Years ago while I was studying in the UK for a year, we went as a family to a nearby stately home
in Kent. I was grieving for my mum who'd died a few months earlier and I was missing my young cat
whom we'd had to leave behind. I was full up with the home's information and objets d'art, when
something touched me to the core and days later prompted my very first attempt at
writing a poem - here's a portion of it:
curled in silent, sunlit sleep.
Tabby and white and warm,
her fur invited my touch.
I could not hold back
My hand reached out
For God was gently lying there
Beneath my longing hand.
I remember it so clearly because I felt quite shocked at what I'd written - and
initially if I shared it with anyone I'd replace 'God' with 'Love' - until I accepted
that what I'd written in the first place was the truth for me: it was the first time
I had seriously considered what 'God being present in all things' could look like in
everyday life; it was the first time I experienced the Spirit enabling me to recognise
the Loving Presence in other living, breathing creatures - if I knew how to look!
Since then a lot of my time and work has been focused on helping others recognise
God in the everyday and every so often a new glimpse of this truth comes to me
like a 'top-up' to remind me that no matter our circumstances God can reach us.
One such reminder came late in the evening a week ago, when I was sitting on the bare floor of my beloved's study, overwhelmed by the mess around me. He'd decided quite late in the day to remove some decrepit carpet and replace it with some 'rescued' carpet which he'd had waiting in the garage for a rainy day! Our bed and bedroom was heaped with books and boxes, there was dust everywhere and I was physically sore after trying to lift and shift heavy items until the floor space was clean. I would have gone to bed if I'd been able to climb in!
I sat on the floor for a while as he went to find a piece of equipment. In that quiet moment I noticed a fluttering against the lamp shade, and then, as I watched, a small moth - about 2cm in wingspan settled on the heavy desk beside me. I glanced at it, and then I looked again - checking for its feathered antennae [the only thing I know about moths] and then I REALLY looked at it, letting its beautiful simplicity seep into my soul.
Its velvet brown upper wings and subtle orange lower wings, were delicately marked and spread ready to take off again into the evening. I was thankful that I slowed down long enough to notice its surprising beauty, because it brought a measure of calm to my frazzled soul and energized me sufficiently to help my mate when he got back. It felt like a little gift from God - just what I needed when I needed it!
The beautiful moth's presence reminded me of a line in Alana Levandoski's Christ hymn. In this graced blend of word and music, upheld by Alana's chant, four poets explore Colossians 1:17 : 'He[Christ] is before all things and in him all things hold together.'
One poet, taking as her starting point a drive along a Californian highway, highlights Love's imprint on every aspect of creation :
'even the small soft moth on the window of the rest area's dingy wash-room, unaware of our existence, its russet wings traced with intricacies of grey, owns an intrinsic excellence'.
[You might want to listen to the whole chant yourself; you'll find it on on https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pGe5wJBDjoo.]
If we stop to 'take a long, loving look at the real' as Jesuit Walter Burghardt said,
we make ourselves available to God's Spirit of creative communication and we are
so often blessed as a result.
Tabby cat? A flight of birds? A wrinkled hand on an elderly man? A snatch of music?
How will God reveal more of God's Being to you today?
And will you be still enough for long enough to notice?
No comments:
Post a Comment