Expressions of Beauty

Sometimes I think we don't spend enough time actually looking at each other, in fact when in conversation we often avoid eye contact. Because of this I believe we can slip into thinking that our faces are all very much alike, but when you look closely you discover this is not even remotely true. Each person has a unique face, with its own expressions, lines and features and each one is beautiful in its own way.

I like to visit the website of a friend of mine who takes fantastic photographs, particularly of people, and I'll admit this blog post is most aimed at getting you to have a look. See how amazing people's faces are, don't just glance and move on, but appreciate their beauty.

These photos were shot by Kyle Jaster and can be found on his website: http://www.jaster.co/

 

 

 

A Human Problem

The foremost Middle East question in most people's minds today [as it has been for many years] is how to carve up the real estate. Where should the Jews live, and where should the Palestinians live? How should the map be drawn?
     Deeper than this, however, is a problem that one hundred million acres will not solve. It is not a new problem. It is as old as Abraham. It is rejection. It is the attitude that says, 'You don't belong. I don't want you around. Just get out of here, will you?' Even Christians are in the habit of taking a side [usually the Jews].
     The terrorism and violence in today's world is the Arab way of screaming, "What about us? Don't we count for anybody's attention or respect?"
                                                                                 Taken from Once An Arafat Man, by Tass Saada

In any situation where there are a group of children, there will always be some that cause trouble. If you are with the group for a long tie (i.e. months or years) it is likely that at some point all of them will be obviously naughty. Why do they do this? There could be several reasons, but one is that they simply do not feel like they are being noticed. It might be a feeling that stems from somewhere else, but it can take hold of their life and make them angry and distrustful. I see the same effect in Tass Saada's description of the people in the Middle East.
     Tass grew up in the Middle East, as a Muslim, and hated almost everyone for his situation, but especially the Jews for kicking him out of his homeland. He became a guerrilla fighter for Yasser Arafat but later moved to America. After many years he became a Christian, through dramatic circumstances, and now works to bring peace between the peoples of the Middle East.
     Conflicts like this can exist on a small scale too, even down to the level of a single family. It is so important that we do not live for ourselves but for others, ensuring that no one is missed out or unloved. Only this way, will painful disputes be overcome.

Tass continues:
God is in the business of accepting and embracing the people he lovingly created, not rejecting them. As long as we major in rejection, we will continue reaping a harvest of animosity, frustration and death. Rejection is a dead-end street.

We can make life in the Middle East work again through the intervention of the One who said, "With man this is impossible, but with God all things are possible."

Once An Arafat Man is the incredible story of Tass Saada, and well
worth a read!

In Pursuit of the Lion

There is a Lion. He is descended from Kings, a mighty warrior and he has many names. He goes into dark places. Places most of us fear to tread. But there are some who follow in pursuit. We hunt his tracks and eagerly desire to catch a glimpse of him. Occasionally he stops and we see him on a hill top, or hear his roar by the ocean.
     Each morning we rise and in joy and strength begin the chase afresh. Some days we may ask someone if they have seen him, or can tell us something about him. On rare occasions we find a person who has met him. On those days we don't go anywhere. We implore the person to tell us all they can of their encounter. It's not unknown for us to spend a whole week learning more about the Lion.
     As we go we tell anyone who will listen about our hunt. Some look at us with scorn or confusion, but others are wide eyed and wondering and a few will ask if they can join us on our mission. Frequently we will run, spurred on by excitement, leading us even to pursue in the night, guided by a light we barely understand. At other times we tire, and that is when we rely on each other to support us, we never leave someone behind. Chasing the Lion alone, is all but impossible. The paths are tricky and we have all stumbled and maybe even fallen, but just when it seems we might lose sight of our target he seems to wait, to allow us another chance. You see this is a Lion who wants to be found and so we will go on searching.

Lights

I have taken to standing outside the back door of my house on the hill after it has gone dark. From there I can see the lights of towns up and down the north Lancashire coast. Lancaster, Morecambe, Heysham, Fleetwood and Blackpool. Amongst them are many different lights, yellow, red, white, small, large and, in the case of Blackpool Tower, flashing and glowing in all sorts of colours. Some of them are in steady rows, some alone in the blackness, others scattered randomly across the expanse. It is a beautiful sight.

Be a light in a dark place. Be beautiful. Be attractive. Be genuine. Be warm, but not lukewarm. Be concerned for the right things, but not worried for yourself. Be significant. Be sure. Hold fast and do not waver. Shine.

 

 

My House is Burning

350 years since the Great Fire of London

The night is cold but the air is hot. The water is black but the flames are reflected red, yellow, orange, on the surface. Boat bound I watch my city burn, the smoke rising to the heavens. There are no more stars.

     Before, there were screams and shouts, now there is only the crackling and crashing of falling, burning timber and the distant wailing of women. The men are silent, they can only watch as everything they had is slowly taken from them. The sun will rise three times or more before this blaze goes out, but what can rise from so many ashes.

     My house is burning. Why? But there are some questions that can’t be answered. Sometimes the only thing to do is cry together, or stand together, or watch and wonder together, and talking can come later, or not at all. My house is burning, but my land remains, and we will raise yet greater wonders.

Pic. from the 1666 commemoration in London this month

 

 

The Moment the World Stood Still

The sun had passed the peak of its arc but still hung high, waiting to dip towards the distant horizon, while white clouds lazily crossed an ocean of blue sky. The people who hurried by slowed in their stride until they stopped altogether and the sound of chatter died to nothing.
     I stood up from my grassy bed, where I had lain all afternoon, and left my body behind. My spirit wandered amongst the people and I asked them, "where are you going?" but no one replied. "The sun may rise and fall and rise again, but what will you gain by rushing on through busy streets. There is not so much to be done. Just one thing is important now. Wash your clothes white and go through the city gates. In there is peace and the sun shines forever."
     I returned to my place on the grass but time did not pass on. Light filled the earth, glinting and making little shadows. A butterfly danced by and landed lightly, wings spread, unconcerned and there it stayed contented for hours, until finally the sun dipped once more and the people moved on.
     "Don't wait for another day," my spirit told them silently, "there will never be a better time than now."

The Western View

The rain has obscured my view. My view to the west from the top of the hill, over the plain to the Lune river and the embankment that runs from Heysham to Morecambe. A grey mist has descended on the trees and all I can see now is the football pitch below my vantage point where soggy players are departing after their Saturday afternoon match. Only dimly can I make out the nearest wind turbine, spinning clockwise in its regular, mesmerising way.

               Peering north there is absolutely no view of Morecambe Bay or the southern hills of the Lake District beyond. On a sunny day the fells show tantalisingly on the horizon. Being able to see them but not actually be there is like the few days before Christmas, excitement building inside.

               Today though there are only grey clouds, and not shades of grey, just one plain, pale silver, without the sparkle; stretching across the sky to the horizon and even down into the trees and reflecting off the damp roof tiles.

               It’s dark, too dark for the first weekend in September, (the wind turbine has now disappeared) but then autumn is coming. The view will soon change as the trees reveal their colours. And we, coming out of our summer haze, will think, ‘what’s next?’