Kingfishers and Owls

I've spent a lot of yesterday and today dividing my time between the sofa and slow pottering around.  I hate it when my asthma flares up, I feel very un strong! I guess it is good for me!

So I ended up watching "Naked Beach"on channel 4, which really isn't how it sounds. So much for channel flicking! It's prime time, so it is 3 people with serious body image problems, invited to spend time at a beach resort with hosts of both sexes, all different body sizes, and featuring some amazing body paint artwork! Cynically it's reality TV, but here are folk who have blamed instagram, and social media for so much body loathing. Their hosts, either resplendent in body paint or pretty naked, are such confident, affirming people.  It is good to see TV programming that features women of plus sizes as awesome role models and men one of whom carries a serious diasability as a result of a motorbike accident who cheer on the timid guests and help them accept the complex, fantastic bodies they have. Got to be healthy TV in many respects, given how much body hatred there is.

I can't imagine anything more terrifying myself, but if I had to go for the body paint option, I think I would go for kingfishers and owls - kingfishers are my ultimate favourite bird spot and I love the silent presence of an owl fly past, and the wonderful wake up call of owl hunting calls in the early morning or depth of night at Lee Abbey.  I even heard them whilst at Aunty's party when I wanted to drink the shower after drinking red wine and gin and tonic and had already plundered all the hotel tea bags and milk. 

It's a good antidote to the wanting to be taller, wanting to swap out the Farrant family strong but really stocky legs I have been genetically endowed with and after reading the Sue Black book on forensic anthropology, it reminds me of the mind blowing complexity of our bodies.  Once upon a time I was an occupational therapy student and I have vivid memories of memorising bones and muscles and watching how people move and walk.  It's a habit I still have - I can spot dodgy hips and wonky knees at a glance!!

Artwork and curtains

I am never going to cheat again and buy one coat gloss.  Dad and I shake our heads ruefully over my attempt to avoid the smell, mess and sheer asthma exacerbating nuisance that is undercoat + liquid professional gloss. He's tried it.  Now I have.  I run my hands over the surface and think it looks like sort of shiny undercoat.  Not good enough, and a rush job anyway - the sun was shining and I wanted to go outside. I've agonised over curtains, comparing the benefits of butterflies (which I love) over a spray of bright pink flowers (which I also love) They both go with the soft gray of the new paint, which tones at last with the hideous gray and pink 50s fireplace.  And I have my photocanvas on the wall.  I step back and look at posts and stones and think "did I do that?"

Consequently the rest of the house looks like a bomb site with bits of unfinished everything everywhere. The garden is a mess of pulled up bulbs and compost that needs sweeping up, the summer shirt collection is heaped on the ironing board and half the garden seems to have visited the kitchen floor.  My prayer partner comes round Saturday - always a fabulous kick up the bum to tidy up!!

I'm re reading Sue Black's " a life in death" and it is even better the second time round.  She has a light touch of humour and a passion for forensic anthropology.  I really liked her "history cold case" series several years ago.  Good book.

One I prepared earlier

In the famous and now ancient phrase of Blue Peter, here's a couple of things I wrote earlier - around Christmas, with the logic of my bible notes providing Easter reading somewhat unseasonally.

In response to the question below:

"What would happen if Pilate met the resurrected Jesus?" I wrote:

So what would happen if Pilate met Jesus?

Only it's not the stripped and bound

Sleep haggard man who stood before him once?

Nor even the ragged, bloodied, abused "king of the Jews"

Bayed by the hound like crowd, dream haunting man.

This one's alive, a "gardener" king.  Shows up unannounced.

Life treasuring, love affirming, slippery with the material world.

A judge - but it's him judging, 

A king, but his army are blades of fiery wings

A man of truth. True to his word.

I wonder what shifty Pilate would have made

Of a resurrected man he'd thrown

To a common fate?

And for those with little imagination who like to think through details (me)

"If you were a witness to Jesus crucifixion

What do you see? What do you hear?"

Early morning brutality

An unwilling traveller shouldering a beam

Jesus stumbling, bloodied, towards execution

The sweat of fear, iron tang of blood

Sweating soldiers in leather and metal

The creak of body armour and the slap and scrape

Of military boots on paved stones

A totally human, courageous man

Who just happens to be God, refuses a drug

That would have taken the edge off the agony.

He would not shirk from any of our pain.

Screaming, swearing men as the nails thud

Home through flesh into beams.  The dull thump

As the cross piece drops into place.

The hammer blows of the notice of death.

Mocking, insulting, coarse and cultured voices

Scorn, derision.  The sound of dice hitting hardened earth.

And the world narrows in.

Sounds of women crying

And the words of wracked out God.

A death with little pity or compassion.

And I don't know what to say.

Sometimes it feels academic

Because it's real but I've been there

A lot of times.  Forgive me when I don't

Appreciate it as I should.

Light

"In him was light, and that light was the light of men." "The light shines in the darkness and the darkness has never overcome it" (John's gospel, opening chapter)

Lord, you invite me into the light
And I avoid you. 
Thinking you mean the cold, forensic light
Of the operating theatre.
Causing intense but healing pain.
And I fear and won't come in.

Or the eye-watering, squinting brilliance
Of your sun-radiance.
I need that - gazing at stars, twisting the limits of mind
Around bafflement of distance and scale:
Holy God, Remote, Unreachable.
Too much "love" for a human to handle safely
Far too much - you terrify me! (And I don't want
To bother you)

But I feel you beckon me in by candlelight.
Where I can focus on my hands.
And your voice.  And look at my feet, when your voice
Gets too much for me.

I feel safe in that warm light. Quiet. Known.
You take the edge off my reserve and awkwardness,
Leading me by stealth to open up layers
Of myself that you knew about
Before the world was formed.

Words

God With Us (He walked where I walk)

He walked where I walk (echo)
He stood where I stand (echo)
He felt what I feel (echo)
He understands (echo)
He knows my frailty (echo)
Shared my humanity (echo)
Tempted in every way (echo)
Yet without sin (echo)
God with us, so close to us (all)
God with us, Immanuel! (Repeat)
One of a hated race (echo)
Stung by the prejudice (echo)
Suffering injustice (echo)
Yet he forgives (echo)
Wept for my wasted years (echo)
Paid for my wickedness (echo)
He died in my place (echo)
That I might live (echo)
Graham Kendrick
Copyright © 1988 Make Way Music,

Didn't know I remembered this song.  I sang it all holiday week, it was so appropriate.  And I woke up with the lyrics in my head and spent an age searching the internet for it again today.  Hooray for stored worship songs and an extremely good memory.   Tempted - without sin, (I wish) He understands, wept for my wasted years - there are sufficient of them!  That I might Live.  Hope

Defiant

Sometimes song words get under my skin.  I'm incredibly word sensitive - that's two edged. I've had disagreements over words meant kindly, or just thrown flippantly at me. The flip side is mulling over words as I walk or drive.  Today we sung Rend Collective "more than conquerors"at church and I realise I've heard this before. I actually have the CD.  Somewhere. I tend to listen to music in the car more than the house. So I drive to Budleigh listening to the words "we are more than conquerors through Christ" and "we are defiant in his name" It's a brilliant, resilient, cheerful song, which you can only sing at a belt and with volume.  I want it to soak into me like water, like dye, like plants taking sap up.  Because a little gentle defiance is what is needed at the moment.  Along with knowing God loves me and being honest, gentle and persistent.  I am trying not to let fear get me under it's black ice grip and not always succeeding.  Defiance.  Definitely. Always fight, just be sure it's worth fighting for.

The sun was out for a brief hour and a half and the sea was strongly striped with deep jade and rusty brown.  The general fashion trend was sunglasses and woolly hats - and defiant ice cream eating!  Not for me.  I'll save that for holiday.

Blown Away

Blustery strong wind- the sort that makes a flapping sail of your trousers and jacket.  Today's fight uphill against body blasting breeze leaves me slightened deafened and feeling more alive than I have done the rest of the week.  Brean Down is more up than down, with the delightful surprise of an 18th century fort to discover and ramble around. My friend is so pleased that I have never been here and we "walk and talk" and lean on 20th century searchlight emplacement walls and dream.  Or at least I do.

Wind is cleansing, a healing relaxant.  So are bacon rolls and tea and a very unseasonal ice cream .  The first of the season.  March is a new month and such things need celebrating with morello cherry and white choc chip icecream.  Lent?  I promised to give up milk chocolate, not white or dark!!