Creator of the universe
King Almighty
Creator of the universe
King Almighty
On a cloudless day
the low autumn sun
warms my cheek
lights up the edges of the grass stalks
and casts deep shadows
in shallow footprints.
The waves distantly rumble
a dog bark echos
a bird silently circles over the breakers
others chirp intermittently
from the reeds
chatting back and forth
between the dunes.
Dunes shift.
Sometimes gradually
sometimes in just one storm
but they are not secure territory.
Sometimes I’m painfully reminded
that I’ve built my house on sand.
Again.
And it’s shifting.
Why am I surprised?
It’s happened before
it’ll happen again.
The shocking reality is
it’s all sand.
Home, friends, family, work, health,
which country I’m in
which home I’m in
what I’m doing
what people think
which people I can depend on
which people I’m close to.
It’s all sand.
Why should I be surprised
when it shifts?
It’s all sand.
I like to think it’s rock
if it hasn’t shifted for a while.
I set up camp
stake my home out on the dunes
try to reinforce them
steady them.
But man-made stabilization
of naturally shifting processes
always eventually fails
and sometimes makes
the shift more devastating
when it comes.
And the rock?
I wish there were more available
but there’s only one.
And sometimes I ignore it.
It seems so much more natural to build on sand.
The default.
I’m sorry for mixing up
sand and rock.
Expecting things that are inherently shifting
to be stable
and not trusting and putting weight on
the inherently stable.
I need to move my home,
my place of inner security
from sand to rock.
And fast.
The sand is shifting.
Why should I be surprised?
It’s all sand.
–
“..like a foolish man who built his house on sand..” Matthew 7:26
“lead me to the rock that is higher than I.” Psalm 61:2
–
© Copyright Hilary Murdoch 2017
Driving through town
windscreen wipers on full pelt
hardly keeping up with the pouring rain.
Loud swing music in my car.
“I don’t care what the weatherman says,
when the weatherman says it’s raining,
you’ll never hear me complaining,
I’m sure the sun will shine.”
The traffic lights multiply a myriad times in the wet road
sparkling like Christmas tree lights.
My concentration is keen
to see clearly
to stop when I must stop
and go when I must go,
but to avoid those without cars
rushing across the road,
clasping soggy newspaper
in a futile attempt to cover their heads,
blinkering themselves inadvertently to the oncoming traffic.
Maybe they care what the weatherman says more than I do.
falling on my arm,
gentle breeze,
a glimpse of the mountain,
through glowing branches.
Birds cheerfully chirping in the trees,
the sound of water splashing in a fountain,
sun shining through the vine leaves above me
highlight the firey edges of autumn.
The smell of coffee and baking.
Here, in my happy place,
I tell you how I feel,
I choose honesty
over a stiff upper lip.
–
As I give up certain foods
I realise how much I turned to them for comfort.
I realise I’m stiff necked and slow
to turn to you for that comfort.
As I return to South Africa
I miss family and friends in the UK.
More time alone.
I realise how quickly I turn to people for comfort.
You invite me gently not to rush to fix the aloneness
but to look to you to be my constant companion.
Feels hard
Easier to pick up the phone.
–
As things seem uncertain and unfamiliar,
my things in cardboard boxes
both sides of the world;
living in a friend’s spare room, not my home;
a new season, not yet fully defined;
in this place, you invite me gently to turn to you
with certain hope and anticipation
that you are my rock and my certainty.
You remind me that wherever I am,
I can be ‘at home in your love’.*
–
As I struggle to articulate my life
and comparison knocks loudly at the door,
again you gently invite me to turn to you
knowing my significance, value and meaning
is rooted in you alone,
not in what people think of me
or whether I’m doing things
that I or others define as ‘significant’.
–
You tell me your word is a light to my feet.
Not a search light to see the whole road ahead
but a flickering candle in a lantern
only enough light for the very next step
and that step was to return.
You invite me to place my hand in yours
and I know it’s true
(even when it doesn’t feel true)
that it is safer than a known way.
–
I guess it’s true you have more patience with me
than I have with myself.
For a short while I live in lack
and tears come
not recognising the person
standing close by my side
who can meet me in every place of need.
Who can be my everything.
–
* John 15:9 “Make yourselves at home in my love.”
Cardboard boxes
Rolls and rolls of brown tape
Stuff of life contained
Packed away
Paused
Held.
To be reclaimed
one day
timing to be confirmed
hopefully not too far away.
Unpacked into a new season.
Connections re-established
Life resumed.
–
So much stuff.
How much does one really need?
Very little if we’re honest.
But we keep it
as a security blanket.
There’s a freedom and lightness in simplicity
but I’m rarely brave enough
to shed enough
to experience it.
–
In the air
literally
between places
between lives
and yet living my life
in this moment.
I’m not alone
flying with my constant companion.
Knowing I’m loved and known
held in hearts
in both places I call home.
–
Copyright © 2014 Hilary Murdoch. All rights reserved.
Plane over Cape Town image: Reuters