1. My microherbs are growing well. A few weeks ago, Mum and I went downstairs solely for the purpose of digging up mud to plant seeds in. Mum planted parsley, I think, and I began a new pot of purple kohlrabi. It was strange, crouching there, digging up the mud that had settled in the drain having run off the hill behind us during the rain. It felt child like and good. We saw some worms, which reminded me of how much I loved worms when I was younger, and would hold them tenderly in my hands, feeling their fragile bodies wiggle.
2. Breakfasts now are always on the balcony. After almost 2 weeks without peanut butter, I cracked and bought some after a morning run, which meant the joyful restoration of overnight oats as my daily breakfast. I sit with my breakfast and the bible, and now Jacob and I are reading the book of Matthew. Today I read about how Jesus welcomed the children. I'd always read that bit as meaning the Kingdom of God belonged to those who are innocent, which is frankly rather demoralising, since few of us are. But I remembered today that the myth of the innocent child is a 19th century construction. I don't know how ancient Israelites thought of children, but I do know that children were vulnerable, with infant mortality significantly high (one source I looked at said 50%). So today I reread the passage as Jesus welcoming the vulnerable, those who recognise that are lives are brief and fragile, and that we owe our existence and every breath to God. Jesus welcomes those who realise that we need God as a child needs a parent. That's a frightening and comforting realisation all at once.
3. Yesterday was a mixed bag for my confidence. I had an encouraging conversation with my boss in the morning about my work so far and how I was getting on in the office. It was good to hear feedback - I realise that in university you get so much feedback on essays but that is far less common in the workplace and you really have to operate a lot more independently. To distil our conversation into a sentence - I'm doing alright, there are areas to work on, the future is exciting and my workplace is supportive.
As I was speaking to my boss, messages came pinging in on my phone. I'd started a group conversation for something that I felt God putting on my heart, and the messages were coming in from there. There were lots of questions, there was a lot of information. I found myself doubting my ability to shape something out of this conversation, and feeling naïve and stupid. I felt like Moses - 'I have never been a good speaker (or leader). I wasn't one before you spoke to me, and I'm not one now.' But I still couldn't shake the feeling that God was asking me to keep on with this, to keep leaning into this project and these thoughts and to see what fruit comes from this. I read a line in an article which went: moments of losing courage belong to a brave life. I recently discovered that my Hogwarts house is not Hufflepuff as I thought, but Gryffindor, and so I am trying to own my new brave persona. It is good to know that even when I feel like my fortitude is crumbling, that is not an absence of bravery but part of the in-and-out of its breathing.
4. The smoggers came yesterday and the world was shrouded for a while. I remembered how as I child I would bury my face into my pillow when the smoggers came, terrified that the smog was poisonous. (If it could kill mosquitos, I reasoned, what was to say it wouldn't kill me?) I would press myself so tight into that pillow that it became hard to breathe, and the feeling of suffocating would just add to the idea that death was all around me.
5. At night, Mum only got back from the hospital after we finished dinner. 'Could you make me a hot Milo,' she said, and I did, supplementing it with a chocolate-banana muffin for good measure. I learnt that three of the residents at the care home had died, but those deaths won't be counted in the UK's tally. How can this be? Some things in this world now seem so inhuman.
6. I made these most delicious chocolate muffins yesterday. I made 10, have packed 3 of them to deliver to Jacob, Ben and Kim, and now there is only one left. I have to say, these are good.
7. I'm using this time to continue filling in the poetry anthology that Jacob and I share. I put in the poem Jacob wrote for me last year, Jonathan's geylang garden, the poem I write for Jacob last year (the pebble poem) and Wendy Cope's flowers - a poem Rachel shared which comforted me for what I felt were stolen dreams - 'some things don’t come to fruition but we carry the intentions of them with us just as well'.
Flowers (Wendy Cope)
Some men never think of it.
You did. You’d come along
And say you’d nearly brought me flowers
But something had gone wrong.
The shop was closed. Or you had doubts -
The sort that minds like ours
Dream up incessantly. You thought
I might not want your flowers.
It made me smile and hug you then.
Now I can only smile.
But look, the flowers you nearly brought
Have lasted all this while.
No comments:
Post a Comment