a little dirt

Don’t get me wrong. I like those Bruce Trail types – the quiet non-motorized people with clothes from MEC and non toxic water bottles out for pleasant strolls in pristine-ish wilderness. I am one sometimes. The problem is, this part of Ontario is divided into Bruce Trail, aka You Only Wish You Could Ride Your Motorized Vehicle Here Trail, and pavement, with rich “NO TRESSPASSING” property and fenced-in farms in between. So what’s a couple on a dirtbike to do? Usually, ride the smooth highways and look wistfully down private roads. I could almost fall asleep on the back of the bike. There’s no room for us in these parts. We’re too much of a menace to civilized society I guess. But tonight, we found “Unopened Sideroad 10.”

It started off as a double track with a little sign that said “Road Closed,” probably more for insurance purposes than anything else. With no indication of private property or surveillance cameras, we headed in. It was a real dirt road, the kind that runs between farmers’ fields, the kind you use at your own risk, the kind where you have to watch what’s coming up and duck out of the way of overhanging branches, the kind nobody cares about. It smelled like manure and trees and dipped up and down over a little ridge. We could feel the ground under the tires, the way it should be. It was a glorious anomaly. We followed it, grinning all the way (too short) to its end. As we approached the concession, I could see a sign facing the way we just came. I was afraid it would tell us we had been trespassing or engaging in some other reckless disregard for the law or public safety. But all it said was “No exit.” And in my books, that’s fair game. Sometimes you just need a little dirt.

~lg

a walk

(Fort Smith, NT - June 17, 2008)

I saw, heard, felt

delicate wildflowers, always ready for a bouquet,
a slowly picked bundle of yellow, white, pink, purple
small and fragrant beauty

the river
the sound of rapids, glorious white ribbons streaming round the rocks,
the sound of liquid thunder
I fell in and out of love on your banks

poplars in the wind, whooshing and waving and singing,
silver undersides of leaves sparkling in the sun,
soothing and stirring the earth and sky

the old paths, worn by childhood memories and imagination,
soft and sandy, familiar to my feet

the lookout, breathless lookout, stage of the sunset,
throws my heart over the landslide into the river,
the largest place I know

the leprechaun forest, chopped down and left for dead
the magic has seeped out – don’t you understand what was here?

the road much travelled, the sound of gravel in the driveway,
leading home

this is my home
the forest my teacher, sweetly whispering
the river my priest, sacred and forgiving
you gave me my purity
entreated my imagination
broke me on the rocks of womanhood
sang longing into my spirit

you always open your arms and take me back


~lg

a bit of a chill

Today there was a chill in the air, a delightfully fresh reminder that our present toiling under the sun will soon give way to a harvest reaped in joy. This year I am especially ready to welcome autumn as the season of new things, to savour each crunch of the leaves beneath my feet and gleefully pull on my wool socks. When the trees begin to glow orange, then the feasting will begin…

~lg

moonlit kindness

In the moonlight I saw things for what they were. First, I laughed at how silly I was. Then, I was sad because things didn’t have to be that way. But the truth is freeing. Sigh no more – the crickets are singing and the stars shine simply again. I’m glad it was the moon that showed me, the quiet gentle moon. There is kindness in its silvery self revelation. In the sun I would have been burned, red-faced by exposure. Prayers are answered in peculiar ways. Tonight I find grace.

~lg

learning imperfection

Learning imperfection goes against the grain
Of a tree that’s used to growing perpendicular to pain
But tangled gnarls and crooked roots
Rounded burls and offset shoots
Are proof you see that the perfect tree
Is only made more interesting when weather leaves a stain

~lg

The bells

Today the church bells are ringing. It’s noon, and I can hear hymns pealing from the church tower nearby. Amazing Grace, This is My Father’s World, Stand Up, Stand Up for Jesus. It sounds like the bell ringer is practicing. They are familiar tunes to me, but I wonder how many others would recognize them. Whenever the bells ring, I feel as if we are stepping back in time, when townspeople would receive daily encouragement from the church’s bells. Most people now are probably more annoyed than anything. But I love them. For a few minutes, the soundtrack to the neighbourhood is gospel joy. They don’t ring daily, and sometimes I think weeks go by between soundings. So I am always surprised when I hear them, and thrilled.

The first time I heard them in Georgetown was our first Christmas here in 2005. It was Christmas Eve, and we had just come home from our church’s service. I had never heard bells like that before, and I was so excited. Christmas carols rang out all evening – tidings of comfort and joy. I felt like it was really Christmas that night.

There is something uniquely inspiring about hearing the church’s music over the noise of everything else. Perhaps it’s my longing for the good old days, or appreciation for ancient forms of music. Or perhaps it is the realization that this glorious song will one day be heard in all the world. Today, they are a sacrament of the coming kingdom, when the music of grace will rule all our neighbourhoods.

~lg

under the oaks

Father Abraham, do you know your children have ipods? That we can look up your travels on Wikipedia? But we have oak trees too, that look something like the ones here at Mamre. Shade is a timeless treasure, and it’s nice to sit under the oaks on hot summer days like today.

When the tent flaps blow in the wind, slapping against the frame, I remember the day three strange men came. I remember the promises made, incredulous promises that seemed to mock dead wombs and old bones. The heat puts me in a contemplative mood - the sound of the branches rustling and goatskins flapping and flies buzzing makes it all seem like somewhat of a dream. The horizon looks hazy, as if a lake could appear in the distance at any moment. A trick of the eyes, of the heat… I hear whispers in the wind. Do you hear it too?

I think I might be crazy. It’s not just about the mirages and voices in my head. It’s about being here, following your steps. I’m a descendent, you know, though I look nothing like you or Sarah. I’m trying to figure out where I’m going by tracing family history. This detour into the past may give me clues to my own future. I heard the call too, but now it seems so distant. Ur was a long time ago. Who have I become along the way?

I see you, hoping against hope in something that does not yet exist. You tell me your God gives life to the dead, calls something out of nothing. I see you growing stronger, staggering less. Well I just feel like a drunkard, wandering around the desert on sour curds and milk. But the oaks are talking still, echoing words of glory I strain to hear:

Is anything too difficult for Yahweh?

(Romans 4:16-25)

~lg

pelican protection

Pelicans do a curious thing in storms. When the winds blow strong, bringing waves of rain against them, they don’t run away. They stand together and turn and face the wind. With their long beaks pointing toward the direction of the assault, they plant their wide orange feet on the beach and look straight into the storm. They do this so that the wind will not take them off guard from behind, lifting their wings and exposing them to the cold rain or knocking them off balance. They are safer this way, facing it. They see it, know it, and protect each other till it is over. They close themselves in with long white wings, feather armor sealing strong bodies that will fly again when the sun comes out.

~lg

hey Abraham, wait up

Change is the wind, unpredictable and unstoppable. Abraham, where are we going? Do the breezes talk to you, pushing you out of your tent and along an unseen path? Is it God’s face you see in the thunderclouds, and if it is, why do you look weary and sad? When Sarah is frustrated she calls you Abram, but you silence her and keep moving. I guess that’s called faith. I’m following you because I don’t know where else to go. He hasn’t told me my new name yet.

Do you ever miss Ur, or the friends we camped with at the oases? We’ve seen many beautiful places along the way. How will you know where to stop? Maybe you never will.

~lg

Hind's Feet

This is a song I'm working on in the beginning stages. I don't know if I really like it yet. The lyrics came out of some Scripture reading I was doing tonight, but I haven't got to the piano yet to fit them to a melody. I've mixed Isaiah 55 with Habakkuk 3.

Hind's Feet

This mountain is high, there’s snow all around
The rain chills my bones and I can’t see the ground
My feet they feel lame, they’re blistered and weary
I don’t know why you called me to come up here

So give me hind’s feet
To walk in your ways
And though I am thirsty
I’ll still sing your praise
Your thoughts lead me up
Though I don’t understand
I’m weak in the knees
And too fearful to stand

When I heard you call me I hoped I might find
The blossoming fig tree, but I’ve left it behind
The path leads through thorns, and the nettles they sting
But you beckon me higher and ask me to sing

So give me hind’s feet
To walk in your ways
And though I am thirsty
I’ll still sing your praise
Your thoughts lead me up
Though I don’t understand
I’m weak in the knees
Please help me to stand

Though I can’t see you, I know you are near
Your word of compassion falls soft in my ears
And somehow my feet find their place on this mountain
And the cold stony desert turns into a fountain

So give me hind’s feet
To walk in your ways
As the mountains break forth
Into shouts of high praise
Your thoughts lead me up
And the trees clap their hands
Your strength is what gives me
The courage to stand


~lg

talking trees

I wish I knew what the trees were saying. Either they’re mumbling in their dreams or I’m sleepwalking.

Last night we went for a walk in the dark, wrapped in a blanket, just to stand on a little wooden bridge and hear the stream pass beneath. I’ve always loved the sound of running water, and it is one of my dreams to live next to a river or stream. The first time I heard Handel’s Water Music as a child, my imagination was captured and I have since associated music with water. Every waterway has its own song, some bright with sparkling hope and others darkly mournful. I felt the song of the stream last night, but not through my ears. I really do think it was singing, words I wish I knew, words I think I believe I will one day understand, if all of creation is to be renewed.

We sat on a bench under a tree, a whispering tree, probably with spiders threatening to spin webs in my hair at any moment. For once I wasn’t nervous about the bugs, just happy to know there are still places where trees are comforting in the dark. Of course, having my husband beside me also lessened the fear of scurrying creatures. But they are creatures, too, we all are, the stream and spider and I alike, and on quiet nights you can hear our sighing. There is something yet to come, this I know at least, something that involves our little lives now in a grand story.

There are nights I feel rather like a woman from another time, thrust into the passing lane of the 401, from a time when the world was understood differently, when there was more magic and fear and awe. Those sorts of things help me understand deeper, they send out their tendrils and grasp the mysterious gospel, pulling it into dark heart soil where it groans and grows, till I can almost make out the whispers in the leaves above me.

~lg

acres of freedom

"It's ok to be lonely as long as you're free."
Rich Mullins

There are some things in life you have to hold lightly... when the heart is free from unnecessary encumbrances, there is an acreage that opens up within. In this field the wind blows both fierce and sweet, but there is a price to pay. Breathing this air makes me lonely sometimes, but loneliness isn't always a bad thing, not if it comes out of obedience, not if it works a deeper salvation. These acres of freedom are ripe for exploration, the question is, am I brave enough to go?

~lg

secrets

The birds have secrets.

The ravens know where there is a cupboard in the sky, full of food for frightened prophets.

The doves know when the flood will end, and when it is safe to venture down the mountain into the unknown.

The crows know how long it takes a mustard seed to grow, and when we will all find nests in the top of the great tree of the kingdom of God.

The sparrows know where the Father's eye is, and have learned not to worry about tomorrow.

The eagle knows when to shelter the young and when to ruffle them off the edge to try their sticky feathers.

The eagle also knows how to wait on the wind till its wings rise up and away from weariness.

The dove knows the path of descent into water and fire, moved by the breath of heaven.

The hermit thrush sings evening prayer and the tundra swans lift the song north to a glassy sea.

The birds have secrets. 

rara avis

Today we went on a motorbike ride in the sunny Sunday afternoon, down to the river where the rocks are warm and the bugs are lazy. The water was too cold for toes but not for beetles. I saw eight hawks circling in the sky, a rara avis in an invisible meeting place. I watched them watching me. They told me it was going to rain. Then they told me they knew the secrets of the kingdom of heaven. But we have forgotten how to listen. I stared hard and tried to open my ears as they circled round and around. Then the wind picked up and they disappeared over the ridge of the escarpment. We got back on the bike and drove southwest, where the sun was melting into ocean-coloured clouds. On the way home it started to rain. All I can say is the birds knew.

~lg

sit awhile

Sit by me awhile
Let’s talk about God and the stars and the distant seashore
Hold my hand lightly and smile
We’ll look for our future in the cloud shapes above
Tell me a story
The kind you save just for me
We are friends and strangers and lovers
Bound to one path and to each other
Love is a mystery
And the soul is a deep place
Let me in and let me swim

~lg