Thursday, 21 May 2015

Loosing sight of land

We are on the move...

In July we are relocating to Cambridge where Matt will begin ordination training and I...

well truthfully I'm not quite sure what I'll do yet, 

Unfortunately most of my nearest and dearest have developed a somewhat morbid interest in exactly what my life will look like after the move.

personal preference would be to wonder the time worn streets soaking up by proxy all the extra intelligence floating around, taking a few nice pictures and writing this sorely neglected blog. 

But in reality I will seek to find myself gainful employment, preferably in a nursery or school with the forest school values which i have come to love. 

After an 8 year stint in Sheffield it will be a shock to the system to call somewhere else home so we are trying to leave well, taking time to hand responsibilities over and give extra long notice to our jobs.

This is all very well but I have the feeling that nothing will prepare us fully for the day in late July when we will wave off the moving van, cram ourselves into  the Yaris and leave for the next three years.

Until then I will probably be bursting into tears randomly, beginning to pack ridiculously early and upping the free minutes on my phone contract in preparation for the inevitable long catch up sessions!

I know that dear friends will remain exactly that, regardless of the distance but it is a sobering thought that we will need to establish a new home and community. 

Sir Francis Drakes beautiful poem encourages me yet again and all I can hope is that as we Loose sight of the land we may find the stars.

Your One Wild and Precious Life

As a Christian I am generally trying to talk to God, engage in a dialogue and hear him as clearly as possible in order to not make too much of a mess.

Mostly God says one thing when I remember to listen..incidentally this is the same thing that most of the children at work recite as a mantra every waking second, 
He says 'look!'

'Look Rachel that flower is blooming, look at the dad hug his daughter, look at the colour of that leaf, look look look!!!'

I saw this poem by today and it summed this up really nicely...

The Summer Day
Mary Oliver

Who made the world?
Who made the swan, and the black bear?
Who made the grasshopper?
This grasshopper, I mean-
the one who has flung herself out of the grass,
the one who is eating sugar out of my hand,
who is moving her jaws back and forth instead of up and down-
who is gazing around with her enormous and complicated eyes.
Now she lifts her pale forearms and thoroughly washes her face.
Now she snaps her wings open, and floats away.
I don't know exactly what a prayer is.
I do know how to pay attention, how to fall down
into the grass, how to kneel down in the grass,
how to be idle and blessed, how to stroll through the fields,
which is what I have been doing all day.
Tell me, what else should I have done? Doesn't everything die at last, and too soon?
Tell me, what is it you plan to do
with your one wild and precious life?