Sometimes something is right before our face, and we do not (cannot/will not?) see it. I have often looked in the fridge or cupboard for something and cannot see it. I look and look and look but it is not there – well it is but I do not see it. Perhaps it was in a slightly different position or had a different label or looked different for some reason and I did not see it.
Recently I was reminded of a trip Susan, and I made a few years go. It was a visit to the Top End of Australia – Darwin, Kakadu and East Alligator River, Litchfield NP, Katherine and Nitmiluk, and Adelaide River. I was reminded of the immense beauty and wonder of this place. The diversity of flora and Fauna continues to create a sense of awe in me.
I knew a woman once who told a story that perplexed and deeply concerned and moved me. She grew up in a particular part of Western Sydney considered impoverished, challenging, rough and where, of course, no-one of any capacity would emerge.
Let me start by confessing something: I am a technological dinosaur! I’m not the farthest back but I’m nowhere near the front of technological savvy and uptake.
On our morning walks, Nico and I sometimes walk down a particular road and there, amongst the houses is a simple home, a bit the worse for wear. Often, in passing, we see an older woman sitting out on her front veranda, well rugged against the winter cold.
Tex Sample is an American United Methodist Minister, theologian and storyteller. He tells a story of growing up in the deep south, in the times of racist segregation and exclusion on people ‘of colour.’ His world was one of white people dominating those of different ethnic backgrounds and this was reinforced in both the wider (small) community context and inside his church.
I haven’t, as yet, see the Ted Lasso series but various clips from the show have appeared in my social media feeds and I find myself moved, laughing, even inspired. There is one particular scene that keeps reappearing, and I keep watching. I think it is called the ‘dart’s scene.’ In it, Ted and several of the Richmond Football club are in a bar.
Faith in the Darkest Places… Sometime ago, I stumbled across the story of Father Maximilian Kolbe, a Polish Catholic Priest – actually a Franciscan Friar. He lived through the first half of last century.
Earlier this year I bought some jazz music for saxophone and amongst the various standards, was a song I didn’t know, God Bless the Child. I was interested in the song, a gentle lilting melody that is strong and pushes forward. I listened to the original version by Billie Holiday and read through the lyrics.
I sat and listened as a fellow told his story. It was messy and complex and somewhat outrageous. It was also filled with desperate yearning and pathos. This man had grown up in a fairly tough context, time and place. Life pushed people and violence within and beyond the home a common occurrence.
Sometimes life wears us down, its frenetic activity, its demands and expectations or the list of things to do. Sometimes we are drained by the emotional experiences of life where we are drawn down into deep and hard places or feel the overwhelming pain of a world spinning out of control through wars and conflicts, violence, and abuse. We are worn down
A story I’ve read many times and one that I re-read in the light of current tensions and conflicts, and discussions around peace in the Middle East: Five Jewish students, two from New York, travelled Hebron to visit the Cave of the Patriarchs, revered by the Abrahamic faiths as the resting place of Abraham