I was despairing of a number of things in prayer yesterday, and before I’d sat up I found God asking how I’d feel if he came and sat next to me dressed as a Dementor from J.K.Rowling’s wonderful books. I knew he was both coming alongside me in my despair, and good-naturedly ribbing me at the same time. God cannot look like despair, and always encourages us to hope. But he knew I didn’t feel that way.
Yet when I did sit up, I saw a shape in the light shining through the curtains that reminded me of a stag patronus, and it made me smile. My contemplative heart is still able to see with the eyes of hope, even when my mind and emotions struggle to do so.
Photo and text © Keren Dibbens-Wyatt 2017
First light is soft and cool across the glade, and the long grass lying like hair shimmers with its dappling of dewdrops. I am sitting cross-legged and damp, but in the corner of my sight you appear, as if purposed, a doe in the dawn, discerning my presence and deciding it is safe for us to watch one another. The wind rustles across the greening, like breath across a harmonica, and the susurration hums in my Spirit. I close my eyes.
At the end of the day I stand, still as a watching stag on the rise, antlers aglow, the golden day-death painting one side of my motionless calm. I look to the last rays, bathed in your light, slightly lift my head to smell the sky burnt with colour. What a long way we have come, from one side of the horizon to the other, and always the lush grass with us. I close my eyes.
©Keren Dibbens-Wyatt 2015