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Singing psalms, hymns and spiritual songs
The song leader clearly felt awkward about it. One Sunday morning as he introduced the next song—an old hymn—he apologised for the fact that we were about to sing something that was so old-school. It wasn’t exactly helpful. But it seems that he just blurted out what he was really thinking—that old hymns are old hat, out-dated, irrelevant perhaps. It’s true, he could have chosen his words more carefully. And yet, it’s not hard to understand the song leader’s discomfort. When anything in our daily lives is superseded by a newer, shinier model, it can be tempting to see ‘newer’ as ‘better’. Because often, it is. New and old New…
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Spiritual genealogies
Recently, I discovered a little book of prayers during an internet search. I was so intrigued I had to buy one and I’ve been absorbed in it ever since it arrived in the post. Forms of prayer, for the use of Christian families dates from the late 18th century. It was written by Samuel Knight A.M., who came from Wintringham, Lincolnshire in the north of England. I read the 1814 edition online. But my copy is a facsimile of the original 1792 edition which features a curious 18th century practice. A lower case ‘f’ is substituted for each lower case ‘s’ that comes before the end of a word. So,…
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Fingerprints
As I wiped fingerprints from the kitchen cupboard doors, I got to thinking about why they bother me. Why do I feel the need to remove them at all? I don’t always notice them. In the rush of food preparation and mealtimes, I have plenty of other things to think about. But if I’m paying attention and the light is at the right angle, fingerprints really catch my eye. They interrupt the satin smoothness of the cupboard doors, disturbing the perfection of the painted surface. That’s why I notice them. Grime And yet it’s only when I’ve seen the fingerprints that they bother me. And they bother me because I…
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Am I missing something?
Last month my daughter and I drove over 3,000 kilometres from Sydney to Adelaide and back, to attend a family celebration. We could have travelled by plane—again—and it would have taken less than two hours each way in the air. And yet I longed to pass through, breathe in and listen to our wide, brown land. That’s what we miss when we’re cruising at 10,000 metres. Instead we peer at it through tiny windows, through cloud cover or darkness. Road trip But as much as I love Australia, I do find driving the long distances on our flat, smooth and almost uninterrupted highways a bit of a mental challenge. In…
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New things for a new-ish year
Friends, in God’s great kindness, I have had time with my family this summer, a much-needed rest, and the luxury of head space which has helped me to think prayerfully about priorities for the coming year. So I’m making some changes, planning new things and tweaking others along the way. Write What You See By the end of February, I will phase out Facebook and Twitter status updates for Write What You See whenever I publish the latest post. It’s not the most effective way of keeping my readers up-to-date. I’ll still post regularly and you’ll still be able to visit the site at any time, but only subscribers to…
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Quietly, one Sunday
It was after church one Sunday when she slipped quietly into the seat behind me. I sensed that she needed to speak and to be heard, so I excused myself from conversation with others around me. She began with an apology for missing Bible study the previous week. She’d planned to let me know before our group met, but her courage and energy were at such a low ebb she simply didn’t know how to say that she was too exhausted to come. Nothing left To her, it didn’t seem like a legitimate reason, but this mum with young children had come to the end of her resources. She had…
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Truth or fiction?
As a child I loved to lose myself in the imaginary worlds created by my favourite authors of children’s fiction. I didn’t need to travel anywhere. Just by picking up a book and reading, turning the pages one by one, I discovered exotic places and long-ago eras, And I found distinctive characters who had adventures, dilemmas and abilities I sometimes wished were my own. No matter how new, how foreign or how outside my experience they might have been, these stories taught me true things that went deep into my bones and my soul. They shaped me for a life that was yet to happen. And the power of words…
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Running on empty
The other day I drove to a friend’s house. She lives some distance from me and since it was a brisk shining day and I wasn’t running late, I chose to enjoy the warm light. With the added drama of capricious spring clouds darting across the sky, I allowed my mind to slow down—to stop rushing. Somehow, this simple decision took away most of the stress of driving through traffic. Empty I was only a kilometre from my destination when I noticed the glowing ‘Empty’ light on my car’s fuel gauge. As my pulse rate escalated, I checked the onboard computer which confirmed that my fuel tank contained not much…
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Mess, massage and metaphors
I don’t often have a massage, but I had one for an hour a few days ago and, as usual, I remembered why I should have them more often. I always forget how quickly Harry finds everything that hurts. Harry is a middle-aged masseur who while short of stature, is big on strength. He pushes, prods and probes my muscles so particularly and persistently that I’m relieved when he finally stops. He also calls me ‘young lady’ which is as flattering as it is untrue. An hour-long massage is time enough not just to free my muscles from tension, but also to free my tired brain from the constraints and…
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Of capitals, books and gods
Occasionally I get paid to be a pedant. That’s pedant—not pendant. It means I get paid to notice small errors and inconsistencies in language usage that others don’t notice or aren’t bothered by. It’s a useful habit for an editor, but an annoying one in just about every other way. Just ask my kids. If I were a pendant, however, I would simply hang about and no one would pay me to do that. Occasionally my inner pedant gets a little overwrought and I find myself shouting at the television or at something I’ve read, because somebody has used or spelled a word incorrectly. But really! Why don’t people know…
