THE PATH

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I am writing a daily blog (Monday to Friday)  on preparing spiritually and physically

to lead a Pilgrimage of 100 miles in September.

for details of the Pilgrimage, click on the dropdown Cotswold Pilgrimage bar at the top of this page 

 

 

I followed a path that day.

In pale, golden, dew-drenched morning. Following where it went.

 

The path led me on, beckoned me.

Took me between beautiful old buildings, stretched out enticingly, looked so easy to walk.

Undulated gently at my feet.

 

 

I walked.

Walked enjoying walking, filled with the sense of purpose and pleasure, pleased to stride on in freedom and rhythm.

 

Then –  the path twisted. Hid what was around the corner. Took off uphill.

Barred the way with a stile to climb.

Narrowed.

 

 

I followed.

Climbed.

Onwards and upwards.

Then

The sign pointed down

down across the field.

 

The path was but a footprint of previous walkers

a mark in the grasses

wet with dew

hard to follow.

 

And it seemed to end at the far trees, looming and dark and unknown because unseen.

 

 

But still the sign pointed me on.

In trepidation I followed, trusting the sign and its pointing finger.

IS this is the way to go?

 

Straight on.

 

 

 

And so through the leaves, sunlight, dappled on the path, illuminating the way, joyful in my heart.

Leading my feet to the rough staircase

up through the woods

on to my home.

 

 

 

Thank you Lord

For the pathway I tread -

marked out by You

pointed by Your finger.

Sometimes it’s liberating and free and easy.

Sometimes it winds and twists. All but disappears.

Goes uphill and threatens to overcome me

with its foreboding and unknown.

But You walk this Way before me

beside me

behind me.

My Signpost

Guide

Protector

Pacesetter

Friend and companion along the Way

 

Oh let me see your Footsteps and in them plant mine own.

 

The Lord says, “I will guide you along the best pathway for your life. I will advise you and watch over you. “       Psalm 32:8 (NLT)

 

 

WE MATTER

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She is just a few hours old.  My youngest. January 1983

 

“The year and month and day you are born matters. The very moment you are born matters. To matter in the scheme of the cosmos: this is better theology than all our sociology. It is in fact all that God has promised to us: that we matter. That He cares. God knows the very moment we are born.” – Madeleine L’Engle

 

And isn’t that what we crave, that feeling that we matter?

That we matter to someone.

Mean something special. Because we are different, special, unique. Ourselves and not someone else.

 

We need to know that we matter.

 

From the moment of my birth, I mattered. To my mother.

I became her raison d’etre, and we went everywhere together. She was my north, my south, my east, my west. As I was hers.

 

For a year or so. And then I grew, became independent, fought against her often.

Teenage angst and a strong desire to leave home.

 

“But where, after we have made the great decision to leave the security of childhood and move on into the vastness of maturity, does anyone ever feel completely at home?” – Madeleine L’Engle

 

She was always there for me. At home, waiting for me, welcoming me home with arms stretched wide, no matter what. I mattered.

 

She always carried me: in her body, then in her arms, then in her heart.

 

I was one of the fortunate ones: a mother who cared, who loved almost unconditionally. Loved enough to discipline strongly.

 

Tough mother love.

 

She showed me God. Showed me that I matter to Him.

And though she is not here to be my home, my anchor, she has left me her legacy:

I am mother to my own children. Grandmother to their children.

 

And now I too love and care and am a home.

And need to show them God.

 

That they matter to Him and to me.

 

For You formed my inward parts; You wove me in my mother’s womb. 
14 I will give thanks to You, for I am fearfully and wonderfully made; 
Wonderful are Your works, 
And my soul knows it very well. 
15 My frame was not hidden from You, 
When I was made in secret, 
And skillfully wrought in the depths of the earth; 
16 Your eyes have seen my unformed substance; 
And in Your book were all written 
The days that were ordained for me, 
When as yet there was not one of them.     Psalm 139

 

 

My younger sister, my mother & me.  On Mummy's 90th birthday