And now a musical interlude...

Framed into silhouette where glass and sunset meet,

Like mingling tree shadows caught in the last of the light,

They sway and pulse, all lost to the archaic beat

Of wood and tin and flesh and bone, honed bright.

The fiddler scrapes low tones to the depths of dark streams,

Hydraulic action scouring to the veins of the hills,

The voice flies the soul up into clouds and dreams

And plunges down through earth until it fills

Dark caverns, far away from light and love

Where pungent silence reeks and darkness hides

To strike the match that brings to life the hope

That we might find some shining truth inside.

How could I choose to willingly stagnate

In Luke-warm water, dyed a garish pink

That drains away to nothing far too late

To thrill my heart, or give me cause to think?

No, give me Celtic strings near ancient fires,

Long nights where stories jostle in the air,

Where nothing more is needed than for us

To bring and sing whatever we can share.

I picture a new world

Ah, the Taj Mahal. Always a wonder. True, as a choice of holiday destination it was dripping in unoriginality, but nevertheless eye catching. The razorcut grass, squared neatly against shallow crystal pools that caught the sky in their stillness and made it sparkle. Flanks of well drilled hedges keeping watch on either side. All that drew your eye ever forwards, on, on and upward. To the edifice itself. Fertile rolling curves flanked by piercing towers that declared in power that they protected grandeur.

He smiled and drew her close to him, and they both grinned as he raised his phone aloft. Their smiles did glaze over a little as he shifted and readjusted to try and find that perfect couple shot angle that would set the heart aglow of all who ventured to peruse it. He settled on one which missed out the shining waters but at least got in most of the building, and of course their faces. He reached for the button when...

He thought...

This isn’t a nice angle...

But how to improve...?

Could I...?

No...

Or...............

He let go of her and rushed over to a tall man in a slim blazer and slacks.

“Hi there, I don’t suppose you could help here?” He asked, presenting his phone to the stranger.

“I’m sorry, I don’t know what...” replied the stranger in broken english. A European tourist by the sound of it.

“Well if we just stand off to the side of the pool there, could you take a photo of us?”

The tourist seemed a little confused, but he took the phone anyway. The young couple hurried to one side of the pool, and cuddled in close, and the stranger raised the camera aloft.

He clicked.

And in that moment, in that flash, they all knew they had discovered something miraculous. The old trends had had their day, and the selfie was no more. It was time for....

...the someone elsie.

How To Bear With Sacrifice

My first post. It was prompted tonight in church, when the offering was taken up and some thoughts drifted into my head about what makes us want - or not want - to give up that which God has given us anyway, and I thought other people might enjoy these thoughts or even find helpful.

I don't remember many of the presents I have ever given or received, but one will stick with me, possibly forever. When I was quite a bit younger than now I am, I bought my Mum a teddy bear. This was no ordinary bedtime companion though, no. This was a "hot bear". Inside him was a little bag of beans that could be heated up, so that when inserted you could enjoy lots of warm hugs on a cold Scottish night.

Now, I will admit that I took great pleasure - like any self-respecting young boy - in ripping out a teddy bear's stomach and microwaving it, but it was one of my more thoughtful gifts. My Mum fell in love with that bear's little sown-on smile as soon as she opened her present, and she christened him Alfie. He sits to this day on the rocking-chair in the corner of her room, patiently waiting for his services to be called upon once more.

What struck me about this tonight is that bear was utterly hers. It was her present, and it was bought with her money. I had no job at that age, no income. All I had was my parents', and so all I had done was given back their money in a fluffier form. Which to me is like what happens when the offering baskets do their rounds every Sunday, or when we pour our resources into ministry and outreach.

You see, what made that bear so special was not that I had sacrificed money I had worked for, or that I had any claim to. It was purely an act of love. I gave her something which was basically hers anyway because I knew it would warm her heart (literally, in Alfie's case). That moment wouldn't still be so precious in my mind if at the time I had been bitterly recounting exactly how much pocket money I had lost. That's an attitude which is not dissimilar to when we so often grudgingly give up that tithe or whatever out of some sense of duty. A gift is only worth the giving if it is motivated by love.

 So when I give up that which was never my own, I will try not to see those coins tumble away from my grasp into the basket like some sort of miserable Gollum mourning his precious. I will try to see God leaning back in his rocking chair, with an Alfie under one arm, and round Alfie's arm will be a little label which reads:

To Dad,

lots of love,

 Fergus xxx