It was the final session of the week we had worked, laughed and cried through.  I had been looking forward to it for it was entitled ‘Art and music therapy.’  Although I am a writer, I also enjoy using other parts of my mind to express my faith and so I knew it would be an enjoyable time – a relaxing time to end a demanding but fruitful week.

At first, we were invited to draw whatever emotions we felt as we listened to a moving piece of music.  If I could remember the name of it, you would agree.   It produces deep feelings of peace and beauty whenever it is played.  Well, I won’t share the drawing with you because it ended up as a page of scribbles and curly lines.  But in my mind, I had stepped off a cliff to follow God’s call into new adventures and was soaring and swooping into the unknown.  My journey was blue, but surrounding me, lifting me up when I started to fall, guiding me and celebrating with me – dancing with me – was the apricot line of the Holy Spirit.  It was a glorious spiritual journey that encouraged me to trust God with my future once again, Visually, however, unless you were in my mind, it was difficult to portray the sense of elation and freedom the music and the emotions produced.

Well, I won’t share the drawing with you because it ended up as a page of scribbles and curly lines.  But in my mind, I had stepped off a cliff to follow God’s call into new adventures and was soaring and swooping into the unknown.  My journey was blue, but surrounding me, lifting me up when I started to fall, guiding me and celebrating with me – dancing with me – was the apricot line of the Holy Spirit.  It was a glorious spiritual journey that encouraged me to trust God with my future once again, Visually, however, unless you were in my mind, it was difficult to portray the sense of elation and freedom the music and the emotions produced.

Visually, however, unless you were in my mind, it was difficult to portray the sense of elation and freedom the music and the emotions produced.

We were then invited to choose a picture from a selection that had been laid out on the floor.  Some were abstract, some of people.  My eye was drawn to a deep blue sky stretching above the arc of the earth’s horizon.  The land was gray sand, rippled by the movement of the wind, undisturbed by any footprints.  Offset from the centre of the page was a single strong stalk, floodlit by the sun’s rays, bearing a seed head heavy with grain.  I tried to reproduce it but my feeble attempts would not express the magnificence of light and colour – and life.  As I looked at it, a poem came to me.  So I thought I would share that with you instead.

I tried to reproduce it but my feeble attempts would not express the magnificence of light and colour – and life.  As I looked at it, a poem came to me.  So I thought I would share that with you instead.  Perhaps it will encourage you as it has me.

Alone,

In a desert space;

Buffeted by wind

Tracing its presence

In the sand.

But rooted firm and deep

Reaching for heaven

Illuminated by golden light,

Warmed by the sun,

Sustained by the Creator.

No visible source of food

Or water,

But evidence of its presence

In my very existence and growth.

Life – in spite of all

That is seen.

Life,

In the hands of my Creator.

As I typed this poem up this morning a question arose in my mind.  Am I the stalk?  Are you?  When we are surrounded by desert, the Source of Life is still there to sustain and nurture.

What do you think?