Life is suddenly full and yet I need quiet and silence and yet I need to talk about stuff and yet there’s no one to talk to ….. so I’m squeezing you in, between the doing and the being, to say that I wallowed in a pity-me moan this morning. After a sleepless disturbed night I was out of sorts and barely coping. Read on…..
Every day I read a ‘devotional translation’ of Isaiah (translation by Alec Motyer) a poetic translation, and there are phrases that tighten around my heart and keep me there, reading and re-reading them day after day until, sated, I can move on. Today it’s day 67, looking at Isaiah 61 and I think I may be stuck on day 67 for a week or two. Listen, listen;
The spirit of the Sovereign Yahweh is upon me –
because Yahweh has anointed me.
To bring good news to the downtrodden he has sent me:
to bandage the broken hearted,
to proclaim liberty to captives,
a real opening-up to those who are bound…..
to give them – a head-dress in the place of ashes,
oil of delight in the place of mourning,
a wrap of praise in place of a spirit of listlessness.
Hmm. Are these italics beginning to annoy you? Maybe I’ll find another way to mark out scripture. Anyway, anyway, listen;
God has given me a head-dress and I’ve chosen one of feathers. A great band of them, huge plumes of brilliant hues, stretching around my head and down my back all the way to my flat feet, like the old sketches and early photos of Sitting Bull.
God has lavished me with the oil of delight so I went mad and self-indulgent and decided it would be the essence of Chanel 5 in a huge beautiful chunky bottle, nestled in a white and black box of superior card.
God has given me a wrap of praise and it’s pink cashmere, the softest warmest cashmere imaginable (I already have this in reality and in the here and now- given to me by two mad writers last year).
So today I have no ashes (guilt and shame), no mourning, and you can jolly well forget any thought of listlessness. Here I am, at my desk, be-feathered, smelling fabulous, cosy as toast.
When self-pity rears it’s gruesome head, when I find myself looking at the church and whining, when life is unfair and it’s all about me me me, I’m going to reach up and touch my feathers of acceptance, breathe deep and smell my delight in being loved, swaddle myself with praise for God.
What the hell is the matter with me? Why don’t I turn to the word before I start the whingeing? When will I learn?