Nuggets

My friend sent me this...

The Contrite Heart

The Lord will happiness divine
On contrite hearts bestow
Then tell me gracious God, is mine
A contrite heart, or no?
I hear but seem to hear in vain
Insensible as steel
If ought is felt tis only pain
To find I cannot feel
I sometimes think myself inclin'd
To love thee if I could
But often feel another mind
Averse to all that's good
My best desires are faint and few
I fain would strive for more
But when I cry 'my strength renew!
'Seem weaker than before
Thy saints are comforted, I know
And love thy house of prayer
I therefore go where others go
But find no comfort there
O make this heart rejoice or ache
Decide this doubt for me
And if it be not broken, break
And heal it if it be.

William Cowper

Summer-y reflections

This summer has been filled with metropolitan encounters across the globe. My holidays started with a mini break to Paris with a dear friend from University. It was quite a spontaneous trip to try and convince the heart that it could find passion, creativity and respect in a whole array of different things, not just in the heart of another. My desire to write became much more intense as I sat in beautiful Parisian gardens, in the shadow of beautiful Parisian flats with the ornate iron balconies. I wanted to capture it all on paper so that I would never forget the feeling of gently strolling round Le Marais. I was nineteen with a whole load of things weighing my heart down but when you sit in the Place de Vosges with a pain au chocolat all the worries evaporate as you embrace a different culture, a different place and a different you. I say ‘different’ but actually mean that person that you always quite want to be. For me it’s the secret ‘artsy’ type. Not the pompous nineteen year old boys who call Jane Austen superficial (they do exist!) but those little gems who don’t need to boast about their hidden talent because it’s obvious. My friend has a sister who is amazing at photography...I’ve never met her but I think she’ll be one of these people.
Returning home brought reality back, bringing with it a pair of marigolds and a toilet brush. Yet there French spirit still lingered on as I tried to use the cleaning experience as a starting point for some creativity. Some of the greatest authors seem to have waitressing nightmares or dull office jobs that shaped their experiences and are incorporated in that number one bestseller that launches them to fame. After two weeks it was no longer a ‘difficult’ experience to exploit at a later date but a very dull job. I had the time to think and overthink everything – hmm. Perhaps it was right that I worked there and confronted some of the things I was reluctant to face up to. My faith took a battering as I analysed every tiny inch of my heart. Who does God want me to be? Was I being real? Who was I living for? Where was the glory going? Why do I feel like this?
New York was a complete shock to the system. It is a city which tries to be everything to everyone which means it takes a while to work out where you fit. Wall Street or Bedford Avenue? A week isn’t long enough in many ways but it is plenty long enough in others. I enjoyed the subway and the coffee shops and knew that with more time I would find more little places like the Biography Bookstore in the West Village where I bought ‘The Audacity of Hope’. Or the bakery opposite which baked cupcakes that melted in your mouth. As I’m very much in a Carrie Bradshaw moment it would be nice to be in West Village again, hearing cab drivers negotiate the blocks and watching young couples walking to meet friends for dinner. Perhaps it’ll be one of those trips that I long to replicate when I am 59 years old - the young student who goes off to see if that little corner of the world could be hers, not much money but enough to enjoy a few luxuries. Perhaps it’ll come sooner than that, maybe next month when the deadlines start approaching. You are literally on the edge of your seat in New York, as you hop of subways or sit on park benches grabbing a bagel before the next thing. Even the artists I saw appeared keen to finish their sketches quickly. Maybe it’s silly to say that everyday seems New in New York whereas the days in Paris could have easily been the same a hundred years earlier.
Whereas these cities are flinging you into the fast paced lifestyle or encouraging you to stroll in gardens of ancient palaces they are truly experiences that I thoroughly enjoy. Enjoy the photos, but listen to ‘Much Farther To Go’ by Rosie Thomas as you sit and look at them! xx

And I have much farther to go

And I’m so confused

Everything is new and so unpredictable
I should just click my heels together and go home

But I'm not sure where that is, anymore

The Waters Edge