I have stilled and quieted my soul

One of my favourite Psalms when I’m not able to sleep is:

Psalm 131

¹ My heart is not proud, O LORD,
   my eyes are not haughty;
I do not concern myself with great matters
   or things too wonderful for me.
² But I have stilled and quieted my soul;
   like a weaned child with its mother,
   like a weaned child is my soul within me.

My three year old son loves his cuddles.  He climbs onto my lap, snuggles his head onto my shoulder, and wraps his arms around my neck.  He doesn’t want me to do anything, he’s not trying to figure things out or have a long conversation with me, he just needs me to be there for him.

 

It’s said that God speaks in a whisper.  It’s hard to hear a whisper until you’re quiet and still enough to listen.  I get so busy sometimes with doing and thinking I forget to take the time to still my mind so I can listen to my spirit.

And if I’m quiet enough, I can just hear the whisper of God.  He’s humming to me a lullaby.

Hope, trust and believe

 

A bulb looks dry and dead in the autumn.  There is no life all winter, then in the spring the smallest green shoot pushes through the soil.  But it still looks so small and vulnerable surrounded by such barren dusty dirt. 

Photo: http://greenjeane.blogspot.co.nz/2011/12/odd-timing.html used with permission.

The smallest spark as the flint strikes to light the campfire. The firewood is damp. I shield the smouldering tinder from the cold wind, and carefully feed it with what dry kindling I can find. I gently blow on the small flame, coaxing it to life.

I have seen the glimmer of life in my soul.  It’s as small and vulnerable as a small green shoot, or a smouldering flame

Lots of people I’m talking to in Christchurch are running out of cope. It’s hard to see the end of the grief and stress. But I hold on to Faith.

Faith is the substance of things hoped for. I am hoping for new life.  For restoration and renewal.

A lawn of daffodils. A warm campfire, roasting potatoes.

Photo: http://penelopepiscopal.blogspot.co.nz/2012/02/daffodils-redux.html used with permission.

A small trickle of a spring that flows into a river.

I hope, trust and believe for new growth, new life.  Healing will come. 

Remembrance

It’s February.

And 11 days it will be the first anniversary of the fatal Christchurch Earthquake. 

So there’s lots of media stories about “one year on” and lots of remembering.

I’m finding it quite hard sometimes – some of my memories I’d sort of tucked away. At the time it hurt too much, so I pushed the grief down so I could cope. It’s now starting to resurface, just a bit at a time.

…

March 2011. A group of women sit around a table, sipping hot drinks. Candles on the table cast a soft glow of light over bowls of chocolates and platters of cheese and crackers.  The women are de-briefing, talking about their experiences.

Then one turns to me. “What about you? Where were you?”

“I was in Cashel Mall.”

“Oh.” The group falls silent for a few minutes.

…

November. It's my first visit to a counsellor. I look at the window without focusing on what's there. I'm trying to find the words to explain why I'm there.

“I expected that it would take time to recover after my traumatic experience.”

“Did you have a traumatic experience?”

“I was in Cashel Mall on February 22^nd.”

“Ahhh.”

…

I wrote a brief introduction to a Facebook group I’d joined.  “Was in Cashel Mall on Feb 22nd” 

The first comment in response was “Wow, Cashel Mall - HUGE hug” 

…

So apart from this blog, which I posted the following day when it was still raw and I was still in shock, I’ve not really had much chance to tell my story about what it was actually like in Cashel Mall that day.  Usually the listener hears “Cashel Mall” and nothing else needs to be said.

When I was approached by one of my readers to contribute to a video montage about the events of that day I was happy to do so.  I think it was the first time someone had told me to just tell the story of what happened that day, in my own words.

I’ve also been writing my story.  Maybe someday it might even grow from a baby story into something that might be publishable, but I feel like I have to finish walking the journey first.  In the meantime I’ve been writing the memories as they come back to me.  In some ways writing about the events of 22nd February 2011 hasn’t been as hard is remembering what it was like on the 23rd February, the 24th, the 25th, the next week, and the week after that.  The gut felt grief and pain aren’t so tangible, it’s harder to find the words to describe them.  As I remember, I feel again the emotions of that time.

Join with me in remembering at 12:51pm on 22nd February.  And for all of us who are still in the process of healing, of finding ourselves again,  let’s continue to pray for each other. 

Broken beer bottles are funny - YEAH RIGHT!

An open letter to the breweries:

Dear Sirs,

Smashing an empty beer bottle onto a school path is such a grown-up thing to do  ... YEAH RIGHT!

That broken glass will magically disappear before the kids go to school in the morning ... YEAH RIGHT!

It would be really funny if someone got hurt on the broken glass ... YEAH RIGHT!

Since beer drinkers can't be responsible with their empties, the breweries will switch to plastic bottles ... Yeah, right?

These photos were taken this afternoon at my local school.  I'm assuming the drinkers of this product were too intoxicated to consider the implications of leaving their broken glass mess for someone else to clean up.  Perhaps the producers of this product might consider taking some responsibility, and considering changing the packaging to something less hazardous.

I would appreciate seeing some action on this issue.

Yours sincerely.

Silence is kept

Morning. 

I nurse my first cup of coffee for the day, blinking sleep from my eyes. 

I’ve recently started trying to pray through the Daily Prayer each morning.  I reach the opening prayer:

The night has passed, and the day lies open before us;
let us pray with one heart and mind.

Silence is kept.

Previously I’d been skipping over the “Silence is kept”, conscious of the limited time I have, and ploughing on to the next prayer so I can get through it all. 

But this day, I’ve managed to get up a bit earlier, so I linger in the silence.  I paraphrase the previous line to “I am here to pray with my heart and mind”.  Then I stop and listen.  I am aware of the sounds of the world around me – birds, traffic outside, children stirring in another room.  My mind is trying to think about the things I need to do today, but I make an effort to put that thought aside. I breathe.  Something deep inside me seems to be wakening just a little.  “I am here” becomes “Here I am”. 

As I read through the rest of the prayers, that something stays with me.  And when I finally get up, the empty space I’ve been feeling for the last 11 months now feels a little less empty.

2012 - The year of the rebuild

All around Christchurch at the moment there’s a lot of “deconstruction” going on.  The removal of damaged buildings and structures to clear the land for rebuilding the new.  It’s heart-breaking seeing buildings that have been part of my cityscape for decades being stripped out and torn down. 

From this…

 

 

 

…to this
Photo: http://www.stuff.co.nz

Photo supplied by Deb Donnell, author of Cafe Reflections on Christchurch City 1975-2011. Find out more at http://CafeReflectionsBooks.com/.

Photo: Christchurch City Libraries

I think that’s also a bit of a metaphor for how I’m feeling.  A part of my psyche has been damaged in some way, and has been “deconstructed” in a rather sudden, violent way on 22 February 2011. 

As I travel around my city I see too many empty spaces where there used to be something. Too many times I look at the gap and struggle to remember what used to be there. 

There’s also something inside me that feels like an empty gap, and I can’t remember what used to be there.  All I know is the hollow feeling that a part of me is missing.

http://www.gapfiller.org.nz/ has been working hard putting something creative into the empty spaces in the city, with ideas like:

Photo: http://www.gapfiller.org.nz/

Photo: http://www.gapfiller.org.nz/

And in Cashel Mall, where my world crashed down around me and changed my life, what looked like this:
Photo: Dean Norrie at www.starphotographers.net

Photo: Booksellers New Zealand

After a bit of this:
Photo: http://www.stuff.co.nz

now looks like this:

Photo: Mark Lincoln www.nzraw.co.nz

Photo: http://www.theoutsideoffice.co.nz/christchurch-nz-time-to-revisit/

Photo: Malcolm Locke

What was “dead” has now been resurrected into a new, vibrant life. 

So for myself, 2012 will be the year I rebuild emotionally, rebuilding Hope, Faith and Life into what will hopefully be a new, improved me.

(Edit 19/1/2012: Photo from Dean Norrie added)

'Twas the day after Christmas

'Twas the day after Christmas
and the house was a mess
the lounge full of wrapping paper
and dishes in the sink
We agreed that cleaning
the house would be best

Outside wood needed stacking
and lawns to be mown
The garden needed weeding,
watering, mulching and hoeing
Swings needed swinging
and balls to be thrown.

The sun was shining brightly
There was not a cloud in the sky
So we ignored the housework
and spent the day outside.