A Comeback Attempt!

There was a rotten year to be had last year and I happened to have it! Hence, there was no writing of any value to share here. I’ve been struggling with physical restrictions due to painful health-related conditions that have affected my well-being. One such limitation has prevented me from my passion for writing. I’ve been unable to write my journal since May 2024 never mind create something new that’s worth publishing.

I did manage to read and edit several pieces of past writing I’ve done and from that had two poems published, one 100-word story and I made it onto Mslexia’s longlist for a short story competition! No payment was involved but the honour of being chosen boosted my mood no end and gave me the confidence and encouragement I needed to keep going.

https://www.aurorahealthcare.org/services/neuroscience/neurology/neurological-conditions/occipital-neuralgia

I finally received a diagnosis for my pain on 20th February: Occipital Neuralgia plus Cervical Spondylosis with misalignment of Discs C5/6 from a fall two years ago. Yes. Two years of waiting lists for various tests! Thankfully, I am now experiencing a significant release from physical pain with a Class C nerve block painkiller, enough to enable me to write again – in short bursts and slowly, slowly, take small steps forward with this. I have to limit my ‘pen’ time and take short breaks more often but it’s a small price to pay to be able to write again.

For the time being, I am writing what I call ‘Rescue Poetry’ and having a great time discovering new inspiration in workshops run by MIND at Woodend Creative Space, led by Charlotte Oliver, a local published poet where  I can write anything I like without fear of being judged and receive much-needed and welcome encouragement to continue along this road as long as I need to. 

I am having fun with words! But, oh dear, I seem to have fallen into a bit of a rhyming style which I’m not keen on, though I have to say it is soothing my soul somewhat. I don’t set out to do it. I let it happen. It feels more like a healing therapy than something I have to produce so I’ll take that for now thank you very much.

One of the workshops embraced Ekphrastic poetry: a vivid description of a scene or, more commonly, a work of art. Through the imaginative act of narrating and reflecting on the “action” of a painting or sculpture, the poet may amplify and expand its meaning.

The group’s inspiration for this particular workshop came from an exhibition at Crescent Arts in the form of a sculpture by Jason Wilsher-Mills: Jason Beside the Sea, which ran from 14th September 2024 to 4th January 2025.

Image: Giant Inflatable Crab Sculpture by Jason

I enjoyed being transported back to a happy place of working-class holidays of the 60s and 70s. Though it’s still a work in progress, I’d like to share these memories with you through the writing I produced as a response to the structure and hope you can connect to one or two memories of your own from holidays of those times beside the sea!

A Celebration of Working-Class Holidays by the Sea

I step inside the place of childhood and early teenage years rocking around the sound of a bustling noisy fairground which transports me to a special time when music changed my world – before age-related illness took its toll – those heady days of Rock and Roll, Tamla Motown, Northern Soul.

I encounter Glam, Punk, and Heavy Rock, psychedelic swirls on patchwork quilts, bell-bottomed sleeves and jeans to match, dresses made of paisley silks, hair short-cropped or tresses, with daisy chains everywhere! Are you going to San Fransisco with flowers in your hair?

Hippies spouting dreadlocks, singing reggae, walking proud, shouldering booming radios and singing out so loud! Graffiti walls, ‘true love forever’, Mods and Rockers falling in love. Squawking seagulls flying as high as kites in the skies above.

I walk along the promenade of postcards at Scarborough by the sea with its kaleidoscope of colours to match up you with me. I twist them around to shift and shuffle back to happy times. The castle where we said our vows, the sound of church bell chimes!

Donkey rides, fish and chips, eating pink hair from a stick, kiss me slowly, kiss me quick, sticky fingers, lick, lick, lick.Waltz me round till I feel sick as Sargeant Pepper sings his heart out.

Memories far away still stick. We were rebels with a great big kick of loaded childhood, penny slots and sweets, shops stuffed full of wondrous treats like, liqourice, fudge and Scarborough rock.

Hurry now, Dad eyes the clock to catch the jive session on the pier. How I wish he were still here with Mum and her lacquered beehive hair. Both dressed up in all the gear.  Swinging to and fro’ like a rocking chair.

Dad’s slicked-back style covers a balding patch – the odd couple looked a misfitted match as they danced to the sound of the music in the round, swinging high, swinging low, Mum’s skirt spinning out, waist tied with a bow.

Jack loves Jill and Jill loves Jack. Been together so long, there’s no holding back. Laughing out loud, and having fun, their long-awaited holiday had begun.

The thrum of the sea and the warmth of the sun

bring back the good times for folk anon.

But the present outlook is not fun.

We need to talk about the seagull!

Snatching chips from everyone

warrants a filter in the form of a cull.

(But we must remember that they were here first!)

Thank you for reading this post and sharing in my young teenage self’s memories of holidays by the sea, and thank you Scarborough for Woodend’s Exhibition by Jason Wilsher-Mills which reignited them.

I love living in Scarborough!

There’s so much going on.

With love for the journey,

Julie

Small Changes

I’ve entered a nostalgic period and in doing so I have come to acknowledge the different phases I’ve passed through on my life’s journey. I find it interesting to look back at the life I’ve lived, the people I’ve known, the things I’ve achieved – or not – and to reflect on the moments of joy I’ve experienced alongside the moments of despair. I keep the hope that there are many more to come.

I recently joined a Facebook group ‘We Grew up in Manchester’ and receive regular posts containing photographs from days gone by from the 1900s. There are several names I recognize on there and I long for a familiar face to pop up on a photograph.

I thought it was only older people who looked back like this but the twenty and thirty-year-olds on my FB are displaying these same nostalgic traits. I guess it’s human nature and acts as a sort of comfort blanket when the global world becomes too much to bear. 

https://www.shutterstock.com/image-vector/terrorism-word-collage-on-white-background-56070769

I do still visit the places I’ve lived in yet observing them in the physical reality of ‘now’ sometimes leaves a sad tinge that my life from that time has been lived. It’s the people I knew then that keep the place special, the relationships I shared with those people who have moved on or passed away that live in my precious memories. I like to think that I am living in someone’s memory from that time too. I hope so.  

Part of this nostalgic period I’m in has instigated a rush of decluttering groups I’ve become bored with to inspire me to take on new things and bring back my zest for life. Two activities that have done this for me are line dancing (which I have never tried before), the other is a creative writing group focussing on ‘the now’. I attended the first session recently and it was wonderful to spend a day with like-minded creatives rediscovering my poetic voice.

I can’t stop smiling!

Small changes can make all the difference when we’re learning to love life again following a period of incapacity due to health related issues that have taken their toll on our mental well-being. Recovering is a matter of redefining who you are as you rediscover your joie de vivre.

https://pngtree.com/freepng/glitter-party-people_5252801.html

New things are coming my way and it is wonderful to be able to say I am content with how it is all coming together as I make new friends in new groups – and rekindle relationships with old friends – as it’s turned out. It’s as though God has taken my nostalgic reminiscing through old photographs as a prayer and turned back time by reconnecting me with three individual friends from different times of my life. I thought the good times we’d shared were gone forever but meeting up with each one of them has melted the years away. The relationships I had with them then and now are a nourishing source of soul food.

https://www.shutterstock.com/image-vector/people-family-together-concept-hands-vector-1313701271

I am thankful that I found my identity in Christ 17 years ago. He is the one who can fix the chaos in the world if only we let him. I pray all people will seek him out soon for their own sake and that the world can come together as one.

Here’s something to think about:

The Jesus Room by Chris Woodland

https://paxtonvic.wordpress.com/2011/12/21/poem-the-jesus-room/

Why not try it for yourself and see how YOU feel?

You will feel the very breath of God in the Jesus room.

With love for the journey,

Julie

Pre-Easter Muddle

(C) Sam Bowell

The thing that strikes me about God is that he never gives up on me. I came to faith late in my life (Late have I loved you, O Lord) and God became something I relied on to be a constant, never-changing, never-judging, always forgiving God, who loves me unconditionally and who is full of surprises. A God of the impossible making all things possible.  I believe this is still true and it’s only myself who gets in the way of God’s plan for my life that causes me to disengage from this limitlessness love of his for me.

God never changes. People do. God doesn’t make the rules for church politics. People do. He watches and waits as we wander away from him from time to time then takes us back with open arms.

I have wandered like a lost soul since the church I attended split almost 2 years ago. Coming out of lockdown saw many changes in the church and I had felt it was time for me to move on. Before I could fathom why I felt like that, let alone what to do about it, the decision to allow same-sex marriages et al to be conducted within its walls was approved. This added to my dilemma but gave me an escape route – or an excuse (as I’d thought at the time).

Since then, I’ve been contemplating what my decision to leave has meant for me as a born-again Christian. It was as though something that had been a constant and steadfast grounding for me had been pulled away, with much of my emotion about it mirroring how I’d felt when I was 10 years old and my parents divorced. There was no Children Act then so kids didn’t get a say and it was years before I saw my father again. I didn’t get a say in any church rulings either, hence my ongoing wrestling with this unsettling scenario.

“Late have I loved you, beauty so old and so new: late have I loved you. And see, you were within and I was in the external world and sought you there, and in my unlovely state I plunged into those lovely created things which you made. You were with me, and I was not with you. The lovely things kept me far from you, though if they did not have their existence in you, they had no existence at all. You called and cried out loud and shattered my deafness. You were radiant and resplendent, you put to flight my blindness. You were fragrant, and I drew in my breath and now pant after you. I tasted you, and I feel but hunger and thirst for you. You touched me, and I am set on fire to attain the peace which is yours.”

― St. Augustine of Hippo, Confessions

God never changes. People do. God doesn’t make the rules for church politics. People do. He watches and waits as we wander away from him from time to time then takes us back with open arms.

I have attended a house church for 18 months, since the painful church split, which has grown into a good fellowship of supportive believers, yet I have been increasingly miserable. I knew deep down I didn’t belong there. I missed the ritualistic practices of an affiliated church, much to my surprise.

It was just before Christmas 2023, following the carol service held at my housing scheme’s communal lounge by the house church, that I decided to take 3-months out and away from church as a whole, to review where I was headed regarding my faith journey and prepare myself for Easter.

I hope I can let go of my tormented mind-struggle now because I am coming to the end of my sabbatical if you like, where I have looked carefully and considerably at where I am with my faith by visiting other worship outlet ideas, without settling into anything as a solid member but as a free spirit.

Moving forward, I know I don’t want to be trapped in a controlled church environment. After all, the buildings are not the church; the people are! As Christians we can make it so complicated when really it is a simple matter of loving one another as Jesus has loved us (John 13:34), and showing that love and compassion to those we come into contact with on a daily basis.

I’ve been enjoying the freedom of attending informal relaxed gatherings in various places such as Café Refresh at St. Mary’s, Burniston/Cloughton where poetry is used to illustrate God’s love for humanity, taking time-out at Wydale Emmaus Retreat Centre for spiritual renewal days, and participating in a monthly group of like-minded creative believers in the sanctuary of a sacred space conservatory within a private home. I’ve shared in wonderful worship in all these places where I have felt safe and secure in my faith. I have gone back to the original church I left (before the split) every month for a testimonial evening, and slowly my relationship with that church is beginning to heal.

God never changes. People do. God doesn’t make the rules for church politics. People do. He watches and waits as we wander away from him from time to time then takes us back with open arms.

Easter is fast approaching and I am still homeless concerning church attendance.

I received an invitation to listen to The Bible Course (5 weeks), which is available on u-tube from Burniston Methodist Church (my original place of worship before the split that broke my heart).

The content of the course for Week One made complete sense to me and gave me a depth of understanding about the regular argument I have with myself that the bible may be a work of fiction.

Looking at the construction of the Bible in the context of Week One’s explanation of when each text was written and by whom (where possible and probable), considering each book in the genre it was written and the author’s state of mind and life experiences at the time, has put it into perspective for me more clearly than I have ever known before, and this is confirmation, for me, that the bible is true and the message it brings about the story of God’s love for humanity is crystal clear.

Perhaps understanding the bible by looking at it this way has been enhanced by how I’ve been constructing my personal memoir, in that, I know in my heart it is true as far as I can recall conversations at the time they were happening. I also have my researched resources that back up the historical information, my personal journal notes and memories of all involved, that ascertain the memoir’s authenticity.

My memoir is nowhere near the magnificence of the work that has gone into bringing us the Bible yet marrying my memoir together to portray a message that makes sense is similar to how the bible has been constructed… by real witnesses to the fact that God loves us so much that he sacrificed his only son as an atonement for our sins.

You may want to listen to the Bible Course Week 1 to fully get where I’m coming from with this. I haven’t listened to the remaining 4 weeks yet. Perhaps they will change my way of thinking again. Who knows?

I only know that hearing Week 1 has lifted me and placed me on steady ground to continue my walk of faith in the reassurance of God’s truth.

God never changes. People do. God doesn’t make the rules for church politics. People do. He watches and waits as we wander away from him from time to time then takes us back with open arms.

Holy Week. Palm branches, the last supper, crown of thorns and the cross. Vector illustration

I am looking forward to celebrating the Easter story with renewed personal insight.

Tonight, (27th March), I attend the last session of a 5-week Lent course at St. Mary’s, Cloughton, using the writing of C.S. Lewis’s Chronicles of Narnia (The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe) as the inspirational allegory of the story of Jesus, intertwined with Lewis’s Shadowlands memoir.

I will then step forward into Maundy Thursday to join friends on a studious prayer walk through The Stations of the Cross at Wydale Emmaus Centre, in preparation for Good Friday, where I will meet with different friends for The Walk of Witness through Scarborough Town Centre up to the castle in a partial reenactment of the Passion of the Cross.

I will be celebrating Easter Day with the House Church Group at Wandales Communal Centre (where I live) and continuing my purposeful wandering as a child of the resurrected Christ.

Thank you, God, for not giving up on me.

Since writing this post, I have experienced a profound renewal of spirit walking with Jesus on my Easter journey and am definitely on my right path.

I hope you too have had a blessed Easter.

With love for the journey,

Julie

Vessels                                 

And then

when we are finally silent before You

when we are stripped of our selves

of our expectations – of others expectations

Only then can Your grace flow

into our empty vessels

and we become what You intended

for Your purpose – Your plan

And Your glory will shine from us

reflecting the love we have received

Others will touch the edge our radiance

knowing they are in the presence of God

because God is the essence of us.

(© Julie M. Fairweather)    

A Special Day of Words

Winifred Emma May was a poet from the United Kingdom, best known for her work under the pen name Patience Strong (4 June 1907-28 August 1990). Her poems were usually short, simple and imbued with sentimentality, the beauty of nature and inner strength. Wikipedia

Just when we thought Spring was around the corner following our recent glimpses of sunshine and rainbows, March jumps in like a rampant lion, boisterous, bold, and carefree, to give us a dose of reality by reminding us that Winter has not done with us yet.

Let’s see what Patience has to say about March in one of her best collections Thoughts for Every Day (My regular ‘go to’ book for inspirational hope.)

Today, the 1st March, is also my sister’s special birthday.

All birthdays are special but when they have a nought on the end, it can either make you tremble with fear at how quickly the years have passed or it can encourage a wonderful time of reflection and counting of blessings through those passing years. There is a solace in knowing that, as long as they keep coming, it doesn’t matter about the number on the cards, only that we are blessed with having family and friends to share our birthday with.

Happy Birthday Sister!

In addition to it being my sister’s birthday, it is also St. David’s Day (or The Feast of Saint David, the Patron Saint of Wales) though it’s not his birthday. It marks the day of his death in 589 BC. Traditional festivities include wearing daffodils and leeks, recognised symbols of Wales and Saint David, respectively, eating traditional Welsh food including cawl, and women wearing traditional Welsh dress. An increasing number of cities and towns across Wales, including Cardiff, Swansea and Aberrystwyth also put on parades throughout the day.

The day is not a public holiday in Wales, which has prompted calls for a St. David’s Day to be a bank holiday in Wales and some organisations designating unofficial celebrations. The feast has been regularly celebrated since the canonisation of David in the 12th century by Pope Callixtus II. (For the day’s significance read more here).

This is the final offering from Patience Strong for 1st March and is, appropriately, regarding daffodils, not only as a celebration of The Hoyden, my sister’s birthday, and St. David’s Day, but as a nod to Wordsworth and to anticipating the beauty yet to come.

May your soul feel nourished and the hope in your heart be alive through these words of Patience Strong I’ve shared with you today, as you anticipate the promise of Spring’s perfection.

With love for the journey,

Julie

Stepping out of January Blues… and into February’s Soul Month

I’ve been suffering off and on with neck pain since I had a fall two years ago and for the past three months it’s been unbearable at times. One day last week it was the worst it’s been since it began so I phoned the surgery and, to my amazement, secured a face-to-face appointment with a GP! This has been virtually impossible since the Covid Era began! And it wasn’t even a life-or-death thing. I’d simply explained that I would like to discuss a referral to a Pain Clinic with a GP and Voila! Appointment next Tuesday! I checked my online account at the practice and there it was in black and white. I hadn’t dreamt it.

I am hopeful that I’m heading for the end of a period of utter misery of self-management that hasn’t worked. It feels like a light coming on after 12 weeks of physio exercises, 4-hourly painkillers, herbal heat patches (from China – useful as it turned out!), a posture corrector, a neck stretcher, and any other thing short of chopping my head off. 

I can recommend the herbal patches as an aid to pain relief that will offer comfort enough to induce several hours sleep.

Two things I’ve hated most about this debilitating episode are that I haven’t been able to indulge in my passion for circle-dancing and have had to cut down my writing time because both activities cause me too much pain. My brain is mushy because of lack of sleep so I’ve been a bit fed up with myself.

However, January is always a bit of a weird month.

My memoir in progress news…

I did manage to complete a short memoir course I signed up for in January – 3 sessions on Zoom – but missed the first one as I had to come off a few times and go back in – the internet was an awful connection. I learned quite a lot of interesting and useful stuff and had some good feedback on my assignments, one of which was my first chapter. The tutor, a memoirist, offered her email address for me to send work in progress to her for reading after the course ended…if I wanted to.  Of course, I did! Thank you very much!

I learned so much on this short course and intend to use the knowledge gained to improve what I’ve written so far by editing out incidentals I don’t need where I’ve been inclined to lead the reader rather than let the reader into the story. 

I’ve decided to include poetry within my story to enhance the richness of the emotion felt by the characters and, hopefully, the reader(s). This was something I wanted initially and now know how better to include this more naturally. I’m looking forward to gathering in the related poems I wrote during the living experience. Likewise, photographs and a map of the childhood area I talk about in the memoir authenticating the bus route through the village and places I frequent as I tell the story. 

I think I’ve overcome my immense dislike of online courses enough to embark on further courses if I need to, but I will always seek out face-to-face sessions as my first choice.

At the moment, rather than use the computer, I’m handwriting a list of my chapters to highlight the characters and check their storyline involvement within the memoir so I can see where they are attached to that invisible golden thread that runs through the story, as well as adding a brief comment on the chapter’s aim to marry it against the story as a whole… if you get my drift. 

Breaking off from the memoir briefly, I submitted three 100-word stories to a competition which was passed on to me by a member of the Scarborough Writers’ Circle.  Not holding my breath but I thought it would be rude not to enter seeing as I hail from the area of the publication.

The light is slowly making its way toward darkness as the day draws to its close and I am pondering the hope that tomorrow I may wake up pain-free following a good night’s sleep.

January is now over and onward we go.

Here’s a thought for the 1st February from Patience Strong’s ‘Thoughts For Every Day’ Anthology. A book I often turn to for nourishment of my soul.  

On this day, I attended a soul-filled worship event entitled ‘Awakenings’ at Wydale Hall with a group of friends and experienced these hints and glimpses for myself in the grounds surrounding the hall. Inside the hall were many hints and glimpses of glory as the crowd of believers shared a wonderful time of nourishment for the soul in the presence of God.

What a difference a day makes!

With love for the journey,

Julie

From Lament to Joy

It’s been six months since my last post because I’ve been on an emotional roller-coaster of ups and downs. With the neglect of my personal journal writing and this blog, I seemed to lose my way, my life path, somehow, in my day-to-day busyness of recovering and rediscovering myself, but I am hopeful that I’ve made a breakthrough now I’ve written these few things down.

Memories good and bad from the year have now passed, as all things must pass. Even my birthday in November has been and gone, yet the memory of that is a good one. Two nights in York to see A Fairy-tale in New York and I came across an interesting shop where I bought a book on phobias and manias. Deep psychological stuff but I do believe it has helped me understand my life-long cat phobia at least, (ailurophobia!). 

I had already been working on this without realizing and I can actually look at pictures of certain cats without feeling the fear now.

I do think that Bengal cats are beautiful!

(I can’t believe I’m saying it!)

https://www.boredpanda.com/bengal-cat-spots-fur-thor/

This year has been one of personal loss for me in regards to saying goodbye to several friends and I was caught unawares at one celebration of life tribute from a daughter on how she felt about her late father. It struck a chord of memory with me about my mother when she began her tribute with the words, ‘I believe in love.’

I was taken back to the beginning of my search for God as those words were what I’d said to the R.E. teacher when I was fourteen in response to his question about what I believed in. I’d said I didn’t believe in God and he’d asked me why.

‘Because I can’t see him,’ I replied.

‘What do you believe in then?’ he asked.

‘Love,’ I responded.

‘But you can’t see love either,’ he said.

‘You can feel it though,’ was my reply.

‘Exactly!’ he said, smiling to himself as he walked away.

I was left wondering about it until I recalled his words at my mother’s graveside as the vicar spoke from 1 Corinthians Chapter 13:

“If I speak in the tongues of men or of angels, but do not have love, I am only a resounding gong or a clanging cymbal. 2 If I have the gift of prophecy and can fathom all mysteries and all knowledge, and if I have a faith that can move mountains, but do not have love, I am nothing. 3 If I give all I possess to the poor and give over my body to hardship that I may boast, but do not have love, I gain nothing.

4 Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. 5 It does not dishonour others, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. 6 Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. 7 It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres.

8 Love never fails. But where there are prophecies, they will cease; where there are tongues, they will be stilled; where there is knowledge, it will pass away. 9 For we know in part and we prophesy in part, 10 but when completeness comes, what is in part disappears. 11 When I was a child, I talked like a child, I thought like a child, I reasoned like a child. When I became a man, I put the ways of childhood behind me. 12 For now we see only a reflection as in a mirror; then we shall see face to face. Now I know in part; then I shall know fully, even as I am fully known.

13 And now these three remain: faith, hope and love. But the greatest of these is love.”

When he read that last line it was like a light coming on. I suddenly knew that my mother, though she had found it hard to show her love to her children, was loved wholeheartedly by us all and by God. I was in awe of how my mother had been blessed by that love. Love is God, I thought. That was the beginning of my journey to a faith.

What a wise man my R.E. teacher had been that day he walked away smiling when he embedded it in my memory as a seed for that very moment. I can’t recall his name but I’m sure God will.       

Time turns around so fast and, as I get older, it seems my allotted life-span thus far is but the blink of an eye. With what time I have left, I am claiming my life back with a promise to save the only life I can save – my own, as Mary Oliver acknowledges in her beautiful poem:

The Journey

One day you finally knew
what you had to do, and began,
though the voices around you
kept shouting
their bad advice—
though the whole house
began to tremble
and you felt the old tug
at your ankles.
“Mend my life!”
each voice cried.
But you didn’t stop.
You knew what you had to do,
though the wind pried
with its stiff fingers
at the very foundations,
though their melancholy
was terrible.
It was already late
enough, and a wild night,
and the road full of fallen
branches and stones.
But little by little,
as you left their voices behind,
the stars began to burn
through the sheets of clouds,
and there was a new voice
which you slowly
recognized as your own,
that kept you company
as you strode deeper and deeper
into the world,
determined to do
the only thing you could do—
determined to save
the only life you could save.

© Mary Oliver (from Dreamworks 1968 and Devotions 2017)

For Christmas, my son gave me Mary Oliver’s Collection ‘Devotions’ and my husband bought me ‘A Thousand Mornings’.

What utter joy!

I have several scrap pages of angst notes jotted down intended for my journal during the past 6 months but haven’t got round to writing them up. I’m not sure where to slot them in or even if I want to write them up at all as I will be revisiting things I need to forget. Maybe that’s something for me to think about another time… or maybe not.

All I know for sure about those six months is that I have found great solace in the spiritual realms of reading scripture, psalms, the writings of Saint Ignatius of Loyola, Jesuit prayers, poetry whilst enjoying the company of genuine friends.

In this year of emotional ups and downs, the side effect (positive) of such solace has enabled me to identify several toxic relationships that have had a negative impact on me as a person. My barriers of self-preservation are now in place. I’m backing off and letting go of anyone and anything that steals my joy as I seek a new pathway into 2024.

Prayer for Calmness

As he sat by the river,
the eyes of his understanding began to be opened;
not that he saw any vision,
but he understood and learnt many things,
both spiritual matters and matters of faith and of scholarship,
and this with so great an enlightenment
that everything seemed new to him.

– Ignatius of Loyola, The Autobiography

Finally, friends (if I may call you that seeing as you’re here reading my blog), I leave you with more food for thought from two sources (Mary Oliver and Enya) which are well-worth consideration:

Thirst

Another morning and I wake with thirst
for the goodness I do not have. I walk
out to the pond and all the way God has
given us such beautiful lessons. Oh Lord,
I was never a quick scholar but sulked
and hunched over my books past the hour
and the bell; grant me, in your mercy,
a little more time. Love for the earth
and love for you are having such a long
conversation in my heart. Who knows what
will finally happen or where I will be sent,
yet already I have given a great many things
away, expecting to be told to pack nothing,
except the prayers which, with this thirst,
I am slowly learning.

— Mary Oliver, (from Thirst 2006 and Devotions 2017)

and this Enya song for a warm, peaceful embrace (once you skip the ad!) until we meet again.

With love for the journey,

Julie

Note to the end of the year 2023:

I’ve come across several poetic treasures I’ve written throughout the year that I haven’t transferred to my personal journal.  Sifting through these should keep me going in the right direction and lead me towards the New Year with joy!

Welcome 2024!

A Gratitude Reminder

and overleaf…

When tomorrow comes today will be gone forever.

I hope I will not regret the price I paid for it.

(Ruth Spearing)

I’ve had such a time of anxiety this past fortnight visualizing what could happen during a pending medical procedure I’m waiting for that I felt in need of spiritual support.

I sometimes read ‘Pick Me Up’ when I’m struggling to calm myself. It’s a small pamphlet containing Psalms for anxious times which was produced free by Uckfield Baptist Church during the Covid pandemic in 2020.

I opened one of its pages and came across the above bookmark by Ruth Spearing and decided to use her words as a daily practice to thank God for each day.

A simple yet effective mark of gratitude for the gift of life.

The bookmark has taken up residence in my diary, which I open daily, to remind me to be in the present day and not dwell in the past or on what the future may bring.

Of course, it’s easier said than done.

Especially if you are a writer!

Looking back on the past is a natural thing for writers when researching a project they are working on. Incorporating factual information into a story gives it authenticity and can convey the impression that the whole story is true (even though it may be fictional). The research adds layers of interest to the writing which can enhance the reading experience of the intended audience.  

Likewise, personal memories play an important part too as writers tend to draw on their own experiences and emotional responses to situations to communicate to their audience, which adds an even deeper layer to the story.

It life writing (memoir) in particular, it’s impossible not to look back at the past though we can still remain grounded because we are present in the act of writing about it and can focus on what we’re doing in the moment of doing it.

Looking back to the beginning and forward to the end of a personal life story is not limited to writers. It applies to all people as we become older. We refer to the past as ‘the good old days’ but were they? Really? A touch of nostalgia for the way things were is inevitable as we see changes we don’t like in the world around us.

The people in this collage are relatives from ‘the good old days’ of my own life who each have their own unique story to tell. Perhaps they are hiding secrets behind their smiles? I can utilize their stories within my writing by thinking about the journey of who/what they were when the photograph was taken and what happened to make them who/what they are now. Each person’s story houses a potential plot outline waiting to be fleshed out.

And the future? The future is known by God who has numbered our days and there is no need to be anxious about anything. “For I know the plans I have for you,’ declares the Lord, ‘plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you a hope and a future.”  Jeremiah 29:11. 

However, when it comes to storytelling, the past, present, and future are whatever we choose them to be, so let’s embrace that and employ all three in the present as we begin a new day.

Let’s rejoice and be glad in it.

With love for the journey,

Julie

“Dear past, I survived you. Dear present, I’m ready for you. Dear future, I’m coming for you.” Matshona Dhliwayo

Find Rest in Holy Week

I’ve been missing in action on my blog for three months. I’ve not been lost for words. I’ve had too many. Having too much to say is as painful as having nothing to say. Words and stories have been buzzing in my head along with the happenings of life; some sad, some happy, yet interesting enough to keep me on my toes. But I needed a rest!

I left my last blog in December vowing to have a clean slate for the approaching new year, clear all my clutter and leave my diary blank for a while to escape the white noise of my life.

FIND YOUR CALM IN THE CHAOS!

I got through quite a bit of decluttering but my mind was constantly being inspired with ideas for stories. You see, I didn’t declutter my activities at the same time as decluttering my stuff so I’ve been hurtling along at the same pace with those and kept meeting myself coming back trying to fit everything in. Now, here I am in Holy Week looking forward to a quiet time of reflection on the Easter story.

I decided to have April off from my regular activities to achieve space in my head.

I’ve not abandoned all of them. I still have three on the go.

  1. I’m writing, thinking about writing or planning the order of my 3rd collection of fictional short stories.
  2. I’m dancing and have booked a weekend of dance for 21/23 April at Cober Hill, which is within walking distance from my home. I’m looking forward to being with friends and enjoying circle dance time together.  
  3. I’m seeking out places of sanctuary to enhance my spiritual awareness.

I’m not fully recovered from the shock of how easily the church gave in to world pressure over the LBTGQ+1 debate, which divided the church in such a dramatic way that I made the difficult and uncomfortable decision of leaving my own place of worship to escape being in the midst of conflicting views.

I am currently part of a non-denominational house church which celebrated a year of being together recently. We experience mutual support of one another as we express our faith using individual skills and talents within the group and have grown in number to become a close-knit community.  

However, I do need a time out from even that occasionally and from the world’s inconsistent rhythms so I seek out quiet spaces in order to spend time alone in God’s presence.  

In Matthew 11:28-30 (Amplified Bible) Jesus says:

“Come to Me, all who are weary and heavily burdened [by religious rituals that provide no peace], and I will give you rest [refreshing your souls with salvation].”

Jesus does mean ALL when he says this, regardless of how we identify ourselves. ALL are welcome to spend time with Him. Just as ALL are welcome at the Lord’s table (communion).

Holy Week is a perfect time to find quiet space (in your head as well as physically) when thinking about the first Easter and what it means to be a follower of Jesus. It’s also the perfect time for those who are not followers to maybe feel at least curious enough to find out more about Him. 

Maundy Thursday will see me in a quiet spiritual retreat with three others as we remember the final night of Jesus’ life on earth. Good Friday will see Churches in Scarborough unite for the Walk of Witness from Alma Square to the Castle in a re-enactment of Jesus’ journey to the cross. Easter Day will be a celebration of praise in churches everywhere for the resurrection of Jesus.

I find it an emotional time personally and it takes me back to how I felt when I first encountered Jesus on 10th March 2007 (leading into Holy Week). I was at rock bottom. It had taken many years for me to realise my faith but when I found it that day, I couldn’t let it go. Jesus offered unconditional love. Who can refuse that?

Well, enough of me prattling on. I’ll carry on with my month off.

I wish you all a Happy Easter whatever your plans are.

‘And then my heart with pleasure fills and dances with the daffodils.’ (Wordsworth)

With love for the journey

Julie

How Did I End Up Here?

Since hitting a major birthday milestone 7 weeks ago, time seems to have been flying by at the speed of light and I’ve arrived in the New Year with my feet having barely touched the ground. Already, I’m bored with the tedious reminders of aging that are constantly bombarding me – or is it that they’ve always been there and I’m noticing them for the first time because I’ve hit my seventh decade? I’m almost three quarters of a century old!

YIKES!

How did that happen?

Me and hubby took a Twixmas coach trip to Blackpool Illuminations – or the Northern Lights as we like to call them – on 28th December, and it was so hectic that it was over in a flash! Three days gone in the blink of an eye yet a lifetime of memories were packed into that journey.

It was a strange trip.

We were the only two people on the feeder coach (mini bus) from Scarborough to Stockton-on-Tees for the pick up of another couple. We had to pass by Billingham, where my husband hails from, to collect a lost luggage item related to the driver’s previous run. Memories of my husband’s early life there, combined with our shared time of living in the area together, washed over us until we reached Darlington to join the main coach. Darlington was the changeover platform from our ‘courting’ days consisting of train journeys to and from each others’ parental homes. On our return journey from Blackpool we travelled a different route for the purpose of taking in the final planned excursion of the package – a couple of hours shopping in the centre of Manchester (where I’m from). There wasn’t enough spare time to meet up with any family unfortunately. We hadn’t know prior to the trip that Manchester was even on the itinerary. When we were stopped at traffic lights on the way out, I took a shot of a road sign just before we passed the top of my brother’s road and sent it via whatsapp just to say hello and that we were so near yet so far away!

Something that struck me about non-recognition (or denial) of my own aging process happened one night in the bar at the hotel when the family on the next table were discussing going downstairs to join the disco. The female teenager said in a loud defiant voice: ‘I’m not going down there to dance on the same floor with mums, dads, and pensioners!’

They would have been my words once.

I was tempted to turn to her and quote the words I heard said by Detective Tutuola in an episode of CSI I saw: ‘Sooner or later we get to play all the parts’ but then I thought she was probably too immature to think the sense of that through… or even care about it at her age.

I came across this beautiful piece of writing in one of my favourite go-to comfort books, Wisdom for our Times by Helen Oxley, which may explain better how I’ll cope with my newfound realization (admittance) of my new age.

To my delight, on the first day of this new year, the first day of the rest of my life, I woke feeling thankful to be alive when my new calendar reminded me that ‘This is the day the Lord has made. We will rejoice and be glad in it.’ (Psalm 118v24 NLT)

And I have!

How can I not after the year in which my prayer for reconciliation with my brother was answered! (See my Happy Endings blog post from 2022 for a reminder)

The vision board’s law of attraction idea worked so well last New Year that I’m creating one for this year too… but with a difference. I’m leaving it completely blank for the whole of January to declutter my mind, body and soul as I wait in the stillness of the presence of God to hear what’s next for me.

(from another of my go-to comfort books: Thoughts for Every Day by Patience Strong

Wishing you all a Happy New Year full of love and good health for a long life!

With love for the journey,

Julie

Too Early For This?

You may think it’s far too early to hold a Christmas Carol Service on 4th December but think again. Have you seen how busy the high street is already in the run-up towards Christmas? And it’s not even December yet? We’ve had cards on display since the end of September, Christmas songs in the shops since October and TV ads all through November. I think the house church I belong to has chosen the perfect time to remind us what Christmas is all about during the…

CHRISTMAS RUSH

Traffic weaving
Shoppers heaving
Santa leaving
children screaming
mothers scheming 
fathers preening
and the real meaning 
of Christmas  
is forgotten  
in that last mad dash for a bargain

Every year, do you find yourself hoping for a Christmas card from a friend or relative you had a fallout with long ago? I wrote this many years ago as a prayerful wish that I’d receive a card from my estranged brother.

CHRISTMAS TRUCE

Did you hear bells or drumming thunder	
Clapping, ringing through the sky?		
Or choirs of angels trilling chorus	
claiming peace on earth was nigh?		
 
No - neither did I.	
			 
But the clatter from my letterbox
when your card fell to the floor so fast
disguised my breathless rush to unlock
the neglected memories of our past.

This year those words have great potential to come true!

After 18 years of daily prayer for reconciliation with my brother, my Christmas came early this year when we met up for a meal together with our other halves on 15th September. My only regret from that meeting is that we didn’t take a photo to mark the occasion. Too dumbstruck, I guess.

I’d purchased a brick to add to the Wall of Answered Prayer when he’d responded to my initial olive branch letter in January that initiated our meeting so it sort of makes up for the missed photo opportunity.

A great weight has been lifted from us through the act of forgiveness. I’m sure the rest of the family feels lighter too. I’m looking forward to Christmas being different this year. Instead of my usual moping about our separation, I’ll be celebrating the miracle of reconnection.

Have you had any prayers answered this year? Take time to write them down and send to https://www.eternalwall.org.uk/ My personal brick is number 16412 – Reconciliation with an estranged brother. The goal is for one million answered prayers to show a unique aspect of Jesus which will encourage others in their faith journey!

Rev Geoff Bowell from Scarborough Christian Fellowship says in his Christmas flyer: ‘Jesus is the light of the world. Whatever darkness you might be facing this Christmas, Jesus Christ is the light. His love brings healing, His message brings hope, and His death opened for us the way to heaven and peace with God. This Christmas, why not discover the light in the darkness that is Jesus Christ?’

I’d like to share this thought-provoking reflection with you, written by The Late Shirley Waite, a dear friend who passed away on 9.11.2018.

A REFLECTION ON CHRISTMAS TREES

My grandma’s tree came from Woolworths;
Eighteen inches high with a wooden trunk painted brown and a wooden base, painted red.
Each year a few more dark green plastic pine needles remained in the box when, on the Saturday before Christmas, the family gathered to decorate the tree.
Grandma unfolded each battered branch as we children opened the rusty tin storage box and gently unwrapped the hibernating glass ornaments from their newspaper nests.
Mum and aunties checked the thread was secure before hanging each little bird and animal on its own twig.
Paper lanterns we had made at school over the years and carried home to hand over with pride were examined until we had all found our own pencilled names inside. Once they had been admired yet again, we hung them in their designated spaces.
Grandad filled his pools coupon in, shutting out the increasing volume of ‘Do you remember?’ and ‘Careful with that!’ from the adults, as we babbled about what we had written on our letters to Santa, ready to post up the chimney that evening.
Once every ornament had been admired and hung, Grandma opened the shoe box and moved aside the tissue paper. There she was – our fairy; a six-inch plastic doll with a dress cut from an old petticoat, cardboard wings covered in tin foil, a lollipop stick wand with a silver foil star glued to its tip, and a matching crown
Every year Grandma greeted her like an old friend, both of them a little more wrinkled and faded with each year, and tied her to the top of the tree.
Finally, once the room had darkened, the finishing touch was the white wax candles in clip-on metal holders
We formed an admiring group as grandma lit each candle and granddad stood close by with a bucket of water and a Woodbine stuck to his bottom lip.
And once we had all said ‘aaaww!’ the youngest child was lifted up to blow out every candle
before we sat around the table to eat tinned salmon sandwiches and peaches with Carnation milk.

My granddaughter’s tree came from Amazon, in a large flat box with instructions in seventeen languages. It’s a six-footer, assembled in seconds (it says).
Just pull upwards on the branch in the centre and watch it spring to life, already decorated with 200 clear replaceable lights, gold satin ribbons and forty-six non-breakable, co-ordinated ornaments, fifteen velvet poinsettias, and a gold-trimmed bow tree topper.
With a flick of the wrist, it takes over the living room.
Plugged in, it dazzles and distracts all eyes from the TV screen (for at least eight seconds) until they all go back to their iPads and iPhones.
On which they are ordering yet more electronic equipment.
Amazon has replaced Santa Claus, delivering up to midnight on Christmas Eve without the necessity of a mince pie or a sherry.

I stand in the middle – make no judgements –
Looking back to the past, forward to the future, and wonder:
When my granddaughter is my age, will her tree be a hologram designed and decorated by a computer?
Will Christmas dinner be delivered to their door by a drone from ww.worldwidecuisine.com
Will the politically correct brigade have got their way and renamed it Winter Festival?
Will Christ be nothing but a swear word?

What better time than now to make sure you grab the best Christmas gift of all? Google a place of worship near you and join in with the festival of nine lessons and carols that portray the story of the first Christmas. 

Because you’re worth it!

With love for the journey,

Julie

PS Take time out in the Christmas season to rest in silent spaces.

Dear God, help me to find silent spaces.

I say ‘amen’, but I think again, 
and instead of rushing away 
to fill my day with this and that,
I stop. I sit. I wait. I stay.  
I listen to what you have to say
in-between the tick and tock 
of my life’s busy, noisy clock, 
and your voice fills the silent space.

Dear God, help me to be still in silent spaces.

I don’t say ‘Amen’.  I start again 
because I don’t want to rush away
to fill my day with this and that,
I want to stop. To sit. To wait. To stay.  
To listen to what you have to say
in-between the tick and tock 
of my life’s busy, noisy clock 
as your voice fills my silent space.

Dear God, help me to listen in silent spaces.

Dear God, help me to hear you in the sacred silent space.