The Corrs

The Corrs are in concert tonight
and it’s been one mad rush
just to get here –
a hectic day at work
followed by grid-locked traffic.
But we made it here
eventually
and we finally sit down in our seats
with a huge sense of relief.

The concert begins.

The Corrs sing with real passion
and perform with such energy!
An enthusiastic audience whoops, stamps,
cheers and calls out,
singing along to old favourites
and waving thousands of tiny mobile phone torches
which sway gently in the darkness.

The stage shimmers and bursts
into so many colours –
silver and gold, orange and kingfisher blue.
Tiny orbs change in colour
as they rise and fall,
performing their own dance of light
above the stage.
And behind The Corrs
live footage of the concert
appears in gargantuan proportions.

Wow!

Such an amazing atmosphere –
an audience which is clearly entranced
and The Corrs
who are clearly delighted!

And yet for me,
the highlight of the evening is simply this –
sharing this magical, musical experience
with the one I love.

Thank you, Lord,
for the wonderful gift of the love
that Paul and I share
and for the precious gift
of the time that we get to spend
together.

© Claire Murray, 29th January 2016

This is the One I Love

We used to play a game
when I was in primary one
at the Long Tower Girls’ School
in Derry.

The game was called
“Run Around Derry”.
It involved the whole class
sitting in a ring
while one girl
ran all around it
as we sang.

When we chorused
“This is the one I love,
I love, I love.
This is the one I love,
E – I – O!”
the runner would select
another girl
to take her place.
Then the game, and the song,
would start all over again.

That all seems
like a long, long time ago!

At night time
when I slip into bed
and snuggle up beside Paul
that song often pops
into my head
and I find myself thinking,
“This is the one I love!”
And I have a strong sense
that right here,
by Paul’s side,
is exactly where I belong.

I quickly give thanks to My God
as I drift off
into sleep.

© Claire Murray, 16th January 2016

This is the One I Love

We used to play a game
when I was in primary one
at the Long Tower Girls’ School
in Derry.

The game was called
“Run Around Derry”.
It involved the whole class
sitting in a ring
while one girl
ran all around it
as we sang.

When we chorused
“This is the one I love,
I love, I love.
This is the one I love,
E – I – O!”
the runner would select
another girl
to take her place.
Then the game, and the song,
would start all over again.

That all seems
like a long, long time ago!

At night time
when I slip into bed
and snuggle up beside Paul
that song often pops
into my head
and I find myself thinking,
“This is the one I love!”
And I have a strong sense
that right here,
by Paul’s side,
is exactly where I belong.

I quickly give thanks to My God
as I drift off
into sleep.

© Claire Murray, 16/1/16

Wasteland

A window at my work
looks out over
a huge expanse of wasteland –
slabs of concrete and cobbles,
all beginning to sprout wild grass
and buddleias.
Hundreds of old car tyres
lie in a heap,
huge puddles lie everywhere
and broken fencing is scattered
all around.

This really is a picture of desolation.

This winter’s morning
I rush down the corridor
on my way to start work
when something catches my eye.
When I turn around to look
I am just in time
to look through that window
and see the sun rising
above the Craigantlet Hills.

This is not a spectacular sunrise.
The whole of the Belfast sky
has not been lit up
with glowing colours
and passers-by will not be
reaching for their cameras.
This sunrise is very simple
very unassuming.

I watch
and as this winter sun slowly rises,
gently lighting up the Belfast sky,
a sense of calm grows within me.
Standing at the window
on the brink of a busy day at work
I feel at peace.

Isn’t it amazing
how there is beauty to be found
everywhere –
even in a wasteland?

© Claire Murray, 15 Jan 2015

Joseph and Mary

ChristmasCardCrop

All good things
must come to an end,
or so they say.

This evening we went
to the vigil Mass
for the feast of the Epiphany.

On one hand
I rejoice in this –
exotic kings,
robed in splendour,
surrounded in mystery
and steeped in wisdom,
entering a cow shed
to bow down
before a Baby Jesus,
born in poverty.
I delight to see My Lord,
the Baby Jesus,
given his rightful place.

On the other hand
I feel saddened
because this signifies the end
of the Christmas season.
My heart sinks
at the thought of an end
to my beloved Christmas carols.
An end to silent nights, mangers,
shepherds and kings.
And end to stars and angels,
lambs and donkeys.
And end to songs
about drummer boys
and a beautiful first time mother
nursing her baby.

Lord,
your wonderful gift of music
has touched my heart
and stirred my soul
this Christmas season
but deep inside I know
that all good things
must come to an end –
even this lovely Christmas.

© Claire Murray, 5th January 2016

All Good Things …

All good things
must come to an end,
or so they say.

This evening we went
to the vigil Mass
for the feast of the Epiphany.

On one hand
I rejoice in this –
exotic kings,
robed in splendour,
surrounded in mystery
and steeped in wisdom,
entering a cow shed
to bow down
before a Baby Jesus,
born in poverty.
I delight to see My Lord,
the Baby Jesus,
given his rightful place.

On the other hand
I feel saddened
because this signifies the end
of the Christmas season.
My heart sinks
at the thought of an end
to my beloved Christmas carols.
An end to silent nights, mangers,
shepherds and kings.
And end to stars and angels,
lambs and donkeys.
And end to songs
about drummer boys
and a beautiful first time mother
nursing her baby.

Lord,
your wonderful gift of music
has touched my heart
and stirred my soul
this Christmas season
but deep inside I know
that all good things
must come to an end –
even this lovely Christmas.

© Claire Murray, 5th January 2016

The Welcome I Receive

This Boxing Day morning
as I go into our living room
to spend time in prayer
I pause for a few moments
before our wee crib.
I’m struck by how basic
a stable would have been,
providing the bare necessity of shelter
and absolutely nothing more.
Surely the holy family deserved
so much more than this?

And I feel guilty.
I had such plans
for all of the spiritual preparation
I was going to do
for Christmas
but I got so little of it done.
I feel that, spiritually,
my preparation for the Baby Jesus
has been very basic,
as basic, really, as that stable was.

Unexpectedly
I find myself thinking
about how I feel
when I go to visit someone
in their home.

I’m not really interested
in whether the house
is like something I would see
on the “Grand Designs” TV programme
or just a tiny bedsit.
I’m not really interested
in whether the house
is beautifully decorated
and furnished
and I’m not really interested
in whether the house is spick and span
or untidy.
Only one thing interests me –
the welcome that I receive.

And as I stand before our wee crib,
conscious of my many faults
and shortcomings
I feel a strong sense
of being so unprepared
to welcome the Baby Jesus
and yet so delighted
that He has come.
And I sense Jesus whisper to me,
“Claire,
I’m not really interested
in the fact that you weren’t prepared –
I’m just delighted
at the welcome I received from you
today.”

© Claire Murray, 26th December 2015

No Room at the Inn

We were camping in Scotland
and had just endured
48 hours of non-stop rain.
We arrived, cold and wet
at a campsite in Stirling
late at night.

The campsite owner opened the door
and, in answer to our question,
told us the camping rate
for the night.
Our faces fell –
we were only students
and we couldn’t afford that.

The campsite owner’s wife
juked around the door
and a whispered conversation ensued.
“Let them sleep on the floor,”
whispered the wife.
“No, no!” hissed the campsite owner.

We left, downcast,
and cycled off into the darkness
in a town we didn’t know.

Tonight at St Agnes’ carol service
that memory resurfaced
when the children’s choir chorused,
“There isn’t any room
and you can’t stay here.
There isn’t any room for strangers!”

And for the first time in my life
I had an inkling
of the disappointment
that Mary and Joseph must have felt
when they were told
that there was no room at the inn.

Thank you, Lord,
for the children of St Agnes’ choir
who, tonight, brought life
to the Christmas story.

© Claire Murray, 20th December 2015

Thanksgiving

When I kneel down
at vigil Mass
I consider all of the intentions
that I have been praying for,
trying to decide
which of these to pray for
during this Mass.

I find myself wondering
whether My God ever gets fed up
with me
and everyone else
asking, asking, asking?

I remember the story
of the ten lepers
and how disappointed Jesus was
when only one returned
to say, “Thanks!”

I decide that during tonight’s Mass
I will pray in thanksgiving
for the many blessings
in my life.

And so I give thanks
for Paul and our children,
for love, health,
family and friends.

As it turns out,
today’s Gospel happens to be
my favourite –
The Visitation –
when Elizabeth says to Mary,
“Blessed is she who believed
that the promise made her by the Lord
would be fulfilled.”

Tonight, at vigil Mass,
I sense My God say those words to me.
I am convinced
that My God is already busy
taking care of my prayer intentions
and that my decision
to spend my time during Mass
in thanksgiving
was, indeed, the right one.

© Claire Murray, 19th December 2015

Glenshane Sunset

Driving down the Glenshane Pass
on our way home from Derry,
mile after mile of green fields
stretch out before us.

The setting winter sun
gently illuminates clouds all around
painting softly glowing colours everywhere –
golden, orange tones on one side
and pastel blues and pinks on the other side.

Thank you, Lord,
for the gentle glow of sunsets
to gladden the heart
and still the soul.

© Claire Murray, 19th December 2015