Feeding of the Five Thousand

24th April 2020


The Day of the Picnic

I remember the day well, everybody was talking about Him.
We could see Him with His friends so some of us followed.
Others joined us on the way. What did we expect to see?
So many stories, I wanted to see for myself.
Three men in Bethany claimed  He'd cured them.
One, Joseph, he's my cousin, he was lame,
he'd never walked,  lame since birth
but now, I saw him myself, both legs good, walks upright.
So yes, I followed Him to the mountain, I was at the front,
crept near His friends, heard Him ask Philip
where they might get food for the people.
I remember the blue sky, way up high crows in silhouette,
the hot sun ,  His look,  those eyes,
 those eyes loving all they fell on.
I looked around , five or six thousand standing around,  waiting. .
Is He mad, I thought.
Philip was saying it was  impossible, what could they do
with so many?
The other disciples asked around, did anyone have anything?
Shaking of heads, shrugging of shoulders, nothing doing.
But one disciple, Andrew,  found a boy who had  two barley loaves and five fish.
He brought him to the master.
Why did he bother, what could be done with that small offering?
I laughed to myself.
But He took the boy's gift and He thanked Him for it.
The boy smiled . He was happy to help.
Then the master prayed, He prayed over the meager pickings
And began to hand it out to the people,
And continued, and kept going.
He came to me, His eyes soft,
like He knew me. Weird.
He offered me some fish and a piece of bread.
But how? How was it I could have, we all could have this food?
How did it not run out?
Was it a trick, were my eyes deceiving me?
I took it, I didn't understand. I don't understand.
I looked around again.
Everyone was eating, licking their lips chatting together,
having a picnic.
And when we'd all finished the leftovers were collected,
twelve baskets full.
No waste.
I'll never forget that day.




If I bring the little I have to Jesus and offer it to Him, He will multiply my efforts.

Day 20 - The Transfiguration

20th Oct 2019

The Transfiguration

It was strange that day.
He took just the three of us with Him,
Peter, James and myself,
Up the mountain to pray.
We chatted as we followed,
What did He mean some of us would 
Not taste death before seeing the
Kingdom of God.
At the top of the mountain
He stopped to pray
All of a sudden
His face, His clothes became white, luminous
Shining like the sun.
We'd never seen anything like it.
Our eyes fixed on Him
Two men appeared, prophets,
Talking to Him - Moses, Elijah.
We, ordinary men, just fell
fell to our knees
in the presence of God's Glory
Then Peter, excited, exuberant, spoke,
He wanted desperately to stay in this moment
Make three tents, he said.
At that moment a cloud came and covered us
The hairs of our heads stood up
A voice from the cloud.
"This is my Son, the chosen one,
Listen to Him"
We could not speak
Peace came over us

Irish Adventure - Croagh Patrick

5th Aug 2019

On the 28th May we climbed "Ireland's Holy Mountain" - Croagh Patrick. And yes, we got to the top, which was no mean feat. It was one of the must do's I had on my list on our recent trip to the Emerald Isle, along with visit an uncle in Mallow and a writer in Innishannon, travel the Wild Atlantic Way and make a pilgrimage to Knock before the end of May.

We managed all this and more. 

It was while we were in Knock that we decided we might give the Holy Mountain a go, as we weren't that far away.

Well rested after having camped for two nights at the Shrine ( mostly we did wild camping to keep the costs down), and after a breakfast of bacon and eggs, we left the campsite and parked down by the Basilica to go to Holy Mass.
My favourite place at the Shrine is the Apparition Chapel,  where a larger than life  vision of Our Mother with St Joseph and St John are represented . I don't know what I expected from the Pilgrimage, but apart from our own prayers that we came with we were blessed with so much peace, which was only reinforced as we started to hear the story .
The priest in confession told me he likes to reflect that Mary, who spoke no words to the visionaries, is to him, Our Lady of Silence. That each one takes away their own message. I liked that and it was certainly true for us.
I really felt that our going to Knock was a particular call from Our Heavenly Mother, and  that we left having been given many graces and blessings
One day I will return.

Now we were ready to be off, but not before we filled up with petrol. Oh dear, a problem, our travelcard wouldn't work. Panic! As I searched manically for my purse, my heart rate rising , I said  a quiet prayer that I had enough cash on me.  Amazingly, as I'm not in the habit of carry much money on me,  I did - just.  My shoulders relaxed as the immediate tension was over, but why didn't the card work and what would we do without it?

Hubby  thought it could've been affected magnetically because it was  next to his phone in his pocket. 

We returned to  the campsite where we knew we'd  be able  to get wi-fi,  so he could try and get into the account to see what was up.
Half an hour later, frustrated and anxious after many failed attempts to speak to someone , finally he got into the account. Apparently, all the systems were down and it was nothing to do with us after all.
Well, that was good news.
However, to make sure it was working we called in at a little shop to get some Rosary Beads for two grandchildren making their First Holy Communion this year. It was a good call, as I hadn't been organised enough to get them before and to have them from the Shrine would be really special.

At last we are headed  for Westport, a beautiful little town and the nearest one to Croagh Patrick.
To be as ready as possible for the challenge, which we're not sure we're totally up for, we decide we will stay on a campsite. That way we can shower,  relax, have the top up ( we don't do that when we're incognito) and not worry whether we might be moved on.  

The next morning was a perfect day for the climb. Not much wind and clear skies, although a chap at the campsite had done it the day before put us off a little by  telling  us how difficult even he, a seasoned mountaineer had found it . We shouldn't even try he said unless we were used to mountains.
Well, we're not.
 It didn't help, that when we turned up at the bottom of the mountain there were mountain rescue teams - there all the time it seems, for fools who think they can do more than they actually can.
We stood looking up, in our walking boots, supplies of drink and rainproof gear in our rucksacks and decided that we'd give it a go. I mean, we were here now.
It's not that it's the highest mountain, it's more that the sharp rocks and shale, and the steep inclines are relentless.
The last part is the steepest and for some of that I literally crawled on hands and knees, thinking I could easily fall off the blessed mountain.
What on earth were we doing, I thought , as legs, arms , back, head all ached and I realised that we had to make it down too!
From the top, which when we got there, felt really amazing, you can see  354 islands  in Clew Bay. Well, let me tell you, I never counted them.
Coming down was as bad as going up . No wonder Christians used it for penance. We definitely suffered. Two people were carried off the mountain by helicopter the day we did it.
And , you know what, it could of been us.
It was hell of a climb.
We were too tired to even cook a bit of dinner , only having fresh bread with butter and jam . We parked up for the night around 7.00 pm , looking out to sea, so glad we'd achieved our goal.

Encounter

9th April.


Here is the first flower this year on our pond. A sign of hope that spring in definitely trying to break through. There are green leaves also on my rose bushes and they are thrusting forward with new growth .
It was a special moment as I waited for just a few seconds before taking this picture. An encounter with a fresh beginning, right at the start of the promised unfolding .
It's a funny thing the idea of encounter.
How many ways can we make an encounter? There must be many.
I encounter peculiar people when travelling by train to London.
I'll just tell you about one.
For the most part nobody gives eye contact, preferring their newspapers- the Metro, the Daily Mail, the Gaurdian - or their phones on which they watch endless episodes of their favourite soaps or they might be on their laptops and tablets where they tap away as if the world as they know it would collapse around them should they dare to look away from the screen.
But occasionally someone will pick me out , will try to talk to me. Yes, quite odd. And it doesn't depend on weather or not I'm reading my book or looking at my phone. I must have something about me that says, "yes, she looks as if she's desperate to hear my story"
Anyway, last week I had to change trains and while waiting for the next one, standing quietly by myself, a lady started a conversation - just about trains and waiting . As our train pulled into the station i thought ( and hoped) we would go our separate ways.
But no!
She had saved me a seat  ( so kind, you might say)!
So, for the next two stops I listened to her tell of her great excitement about her friend's 40th birthday which was where she was headed. They were going to be going to a spa at a local hotel and then back to the house of her friend to watch films  ( Paddington Bear, no less), drink Prosceco and laugh , yes they were going to do a lot of laughing , she assured me.
I said very little , but by the time we arrived at her stop it was like she thought we were "best friends"!!
"How lovely to meet you," she beamed, "I hope you have a great weekend."
I said goodbye politely and settled back with my soduko puzzle for the last part of my journey.


So, was that a "real" encounter, bearing in mind that at the end of it she knew virtually nothing about me??

This poem from last April deals with the desire for encounter:

The Mountain

I build a mountain , monument to passions,
Daily piling on more earth,
The soil of attachments,
Keeping me from getting close
To you

So much now stands in the air between us
That space that isn't space
Filled as it is with life's distractions
 I cannot hope to crawl close
To see you

And suddenly all seems like dust
A pile of nothing but rubbish
And what's important,  I now see
Is how will  I get  near
To you

So, with teaspoon, I dig at the face
Of the huge mountainside
Little by little arm swinging in rolling rhythm
I throw the dirt behind until I get
To you

Camper days

13th Feb 2020

We seem to always like being near the water. Can't wait to go off again in the camper.  We're thinking it might be the summer in Cornwall this year.

16th Sept.2017

It seems such a long time now since our trip to France and Spain with our camper. The memories, though , are still fresh in my mind and like new bread the aroma of them wafts over me sometimes. So today I searched out a photo of those warmer days. 

I had to stop to take this picture when we were driving  up through the mountains on the coast of France before crossing the border into Spain. My husband is standing next  to the sheer drop of hundreds of feet that are on his right. Notice her isn't leaning on the red railing , or looking down at the view - a bit scared of heights. In front of him there are more mountains to climb. This was an exquisitely beautiful part of our journey. But again the photo doesn't do it justice at all.

Not sure what bridge I am on in this picture but I think it's a good example of the many lovely places we stopped at. Not that we took as many pictures as we might have done, because everywhere was just amazing.

And this is another take on the same river . Ahh, I remember now, it was a little town we passed through and stopped for a while because it was "pretty" . My husband peered into this river for ages watching the fish . He grew more determined as time went on that he would buy a fishing rod to take on our adventures. I'm happy with that as long as we can eat the catch.
He has now bought a rod and is waiting to use it.


I hope you like the pictures.

7th April The Mountain

7th April ( but written on the 8th)

A bit late. Preoccupied yesterday with family coming to stay.

The Mountain

I build a mountain , a monument to passions,
Daily piling on more earth,
The soil of attachments,
Keeping me from getting close
To you

So much stands now in the space between us
The space that isn't space
Filled as it is with life's distractions
Cannot even get close enough
To see you

And all of a sudden it all seems like dust
A pile of nothing but rubbish
And what's important I see now
Is how will  I get  close
To you

So, with a teaspoon I begin to dig at the face
Of the huge mountainside
And little by little with each swing of my arm
I Throw the dirt behind until I get
To you