Christmas Wrappings

I thought I would share a friend's Christmas poem, anyone who has children will say "Yes".

CHRISTMAS WRAPPINGS

They spent a lot of money on young Johnny’s Christmas toy.

After all, he was their grandson and they loved to bring him joy.

They wrapped it up so brightly and placed it by the tree,

Then watched the little fellow as he pounced on it with glee.

He loved the shiny paper and he tied the string in knots,

But with some help from Grandad, Johnny opened up the box.

He lifted out the costly toy and put it to one side

Then peered into the empty box, and quickly climbed inside!

He wrapped himself in paper, with ribbon for a scarf.

The box became a boat, a car - he made the grown-ups laugh.

‘I’m in a space ship, Grandad - and Teddy’s coming too!’

So much for costly presents for a boy who’s only two!

But even so, they had to smile as they watched young Johnny play.

That cardboard box and wrappings kept him happy all that day.

Amusing little tale you think, but maybe fail to see

What little Johnny’s antics can say to you and me.

There’s so much joy at Christmas, so much that’s good and right,

The family, the presents, the food, the tree, the lights.

But all these things are wrappings (like the paper and the string

That little Johnny found more fun than the gift that lay within).

We need to look beyond them to the gift that God has given,

His only Son who came to earth that we might go to heaven,

The baby in the manger who grew to be a man

And sacrificed His perfect life to pay the price of sin.

May we not be like children who throw the gift away

And get absorbed with wrappings which only last a day.

Let us accept with humble hearts the gift that God has given,

Then we shall know real Christmas joy - the peace of sins forgiven.

Val Joslin

The Lilies of the Field

This month we have an invited blogger, Judith Raymont:

“Why do you worry about clothes? See how the lilies of the field grow. They do not labour or spin. Yet I tell you that not even Solomon in all his splendour was dressed like one of these. If that is how God clothes the grass of the field, which is here today and tomorrow is thrown into the fire, will he not much more clothe you, O you of little faith?”  

Sometimes easier said than done.  

Take, for example, packing to go on holiday:  

What a nightmare! It is a tricky exercise at the best of times. But this time. Oh dear!  

This particular holiday was in multiple sections, requiring clothes appropriate for: fell walking, dining, sightseeing, shopping, swimming, lengthy spells of driving, meeting old and new friends, rain, shine and high water!  

How do you pack for so many scenarios – what do you put in and what do you leave out?  

I think back longingly to a previous holiday when I packed everything I needed, including evening wear, snorkel, mask, sea shoes and puffy pillow all in a Ryan-Air-small, carry-on, wheelie suitcase. But now I have all the room I could possibly want in the interior of a car and therefore enormous amounts of that dreaded word – CHOICE!   Aargh!    I know I should be grateful but actually I hate it.  

The lilies of the field are lucky. They have no choice. They are either arrayed in white, or yellow or pink petals and that’s it. Glorious as they are, they can’t change their colours. if only I had a limited set of petals to wear it would be so much easier.  

So, my husband comes home to find a multitude of garments strewn all over the bed. “Haven’t you packed yet?” He comes back a little while later to see a suitcase full of clothes, in some semblance of order. He smiles and wanders off again. Next time he looks in, the case is empty once more, and there, all over the bed, and floor, is a jumble of trousers, tops, dresses, shoes, undergarments. His face falls as he realises all is not well, and his wife, rather than the unworried lily he had hoped for, is swiftly wilting into a neurotic heap of indecision.  

Finally, we are off. The car is laden down with heavy suitcases (I can’t even lift mine), laptop, extra bedding, boots, walking poles, anoraks, maps, books on wild flowers and not forgetting the Mitchell Beasley guide to trees of the English countryside.  

Halfway up the motorway a conversation begins about the possibility of dining out in a swanky restaurant in Liverpool, and a chance to wear the ‘Little Black dress’, or LBD, as they are now referred to in magazines. I begin to whimper, not very quietly, as the realisation dawns that the one garment I should have packed, is still hanging in the wardrobe at home.  

This is obviously somewhat of an exaggeration but has the potential for a fortnight’s worth of regret and misery. I know in my heart of hearts I am being ridiculous. God looks on the inside and is more concerned with my spiritual state than what I am wearing on the outside.  

Consider the lilies of the field!


Judith Raymont

THE WORLD WIDE WEB“’

"Are you on The Web?"
The question might be asked
"Are you the spider or the fly?" 

Are you the one who
Sends out sticky threads,
That hopes to trap by guile?

Or, are you the one
Stuck upon the thread,
Who, with twang and shake

Endeavours to be free?
The World Wide Web
Is waiting there to trap

Unwary browsers who
See not the spider's eyes,
Beady, greedy and black,

Jaws ready to snap up
    The electronic browser
                Whole!

I wrote this, after asking a businessman friend of mine, if he was "on the web".  The poem is not a reflection of him, but simply, my impression of the way the world of commerce is going, fast!

In the 1960's, when I worked as an office junior in a bank in the City of London, the motto of the Stock Exchange was still "My word is my bond".  Naively, I imagined it would always be so.  How things have changed!  Family banks being brought down by individual traders and computer theft and insider trading are just a few of the things that have made "the City", a far less safe place.

Financially, the world seems much less a secure place than it was when "My word is my bond" was a standard that was looked up to, but there is "Someone" whose Word is still His Bond, who does not change, the Lord Jesus Christ, whose heart is full of love and compassion and who says, "Whoever comes to me, I will never drive away". 

Why not reach out to him today, He is already reaching out in love to you.

Father's Day 17th June

I belong to an email “poetry circle”.  When the subject “Fatherhood” came up, I replied, “I have only seen fatherhood from a distance" (Dad was a bit knocked up after the war) "and being single myself …”.  To which my Vicar’s wife replied,

“Come on Liz!  If you can’t write about your own father, you have observed other fathers over a lifetime - and there is always the Heavenly option”. 

Well, I didn’t write about my Heavenly Father, but I did write something, and in view of the fact that it is Father’s Day on the 17th June, I though some of you might like to read this:

My Father

Two photographs
Ten years apart.
In one, they stride
Along the promenade.
He, with curly hair
And laughing face,
Strong, vigorous,
Loving arm gripped
Around the little
Lady at his side.
She, can step out
Strong - He is there
To help her keep
Her feet in canvas
Sandals, though
Her steps are weak.

And now it is their
Wedding day.  How
Grim he stands.  A
Promise made, he
Keeps it.  She wears
Blue, so dark it brings
A shade, made deeper
By the angle of her hat.
Khaki declares the
Reason for this change.
A soldier now, the
Curly hair all gone.
In the years that come
Only seconds give a
Glimpse of that so
Lovely smile.  A husband
Come - a father gone
Before I ever knew him.

A shadow in the corner
With eyes that saw
Only pain and death
And loss of people
In that war. Things
He could not share.
But one golden
Glimpse was there,
As in patriarchal
Fashion, he gave
Thanks for food
And named his God
His “Dear Redeemer”.

Elizabeth S Wells

May blossom or month?

“NAY SHED A CLOUT BEFORE MAY IS OUT

” This is an old and familiar weather rhyme. There are two interpretations of this. The question is, does "before May is out," mean we can shed our extra warm clothes (clouts) when the May flowers bloom, or when the month of May ends? I still don't know for sure, having often taken it to be the May coming into bloom and getting caught out by a really chilly day in late April or early May.

Smell and scents can be powerful triggers for memories. For my mother, the scent of paraffin would bring back the memory of her mother lighting the oil lamps in the home near the cross roads in Borough Green in Kent. My mother was born in 1903, and her mother passed away in 1906, so this was a very early memory in deed.

For me, it is the scent of may flowers that are so evocative, bringing back memories of the banks of may that were ranged across the grassy green slopes above the little town center of Abbey Wood, in South East London, at the edges of Kent. We moved from there when I was ten in 1954, and before moving day, I stood amongst the great, white mounds of may blossom, breathing in the wonderful, intoxicating scent, and promising myself I would remember this for ever - and I have.

I also remember being on a spring holiday with my mother, beneath the South Downs in Sussex, when I was a lot younger. I dashed into the house where we were staying with a bunch of may blossom and got the sharp response from the lady of the house, "Not in here! That will mean someone is going to die!" How sad that anyone should think of these beautiful flowers, with their wonderful scent, as bringing a curse! I prefer to think of them as part of the Lord's gracious and loving creation, and to thank God for them.

Edith Holden in “The Country Diary of an Edwardian Lady”, when writing about May, quotes Chaucer:

“Among the many buds proclaiming May
Decking the fields in holiday array,
Striving who shall surpass in braverie,
Marke the faire flowering of the hawthorne tree.”

Almost Easter!

ALMOST EASTER!

Being a countrywoman, my mother still lived by the changes of the seasons, even though we lived in south east London not far from the north western edges of Kent. One treat we always looked for each year, was the blooming of the daffodils in the woods behind Less Ness Abbey, in the spring.

The monks had built their abbey on a high green promontory, over looking the wide sweep of the Thames. Hence the name, Less Ness. On the slopes behind the Abbey they had planted and coppiced a large plantation of sweet chestnuts, cutting the trees down to the stump, from which grew multiple trunks. Coppicing actually extends the life of the tree.

As I walked through this wood as a child, it looked very strange to me. It was the only one I knew like it, the enormous lumpy bases of the sweet chestnuts had the trunks of many smaller chestnut trees growing out of them. The chestnuts we picked up in those woods in autumn were as big as you could buy, and just as delicious.

Each year, as soon as the daffodils started to come out, we would make a trip to Less Ness Abbey, to enjoy this wonderful sight. I do not think the monks themselves had planted the daffodils, but they spread in gorgeous yellow floods right across the slopes of the little valleys, throughout the woods, under the sweet chestnuts.

I sometimes hold a little brown bulb in my hand, trying to imagine the lovely yellow bloom that will come from it. It is difficult to visualise. For this reason, daffodils never fail to remind me of Easter Sunday and life from the grave. For me, they continue to lift their golden trumpets and herald the Resurrection.

Elizabeth S Wells

Spring

The First Mild Day of Spring.

A few years ago, I remember being, for once, in the right place at the right time.  It had been a cold spring, and, for the first time that year, I took the bus to Newmarket for a bit of shopping. 

On the way over, I looked out at the lines of dark straight hedges either side of the road.  Here and there, I saw a slight green haze touching the deep brown twigs.  Spring was on its way, but even so, seemed a long way off.

That day turned out pleasantly mild with more than a touch of sunshine.  I started back while it was still light so that I could enjoy the countryside.  As we sped down the road back towards Cambridge, I was amazed to see that the hedges, all the way, had turned to bright leafy green.  Spring had sprung! 

I was so glad to have been out on that day, to see the change from morning to late, from winter to spring in a day.  The image of those newly green hedges remains in my mind to this day.

It happens year after year, thank God, and I hope we never lose the ability, especially after the kind of winter we have had, to greet the return of spring with delight.

Liz Wells