Monthly Musings: July discoveries

It’s hard to believe that July has been and gone, and there’s only a month before the arrival of spring. But before we get carried away in anticipation of spring, here are a few of my discoveries in July.

Booknook and Bean opened in Topham Mall around the corner from work, and it’s my new favourite place for a hot chocolate, a pre-loved book, or a little yummy treat (or all of them together!). On the pre-loved book front you can donate books or buy them (there’s an honour system – just pay what you want between $2-$7 per book). All profits from the books are invested through Kiva, providing micro-loans to people around the world so they have an opportunity get out of poverty. What a great idea!

My recent reads: The Grand Paradox: the messiness of life, the mystery of God and the necessity of faith by Ken Wytsma Heading Home: my search for purpose in a temporary world by Naomi Reed and Booked: literature in the soul of me by Karen Swallow Prior (I didn’t set out to choose books with such long titles but they’re all worth a read).

I came across this beautiful song “Light” from Gungor about their daughter who was born with Down Syndrome. They named her Lucette which means light, and if you need a little light right now watch this video (oh, and you might need some tissues too!). The full lyrics and a little more of their story is on the You Tube page (Light).

I also discovered that the service at Apple is pretty impressive. I’ve had my iPad Mini for about a year and love it. Unfortunately it stopped working about a week after I arrive home from holiday. I took it into the Genius Bar at the Apple Store and they ran some tests, determined there’d been a hardware failure and swapped it for a replacement on the spot. You’ve gotta love that.

For the last month I’ve been trying out the Bullet Journal system, and so far I’m finding it very helpful to have one place for recording tasks, events, phone calls and meeting notes. All you need is a notebook and a pen. I’ve tweaked it a little for my own needs, particularly at work, where I keep it open on my desk and also take it to meetings.

31 Days: Listening to nature

The first thing I notice is the sound of frogs, loud and persistent. Their joyful chorus resounds around the edge of the lake. The birds add their voices in harmony. Sunlight filters through the eucalyptus trees, paths wind through magnolias, rhododendrons and camellias.

I follow a fairy wren along a path up the hillside, slowly, among tall gum trees and flowering carpets of ground covers, hellebores and bluebells. I don’t want to miss the gifts along the way.

I soak in the beauty. Listen and rest.

I can still hear the frog-song up on the hill out of sight of the lake. I listen to the birds calling one another from the tree tops. A family of twelve – mum, dad and ten tiny ducklings – meander their way down towards the lake.

Everywhere there is new life.

The winter is gone, spring has come. And I am blessed.

This is Day 6 of the series 31 Days to Listen. For more information about this challenge, and to see others are writing, visit Write 31 Days.

Finding early morning soul space

I sit on the bench. In the quiet I watch the sun rise and listen to the birds singing and calling to one another. There are few people around at that hour, but the wetlands are prolific with all kinds of bird life.

What a glorious morning, and I have nowhere else to be, no need to rush. I want to sit and soak it all in, to breathe and be present in this moment.

But there is also a little voice urging me to get up, get moving, and do something more productive.

I’m restless.

It’s not easy to stop, to be still, to be present, to listen.

I know this is an invitation to be with the Lord, to sit with him, watch with him. Not worrying about a prayer list, not worrying about whether he will speak to me. But just to be. To open my eyes, my ears and my heart to the beauty around me, allow it to inspire wonder and worship.

But it’s still a struggle to stay on that bench, not to get up and walk away.

A week later and I am back at the wetlands, sitting on the same bench. Another early morning. The fairy wrens are playing chasy, looping in circles, skimming low over the ground, alighting on reed stems before hopping from one to the next. Light glitters on the rippling water. The sun is a glowing orb rising from behind the hill.

Glorious.

And this time – this time is different. This time I’m not restless. This time, my soul is still, and I am grateful for the beauty of this morning, for this gift of whitespace, this gift of companionship, for this moment of intimacy.

In this moment I am content, grateful for this life.

I have stilled and quieted my soul. And I breathe life again.

But I have calmed and quieted myself, I am like a weaned child with its mother; like a weaned child I am content. ~ Psalm 131:2

The rainbow invitation to rest

It wasn’t news I wanted to hear. But there wasn’t anything I could do to change it.

I walked back to my desk. Overwhelmed. The waters rising, threatening to close in over my head. Sinking.

Too much. Too much.

Struggling, trying to float instead of sink. Except that struggling usually sends you downward. Floating requires trust that the water will hold you up.

I didn’t see it at first. Someone else drew it to my attention.

A rainbow – bright and glorious against a charcoal sky. It hung in the air outside my window.

Suddenly the waters receded, the darkness lifted and hope took its rightful place.

I love rainbows.

I love the colours; love their glorious beauty; love their elusiveness and the unexpected joy they bring.

I love that they remind me of God’s presence.

They speak to me of his faithfulness. They remind me that God is someone I can trust. Even in the storms of life.

Especially in the storms.

I’ve seen several rainbows in the last few days. A profusion of rainbow gifts, reminding me again of the Lord’s faithfulness as I choose to trust him and rest.