One Year Later

The Jacarandas are in full bloom and mulberries are dripping off their trees, once again. It has been a whole year since we experienced all this purple vibrancy and peace in the garden. I had just started writing for you all back then, and I wondered how long it would take before the words dried up or got used up and there would be nothing more to say. So it’s a bit of a wonder to me that we are still here. Me having plenty to say, and you still reading it. It seems that the more words one writes, the more words one has to write; and even if we don’t have a shard of imagination, we are surrounded by magnificent people in a spectacular world, worth mentioning and saluting and applauding time and again. I had believed that I didn’t have time to write and I carried a fear that the inspiration would end and I would be left with empty, white, wordless pages, even if I did find the time. Yet, here we are. I began and discovered there is always more of the good stuff and that when you use a muscle it grows. There is no limit when it comes to creating, whatever our tools and methods might be. There is no time like now.

Isn’t it a marvel the way warm puffs of spring breezes, washed by first rains, can cleanse the hard coolness of winter? I have never been so cold as I was this last winter. I was also very sad; and maybe that’s it – sadness and cold weather are a chilling combination. After all those bound up winter days and nights, my open windows are inviting in the smell of damp earth and the sounds of crickets, night birds and rustling leaves. I feel the hope of spring and a new season trickling in, like dappled sunlight shining on all the frozen parts, ensuring a slow and gentle awakening. Whatever happened, it’s over and we will be alright. I stand on the bed and peer out the window towards the pink rising sun – “Oh, thank you God for a change in season, for a new day, for warmth and for a second chance.”

Between these two purple seasons, a whole year has passed. What have we been doing all this time? A whole lot of ordinary living, that’s what. I am normal and imperfect, and my family and friends are too. There is nothing special about us, but I keep noticing that I am part of a family and community who do not think so highly of themselves that they are not open to, desirous even of, being changed. Changed for the better. I see conversations unfolding, apologies being offered, forgiveness being granted, acceptance and even approval. I see young and old trying out new things, reaching new heights. Instead of saying that it cannot be done, people seem to just be doing it; not very well at first but improving all the time and with that special touch that comes when people aren’t professionally trained in a task and are allowed to keep their original flair in what they do. My little boy, who has only ever swum for pleasure, went for a swimming lesson last week. What was asked of him was way above anything he’s ever been expected to do, but as he made his way from one end of the pool to the other, stopping to catch his breath and compose himself in the middle, I saw a tiny seed of a great tree being planted. He is so much more than a swimmer in the making, he is a man full of courage in a little boy’s body, setting out to do what he cannot even do yet. It’s so attractive to me, I could weep.

Like the little word ‘extra’ added to the longer word ‘ordinary’ it’s the small flashes of brilliance added to the long, very uninteresting backdrop of our everyday lives that create something truly outstanding. Without the vast, deep night sky painted first on the canvas, where can all the stars shine through from? Whose same lips have you been kissing for decades? Strong marriage in the making. Who do you spend time with every Tuesday afternoon? Friendships that will stand the test of time being created. The core exercises ritual taking up a mere fifteen minutes of every morning? Strong, pain-free living yours for the taking. The great literature you read and the wholesome movies you watch? An imagination and thought life that is nourished and awake. A year ago, I set out to write every week. On one particular occasion I wrote in a hurry late on the evening before I was supposed to post something. I was disappointed with the result and wished I had given myself more time. I published the piece anyway, determined to do as I said I would do, resolutely committed whether I was ready or not. I didn’t think anything good could come from that one, so imagine my surprise when one of my friends told me she thought that was the best piece I had ever written! Stars begin to sparkle in the black of night.

When I think back on this year, it has been one of intentionally carving out space for God and people. There is much to be done and as I write I am aware of spider webs that need removing from the corners, but cleaning can wait. People, not so much. I have sensed a shift in myself and in others, to gather rather than to isolate. I have seen gates opening wide where the high walls around the houses where we live might have shut everyone out. Conversation is flowing – ideas, thoughts, questions, seeking to understand as well as be understood. A truth is stirring deep within that says great things will happen when people are united, work together as a team and simply, meet together. Instead of waiting for the next amazing function, just finding one another and doing nothing more incredible than swimming with the children and forgetting to hide the varicose veins and scary white legs for a while. Today we celebrated friends’ combined birthdays at a dam on a farm. The whole day was a gift filled with water sports and good food and great company, but one thing stood out most to me: the men and children playing rugby together on the lawn. I saw faces aglow and bodies rose to the occasion. We could have had a situation where the adults sat around talking whilst the children played, but adults need to play too, and beautiful things happen in children’s souls when they do. I could feel the memories storing strong as I witnessed men being boys and boys becoming men all because we all said yes to an invitation and drove to make a party happen. A couple of weeks ago, one friend laid her table and invited enough of us to fill the chairs around it. We used to gather together weekly when the children were much younger and so many purple seasons have passed since then, but we did it again. To check if we still work, or because we know we still work, rather. We ate together and laughed and cried as we took turns telling our stories. I didn’t notice stars as such, but a dazzling moon smiled on us as we said our goodbyes.

And so it has been a year of plodding onwards, making good decisions to the best of my ability, trusting that the sparkle will be added, where necessary, as I play my part. I have risen each day, determined to use the new mercies granted and not waste them. I have gathered together with those I love and those I am just beginning to love. People cannot be replaced and also, sharpening ourselves on one another is the best way to make sure we are not the same wounded, ridiculous or petty selves we were this time last year. Keep pitching up. Keep flying like an arrow, true and willing, and you will hit the mark one way or another. Paint your pictures, tend to your garden, sing your songs, cook your meals, dance your dance, speak your words and run your race – create a constant melody of the story of your life. When drumbeats and violins and the voices of angels need somewhere to express themselves, they will find the faithful rhythm you have created and join in when you are least expecting it.

Thank you to those who believed I could write and encouraged me to do so. Thank you for being the support I needed to keep going when it was hard. There were weeks I might have taken a break if I could have been sure nobody was waiting to read the next post; and those weeks might have been the beginning of the end for me. I realise I haven’t done this year of writing alone, and that a dear crowd has gathered around me, giving me content to write about and urging me to keep capturing stories. With you all in my life, I will never have nothing to say! So thank you for helping me to be more me in this year gone by. It’s been a happy journey, pen in hand, from one season of purple blooms and mulberry pies to the next.