Dreams and aspirations

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Dreams, aspirations, wishful thinking
What we might do, who we might be
One day
But the one day that matters
Is today.
Lord, help us to be who you would have us be today
Prompt us to do what you would have us do today
For only by making the best of each day
Can we prepare for the future

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Blog-o-rific

I’ve not been at all  blog-o-rific lately.

Isn’t that a wonderful word?! I found it on Lucy’s blog.

It’s not only got some indefinable appeal, it also inspired me to post something on Bengeo Prayers that’s been in mind a while and to share with you here.

There’s all this potentially blog material that goes round my head whilst out walking or digging the garden but no longer finds it way to the screen – perhaps this will help edge some of it on its way!

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Art project

Art project 2014.

I did eventually finish this and hang it on the wall.
Maybe there is still hope for other things that get started in a burst of enthusiasm and then are left to languish.

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I wonder

I wonder
about each fleeting breath I draw
so many atoms, molecules
in the air
are they part of me
’til I exhale?
Some I absorb
they’re in my blood
for how long are they part of me?
Each tear drop, toe nail
strand of hair
I leave behind me
and move on
yet they retain my DNA.
What is this body
that I will one day leave?
Can it really be defined?

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Mystery plant flowers

Mystery  flower DSC_0111

Well, it looks like some sort of lily to me.
Any ideas?

Mystery plant 
Mystery plant has grown

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Treasure

Treasure your experience of God however it comes to you.

white rose DSCN4755

Someone gave me a booklet curiously entitled Advices and queries (published by the Quakers); in it I found the above quotation and I’ve been reminded of it so many times. We can so easily fall into the tap of thinking we only experience God a particular way, in church, in a sunset, a newborn baby – in whatever way we experienced God once. In fact there can be a million different ways everyday. All can be treasured, if only we first learn to recognise them.

 

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Two orange chimney pots 3

Side by side
We sit on the bed
Sketch pad between us
Pastels and pencil to hand
Once again
She’s the master teacher
Instructing a student
Living in the present
It doesn’t matter
That she doesn’t recall
Where she is
Or why
Doesn’t remember the past
She is who she is
What her past has made her
We doodle
Smudge and change
Each other’s doodles
Talk about life
In the abstract
And I learn from her.

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