33) A stranger in my own nest
My best mate sent me a message overnight with a link to an old Chris de Burgh song. We used to listen to that track years ago in the car when he’d give me a lift home from work. I didn’t pass my driving test until I was about 22 or 23 – a genuine act of mercy and kindness to all motorists in Somerset in the early ‘90s – so I have memories of always being in friend’s cars and listening to their music. It’s funny how listening to that song this morning yanked me right back to those happy days. I don’t know if I can remember the dreams I had for my life back then. I guess in those days, I was just living in the moment.
These last few weeks, so many memories of the past have come to pay a visit. Writing my Christmas cards to send home each year is like opening the door and laying down a red carpet to the past. Welcome back, old friends, do you know how much I’ve missed you?
Setting up the Christmas tree is another open door to the past. I always pick up something for the tree whenever I travel. Hanging the decorations earlier this week, I remembered holidays all over the world in cities and mountains. Places like the Adirondacks, Atlanta, Austin, The Barossa, Chartres, The Dordogne, Indiana, Montreal, Nashville, New Orleans, Paris, the Redwood Forest, San Francisco, Savannah, Sydney, Tasmania, Toronto, Vermont, and Wellington… The stories I could tell. There are also decorations hanging from the tree that friends have given me, and they remind me of those friends. The first decoration I ever bought, of a frog, goes up each year with a smile as I remember my first Christmas tree. This year, I added something from The Grampians (to remind me of finding the D. daltonii), and something from my visit home in April when I passed through Avebury.
You know, I couldn’t have predicted any of it all those years ago in my mate’s car driving home from work. The sweep of life that took me all over, and dropped me here in South Australia. And yet, I know that God knew all of it. “Your eyes saw me when I was formless; all my days were written in Your book and planned before a single one of them began.” So go the words from David’s Psalm.
Earlier today, I wrote next Sunday’s sermon for Advent 3. The theme is joy. I quoted a French song lyric: “j’avais les mots mais pas la chanson” – I had the words, but not the song. Sometimes we have all the words right in front of us, but we’re not putting them together into any kind of song. In my sermon, I talk about how easy it is to go through the motions, to know the words of the hymns and creeds, to have all the words in our heads, but not in our hearts – and somewhere in that economy we’re missing out on joy. I think that metaphor applies to all of life. We can have the words and still be missing the song.
I loved the tv series Jam & Jerusalem. There’s a wonderful exchange between the characters:
“Well, you know, you see, that's the thing about a wedding, it's just a great party.
And the problem with most parties is that people forget to host them.
They get all the ingredients together, and then they expect it to just happen.
…
It's like people get everything together to have a wonderful life, and then forget to live it!”
Just last week, I took a break between tasks, and joined a friend orchid-spotting in the near hills. It was a grey afternoon with occasional misty rainfall. No hint of snakes. And the only sounds to be heard as we wandered through the scrub were the grey shrike-thrush with its singsong call, and the wind in the pines. In that moment, I had the words, and the song, and nature joined in! I treasure those moments in the bush, in the “thin places” where heaven and earth meet, and all nature seems aware of it. “Thanks for this day, for all birds safe in their nests, for whatever this is, for life.” writes Kingsolver, and I understand.
Oh, I’ve been thinking too much lately. About nests and safety, and where we find home and shelter.
“You keep remembering the first time you saw a bird’s nest
held together by an old shoe lace and scraps of a plastic bag.
You knew the home of a person could be built like that…”
Andrea Gibson has a knack for speaking truth. We make our home out of old shoelaces and the things we collect, and it’s all so fragile. And as temporary as the ornaments on my Christmas tree. I don’t know if this is home anymore. It’s my 9th Christmas in this place – more than I’ve had in any place – and yet I feel restless, like a stranger in my own nest. “God makes a home for the lonely.” So, I should be right at home. Of course, I know one day I’ll dwell in the house of the Lord forever, like David says. I believe it. Paul says we’re already citizens of heaven! I believe that too. The questions swirling around are not about eternity though. They’re about tomorrow.
“My best mate sent me a message overnight with a link to an old Chris de Burgh song. We used to listen to that track years ago in the car when he’d give me a lift home from work…” I ought to be preparing for another lift home.
Olly Ponsonby, December 2024
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Scripture refs. Ps 139:16, Is 55:12-13, Ps 68:6, Ps 23:6, Phil 3:20.
“J’avais les mots mais pas la chanson” is from “Avant toi” by Charlotte Gonin, Slimane Nebchi, Renaud Rebillaud, 2019. https://www.paroles.net/vitaa-slimane/paroles-avant-toi .
“Thanks for this day…” quote is from “Prodigal Summer” by Barbara Kingsolver. 2000. Harper Collins.
“You keep remembering…” quote is taken from “Angels of the Get Through” by Andrea Gibson, and can be found in her collection Pansy, 2015, Write Bloody Publishing.
Jam & Jerusalem 2006-2009, Jennifer Saunders and Abigail Wilson scriptwriters. Transcript can be found here: https://video.witf.org/video/sweet-bride-wcl8nx/ .</small >