The Easter Tide

The Spring at Berkswell         photo Hazel Price

I was born in a house on the side of a Welsh hillside.

As I lay in my bedroom with the window open

 on a warm summer's night,
  I would hear the gushing of the mountain spring 

which ran next to the house.

Even in the hottest summers
 when there would be droughts elsewhere,

 The Spout,

 as it was known, 

never dried up.

It remained a reliable, fresh supply

 for all our daily needs.

Sometimes it's flow would
 dwindle to a mere finger of crystal clear water,

 but it never once failed completely.

The continual water gushed into an old iron horse trough,

 which in turn continually overflowed, 

and ran away through an equally old iron grid.

On a summer's day the sound of the water was cooling, 

and the deep water-filled trough looked deliciously inviting,

 but in truth the water remained so achingly cold

 it was impossible to hold your hands in it
 for more than a moment.

When there was plentiful rain,
 (and as this was Wales, that was often),

the overflow from the trough increased 
to a roaring curtain of water.

In the depth of winter 

the water trickled through a filigree channel of icicles,

 and frost-fairy fingers fashioned a silver casket 
around the old iron trough.

To smell the water,

 and hear the torrent,

 in whatever strength it poured, 

was for me to know I was home.

This week I was at the tiny village of Berkswell

where the spring which is the originator of the name,

(Berk's Well),

can still be seen.

Standing above the mouth of the spring feeding the pool
 where it is said baptism's used to occur,

I was interested to see,

contrary to the outpouring of my home spring,

here the rising water is so gentle it hardly stirs the surface.

Despite the bitter wind,
 the golden leaves fallen on the water floated lazily,
be-lying the movement of the water rising 
deep from the earth below.

It made me think how some times

 we are very aware

 of God's movement and involvement in our lives, 

while at others 

we can feel abandoned and bereft,

 even certain that this is somehow the end for us.

Yet, unseen and unheralded,

 God's love remains at work from the depths of creation,

continually offering deliverance, healing, and renewal, 

just as it did at that moment on the cross.

As a beautiful hymn of the Welsh revival has it:-

Here is love vast as the ocean
Loving kindness as the flood
When the Prince of life, our ransom
Shed for us His precious blood
Who His love will not remember?
Who can cease to sing His praise?
He can never be forgotten
Throughout Heaven’s eternal days.

On the Mount of Crucifixion
Fountains opened deep and wide
Through the floodgates of God’s mercy
Flowed a vast and gracious tide
Grace and love, like mighty rivers
Poured incessant from above
And Heaven’s peace and perfect justice
Kissed a guilty world in love



This video is rather old and grainy but
 recorded in the valleys from whence the song arose.

He is Risen!
He is Risen indeed!
Alleluiah! 

May You Know the Tide of His Love
 in It's Fullest this Easter.

I Will Lift Up My Eyes...

 

I have come across a delicious blog called 

Beauty in the Ordinary

If you click on the link you will see the most beautiful images,

along with inspiring words,

 and lovely moments,

collated from one woman's life. 

When Jacqueline,( the author of the blog) writes,

even when it is about exhaustion, 

the words are beautiful;

and true.

We may not all have the gift of expressing or recording

 the splashes of beauty which light our way

 as exquisitely as Jacqueline,

or as Susan, who posts on

 Just a Moment,

but we can all

 mark the moments for ourselves,

rejoicing in them,

and sharing as we are able.

Who knows but in our own small way we might contribute to that 

"beauty (which) will save the world"

to which Dostoevsky alluded.

At the very least we will help keep ourselves sane,

and perhaps light the way for somebody else.

May you have a beauty filled weekend.

Be Blessed

The (More Than) Personal Revolution

Image courtesy of How Stuff Works

Prior to hubby buying me my first PC I was a confirmed Luddite.

At the time I was studying:

 writing essays, personal studies, and finally a dissertation, 

so I appreciated what a useful gift I'd been given.

Even so I was certain I wouldn't ever really 

get into the technical revolution with any enthusiasm.

Then as I beavered away I marveled at the ease with which I could do research, 

source images, 
then insert and wrap them in text, 

so that the layout was attractively presented

 and the work easy to read and assimilate.

  The blessings of the spell check go without saying!

 though it was prone to revert to spellings from across the pond.

Looking at the pages in print, 

I remembered the books and comics of my childhood.

 Then, the colour range of print was pretty limited, 

and due to the war effort, paper quality poor. 

In comparison what was rolling off my own printer was slickly presented 

and the reproductions of art work full of true, vibrant, colour.

Even the magazines of my teenage years had been nothing like this quality.

Still, as my appreciation grew

 I could not have imagined how much a part of my everyday life 

this technology was to become.

I'd never have believed I would practically pine when my laptop 

had yet another time in sick bay

and I could no longer just hoist it onto my lap at a moment's notice 

click into being the answer to some query or other.

You know the sort of thing.

(While watching a film),

What is this actor's name?

Gosh he's still alive.  

Could have sworn I'd heard he was no longer with us.

I wonder where this was shot? 

Looks like that place we went to in Italy.

Oh!  would you believe it's Croatia!

And so on... 

Not really important stuff ,

but life enhancing when you think how many arguments,

ahem, sorry conversations, 

can be sorted this way.

Also of course there is the extreme inconvenience,

(I am being sarcastic here),

of having to come up to the study and use hubby's PC,

(my old one),

to keep up with emails, Facebook,

(I have shamelessness of the addict),

and occasionally when himself is away from the desk for long enough,

 to write my blog.

Yes, there has been a technological revolution,

not least in my own way of life.

Who knows where it will lead? 

Not sure I want to be involved.

But then I've said that before...

Be Blessed

Judge Not

Sometimes I feel all cool and calm and able.

Sort of  poised and serene. 

At times like these I find myself quite pleasant company.

Let me put that another way. 

This is when I can actually feel quite pleased with myself.

Could border on being smug.

At other times I feel hot and bothered.

Things seem too much for me.

I'm ready to erupt over the smallest thing.

Ready to snap:

as in "snap your head off", 

or "I'm falling apart.".

This is when I can seriously go off myself.

Still, I can cheer myself up with the thought

 I am still a work in progress,

and feelings about myself can be miss-leading.

Better not to stand in judgement on myself today then. 

Be Blessed

Normal Service Anybody?

 

Do you remember the

 "Normal service will be resumed as soon as possible" 

transmissions?

 For anybody too young,

or not au fait with BBC history, 

I should explain that in 

the early days of television 

there were often 

technical hitches.  

To cover the breaks in transmission there were 

film loops of a potter's wheel,

 a turning windmill, 

or some such soothing stuff.

 I wonder what today's sophisticated audiences would make of them?

Perhaps a few meditative breaks in transmission would do us all good

though I assume we would merely resort to our ex- boxes,

 i-pods or pads,

 and other modern wizardry.

A pity really.

 Despite the fact they were rather grainy black and white images

those fillers are remembered with affection.

My favourite was the potter's wheel.

I found it quite mesmeric,

 though I don't believe we ever got shown the finished pot. 

 Should anybody have missed me during my own short gap in transmission

I am sending this post from hubby's PC,

offering the fluffy clouds as a fill in for anything more interesting until 

normal service (whatever that is),

 can be resumed. 

It seems the whingeing post I sent last was a prelude 

to both myself and my laptop gaining a virus apiece 

so at least I have some sort of an excuse for having  a moan about how I felt then.

One lovely thing to come out of feeling poorly 

is my niece making the journey from London to here this weekend

when I didn't feel up to making the promised trip down to stay with her.
Thank you Kate. x

I am on the mend I hope,

whereas my laptop languishes in sick bay still.

Hope you are all o.k. out there.

Be Blessed.