Two donkeys

Two donkeys I met along the way
One Simon, one Rinda
Servants of God, I say

Who walked along with me some days
They watched and listened
And helped me find my place

At Papa's side & under His gaze
I thank You Lord for donkeys who
Are so full of Your grace!

Sheepdog

These words were inspired from a silent retreat which I attended recently over the Easter weekend at the Nest.

Make me your sheepdog Lord
Train me in Your ways
Let me hear Your every call
And see You face to face

Make me your sheepdog Lord
And help me to obey
Regardless of the circumstance
In everything You say

Make me your sheepdog Lord
O that I might be
Ever attentive and responsive
Only God to Thee

Make me your sheepdog Lord
And use me as You will
To herd the sheep You've lost
To pasture that will thrill

Make me your sheepdog Lord
As one who knows no fear
To climb the heights and plunge the depths
With the Shepherd I hold so dear

(picture of border collie taken from Wikipedia)

Pouring out of nard

I was inspired by the story of Mary pouring pure nard on Jesus in John 12:1-6

Lord I pour out my nard on you
Please take me as I am
The strong, the weak, the good, the bad
A sacrifice to the Lamb

Lord I pour out my nard on you
I don't have much to give
The whole, the broken, the Mary, the Judas
Please accept them as a gift

Lord I pour out my nard on you
I owe you a great debt
Your cross, Your tomb, the empty grave
Brought death and life resurrect

Lord I pour out my nard on you
Take these spices, make them new
The bitter, the sweet, the sour, the salt
Make me a fresh work in You

(picture of spikenard, ingredient of nard, taken from Wikipedia)

Beatrix Potter

I recently watched the movie "Miss Potter" with Renée Zellweger and Ewan McGregor and thoroughly enjoyed it! Although the movie has some historical inaccuracies, it was heartwarming and I particularly liked the animated scenes where the animal characters came alive.

Watching some of the scenes at the Lake District also made me homesick for Cumbria (I spent a year at Lancaster University and whiled away many happy weekends exploring the Lake District; a bus ticket only cost five pounds then).

I hadn't realised how accomplished Beatrix Potter was. A self-taught artist (her first book, ''The Tale of Peter Rabbit,'' was published in 1902 and sold 28,000 copies between October and Christmas that year); an astute businesswoman (she began merchandising a Peter Rabbit doll as early as 1903); a expert mycologist (she studied and drew lichens and fungi) and a sheep breeder with 14 farms covering 4,000 acres.

She bequeathed all her property to the National Trust, a charity dedicated to preserving British heritage. One of her quotes was - "Thank goodness I was never sent to school; it would have rubbed off some of the originality"

The Middle Passage

Joyce Rupp's poem resonates with me -

the persistent voice of midlife wooed and wailed, wept and whined, nagged like an endless toothache, seduced like an insistent lover, promised a guide to protect me as I turned intently toward my soul.

as I stood at the door of "Go Deeper", I heard the ego's howl of resistance, felt the shivers of my false security but knew there could be no other way. inward I travelled, down, down, drawn further into the truth than I ever intended to go.

as I moved far and deep and long, eerie things long lain hidden jeered at me with shadowy voices, while love I'd never envisioned wrapped compassionate ribbons 'round my fearful, anxious heart.

further in I sank, to the depths, past all my arrogance and confusion, through all my questions and doubts, beyond all I held to be fact.

finally I stood before a new door: the Hall of Oneness and Freedom. uncertain and wary, I slowly opened, discovering a space of welcoming light.

I entered the sacred inner room, where everything sings of Mystery. no longer could I deny or resist the decay of clenching control and the silent gasps of surrender.

there in the sacred place of my Self, Love of a lasting kind came forth, embracing me like a long beloved one, come home for the first time.

much that I thought to be "me" crept to the corners and died. in its place a Being named Peace slipped beside and softly spoke my name: "Welcome home, True Self, I've been waiting for you."

Rembrandt's Prodigal Son

I am reading Henri Nouwen's "The Return of the Prodigal Son" based on one of Rembrandt's last paintings at the Hermitage museum.

Rembrandt did not follow the literal text of the parable. What he portrayed is a half-blind old man (he painted the blind as real see-ers), dressed in a gold embroidered garment and deep red cloak, laying his large, stiffened hands on the shoulders of his returning son, in a torn undertunic covering his emaciated body and torn sandals. It's a picture of infinite compassion, unconditional love and everlasting forgiveness. Looking on is the critical older son who stands stiffly erect with both hands clasped together close to his chest.
Henri Nouwen reflects on himself as the wayward younger son, the older resentful son and finally the welcoming father. It's wonderful exposition of homecoming and reconciliation.

Retreat of Silence

Last weekend, I took part in my first silent retreat and discovered the wonderful world of contemplation and meditation.
I quote from Sue Monk Kidd's book "When the Heart Waits" - "When you are waiting, you're not doing nothing. You are doing the most important something there is. You're allowing your soul to grow up. If you can't be still and wait, you can't become what God created you to be."
"Contemplative waiting is consenting to be where we really are. People recoil from it because they don't want to be present in themselves. Such waiting causes a deep existential loneliness to surface, a feeling of being disconnected from oneself and God. At the depths, there is fear, fear of the dark chaos within ourselves."
Such a waiting can be likened to entering into a cocoon; into a process of separation, transformation and emergence [picture taken from www.naute.com].