Monthly Archives: January 2014

Easing gently towards the shore

Sunshine, low and orange
Stretching its last rays
Across the water
Dropping gold along the way
Interrupted by large smooth boulders
And wave sprays over them in slow motion
Throwing water high into the air.
A cool breeze passes my skin
And plays with my hair.
My breath is slowing.
All I can hear is the sea
The distant rumble of waves crashing
The closer small breakers tumbling
And the constant lapping
Not so far from my bright pink toenails.
The waves seem to be in a huge hurry
Smashing into rocks
That are insolent enough to lye in their way
Sprinting for the shore
But then slowing right down
Half hearted
As if the bus they were running for
Has pulled off without them.
A sigh of resignation
And a final collapse into the pebbles.
The sun is sinking
Easing itself under its blanket, the horizon
Snuggling down, ready for bed
Tired of the day’s exertions
Getting progressively more golden
I can look at it more directly
Although my page then has dalmatian spots
And then its gone
And it’s peachy colour leaks across the sky.
A group of birds fly overhead
Thin wings and spikey beaks
Calling to each other
9 of them
Switching places
Playing in the failing light
Not in a huge hurry
To get anywhere.
The scene speaks to me of peace
Of unhurried calm
My soul tries to follow nature’s lead
Easing gently towards the shore.
So here I am
With increasingly cold toes
Here I am
Ready for restoration
Ready for whatever you have for me, God
Ready to be held
Eager to hear, to see
Hungry for intimacy.
Wanting to move on
And yet wanting
Whatever you have for me even more.
I’m here
With you.
I’m here
With you.
All poems and original writing on this blog are Copyright © Hilary Murdoch 2014

A place for my stuttering heart to find voice



Photo: Me writing my journal near Hermanus, South Africa. ©Hilary Murdoch 2013

 IMG_5082Copyright Hilary Murdoch © 2014. Mixed Media. Inside free.

I’m delighted and honoured to be invited to write a guest post for my friend Claire De Boer who I got to know in Burundi last year. Her blog focuses on the healing gift of writing. My piece is about journalling and how that’s helped me express my heart…

“Sometimes I feel paralysed by my emotions, as if they are a messed up ball of wool inside me. Sitting quietly to write can be like gently pulling out each string, laying it down in a line to see it for what it is. And there on the table it looses its power to hold me hostage.”

Do click through to read the full piece here.

I will be still



Photo: © Hilary Murdoch 2013

I’ve been listening to ‘I will be still’ by Young Oceans on repeat. I need to hear it. Have a listen.

It got me thinking about that phrase, so I wrote a poem about it.


it starts with me

I will

an intentional choice

I will be

presence, being not doing

I will be still

stopping – stillness in my body

trust – stillness in my emotions, my soul

peace – stillness in my spirit

and know

deep heart knowing

experiential knowing



You are God.

You are “I am”

You are who you are

Not who I think you are or want you to be

But who you are

Your presence, being you

Healer, Provider, Shepherd, Peace

The one who sees,

The one who is present.

Who you are to me now

Who you are, not what you will do

A deep knowing and experience of that ‘who’

oozes in gently

into my body, my soul, my spirit

as I


to be


Jehovah-Shammah Ezekiel 48:35  “The Lord who is present”

Psalm 46:10 “Be still, and know that I am God.”


All poems and original writing on this blog are Copyright © Hilary Murdoch 2014

In between people… Part 2


After writing my previous post about being an ‘in between person‘, I read a chapter in Joyce Rupp’s book called ‘May I have this dance’ (a book of spiritual reflections which I highly recommend). The chapter  for December was entitled ‘Homecoming’ and opened with this poem and seemed to connect with and further develop my reflections on the subject.

Something in me is stirring;

I think it’s the part of me

that waits in lonely exile

and yearns for a homeland.


It’s the hidden part of me

that wanders aimlessly,

stumbling in the dark,

crying to be found.


O God of exiles and strangers

find the homeless parts of me;

guide them toward yourself,

for you are my promised land.

Take the stranger inside of me

and find familiar soil for it.

Keep me mindful of the Emmanuel,

whose sojourn brought a glimpse of home.

Poem: Joyce Rupp 2006