Prayer for today:
Let Your love play upon my voice and rest on my silence.
Let it pass through my heart into all my movements.
Let your love, like stars, shine in the darkness of my sleep and dawn in my awakening.
Let it burn in the flame of my desires and flow in all currents of my own love.
Let me carry Your love in my life as a harp does its music, and give it back to You at last with my life.
Rabindranath Tagore [1861-1941]
A thoughtful piece as always from: New Kilpatrick Church:
It’s too important to leave remembrance
to the definitions of others
or the memory of war
or the excuses of society
You have to leave it to the silence
Silence doesn’t let you explain
nor does it let you say sorry
nor does it let you define it all
It just leaves you with all the undefined and disorganised rawness:
the confusion and anger
the pain and loss
the unanswered questions
so that we hardly know how to respond
this can be the only real way to be genuinely moved
by the cost of every war
and while we stand in all our dignity
inside there is a chaos of images
and a tangle of questions
that makes us wonder what we do
that is only right
If we knew what it is we do
if we really knew
and if we understood why
we wouldn’t be silent every November
We wouldn’t need to
Sometimes life gets a little too serious… so good advice here:
“Laugh as often as possible. You must. Because the world will offer you every reason to weep. So as often as possible, you laugh. That, I think, is part of the Great Love”. (Maya Angelou)
I am following the RevGals prompt for today, to post a photograph of something I see everyday. It was an easy choice:
These are the hydrangea bushes in the front garden of the manse. The first picture is their summer colours, the second their current (Autumn) colours. I love these bushes and they never fail to lift my spirits. I walk past them every day from the front door to the car. And I often stand and look at them from my front room window.
I am very fortunate to live in a lovely tree lined street and most of the gardens around me have these bushes too, in many different colours. My next door neighbour has blue and white ones.
“Ever since the creation of the world his eternal power and divine nature, invisible though they are, have been understood and seen through the things he has made.” (Romans 1:20)
Day three of the blogging challenge for November.
I came across this when I was looking for something else, as so often happens: I found it years ago on Kathryns’ blog. I had it pined up on my notice board for a while – to help with perspective when my congregation was going through a difficult time with their buildings (we eventually had to move out, and spent two years sharing with our Episcopal neighbours, until we negotiated a union with another congregation).
So today I share the 10 Commandments for reducing stress.
1. Thou shalt not be perfect, or even try.
2. Thou shalt not try to be all things to all people.
3. Thou shalt leave undone things that ought to be done.
4. Thou shalt not spread thyself too thin.
5. Thou shalt learn to say No.
6. Thou shalt schedule time for thyself and for thy support network.
7. Thou shalt switch off and do nothing regularly.
8. Thou shalt be boring, inelegant, untidy and unattractive at times.
9. Thou shalt not feel guilty.
10. Thou shalt very definitely not be thine own worst enemy, but thine own best friend.
Nothing says relaxation more than our cat!
NaBloPoMo is a blogging challenge – prompting us to write a post on our blog every day for the month of November. So I am giving it a whirl 😃.
Today the RevGals prompt was about Sunday clothing – for me, usually a black clerical shirt, dark skirt, Geneva gown and a stole of some kind, sometimes in a liturgical colour.
Zoom back nearly 50 (gulp) years, and my Sunday clothing was very different. Growing up in Presbyterian Scotland, it was your “Sunday best” that came out on the Sabbath. I can remember, even now, the feel and the smell of my smart brown button up coat – and how horribly itchy it was! But Sunday also meant “the muff” .
It was a simpler time, and in the 1960s it meant this:
A furry hand warming thing that hung on a string around your neck.
I certainly needed one of these in the cold dark church I attended as a young child, where the children of the Sunday School were gathered on the front pew under the pulpit and under the beady eye of the minister’s wife (a woman who terrified the living day lights out of me!)
So my early memories of church were: the cold, the itchy coat and the warmth of the furry muff in which I clutched a “trupp’ney bit” in my sweaty palm – for those of you too young to remember “old money”, it was one of these:
Truppence or 3d to go in the collection plate.
Ok, now I feel old, and am going in search of the anti wrinkle cream 😫
I am taking up the Challenge to write a blog post every day for November, as I have rather got out of the blogging habit. So much so, that it feels as if I am learning to use WordPress all over again!
The pictures are some of the 131 shoe boxes which my congregation have collected for the Blythswood shoebox appeal.
The quilt was there to help us visualise a story I used during the service, as part of the dedication of our shoeboxes. It is well worth reading here – at the BBC news site, a tale about “the man who kept a quilt for 70 years”.
The quilt in my picture was made by my little sister, as an engagement gift for me and my husband. Although it is not yet 70 years old, it is wearing well in its 32 year! It usually brightens up an old sofa in our front room. It is something I treasure too, because of all the happy associations that come with it, and the knowledge that it was made with such love and care when my sister was just 15.