then I slowly fold back the paper, as I do, I catch a waft of an old scent that sends shivers down my spine as it tempts me to stop, wrap the gift back up. Becoming aware of my own body seeing an annoyance within myself at my tense muscles and overactive imagination leads to a gentle reminder of letting go, trust and love of the giver, creator. Slowly letting the rest of the wrap to come off dropping carelessly to the floor to relieve the gift - what a gift, what a beautiful gift the Lord has given me - the gift of life - with all this encompasses -