The chapter I’m reading is about the sound of poetry, vowel
sounds in words set next to other words stretch or shorten them as the poet
need it.
I skipped the paragraphs on Hindu mantras focussing on
sounds of Hindu words, saying them out loud, twenty times, and reflecting on
how it makes me feel. I would prefer not
to be calling on Durga, the goddess of protection. She might ride on a lion and
have a hundred arms and wield a hundred different weapons – but it/she isn’t my
God. The idea of simply the sounds of words rather than the meaning of them is
something I haven’t thought about.
The next challenge was to write a poem to the gods (or in
my case God) – to write it in a language that’s made up, an unknown language,
sounds without meaning to get a feel for the mood that sounds create.
Can any language ever be truly made up? I recognise in my
poem some attempt at Lord-of-the-Rings elvish and a hint of something Gaelic
sounding. I liked the sound of it.
Eir ruhm engethir
sig nurn
Eir rhut enshrith
as nhur
Shrievne both
giran, oth Gher
Lathne both giran,
Sun Seir
Methlin eir rhum
til blethnir rhun
Enshrir both
giran, oth Gher
Lethir shu
gheldir, en Othri Aan
Bear in mind, here, that I had been reading Jonathan
Edward’s list of 70 Resolutions he made daily. It’s an impressive catalogue of
intentions. There is a lovely one somewhere at the start that acknowledges
there will be days when the last thing he wants to do is resolve to do
something – off days, days when getting out of bed is an achievement. Those
days, he resolves, are days simply to wait it out until he find himself again–
then he will repent and get back to his resolutions.
One of the results of his living in such a way was seen
in the revivals that he ignited. He didn’t
ask for revival, or plead for it. He didn’t
particularly preach with passion and zeal as if to find words to stir people.
He preached the truth that God revealed to him as he studied and as he set to
live his life according to his resolutions.
I would love to see the revivals, but deep down I would want
to be the person with the words and the passion that would stir hearts. If it
was all dependent on living my life to the standard of his resolutions – it might
not happen.
So, in my heart I was aware that my faith walk was a
little bit too mediocre and not quite sharp enough.
The next part of the writing challenge was to translate
the poem. This was what my heart seemed to be saying.
I don’t know how
to walk without stumbling
I long to walk a
straight path
Reveal your way,
dearest Guide
Call me onto Your
path, Heaven’s Traveller
May I fully trust
Your road beneath my feet
Lead me along Your
highway, dearest Guide
To the place You
inhabit, oh Eternal One
It’s one thing to ask God to call me on to His path, but
another to answer that call. In the gospel story where Peter walks on water,
his stepping out of the boat begins with his challenge to Jesus -
Lord, if it’s really you, tell me to come to you, walking
on the water.” And Jesus answered, “Com”. Peter left to boat to walk on the
water towards Jesus.
I walk with
confidence, not stumbling
I stride the
straight path, feet secure and arms swinging
For He has revealed
His way to me, my dear Guide
He has called me
onto His path, inviting me to travel with Him
And as I commit to
His road beneath my feet
He leads me along
His highway, and guides my steps and
Every day I find
the place He inhabits.
Maybe what’s needed is a bit of a re-wrtie – something less
hesitant, less tip-toeing. Something that declares what is rather than what I would
like. I don’t have, or want, 70 resolutions. God doesn’t want another Jonathan
Edwards. He is not looking for a matching pair for His mantelpiece. He just wants
me. It is enough.
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