Here It Comes Again



That crazy, mixed-up, confused sense of disatisfaction. It comes uninvited, slicing through my self-esteem like a knife through butter. Trying to describe it is like chasing the wind. I hate it, but when it’s there, I do the best writing I’ve ever done

It’s always been here, we circle each other, eyeing ourselves warily, not letting our guard down. It’s part of me, and without it I’m not whole, yet I do not miss it, I welcome its absence whilst acknowledging its presence

If the post doesn’t make sense, neither does this strange yearning that creeps in. The only way to placate it is either writing or sitting in His presence. For I know that is where it comes from, where it is rooted. There are times I just want to be there for ever, I know I can’t stay on the mountain top, yet the valley holds no sway over me

Remind me who I am, Lord. Bid me follow you, to the desert, to the mountain, the quiet place where I reclaim my identity. For this sense is really a search, a longing to know myself and my place, but my place isn’t in this world. It’s with you



Falling Shadows



Shadows are falling
And you are calling
Come now and rest
At the end of the day

As the sun’s brightness
Gives way to moonlight
And weary souls
Wander to rest

I hear you calling
As I am falling
Into the blest
Haven of peace

When my eyes won’t close
Lost in my dreaming
Fretting about the morning
Remind my heartache
Your love is there

Cover my sleep
With your everlasting love
Remind me
Tommorow has not yet arrived

Hold me safely
Keep me close, Lord
When peril knocks
At my door

Rebuke the rage
As you did the waves
Calm the storm
Soothe my angry soul

For I am lost
Deep in distress
Floundering
I call
Save me!

It’s so easy
When the night
Makes trivia
Important

I don’t know
How to express it
Other than to hand it
To you

It makes no sense
Yet even if I don’t understand
This feeling
Yearning
Longing

It seizes my heart
Chains my words
Steals my tongue
For it is deeper
Than words can ever say

You know what I mean
Even if I don’t
I could live a thousand years
Yet never work it out

It’s a mystery
Why I even attempt it
I know I’ll never solve it
Yet false pride
Demands I try

Teach me
That all this raging
Steals my time
And my peace

Come, soothe me
Bid the angry beast sleep
Touch my soul
With gentle fingers
Of rest

Be the saving guest
At table
Sharing bread and wine
For I am your child
And you, Father mine

Love me
For who I am
Weary and broken though I be
All I need is to see

The pierced hands
The wounded side
In your embrace
I will hide

To find

My rest



Falling Arms



Stretch forth those pierced hands
To grasp my own
For I am lost
So alone
Without the touch
Of the sacred

Grasping
For the divine
My hands fall
Empty

Tired,
I let them fall
Surrender
Defeated
By my own hubris

Yet
I hear you call
Echoing deep
In my soul

The cavern
Where I dwell
Safe
From the judgement
Of an angry, shattered world

You bid me follow
The hollow
World holds no attraction
To me

All I want
Is to be here
With you
Where I come from
And where
One day
At the close of my eyes
I will return

Speak to me
In the pattering rain
The joy of the chattering sparrow
The dance of the curling breeze
Blowing papers down an empty street

Remind me
I am more
Than the sum of my days

My heart
Belongs to the divine
For I am divine breath
In human form
Love, walking on this earth

So often, I hide
Afraid
Alone
My light
Hidden

When I want to run
Bid me run to you
When I want to hide
Let me do so in your embrace
Shelter under your wing
And find rest

I know I still
Have to journey through this world
But remind me
That I can come
And rest
In You



Whisper in the Silence



When my head has had its say
When my heart has lost its way
When all is done, at end of day
You whisper in the silence

When the battle has been lost
And my heart had to count the cost
Of the love I thought I’d lost
You whisper in the silence

When I feel the sense of peace
That slowing down can release
And notice the anguish cease
Then you whisper in the silence

Teach me, Lord, not to shout
Not to rage, or storm, or pout
When my strength has all run out
Whisper Lord, in my silence

Remind me I am in your care
And you will always find me where
The sunlight meets the sea
And where you, Lord, find me
As you whisper my Name
Of the ending of my shame
Welcoming me home again
In the silence



A Modern Prodigal – Dare I Hope?



The road is long
And I’m so weary
I Long for home
And the love left behind

Can I dare hope
That I will be heard
My heart is spent
I must repent
And come to rest

Could I dare He could forgive
And once more I could live
For existing is all I do
Without my God
My life means nothing

Yet broken, torn
I’m straining to see
Those open arms
Ever stretched wide
Reaching out
For me

Could I dare
How could I return?
When all my sins
Burn scarlet
In front of my eyes

I am so lost
I have nothing left to prove
Nothing left to prove
But a stubborn heart
And a foolish heart

For alone I fear the night
That stalks my dreams
Sometimes it seems
The dawn will never come

So, yes, I will go
Return once more
To the arms of my Father
Repenting my stubborn heart
And my foolish pride

For no matter what I do
Or how I fall
He is my all-in-all
For He is love
And love is all
His children
Need



Cursillo Weekend Approaches



So, in just 12 days, the Shrewsbury Cursillo Weekend for 2019 will begin. As part of the team leading the 3 days, yes, a 3 day weekend, I am responsible for talks and the music. The talks are laity and holiness

As a Catholic, I find these weekends both challenging and very rewarding. We are blessed with Mass every day, although, sorry, I prefer to eat before praying, it means stomach growls aren’t included!

As Vice President for Shrewsbury, I will also be representing the President of Cursillo in England and Wales in what we call our closure, our closing Mass. I’m trying to decide what music we’re using for that as well as everything else.

So, my quandary is, how do I prepare for what is one of the 5 spiritual highlights of my year, the other three are Christmas, Easter and Pentecost, as well as the National Day of Discernment usually in June

The answer is, as every year, I just don’t know, with a full-time job as well as these commitments, I suffer from a distracted mind, earning what a close friend called me, being a slutterby

Here’s hoping the Spirit will take control, as He always does, and inspire us all with His love and leadership of the weekend. After all, we are the team, not the leaders.



Modern Prodigal to be Used on Forthcoming Cursillo Weekend



When I write, there are times I am just led as the music plays, and sometimes there is a theme. The Prodigal Son is always the first reflection on the Thursday evening when we gather to start our three day weekend. Usually it’s done by the Spiritual Director, but this year, they will not be arriving until the Friday morning, so the task falls to us.

Modern Prodigal – Dare I Hope? is a two layered poem. There have been many times in the last nine years, I have felt as lost as the speaker in the lines. Working through so much family trauma hasn’t been easy, and there have been times when I’ve felt in a lonely place, trapped in the eye of an unwanted and unexpected hurricane. when the fury has gone, I look round to see the ruins of the life that was, and have to work out how to put the pieces back together.

The question “Dare I hope” has been an integral part of working through that trauma. Suffering can make you a deeply aware and changed person, but when so many people close to me, including 3 deaths and 2 life changing events with long term health affected, the ones I relied on most for support were those afflicted, and I felt stranded. Yet, so often, my pride and self-reliance over those years proved to be my downfall. It was only when I began to realise how worn-out, how exhausted those efforts made me, that I started to reach out, no, not out, upwards. I’ve lost count of the prayer, “Oh God I’m tired of all this, please help” was uttered, yet time and again I walked away instead of leaning into Him

I sent the poem to the Lay Director for Shrewsbury Cursillo asking if they thought it suitable for anything on the weekend. Imagine my surprise when they said that it’s going to form part of the reflection that Thursday evening.

It will, I have no doubt, be an emotional reading, but without honesty and integrity, what are we? And with so much despair, anxiety and fear in the world, we truly need to be honest and ask “Dare we hope?” Indeed, the question is not, dare we, but how can we not dare to hope?



How Can I Begin to Tell You?



How can I begin to even tell you where I am
When so often I don’t seem to understand
Or even if I stand at all?

It was easy when it all began
Life was open, innocent and free
When did those walls of fear and pain
Start closing in on me?

It was so simple then, or did I hide
Choosing to run inside
From fear that was always there

The running wore me out
The raging stole my sleep
Yet in my deepest anguish
Angels did their vigil keep

I can’t tell you it’s over
Because all I know is its begun
And somewhere in my heart
Healing has taken hold

One thing is for sure
The one who holds the cure
Is no stranger to me
Healing for the leper, curing the lame
Raising the dead

If anyone can mend my broken soul
It is He
If anyone can make me whole
It is He



Trust in the Darkness



How many times do we read in Scriptures, “the Lord is close to the broken-hearted”, or “The Lord hears the cry of the poor”? Noble words indeed, but in times of trial the last place the Lord seems to be is close. In these places, where do we go? What do we do? Is it wrong to feel that the Lord is nowhere to be found? Is it wrong to feel bereft, angry or numb? Is it wrong to rage at God? When my family was hit by illness I often felt him to be miles away

If we read the psalms, we realise that this not unusual. David cried his heart out to God, no matter his circumstances, the psalms speak of rejoicing, trial, suffering, victory and defeat. David was also conscious of his sinfulness and consequences. When he lost his son to Bathseba, he was honest enough to admit his infidelity and move on.

I decided, after experiencing the trials and anguish of watching all family illnesses pile up like a crash, that all I could do was hang on, it didn’t matter, in the end, whether I felt God was close, all that mattered was He was. No matter how I feel, the Lord is always there, emotions come and go, but He is always close. That’s all we have to remember, just trust and, step-by-step, move forward.