This is the personal blog of alisonraymond

She sells real estate.
You are;
The “Older style of property in an up and coming district, in need of some attention, but with bags of charm”.
Your image is pinned in her shop window, flatteringly back lit on a crisp winter morning.

She’s the viewer.
“Remember?”
“Last Saturday, 3.20pm, bottle green BMW?”

You are;
“That funny little place on the wrong side of the road, with the pokey little rooms which could be knocked through into one and that awful shaker style kitchen with contrasting worktops, so passé!”

A surveyor came.
On a dark and rainy February evening she explored your loft casting torchlight into every dark place. She raised your floorboards and tested your render, and she declared you “worth the asking price”.

I am the vendor.
You it is who shared my life. In your shelter dwelt the family that is me.
The lovers, the parents, the children. The difficult relative who only came “for a day or so” but who stayed for months.

I was your wear and tear.
You gave me shelter. I lit and heated the rooms.
The fragrances of the kitchen welcomed all and the little rooms gave cosy respite from the storms.

We live in around and for each other.
You are my body, I am your spirit
The mortgage is paid and you are off the market.

This is a short reflection on the theme of faith triggered by having enjoyed the current television series in which Prof. Richard Dawkins is exploring evolutionary biology. As a scientist, but with religious faith, I feel no conflict, although some would say I should. In this piece I am trying to express my position.

The Eagle never sees the wind which raises it to heaven,

The baker kneads the dough with yeast and marvels at the leaven,

The men of science gaze in awe upon the depths of space,

and somewhere deep inside my heart I sense a spark of faith.

A faith that says I’m loved by one who made all that I see,

That He who taught us how to live was tortured on a tree,

That humankind is destined to live with God one day,

and sometimes in the quiet, a small voice bids me “Pray.”

My soul prays for my children and children everywhere,

I pray we get our daily bread, fresh water, cleaner air,

I ask God for forgiveness for the times when I’ve done wrong,

and on my knees I offer thanks and praise Him with a song.

My Lord said “It is time to go forth” and trembling I placed my foot upon the ancient wooden bridge and in fear I cried out.
“Surely the timbers will fail and I will be cast into the torrent, swept away by the icy flow or dashed upon the unyielding boulders in the shallows”

But my Lord answered softly from the ferns and the moss laden trees “The bridge is mine, upon my word the seed burst which gave life to the mighty tree which lies here. Upon my chosen day was it hewn from the forest and fashioned by craftsmen blessed with the skills which I gave. If you will not trust my bridge then in what will you place your faith? If not in me, then in whom?”… and I began to cross…

In a flash of royal blue a kingfisher rent the firmament and the glory of my Lord blazed upon its wake.

From the middle of the bridge I saw unfamiliar lands ahead and barren wastes behind and again I cried aloud “Lord your bridge leads to an alien land. I shall be despised by those who dwell there and even the barren landers among whom I once lived will not have me back. Am I to live forever on this bridge blasted by the wind and soaken by the icy spray from the maelstrom?”

And from the tumbling waters my Lord called “Is it not by my decree that this bridge lies here to join these two lands, and by my calling that you stand upon it? Would I then lead you to such a life my precious child? Trust in me, follow my voice, for my way leads you home to me.”

And my shamed eyes fell to the swirling current far below and to the mild eddy pools where the brown trout and the char rest in the dappled warmth.

But one step more and the bridge was crossed. Feet rested secure upon the Earth of yellow and ochre…solid ground now, new ground. Some among the new landers came forward to meet me smiling, others hid their faces in fear, afraid…of me, newly come from another place.

Once more my Lord spoke to me and His voice flowed in the light and shade beneath the verdant forest canopy and in the gentle breeze which arose from the gorge, saying “Everyone of these is my beloved child as you. Share now their joys and sorrows, their courage and fear, their comfort and pain…and allow others to share yours…for this is your land now, welcome home!”

And I turned to look back across the bridge from whence I came. I beheld the people who dwelt there and in my joy I now saw that they too were happy in their land, not barren but different, their land not mine! And as I looked I heard another’s voice calling above the rush of the waters saying “Good fortune be with you friend!” and here and there among the throng I saw hands waving and faces smiling, and I gave thanks to my Lord.

Like many of my generation, one of the staples of every childhood Christmas would be the annual comic book. The front cover always featured the main characters in some impossibly snow blanketed version of their weekly haunts while the inner pages included, amongst the stories and cartoon strips, odd little games and puzzles.

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