JANUARY 07, 2019 by Stephen McLaren
Reflections 8

Caring & Community

‘Words of comfort . . .

When you’re crawling and broken, I’ll help you to stand; when you’re lost in the darkness, just reach for my hand.  If you run from your fear, you can run to my side; when confused at the cross-roads, I’ll then be your guide.  When despair washes round you, I’ll row you to shore; if you lock out the world, I’ll be there at your door.  If you fail, I’ll support you – if you win, I’ll be proud; when strangers surround you, I’ll be there in the crowd. When you’re restless and wakeful, I’ll soothe you to sleep; I’ll offer my shoulder whenever you weep.  Should you lash out in anger, I’ll understand why; if you spurn my advice, I’ll continue to try.  If you need time alone, then I’ll just disappear; but when you  feel lonely, just ask and I’m here.  I’ll shelter your spirit and keep your soul warm; my barrier’s high, it can hold off a storm. I’ll be there to protect you and banish your sorrow; I’ll also be there as pain clouds lift tomorrow.  And then when you’re flying and joy breaks free; look down and the happiest wave will be me.  I’ll laugh with your laughter and cry at its end, and I’ll always be here if you need me - my friend.

Emma Burrell

‘Community . . .

There’s a narrow strip of birch wood by a busy railway track where the blackbirds sing superbly and the trains rush there and back. So I wander in the birch wood with the burdens of the day ‘til my peace of mind takes over and all burdens slip away.

There’s a glory in that birch wood, seldom seen and seldom known to the folk who trundle to and fro’, for cash they’ll never own.  It’s the glory of the sunshine and the glory of the rain, the healing of the scars of life, the easing of our pain.

But it’s not the birch wood heals us, nor the sunshine, nor the rain, nor the blackbird singing blithely, nor the rushing of the train, but the healing of community when wounds are deep and sore and the human hand of friendship and the warmth of love once more.


A gift of blessings

Thankful am I that I have lived in this great world and known its many joys, the thrill of mountains and the morning air, hills and the lonely covered moors, harvest and the strong sweet scent of hay.  A rock strewn river overhung with trees, shafts of sunlight in a valley leading to the sea, the beat of waves on rough and rocky shores and wild white spray flung high in ecstasy.  The comfort of my home and treasured things, the love of kin and fellowship of friends, firelight and laughter and children at their play with hopes and dreams as their future beckons.  The faithful eyes of dogs, companionship of cats, my garden rich from toil and all things dear and beautiful.  The tapestry of life, joy and pain, is ours to live but once, and not again.  When I look back upon my richly varied years, I crave no more, thankful that I have lived . . . so shed no tears.   

Leslie Scrase

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