This has been on of those weeks that we all have to work through once in a while. Been in Fort William, Paisley, Elderslie, Westhill, Manchester and now back in Westhill. Each place on that list represents a different bed each night! No wonder I is confoosed and discombobulated 🙂 But what a rich and full week. An Induction of David, one of our students, at Fort William at the start of the week, and a meeting with UK College Principals in Manchester the last two days. And in between the Graduation ceremony for 8 of our students. Now that is some considerable compensation for the past week's experience as a nomad, a man of no fixed abode. That said it's a miracle I haven't walked into a wall, or fallen downstairs, or walked by accident into the wrong room. So after the next week i have a lengthy holiday much of which will be at home getting used to Aberdeen again for longer than a few days at a time.
Here's a Mary Oliver poem for no other reason than I read it on the plane earlier and know exactly what she means.
Praying
It doesn't have to be
the blue iris, it could be
weeds in a vacant lot, or a few
small stones;just
pay attention, then patch
a few words together and don't try
to make them elaborate, this isn't
a contest but the doorway
into thanks, and a silence in which
another voice may speak.
(Thirst, Bloodaxe, 2006), 37.
She is right. Praying isn't only, perhaps isn't primarily, our voice speaking. It may be, perhaps it must be, another Voice speaking and us listening for it, and to it. The willingness to not speak, to be silent, and to listen, is a disposition requiring more humility than we can often manage. So how many times have my words, my praying, interrupted and overspoken that other Voice? How many times has God told me to shut up and listen, but I couldn't hear the whisper for my own chatter?
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