“Arise, shine, for your light has come, and the glory of the Lord rises upon you”
Isaiah 60:1
As I start to emerge from the advent season of hope for the future, that time of waiting between the now and the not yet, the words of the prophet Isaiah, act as a signal, a prompting that the time has come to alter my orientation, to look up to the stars and dream new dreams.
Illuminated in this season of Epiphany, by the light of the incarnation of God with us. As my gaze is drawn to the wood burning stove, enjoying the warmth and cosiness of the flames during these long clear cold evenings, I find myself reflecting… wondering… how we as a people created by God, we at the Bield, can live in the light of God’s grace? how we can recapture a sense of God’s love for us and for humanity?
Momentarily my thoughts drift from this small, contained fire in the room, to the vast wildfires in California, and I am reminded of the God who is so much bigger than us, so beyond any limited understanding we might have.
But before I am overcome by the enormity of that which I can’t fathom, I allow myself to sink into a sense of being cradled in Gods loving gaze and imagine God holding me and looking at me as he did in those first few days of creation, my thoughts turn from the collective to the individual. How can I live in the light of Gods grace? How can I capture a deeper sense of Gods love for me? For I am certain that Gods love for me is far deeper and greater than I can ever imagine.
I invite you too to ponder those questions, perhaps as you read this blessing by author and creator Jan Richardson.
THE YEAR AS A HOUSE
A Blessing
Think of the year
as a house:
door flung wide
in welcome,
threshold swept
and waiting,
a graced spaciousness
opening and offering itself
to you.
Let it be blessed
in every room.
Let it be hallowed
in every corner.
Let every nook
be a refuge
and every object
set to holy use.
Let it be here
that safety will rest.
Let it be here
that health will make its home.
Let it be here
that peace will show its face.
Let it be here
that love will find its way.
Here
let the weary come;
let the aching come;
let the lost come;
let the sorrowing come.
Here
let them find their rest,
and let them find their soothing,
and let them find their place,
and let them find their delight.
And may it be
in this house of a year
that the seasons will spin in beauty;
and may it be
in these turning days
that time will spiral with joy.
And may it be
that its rooms will fill
with ordinary grace
and light spill from every window
to welcome the stranger home.
Liz
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