Epiphany!

DISCLAIMER: I’ve had a sort of road-to-Damascus/Homer-Simpson epiphany recently and as a result this post seems to mainly be an abstract string of thoughts. Sorry about that. I’ll get back to writing sensible (more sensible) stuff next week.

P.S. I also thought it might be nice to display some art by someone else. So here’s a masterpiece painted by my lovely sister, it was so much fun to see her for the weekend, not to mention hanging out with Beth and Hattie for the evening, although obviously not the same without the oldest Basson sister (Abby we missed you!).

Last weekend I had the pleasure of attending the wedding of Bekah Brain and Ben Allen. It was a great wedding, for all sorts of reasons, but what really stood out was that Bekah and Ben not only loved one another tonnes, but they also loved their friends and family (which I suppose is why they invited them to see their marriage).

In his speech, Steve (Bekah’s dad) said that Bekah had a real love for life and I interpreted that to mean that she loves the people around her, the world we live in and the opportunities and situations that she encounters. And as I sat there, mostly listening but also thinking that the cauliflower cheese I had just eaten hadn’t been seasoned properly, I began to wonder whether I had a love for life. As you can probably the guess, my answer was not a resounding yes.

At a wedding the bride and groom, not to mention their closest friends and family, publicly tell each other how much they love one another. And at a wedding like Ben and Bekah’s where there is so much love to tell about, this can be a very moving experience. It moved me anyway and I got thinking about who I really loved, and it dawned on me that I didn’t rate that love very highly. In my usual boring week love wasn’t something that got me out of bed in the morning.

So what was I living for? What did get me out of bed? Breakfast, mostly. But also the continual hope that the future would be better than the present, with better relationships and better ways to fill my time. I was like the travellers in my story the other week who were always searching for the better place which did not exist.

I’m sure we all take the good stuff that we have right now for granted once in a while. And despite all those Christmas films (the ones where the parent puts work before family then learns the true meaning of Christmas) which preach all those great messages, it usually takes something a lot more personal and closer to home to make us realise that we’ve got something wrong.

It is so easy to start living entirely for ourselves. Well, I’ve found it very easy anyway, and I didn’t even know it was happening. So I’ve had to start asking myself how much I’m doing for me, and how much is for other people, do I need to spend as much time as I do doing what I enjoy, or can I donate some time to someone else?

So, if you don’t already, have a careful examination of your life – and try to do it honestly. Luckily for me, God showed me what was really important before it was too late (although I suspect that it’s never too late), but not until after I’d wasted quite a lot of time. We need to make sure we don’t take anything/anyone valuable for granted, and did you know that you can ask God for a bit of zest for life if you don’t think you have any? Because I’m guessing he gives Bekah her love of life, and there’s plenty more to go round for anyone that wants it.

“I [Jesus] came that you might have life – life in all its fullness.” John 10:10

Apologies again for talking about myself so much. I wouldn't bother if I didn't think that there might be something you can learn from it! I'll be back to ordinary posts soon. Hopefully.

Eyes of a dragon

I haven't written a blog post this week, mostly out of laziness but also because I wanted to share this story I wrote back in March. Its based on a dream I once had.

Eyes of a Dragon

It was a wide, wild country. Great mountains rose either side of it, covered in dark forests and topped with snow, while in between the land rolled into steep little hills and valleys with a thousand bright brooks cutting through the valleys and a thousand secret nooks and crannies tucked away between the hills. Their slopes were covered with lush grasses and flowers or with rough brush or woodland. Roads were winding and overhung with apple trees and dog roses, rivers guarded by black alder and willow. It was a travellers land.

   And I suppose we were travellers of a kind. Although we lacked the cheer and love of travelling that the gypsies possessed, and we ignored them when they passed (to my disappointment) or threw stones at their caravans (to my embarrassment). Our caravans were rough and colourless, our horses sad and misused and our only thought to get on to some better place, always some better place.

   We stopped for a while to work in an orchard, picking apples and pears, and the farmer paid us in vegetables which we packed into crates of straw, and in pork which was salted in barrels for the coming winter. I liked to climb the hill each day and see the trees which filled the valleys take on their rusty blush. Their leaves broke free and skipped along the road. Some days brought quick, cold showers of rain between heady, sunny spells and each night our camp was lit with fires in metal bins. The smells of wood smoke and burnt vegetables lingered in the morning.

   It would be a hard winter. The men said to each other how lucky it was that the good farmer paid us in food and everyone sighed secret relief when they walked past the rows of barrels and crates; we were hungry now and it was harvest, think how much worse it would be in the empty months. I watched them, and hated them, wondering why I’d stayed so long with such drab, thoughtless people who were always looking for the better place which did not exist. I went out wandering at night to be alone.

   Until one day we woke up, and three barrels of pork were missing.

   The men searched for the barrels but couldn’t find them. They questioned everyone but there was no thief amongst us. Something like this couldn’t go unpunished so they went to the farmer and he told them: it was a Fire-breathing Wyrme. If food went missing when it was properly locked up or bright lights were seen in the sky at night, it must be a Wyrme. The men discussed what could be done and said to themselves ‘this is an animal that can’t be reasoned with, the only solution is to hunt it.’

   They set a watch every night to guard the remaining food; I know because I hardly slept anyway and spent my nights watching them. But the Wyrme came again, and always on the nights when the watch was weakest. It struck down the watchers and stole more food. It stole livestock too and occasionally an unfortunate dog. This kept on for some time, the Wyrme stealing slyly on nights when it was darkest, until it looked like the remaining food wouldn’t last us the winter. I began to think that it wasn’t worth my while staying any longer, I began to make plans, I explored the surrounding land at night deciding which way I would go.

   And my exploration did not go unnoticed. A few young men followed me one night and accused me of aiding the Wyrme, ‘you’re going looking for it’ they said, ‘we’ve seen you near the barrels, probably loosening the lids, and distracting the watchmen!’ I asked them why on earth they thought I would do something like that. ‘You’re a trouble-maker’ I was told. When I denied it they beat me and left me on the ground, outside the light of the fires.

   Their words and their hard hobnailed boots were the breath that fanned my anger. It rose like flames but I controlled it, refined it until I would need it.

   The next day brought suspicious glares from the camp. There were whispers and amongst the hisses and murmurs, that word, witch! like a blob of spittle in the dirt. I ignored them and went about my business but I knew I wouldn’t be left alone now, there would confrontation, and soon. I could only wait. More food was taken and an old man struck down by the beast, he wasn’t killed but he could not leave his bed the next day.

   One evening I wanted to be alone, to avoid the stares and whispers so I walked out of the camp and up a hill from the top of which I would be able to see the sunset. The path was steep, and dust and cracked dirt made it slippery. The grass either side was long and dry from summer; I brushed my fingers through it as I walked.

   At the top the ground levelled off into a green field from which I could see the land spreading out around, hilltops rising like waves, valleys like snug folds in a blanket. The sunlight streamed golden from the west and as I looked I saw the high blue mountains rising up, threatening to snuff it like a candle. The birds sang their last songs before the close of the day and the mist was beginning to crawl out of the river.

   But above the bird calls I heard another sound. Voices.

   Coming closer.

   Getting louder.

   I began to walk quickly through the field, towards the mountains and the setting sun. Hopefully they would not see me. They would go their own way on some private errand, or the sun would get in their eyes and hide me. I knew that neither held any truth.

   This was confirmed when I heard a shout behind me, “stop! Wait!”

   But I would not stop or wait. I began to run, hearing their footsteps quicken behind me. I turned quickly to see and, yes, there were three of them sprinting after me and though I was some way ahead they would catch up because they were strong men and determined. Fuelled by the fear of devilry.

   The field seemed to stretch forever, yet the distant plunging slope drew nearer. And still they pursued. I didn’t know if it was a race or a chase, it seemed I was going to lose either way. Closer and closer the end of the field came, there was no fence, no trees, only an end. And beyond it? I didn’t know. But I would not let them catch me. The end raced up; the field halted in a sheer drop, but my momentum kept me going, I couldn’t stop, over the edge I went and for a moment all the land between the hill and the mountains spread out before me, bathed in golden light and arched over by the blue dome of sky. And then I was tumbling, falling.

   I sensed one of my pursuers snatch at my heels, then fall after me, his friends unable to catch him. But I began to change. I spread my arms as if to fly and instead of descending I rose like a phoenix. Up above the edge of the cliff where I could see the two men howling in disbelief, looking up at me.

   The sun cast my great shadow over them and I was revealed.

   My wings like vast leather sails beating the air steadily, my long neck graceful and arching to peer down at them. The autumn sun felt suddenly hot on my scales and the world took on that familiar iridescence, the shimmering rainbow clarity that can only be seen through the eyes of a dragon.

Fin.

Lol how lazy am I, making the last five words the title :D

Comments/questions/ideas/complaints welcome as always. Have a great weekend!