Sunday, 6 September 2009

Festival Prayer

Help us remember that the idiot who cut us up in traffic

is a single Mother who has worked nine hours that day
and is rushing to Greenbelt to cook a meal and settle the kids down so they can have a good first day at the festival
and spend a few precious moments with her friends
who have saved hard to get to Greenbelt.
Help us to remember that the pierced, tattooed, disinterested young man
who can’t handle his change correctly is a worried YMCA Hostel resident who is behind in his rent and cannot afford the cheapest hotdog on site.
At the same time balancing his apprehension over his fear
of not getting on well with the group he came with.
Remind us Lord, that the scary looking young woman
rolling her eyes and cannot stop moving her body,
is a recovering slave to addictions
that we can only imagine in our worst nightmares.
Remind us that the scars of the self harming woman,
scarred for life,
is just like me with my scars
that hinder and equip at the same time.
And remember that we, maybe,
can just hide ours better.
Help us to remember that the old couple
walking annoyingly slow through the festival site
and blocking our progress
are savouring this moment,
knowing that, based on the biopsy report she got back last week,
this will be the last year that they will be at Greenbelt together.
Creator God, remind us each day that, of all the gifts you give us,
the greatest gift is love.
That it is not enough to share that love with those we hold dear.
But those for who,
on first impressions,
make us shudder, or sigh or grunt with irritability.
Open our soul and press your finger tip right on that part,
the part to raise your love to the surface.
So it touches the practical.
The proactive.
The love department.

Tuesday, 1 September 2009

The Weaver

The Weaver

My life is but a weaving between my Lord and me,
I cannot choose the colours He worketh steadily.

Oft times He weaveth sorrow, and I in foolish pride
forget He sees the upper but I the under side.

Not till the loom is silent and the shuttles cease to fly,
shall God unroll the canvas and explain the reason why.

The dark threads are as needed in the Weaver's skillful hand,
as threads of gold and silver in the pattern life has planned.

Benjamin Malachi Franklin (1882-1965)

Quoted at a Quaker meeting for worship at Greenbelt 2009