Words From The Edge

A couple of weeks ago a middle-sized tip truck slid two cubic metres of cut wood on to our driveway. We paid the bill and the truck disappeared round the bend before we voiced the daunting reality; who is going to stack it?

Since we moved to our home among the gum trees of Warrandyte a winter luxury has been an open fire every evening. This year however, the amount of wood we had gathered over the years, along with a growing physical ability to stack it, had dwindled. We had a problem.

Asking for help doesn’t come easy, but that’s what we did. A carefully worded ‘help wanted’ post on the local Face Book page resulted in one response. Somewhat diffidently we gave the caller our address and arranged a time.

The middle-aged couple who had answered our plea for help quietly rejected our advertised offer of payment, with the excuse that they liked to give help where it’s needed and set to work. They not only left our back veranda neatly stacked with enough wood to light an evening fire over the coming winter months, but as they worked they shared some of their life story, leaving room for ours as well. Our embarrassment at having to ask for help was gradually swallowed up by the gift of their youthful energy and cheerful presence.

A winter fire is warm and comforting.  While it can be contained spatially in a wood burner or fireplace, its free-form shape can’t. Swirling, dancing, leaping, crackling, it’s enthralling and eye-catching, it drifts a watcher into wordless reflection as the flames embrace the timber and gift it into heat and light.  

Maybe that’s where the expression “all fired up” comes from- a moment or an experience when you feel that nothing can stop that surge of breathless excitement that leaves possibilities in its smoky trail. When the fire burns down, there’s always a question caught up among the blackened embers – how do you bring those firey dreams to life? It might mean taking part in a demonstration march for a cause that stirs you up, or volunteering like my wood stackers, answering a call for help. Or it might be something deeply personal, a longing or yearning that never lets go.  

 Jesus was no stranger to that burning desire to DO something. You can hear the longing in his words, “I have come to bring fire to the earth, and how I wish it were blazing already!”  He had  left his home in Nazareth to preach the Good news of God’s love, healed the sick, gathered a small group of followers, had words with the Temple priests and treated women with love and respect.  

Death seemingly put an end to Jesus’ burning desire to scatter the earth with that fire. We call it the Spirit of God and Jesus promised it would be with us forever. Sometime this winter find yourself a firelit space, or even light a candle in a dark room. Watch the flickering flame and let it find an answering response in you.

Judith judith@judithscully.com.au

In Praise of Women who Mother

As linguists they  decode  baby cries into” I’m bored”, “I’m hungry”, “ My nappy’s wet”,  graduating through toddler talk to a working knowledge of teenage slang –for information only.   

As diplomats they smilingly attend parent teacher interviews, negotiate the minefield of adolescent relationships and pray that God understands what it’s like to parent.    

As mediators they walk a daily tightrope answering the needs and relationships involved in being seen as a mother or a partner, an employee, a friend and a sibling.   

As peace-makers they are constantly called upon to listen to competing stories with justice, intuitively coupled with experience masquerading as eyes-in-the- back- of my- head and a dash of deep concern for the underdog.

As educators they hear the questions – weird, curly, repetitive, embarrassing and unanswerable though they may be – and do their best to answer them, all the time knowing that one day the child will overtake the parent

As psychologists they know who needs a hug and when, the time to hold on and the time to let go and, most importantly, when it’s OK to forget the housework and fly kites in the park.

As taxi drivers they share a car with assorted young people,  empty water bottles, take away wrappers and odd pieces of clothing, one eye on the road ahead and the other on the rear vision mirror in an effort to discern what is going on in the back seat.

As chefs they are somewhere between  My Kitchen Rules and Master Chef, welcoming extras to the table, familiar with a dozen ways to disguise vegetables and  how to make a birthday cake that looks almost like one in the Woman’s Weekly Cookbook.   

As healers they soothe the cracks in broken hearts and dispense Mickey Mouse band aids, kisses and emergency visits to outpatients.  

As bankers they dole out pocket money in accordance with age and responsibilities, develop a keen eye for bargains and never forget that the mortgage and power bills come before designer – anythings.

As mystics they know that God is always there, in the joy of a family moment, the anguish of an unwanted diagnosis, in bone-wearying tiredness, when money is tight and in the flash of love –from whoever and wherever.

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