I am winding down, and in my last week in the Co Galway village of Oughterard.
My time here has been deep–deeper than I perhaps even know.
I’ll be ready to leave and yet feel sorrow at leaving: the village and its many characters; the beautiful house where I’ve been staying; the towering, sheltering trees; Phinn the cat; the fresh, cool air; the cows, horses, donkeys and sheep…
BY R. S. THOMAS
Moments of great calm,
Kneeling before an altar
Of wood in a stone church
In summer, waiting for the God
To speak; the air a staircase
For silence; the sun’s light
Ringing me, as though I acted
A great rôle. And the audiences
Still; all that close throng
Of spirits waiting, as I,
For the message.
Prompt me, God;
But not yet. When I speak,
Though it be you who speak
Through me, something is lost.
The meaning is in the waiting.
“The meaning is in the waiting”- We are not too good@ waiting – But the experience of waiting makes us whole.
Well said, Bob…yes.
Meaning, waiting. Still have no idea what all my waiting had been about and why so much trauma.
Maybe we never know, I’m thinking Barbara…that we consent to continue to wait, in the unknowing, though…maybe that is everything.
“Through me, something is lost”…..aaaggghhh! Thankful am I that He! does not let go of me!
Kneeling, waiting…He is there kneeling and waiting with us…