Emotional Nesting.

My life has become filled with Nine different journals, coloured pens, books, leaves twigs and wool. Journaling, painting leaves, cutting and sticking are all outlets for an emotional creative energy. An energy that’s remarkably intertwined with cleaning!
I’m preparing and waiting for something new.

I’m behaving totally out of character. One strange behaviour this week is ironing. I’ve surprised myself at how much time, care and love I can put into ironing .
My clothes remain creased, possibly more creased than before they where ironed. BUT I have ironed my clothes, Un-neatly folded them and placed them carefully away.

It’s not just the iron that has been subjected to this emotional energy. I’ve cleaned parts of the cooker my cleaning cloth has never reached before. Extreme vacuuming has become the norm .

The Emotions flying I around my body are so overwhelming I clean, cook, write, create and crochet. In preparation for something new: ‘ I’m nesting ‘.

This nesting instinct is preparing a nest for what every God has planned for me.

Nesting is also for learning to embrace the gifts God has given me today and learning to understand the decisions that have and will been made.

Nesting is learning to trust that God is at work behind the scenes birthing and creating something new in my heart even when I don’t yet see it.

Nesting is calming.. as a draw crochet and create my mind wonders to prayer.

Fear can drive me to some very unhelpful places, but faith waits and this journey takes time.
It takes time to build an emotional nest.

Learning it’s limitations, finding a space to creatively ponder with the new before it even arrives .
I am rooted and grounded in Gods love and I know that what ever decisions are made this month ‘ I am loved’.
I am turning the page to a new chapter and finding the space to nest and rest… I need this time!

Paul says, “Consider your own call”.
1 Corinthians 1:26
“Brothers and sisters, God chose you to be his. Think about that! Not many of you were wise in the way the world judges wisdom. Not many of you had great influence, and not many of you came from important families”.

Reminding me that my calling is unique, my gifts are unique. My calling is uniquely me.
I’m building my own colourful emotional nest. Constructed of pens. paper, words and wool.
I’m going to stay here a while taking the time to rest and create something uniquely beautiful while preparing for others to consider my calling…..

My nest is seasonal
When it’s time to fly…. I will leave my nest behind.
I might fly in the wrong direction.
I might even fall.
But..
God is faithful and will guide me.

Germinating an Adventure of the Imagination.

We believe in an obedient, realistic and informed orchard.
A fruitful place where the word of God is alive and active.
Strong roots silencing the whisperers of self doubt.
Obeying the formational changes etched in our bark .
We lay our hearts open to love.
No matter what.

Grown on the rootstock of my forefathers.
I am seen and cultivated world wide.
Purposefully cross pollinated.
Persistent and Versatile.
We are the diverse family of Malus.

Before you could articulate my name .
My seeds where firmly placed in your hand.
Germinating an adventure of the imagination.
Growing without end.

Under our knotted wooden frame,Merlin received the gift of prophecy.
I am a symbol of poetic immortality.
A ping of peace.
On the twelfth night it is customary to wassail our elder .
Blessing the fruit, that’s yet to come.
Yet I know that God works in me.
He has called me according to his purpose.

Blown by the Holy spirit to the marginalised forgotten orchards.
I am called to sow seeds that will bloom and blossom.
To dance quietly in the deep pink scented snow.
I cherish and work within nature’s limitations.
Creatively discovering spaces to share the story of Jesus.

Involucrata nutlet of hope

Our bracts of mystic dove wings weep deeply.
Stirred by the beauty of nature.
An earthly unquestioning belief.
Of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen.

We believe in the involucrata nutlet of hope.
Stratification of music, poetry and love.
Dormancy broken by a whispered Bible verse.
That sudden pain of love sparking germination.
A new hope, new growth.
An awakening.

Augustine Henry saw handkerchiefs.
Wang Zhaojun saw doves.
when we leave the heard and seen.
Slip out into the garden of grace.
Our heart shaped leaves become evergreen.
No decay, no sound, no colour.
But only a tearful essence .
It’s in this moment we see God
God who weeps with us.

 

Space To Sing.

Standing transfixed I watch the song thrush. She’s so purposeful in her actions, so sure of what will happen next. In her mouth she bashes a snail against the rock edge of the garden pond.
I smiled at her cleverness and her boldness. I allowed myself the time to ponder, drifting into a place of prayer.
A prayer of thanks for the wondrous bird that’s hoping only feet away from me.
I rarely see a song thrush in the garden. Never before had I had the privilege or delight in watching so much skill used to consume a garden snail.
As my prayers drifted I focused on the Great Tit skilfully picking out caterpillars from the large leafed Verbascuum.
Nature is so harmoniously amazing . Just a few feet from my kitchen window I witness the struggles of life, held in the space of a few minutes during sunrise.
So immersed in my wonderings the tasks of the day seemed unimportant.
I smiled at the boldness of the birds on the patio. Wondering why these birds where so close to the house. My joy quickly turned to concern for the safety of the birds. Worried they would become a plaything for my cat .
Seven years ago we invited a black fluffy kitten ( Grimalkin ) into our lives. She’s grown into a handsome black killer: hunting, birds, rats, mice.
Cats are so inquisitive they have a wonderful scene of exploring all things new.
Why did Grimalkin not hear the thrush tap tap tapping the snail against the rock? Why did her curiosity not wake her morning slumber?
Actually more to the point where was the cat this beautiful morning?
Our faithful friend and companion was involved in a fatal road traffic accident a few hours before I woke.
The song thrush was safe to sing in our garden. The space that was once occupied by Grimalkin was this morning filled with garden birds.
Birds eating and socialising right in front of the kitchen window.

 

It’s 24 hours since the song thrush appeared. This morning I was again sat watching this beautiful bird enjoying its breakfast on the patio.

Before I was even aware of my cats death the birds moved into her space.
I no longer have my friend in the garden but I do have a safe place for the birds. Something beautiful happened when the space she held was no longer hers.
My cats space has been filled with a space that will sing. It will be awhile before the space inside of me will sing, but it will.
Grimalkin has helped me understand why spaces are not ours to hold.
When we hold spaces for anger and pain. We have no space for love. When we hold onto words that need to be said. We have no room for forgiveness.
Gods love transforms us. But we need a space for that love to grow.

Theirs beauty in Grimalkins empty space – quite simply because it’s not empty. When I look to the empty cross I see Jesus love. It’s beautiful because Jesus rose from the dead and left the tomb empty. If the tomb was not empty, then the cross would have remained a symbol of execution. If the tomb were not empty, the cross would have been the supreme symbol of cruelty and despair and not love and hope. It is the empty tomb and makes the empty cross a thing of beauty.

My encounter with the song thrush has shown me that no space is mine. By saying ‘yes’ to Jesus I need to give all my spaces not only the physical spaces, but the spaces in my heart too.

I offer the spaces in my heart to be filled with love. So much love that God’s light and life and love might dwell in me.

John 20:11-15 The Message (MSG)
But Mary stood outside the tomb weeping. As she wept, she knelt to look into the tomb and saw two angels sitting there, dressed in white, one at the head, the other at the foot of where Jesus’ body had been laid. They said to her, “Woman, why do you weep?” “They took my Master,” she said, “and I don’t know where they put him.” After she said this, she turned away and saw Jesus standing there. But she didn’t recognize him.
Jesus spoke to her, “Woman, why do you weep? Who are you looking for?”
She, thinking that he was the gardener, said, “Mister, if you took him, tell me where you put him so I can care for him.”

The Creed Of Quercus.

We are a family.
The family of divine guidance.
Robust deciduous and evergreen.

In the beginning, I weep for Deborah.
Holding her body beneath my roots.
Final resting place.
Breath renewer, death keeper.
Created, planted.
Humble Servant, creation holder, life giver
Forest maker.
Through  renewed growth, through robust strength
I make things new.

Isaiah speaks my name “ayil”  strength and power.
Pillar-like my twisted frame holds wisdom and life.
Catching whispered conversations that blow on soft warm winds.
Yet I am strong enough to carry you through the toughest storm.
Tall enough to cast rooted sunlit shadows.

In death, I follow the sunrise.
Brine waters cling to my uprooted oar.
Carved into a reimagining, I am renewed.
Journey maker, power giver, communicator.
In the midst of the seas, my wisdom is not lost.
In the depth of the oceans, I will be with you.

I plant acorns of hope ploughed into Gods creative garden. Cups of treasured potential rooted and grounded in love.

We believe our family differences are a gift. Growing in a rich substrate of equality and inclusion.
We believe our canopy is a place of shelter and rest for all of creation.
We honour all those that have cast colourful shadows before us.
We take joy from the stories and legends that carry our name.

We believe in the wilderness, our roots will reach water. We believe when we grow on the margins we will be nourished.
We acknowledge that growing is painful. We acknowledge this pain breathes Gods generous gifts across the landscape.
We look to the ruler that shares it’s bounty of acorns amongst the kingdom.

Unity is misplaced, harmony is alone.

Reaching out, touching what I cannot see .
Feeling the safety of the warmth that surrounds me.
Dazzled by a love that calls me.
Saddened by loves pain.
It’s within us all.
To change .

If all the world stood still at the same time.
We could hear creation groaning .
If we all stopped long enough to sit with open eyes we could see creations pain .
Sitting with closed eyes we become oblivious to our messy groaning world.
If we listen to the beating heart of love .
We change.

Anticipation of change brings adventure.
Good choices ease loves pain .
Empowering us to listen
Enabling us to change.
Prayers for courage wisdom.
To protect preserve and enjoy.
Harmony restored to creation.
Unity a spirit filled Joy.

Should we risk Creating?

God birthed creation, birthed breath-taking beauty of earth and sky. Some of this beauty we may never get to see. The fish that swim in our deepest oceans or the flower of Queen of Andes  that blooms every 100 years. Yet we can be blind to the beauty that’s right in front of us.
It takes only a little effort to see Gods creative beauty that surrounds us ; dazzling metallic colours of the dragon fly , ewes nursing their lambs, sticky horse chestnut buds in springtime .
Creativity is the ability to make new things, to reflect God’s love in all we do.
Creativeness takes time; a dragon fly life cycle completes in six short months . The ewe carries her lamb for 145 days . The horse chestnut tree takes 20 years to grow just 8 meters.
We can stop this process of growth, but it’s so obvious that we should never stop this beautiful expression of God’s love for us and creation.
It would be unjust to kill the dragon fly Larva, to stop this insect before it could dazzle us with its beauty.
It would be inhumane to stop a newly born lamb from bonding and suckling from its mother.
It would be nothing short of vandalism to deliberately up root a horse chestnut sapling. We know its wrong.
Equally why would we want to restrict someone from learning? Supporting a loved one through grief and pain. Is it right to find ways to restrict their creativity ?
When I share and cook a meal, pray, dance or write poetry. When I paddle in the sea or plant a seed: I create.
All of us create or think new things.
Creativity is risky, uncertain, open-ended, painful and extremely uncomfortable, possibly hurting or costing more than we could imagine.
Yet I don’t stop.
I trust in God; listen and discover the journey with all the twists turns and dead ends that happen to all of us.
Gods Creativity reveals more than I will ever know or imagine about the world and myself. New concepts, perceptions, and knowledge, giving love, life, hope and meaning.
I need time to create and to be creative. To pay attention to my passions, to grow my relationship with Jesus. To connect with creation, to connect  with the mud ( earth ) it stirs and awakens me. It sparks my imagination.
I am always improvising making this connection possible where ever God sends me. Touching the leaves of a growing sapling on a busy road. Wrapping my arms around a large mature tree in a national trust park. I use what’s available . Constantly changing my direction, morphing new ideas, each encounter is unique . It’s my prayer time.
Connecting God through my passions creates and awakens me to a world of hope and unlimited possibilities .
Protecting this creative space is costly and risky. It’s this space that reflects God. Helping broaden and expand the world and myself.
We all require a space so we can hear the whispers of our creator. Our personal journey’s and stories are revealed when we risk creating.

Romans 8:28
28 And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him, who[a] have been called according to his purpose.

Getting ready.

Train tickets purchased, overnight accommodation booked. Reading material has been sourced and journal purchased. A large selection of coloured pens are displayed on the coffee table.
Supplies are plentiful, tea, biscuits and a glass of wine for the evening. Best of all I have time to read, make notes and prepare for the one day pioneer selection panel (Pioneers are people called by God who are the first to see and creatively respond to the Holy Spirit’s initiatives with those outside the church; gathering others around them as they seek to establish new contextual Christian community).
I’ve made colourful notes comprising of an individual mix of badly drawn pictures and mispelt words.
I’m doing what I feel is expected of me. To study, gaining knowledge before I attend the panel . What I am reading is far from dull, the text is rich bold and exciting. My chosen method to study is dull and unimaginative. The typed text that I read remain as words that move from text book to my journal.
So over nourished with Christmas I find myself curled up on the sofa reading and writing. It’s easy to stay in my pjs and fluffy festive socks, it’s comfortable and warm.
I crave this warmth that the inside brings. It’s the inside that’s blurring my vision, it’s being inside that’s consuming my energy an dulling the imagination.
It’s time to squeeze my feet into Wellington boots (which seemed unusually tight due to my reluctance to remove my fluffy festive socks) and spend some time in the garden .
Outside my colourful notes become fully formed pictures. The energy that had been locked way was released into the space that is my garden. On a cold winters day this space is full of warmth and love.
A horticulturalists winter garden is full of anticipation of what’s to come. Impatient excitement holds God’s garden in this time of preparation and waiting.
The garden is waiting for the days to lengthen and the sun to warm the sleeping bulbs. The surface is littered with decaying leaves and a few hardy plants some of these plants could be called weeds.
You see weeds are just plants that don’t fit in.
People are not weeds but can be treated as if they were; pulled up, displaced never being given the opportunity to get their roots down.
I am not called to the fruitful, or the colourful, but to those that live on the edges of our community’s. Those that feel unvalued and misunderstood. Those that hold onto life in the most unusual places. Living in extreme conditions unable to grow.

As a gardener we remove the weeds in favour of plants we want to grow. It’s us controlling what grows in our gardens. What happens if we listen to God and start to grow Gods garden?( you might like to call what we grow a church).
When I imagine God growing my garden it changes shape, colour and direction. It becomes a garden with no boundaries a living breathing community full of mystery that some might even describe as chaos. Beautiful chaos that is diverse, a chaos with a sense of humour, a chaos that loves unconditionally, allows us the freedom to explore who we are, love that allows us to question . The garden would be and expression of God’s love for us, expressed through things like forgiveness, kindness, mercy, and gentleness.

When we garden with God we create the right conditions to grow a community that shows someone they belong and matter, not just to God but belong to one another.
In these conditions we grow and Flower.

Nicandra physalodes

Looking to Jesus, the pioneer and perfector of our faith, who for the joy set before him endured the cross…”
Hebrews 12:2

Prepare a room in our hearts..

The Christmas decorations have made their annual journey from the loft to the bedroom floor. This large oversized chest contains Christmas past and Christmas present . Theirs a irrational urgency to open this chest. The job of decorating becomes my prime task and focus. I use the word job and as if getting ready for Christmas is a chore, something that has to be done. A job like cleaning the windows or worse still ironing.
I’ve lost my focus , being pulled into the tasks that are not Christmas . The tasks themselves are joyful, but Christmas has temporally lost its wonder. Its been tarnished in the unnecessary urgency to get it done.
The tinsel still glitters, the Christmas balls still sparkle, nothing’s missing it’s all their . All perfectly waiting for …

For me to stop.
To slow down.
To find a star.

A cardboard star lovingly crafted by a little boy over 50 years ago. It’s warm colours are faded with age. The glitter has long gone. Yet it still shines brightly.
It’s tattered edges and faded paint tell a story of love. Holding onto the stories of our Christmases past.

Christmas is not about glittery cards or decorations, it’s about love. Love that needs us to patiently wait, to prepare a room in our hearts for the one who knows no boundary of time.

 

Luke 21:34-36 The Message (MSG)
“But be on your guard. Don’t let the sharp edge of your expectation get dulled by parties and drinking and shopping. Otherwise, that Day is going to take you by complete surprise, spring on you suddenly like a trap, for it’s going to come on everyone, everywhere, at once. So, whatever you do, don’t go to sleep at the switch. Pray constantly that you will have the strength and wits to make it through everything that’s coming and end up on your feet before the Son of Man.”

Wrestling with compost.

It’s strange how certain activities trigger memories that unlock a world I have yet to understand. Physical actions gently push my mind, nudging my world closer to the words that I struggle to comprehend. Words that need to find a place in my heart. Require a practical understanding so I can relate to them in my own way. So I can learn to pronounce, remember and recognise them. To understand what they mean to me and others. I need that word to become visual almost tactile to revival something of it’s self to me. It’s a slow often frustrating way of learning. Taking time with just one word, allowing it to guide me in practical way.
The word Koinonia came into my life this week. I must have heard it before but for some reason I locked onto the word and tried to unpick what it means to me.
I discovered my answers while wrestling with a large heavy bag of compost. It sounds the most unlikely of places but together my faith joined my gardening world and made their magical connections to Koinonia.
I was taught at horticultural college to shake, turn and mix a bag of compost before opening it. It’s hard heavy work that I often question. I wonder how many other people get hot and bothered turning over these brute sized bags? Theirs no written notice on the bag “ exhaust yourself by shaking and mixing bag before use”.
Yet I know by putting in this effort my seeds/plants get the best compost to grow in. In the wrestling I mix all the nutrients and soil types within the bag. Ensuring my little seeds have everything they could possibly need to grow.
I never lose the wonder in planting seeds. It’s the endless possibilities, a unison between the creator and creation. My role is to mix compost, seeds, water and love together.
It’s that mixing that connected me to koinonia. It’s a community of love in which we grow. Its a seamless interchange of mutual love which unites the Father, Son and Holy Spirit. The more we live in communities of love, the more we can grow into the image and likeness of God who created us.
It’s that powerful incredible linked togetherness with others and God, at the same time being profundity at one with nature.
We are together as a family, as community. Expressing our need to be feed nourished fed and healed by God who is a community of love.
When wrestling with my compost bags, I mix love. Providing that micro community within my glass house. A community that loves, feeds and nurtures my seeds.
We are not as good as we could be at mixing ourselves. I never realised just how much we must move and mix within and outside of our community in order to grow.
Sitting in the same seat in church each week, doing the same things can slow down our growth, and the growth of those around us.
Sitting in the same seat has a lot todo with habit. When we do the same nothing changes, we expect the same.
Moving and mixing is difficult, it challenges us to sit among different people. To get to know someone new, to see a different perspective, to notice things we have never seen before.
When I walk into church this Sunday, I will sit somewhere different. Challenge myself and those who sit with me to change seats each week. Making us more open to change and growth. Mixing with those we do not know.
Maybe in that mixing we will build a stronger community. A Community that together can reach out to heal our wounded planet. A Community of love that grows flowers and fruits in likeness of God who created us.

Hebrews 10:24-25 The Message (MSG)
22-25 So let’s do it—full of belief, confident that we’re presentable inside and out. Let’s keep a firm grip on the promises that keep us going. He always keeps his word. Let’s see how inventive we can be in encouraging love and helping out, not avoiding worshiping together as some do but spurring each other on, especially as we see the big Day approaching.