65) Fragments from Holy Ground
The wind has been howling through the eaves and the gap above the garage roller door. Every so often a deluge of squally rain throws itself against the windows. I’ve moved into the dining room with its sense of safety in the middle of the house. I’m cold tonight. I have so far resisted the urge to put the heating on – it is only May after all. I’m wearing my thick Tassie jumper, with its fond memories of Midge in Hobart…
Here at the dining room table, the lamps lit, my old Clayton Wesley quiet hour playlist in the background, and a glass of wine beside me, it feels like I’ve stopped for the first time in a long time. It has been nearly ten weeks since I wrote anything for this blog. Those weeks have been spent with editors and publishers getting my book ready for publication. Originally titled, Haunted and Loved by God, like the blog – that title got axed by the editor on day one. Along with almost 30,000 words as the weeks progressed. I’ve humbly accepted every cut and tweak. Gone are the quotes from Ladinsky that move me to tears. Gone are the contemporary song lyrics that reassured me that everyone feels the things that I feel at some point or another.
And what’s left is primarily just my voice. It feels more naked, more vulnerable. I know I’ve always worn my heart on my sleeve, but the book, now, is a whole new level. I’m reminded of the words to the hymn Rock of Ages:
Naked, come to thee for dress;
Helpless, look to thee for grace; [1]
That’s exactly how I feel at the impending launch of Fragments from Holy Ground – the title I finally settled on.
Life has been such a whirlwind these past two or three months. Work has been relentless, and I haven’t seen anything of my friends.
Though there have been sustaining moments in prayer with my Franciscan brothers and sisters. There have been precious hours in the bush, too, photographing the autumn orchids. And, of course, moments in the garden tending to the roses which I think have bloomed for their longest and best season yet. I’ve been planting for spring too: more sweet peas and, for the first time, I followed my neighbour and planted poppies on Anzac Day. I checked on them earlier; while the sweet peas are coping with this wind, the poppies are struggling.
Let’s hope the wind dies down – if only to spare the poppies.
And let’s hope the whirlwind dies down too. Now that Fragments is out of my hands. The book will be what it will be. It will go where it will go.
Earlier on this afternoon, I prepared the church service for next Wednesday. The text I chose was Samuel anointing David.[2] It’s one of those stories that stays with me – the expectation that someone else would be chosen, but it was David who was on God’s radar, even if he hadn’t been on anyone else’s. We read:
God looks at the heart and not outward appearance [3]
I’m often under the radar, but that doesn’t prevent anointing. It doesn’t limit ministry.
A month ago, I took a Wednesday church service at the care home. Some folks associated with Clayton Wesley were there, including my dear friend Yvonne, whose singing voice is a gift. Some of the residents who attended commented on her hymn singing – how it was like singing with the angels in heaven. As if I didn’t already know that from my Clayton Wesley days. Moments of transcendence. Fragments from holy ground. The gifting of God in otherwise ordinary moments.
The wind has been howling through the eaves and the gap above the garage roller door. Every so often a deluge of squally rain throws itself against the windows. I’ve moved into the dining room with its sense of safety in the middle of the house. I’ll make supper and say Compline before heading to bed. I should sleep well tonight.
Olly Ponsonby, May 2026
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[1] Augustus Toplady, Rock of Ages. 1776. Public domain.
[2] 1 Samuel 16:1-13
[3] 1 Samuel 16:7