Day 3 Gratitude July

It might be queue, but we can fly. #gratitudejuly day3

Gratitude July - Intro!

Connecting Gratitude, Pausing & Winter.

(And an invitation)

grateful words on lips

gentle susurration

smile turns slowly up*

It started as a bit of a game on Facebook: a daily poetry challenge.  You give Peter a word, and he writes it into poetry.  [words used: grateful, susurration] *(Poetry by Peter White)

Peter’s challenge was running in parallel with a couple of other friends who used photographs or words to express gratitude every day for a month.  All of them said the same thing: It’s easy at first – food, water, sunshine, etc. But as time went on, the challenge took more time and more focus – it took them into some things they had never seen before, and many that they had taken for granted.  What were the actual qualities of their spouse or best friend for which they were thankful?  Some even named the rhythm of ironing and the hum of the vacuum cleaner as representing gratitude for having clothes and a home.

Recently, we paused and expressed thanks to God for the gift of a new home - blessing places of rest, cleansing, hospitality, meal-preparation, story-telling, creativity; windows that welcome light, and doors that welcome old and new friends. This moment and these people paused to express gratitude for bringing the Tonga family to this new point in their lives.

As I ran past bare trees and soaked fields yesterday, I wondered if there might be a connection between winter, pausing … and finding that gratitude.  In winter, creation takes a pause from growing and fruiting. It needs the rest, the pause, the patient-waiting in order to grow well in spring.

I wondered if this might be a useful winter / July discipline – to write or draw or photograph (phone or camera), something for which I’m grateful every day. 

So I’m going to dive in on July 1: a month of recording things for which I’m grateful.  I’m going to do mine through my blog. You would be welcome to join me – journal, blog, facebook, instagram or on your fridge door. One thing every day for which we are grateful. (I’d love to hear from you if you are joining me!)

Sing boldly

 Sing, God's people, Sing.

Sing like the magpies, 

sing of God's salvation.

Sing of God's faithfulness. 

Sing your lament, and ask, "How Long, O God".

Sing in the shower and the showers;

sing in the pain and in the laughter;

sing through the tears and the giggles. 

Then come. 

Come, join your voices and sing together,

the sound of God's salvation 

and stubborn faithfulness 

meeting the world's pain and beauty. 

Sing, God's people. Sing.

Repost (Jon Humphries): So Much ...

Painting by Myuran Sukamaran*

So Much, God.

In this world, Lord,
So much death
So much sadness
More compassion is needed.

So much waste
So much suffering
More justice is required.

So much grief
So many tears
More support is welcomed.

So much to do
So much to offer
More love to be lived.

So much we have in you
So much you call us to
More may we follow the Christ

So, let it be.

Amen.
- Jon Humphries

* Myuran Sukamaran and Andrew Chan were executed, along with 6 others, by Indonesia on 29 April, 2015.

The Immigrant

One of the themes that captivates my imagination comes from my own story - that of immigration. Occasionally I come across songs or images or poems that hold a part of that theme. Starting again, carrying all we own in a couple of suitcases, daily encounters with fresh, strange and odd situations. Almost everything needs to be relearned and negotiated.

Today I picked up this link from Norm Strauss (via my friend Jan Fischer), for his song "The Immigrant". 

"This land is so big you can finally be yourself.
Let these open fields free your captive soul 

or let those wild mountains swallow you whole.

Follow your heart, even to unfamiliar places.

Follow your heart, writing your story on these pages
 

The land that I called 'Father'
still comes to me in dreams
and sometimes I wonder
where would I be?"

While the song is set in a different place and time, some of the lines rang clear for me - telling our story, as well as that of my grandparents. "Follow your heart, even to unfamiliar places." "Starting over at 46 (47) years old", "and we held our breaths and hoped that all the stories told were true, a frontier land with promises of more..." 

I've lived between these lines. Thank you Norm Strauss.