I like to play with words. Endlessly. It's a little game my aunty and uncle also play but it's also useful for scrabble, an awful lot better than counting sheep and means you can entertain yourself in tedious situations. Not to be recommended is telling other people about the links you make - unless you are a more competent poet than me. But hey, it's fun.
I spent the afternoon listening to my parents waxing lyrical on the delights of a holiday in Barnstaple - bless them I love that rainy days didn't blunt their enthusiasm for tea and cake and trips out! Or cooked breakfasts. What did they think they were doing, turning the boiler off? I realise how anxious my dad gets, when I thought I'd inheriting that from mum.
And then sorting out their online shop, dual fuel tariffs, direct debits, online milk account - much anxiety from them both and finally installing whatsapp and teaching mum how to use it - she wanted to try it out as my other aunty suggested it to her. My reward - double portion of chocolate swiss roll. Oh well. It would have been rude not to.
Driving over and back I admired the ranks of daffodils planted alongside the road. A host of golden daffodils indeed. I always thought "a host" meant an awful lot, but driving, I started thinking. A host - an army of golden daffodils, green sword like leaves, a phalanx of them, standing like soldiers in rows? I'm sure that's what he meant - words change!
Which lead me to why do catholics called the communion bread "the host"? So I looked it up - it comes from "sacrifice" - confused? - I am! Though I suppose an army sacrifices themselves.
By the time I'd got to the roundabout I was thinking about hosting an event - being welcoming - where does that come from then? Hostess trolley? Host trolley just sounds odd doesn't it? But then air hostess and air host - cabin staff now? Gender specifics are a bit dated.
I needed a glass of wine to recover
Saturday, February 29, 2020
Sunday, February 23, 2020
Smoke and Mirrors
Well I liked the title, wikipedia that most reliable of sources describes it as
So here's the thing, I took my heart to Barrington Court and picked up my love of photography. It's a blustery day, the sun slanted on the honey stone, whitening with age spots. The lovely herringbone brick paths were slippery with green moss lining the cracks where the gardeners haven't tidied up yet. Not much is out yet - a few brave colour splashes of yellow or purple pansies, some rebellious snowdrops and a few windblown daffs. I adore Barrington Court - the emptiness of it, the echo, the clump of my boots on the boards of the long gallery floors.
"Something that is described as smoke and mirrors is intended to make you believe that something is being done or is true, when it is not"
which has been a bit like my weekend. I've finally realised that large hyped up conferences are not for me. You'd think I would have discovered that sooner, but sometimes it's complicated and it takes years to see that I will never "encounter God" in a place like that. Smoke machine - why?? What did they think they were doing? I have let them know what that does to anyone with breathing issues. As for God, I guess he knows I spent the worship time thoroughly enjoying the blue and green looping patterns projected onto the ceiling, the green and red glow wash of colour and the pink and white swirl dance of initial welcome lighting. Glorious: they made my day along with a cross picked out in tiny golden fairy lights. Shallow Sal? No, I think that noticing beauty is a good thing. Too much emotion - I'm so poor at processing it, feels like a chunk of rock: showing video of slum kids yearning for education and sponsors while people talk and I tot up my account in my head and sit tight on my money because I have a new boiler and too much sense! Other people can do the responding for me, I think.
So here's the thing, I took my heart to Barrington Court and picked up my love of photography. It's a blustery day, the sun slanted on the honey stone, whitening with age spots. The lovely herringbone brick paths were slippery with green moss lining the cracks where the gardeners haven't tidied up yet. Not much is out yet - a few brave colour splashes of yellow or purple pansies, some rebellious snowdrops and a few windblown daffs. I adore Barrington Court - the emptiness of it, the echo, the clump of my boots on the boards of the long gallery floors.
And the beauty of details - the panels and tiles, imported, rescued, redeemed, repurposed to live again in the ultimate post war restoration project. Man and house, slowly recuperated after the horrors of being a first world war survivor. Not much furniture, holograms of barn owl and the eerie projected sound of the wind with the all too real red buckets catching the impact of the weather on this creaky building whose roof will be repaired, they say, in 2020.
It repaired me. Sort of. I suspect God weeps when we force him into a box. The conference speaker called forward the "prophets, the apostles, the intercessors, the pastors" for prayer. She didn't, I noted, call out the teachers - that would have been biblical - but neither did she call out the bloggers, the artists, the sculptors, those who serve, those who only stand and wait. And all of the above have mediated God's love to me, far more than the smoke and mirrors
Saturday, February 15, 2020
What's to like about February?
What's to like about February? Daffodils. Brave noses waving in the wind storm we have today. I think they must wish they'd spent more time under the duvet. And light - blessed beautiful returning to the world light. The reappearance of chocolate orange hot cross buns? Definitely. But Easter isn't for ages and pancakes don't show up for another week so they will have to wait.
Other than the loveliness above I personally don't enjoy February. At all! It was interesting in the car driving back from Okehampton today - it's a solidly made VW but I had a job holding it steady against the gusts on the A30 and there were some flipping silly idiots who didn't look - thank goodness for mind reading skills and being someone who anticipates problems. Rain continues to run down the INSIDE of the walls at work - I ask for buckets and predict we will have a fine crop of mushrooms if the carpets get saturated. There's already a fern growing out the wall in the metal shop.
But all of that is grumpiness and sour grapes. Apricot and peach morning skies and blustery walks at lunchtime soothe February grousing. For all else there's gin and tonic!
Other than the loveliness above I personally don't enjoy February. At all! It was interesting in the car driving back from Okehampton today - it's a solidly made VW but I had a job holding it steady against the gusts on the A30 and there were some flipping silly idiots who didn't look - thank goodness for mind reading skills and being someone who anticipates problems. Rain continues to run down the INSIDE of the walls at work - I ask for buckets and predict we will have a fine crop of mushrooms if the carpets get saturated. There's already a fern growing out the wall in the metal shop.
But all of that is grumpiness and sour grapes. Apricot and peach morning skies and blustery walks at lunchtime soothe February grousing. For all else there's gin and tonic!
Saturday, February 8, 2020
January Blue
Going to see a spiritual director has been so helpful to me so far. I've had counselling before and this is not that - but a wide ranging conversation with God in mind and a lot of shared laughter. Michelle Obama is also an excellent read, but the battered little blue book on the table is on loan from Kathy the director. We talked about prayer - wanting so much to spend time with God and not having the words. And how praying "patterns" such as the Lords prayer have been helpful in times such as the recent asthma flare when I just couldn't pray at all. Doesn't surprise me - I am the daughter of a man who eats cornflakes for breakfast every single morning! And each workday I start with a cup of tea before ploughing through the time sheets/delivery notes/despatch note and moving on to the days work schedule spreadsheet. Planning, routine. So "Time to Pray" is Anglican morning prayer lite. I'm loving it - when I feel awake and alert, I can add my own words and thoughts but at silly O'clock in January/February darkness, I can read it aloud and make the words count with a simple intention that I am praying them. My dear "honourary aunty" said the format left her cold but I so appreciate being able to pray longer than 5 minutes. I remember some of the prayers from the dim and distant past when sent to church at school, when none of it made any sense. Repetition seems good to me and I find I am actually wanting to sit and reflect.
I have met a couple of the guys outside of work, in costa, in Tesco and it's so nice to see them in ordinary clothes instead of layers of fleeces, woolly hats and overalls. I think our boss should work downstairs for a season as it cannot be right or just to have no heating and it is most definitely illegal under the factories act.
Saturday, February 1, 2020
Two Twenty Three
Last Saturday I went on an Adventure, definitely with a capital A. I've been busy this week and yet this time last Saturday I was on Paddington station in London, where I saw a friend from Exeter, who had been to a conference. She thought I was paddington the bear! (she'd been looking for his famous statue) I had a bright blue jacket, she was exhausted and I'm about the right height. The friends I was with were most amused. We later found him but he's bronze not blue.
So my adventure was planned last year. I met my college friend from 34 years ago and her wife one beach friendly Autumn day. We caught up and shared, talked and ate. So lovely after all these years and I thoroughly approved her choice of wife. We planned to go to Two Twenty Three - an event for LGBT Christians in London - they go regularly as church has been problematic for them. That was before the boiler broke down finally. And conscience stricken, I asked to cancel. But was cheerfully and extravagantly paid for - trainfare, coffee and lunch. They told me they had a God account which they spent on his behalf! I think I talked for England that day! The train was fast, and unlike BR coffee of yesteryear, the coffee was surprisingly excellent. We managed to navigate the underground system and surfaced near Manchester Square and spent an hour or so pottering around the Wallace collection. Sadly the arms and armour section was closed, as it looked most impressive but there were fabulous enamelled plates, pottery and paintings. We had tea in an open courtyard space amongst pot plants with a background of buildings and glass panelled exhibition spaces.
This beautiful Methodist church felt so very welcoming. The sense of God's presence or excitement or acceptance - call it what you will, hit me as soon as I walked in. I can't really explain but trying to this week to someone else, I said that the best bit was the worship - not having to be anyone, relaxing and feeling very free. I'm not sure why exactly. It was a very safe place. I met some of the folks who were regulars and a couple of newbies like myself. Afterwards we went for pizza and I was allowed to pay for myself - small victories. Such a gentle gathering - parents of LGBT sons and daughters, gay partners, trans women. I've no experience of trans folk beyond a lorry driving work context - logistics is a broad base for meeting people, but for me it was very special to chat to a trans lady and discover that people are just people - of course - however they present. And to meet other women with short fine hair, T shirts and a love for Jesus.After some of the criticism levelled at me in my last workplace, that felt especially good.
I love my church. I can be open there. They love me too and have listened and encouraged. But a place where Hosea 2:23" I will say to those called 'Not my people,' 'You are my people'; and they will say, 'You are my God." is literally true is both special and a shame. I won't go back - it's too expensive but I hope that one day - like foodbank - it won't be needed. Not because being gay should be knocked out of people or they should be unwelcome in any church but that churches will fully appreciate the gifts we bring - single or married. People are just people.
So my adventure was planned last year. I met my college friend from 34 years ago and her wife one beach friendly Autumn day. We caught up and shared, talked and ate. So lovely after all these years and I thoroughly approved her choice of wife. We planned to go to Two Twenty Three - an event for LGBT Christians in London - they go regularly as church has been problematic for them. That was before the boiler broke down finally. And conscience stricken, I asked to cancel. But was cheerfully and extravagantly paid for - trainfare, coffee and lunch. They told me they had a God account which they spent on his behalf! I think I talked for England that day! The train was fast, and unlike BR coffee of yesteryear, the coffee was surprisingly excellent. We managed to navigate the underground system and surfaced near Manchester Square and spent an hour or so pottering around the Wallace collection. Sadly the arms and armour section was closed, as it looked most impressive but there were fabulous enamelled plates, pottery and paintings. We had tea in an open courtyard space amongst pot plants with a background of buildings and glass panelled exhibition spaces.
This beautiful Methodist church felt so very welcoming. The sense of God's presence or excitement or acceptance - call it what you will, hit me as soon as I walked in. I can't really explain but trying to this week to someone else, I said that the best bit was the worship - not having to be anyone, relaxing and feeling very free. I'm not sure why exactly. It was a very safe place. I met some of the folks who were regulars and a couple of newbies like myself. Afterwards we went for pizza and I was allowed to pay for myself - small victories. Such a gentle gathering - parents of LGBT sons and daughters, gay partners, trans women. I've no experience of trans folk beyond a lorry driving work context - logistics is a broad base for meeting people, but for me it was very special to chat to a trans lady and discover that people are just people - of course - however they present. And to meet other women with short fine hair, T shirts and a love for Jesus.After some of the criticism levelled at me in my last workplace, that felt especially good.
I love my church. I can be open there. They love me too and have listened and encouraged. But a place where Hosea 2:23" I will say to those called 'Not my people,' 'You are my people'; and they will say, 'You are my God." is literally true is both special and a shame. I won't go back - it's too expensive but I hope that one day - like foodbank - it won't be needed. Not because being gay should be knocked out of people or they should be unwelcome in any church but that churches will fully appreciate the gifts we bring - single or married. People are just people.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)