Danny had green fingers.
When he died
he left behind
not only a glorious garden
filled with flowers, shrubs and trees
but he also left behind
dozens of pots and planters
filled with cuttings, seedlings,
tiny slips of plants
and even cactuses!
Danny gave to each of these plants
the exact same thing –
the opportunity to grow.
“Sure give it a chance”,
he would say about an ailing plant,
“you never know what it will do!”

Danny tended to these wee plants
and, indeed, many of them thrived
under his patient and loving care.

I was reminded of Danny
today at Mass
when we all heard the story
of the fig tree
that produced no fruit
for the third year in a row.
The fig tree’s owner
wanted to dig it out
but the gardener pleaded its cause –
“Give it another year
and I’ll tend it …
Maybe it will bear fruit then.”

That gardener sounded so like Danny!
And I take heart from that.
I can’t help thinking that
My God tends to me
in my times of failure
with tenderness, patience and care
just like Danny did
with his green fingers
as he gently tended
to each of his wee plants.

© Claire Murray, 28/2/16
(Luke 13: 1-9)

Today is one of those days
on life’s journey
when I’m very much aware
of my own shortcomings.
I come before you, Lord,
in the Blessed Sacrament
at the Adoration Convent.

As I sit there beside Paul,
in prayer,
I remember how you reacted
when delighted crowds
presented to you
a woman caught committing adultery.

The crowd wanted you
to make a choice.
Would you choose to follow the Law
and condemn her to death?
Or would you choose to spare her life instead?

You made your choice
and it was unexpected.
You chose not to judge.
and not to condemn.
You simply suggested
that the first stone should be thrown
by someone who had never sinned.
When no one was willing
to take you up on your offer
you simply invited the woman
to “go and sin no more”.

And as I sit before you today,
so aware of my many shortcomings,
I sense love, not judgement
and support, not condemnation.
I sense you speak
the same words to me,
“Go and sin no more.”

“Will you come with me, Lord?” I ask.
“Of course,” you reply with a smile.
And in my mind’s eye
I see myself on life’s journey
with Paul on one side
and You on the other
and I just know
that everything is going to be alright.

(c) Claire Murray, 27/2/16

It’s rush-hour
on a cold, crisp, winter’s morning.
Outside on the street,
facing the bus depot,
stand a well-dressed man and woman.
These are Jehovah’s Witnesses.
Beside them
is a stall full of books.
The man and woman each stand
with hand outstretched
offering to each passer-by
a polythene-wrapped magazine.
Crowds of people pass by
on their way to work.
Nobody stops to take a magazine
or to chat.
And yet there the Jehovah’s Witnesses stand,
day after day,
patiently,
silently
and largely ignored.

Sometimes I think
that God waits for us
in that same way.
God does not force himself
on any of us.
Instead,
He quietly extends
the hand of friendship,
hoping to be invited
into our lives.
And just like the Jehovah’s Witnesses,
He is largely ignored.

As I rush about my busy day
do I make the effort
to accept My God’s invitation
to spend time with Him
or, like all of those busy workers at rush-hour,
do I just hurry on by?

© Claire Murray, 20/1/16

The All Blacks

I heard James Kerr speaking recently.
He introduced us
to some of the philosophies
that are close to the heart
of the All Blacks.

One of these philosophies is this –
that the All Black rugby team functions
like a “V” of geese in flight.
One goose heads up the formation,
cutting his way through the winds
and easing the journey
for those coming behind.
When that goose tires
he drops back
and another goose
takes his place.
The geese fly, in effect,
as a group of equals
but at any one time
only one of them
acts as leader.

In the words of the All Blacks
“We have fifteen leaders
but only one captain”.

I see this in our Folk Group.

I’m under the weather
at the minute.
This past week
has been one
of Lemsips and hot water bottles,
sniffles and cold sores.

This morning
I attended Sunday morning Mass as usual
and played the guitar
but I couldn’t actually sing myself.
But everyone else in the Folk Group,
young, and not quite so young,
cheerfully sang out
all of the songs
and I felt that the Folk Group
was carrying me along with them

Thank you, Lord,
for the members of our Folk Group
who, like the All Blacks,
take it in turn to lead
and to support each other
when any one of us
starts to flag.

© Claire Murray, 21/2/16

Are you familiar with the song
The Grandfather Clock?
The clock stopped, short,
never to go again
when the old man died.

Danny’s garden
is a bit like that.

In his lifetime
Danny’s garden was magnificent.
It truly was a riot of colour.
Danny’s garden
was his life’s work
and a labour of love.
Danny’s garden
was his masterpiece.

Just a week and a half
before he died
Danny took me on a tour of his garden
introducing each plant, tree and shrub
and explaining about the names.

Danny loved his garden!

Danny’s garden started to fade
shortly after he died.
First to go
was the hosta plant
closely followed by
Danny’s beloved lupins,
all devoured by slugs.
Then the red robin tree
that Danny had lovingly shaped and tended
died inexplicably.
And as for the hedge
that surrounds the entire garden,
well, it just struggles on.

It’s almost as if the garden senses
that its caretaker has gone.

These days
when I stand by Danny’s graveside
saying a wee prayer
I always wonder
whether there are gardens in heaven.
I hope that there are!

© Claire Murray, 8/2/16

“Isn’t that a lovely day?”
I greet a blank stranger
as we emerge together
from morning Mass
at Derryvolgie.
Then, just as the stranger
smiles her agreement
raindrops start to fall.
We both look up and see a sky
full of dark rain clouds.
We laugh, shake our heads
and go our separate ways.

And yet, despite the rain,
this continues to feel
like a lovely day.

My day began well –
my dentist managed to painlessly fix
my chipped tooth
(without an appointment!)
And to my delight
this was all accomplished
just in time for me to attend
morning Mass.

But the icing on the cake this morning
has to have been
the Primary Threes from St Bride’s
who attended morning Mass
and delighted the congregation
by singing beautifully,
answering Fr Edward’s questions
enthusiastically
and by participating in the Mass
so reverently.
Their presence
enhanced the celebration of the Mass
for everyone
and most of us left the chapel
with a smile on our faces.

So, yes, it’s cold, grey and rainy
and I’m on my way now
to start a busy day at work
but in my heart
I can’t help feeling
that this really is
a lovely day!

© Claire Murray, 4/2/16

It’s a cold spring morning –
a day for hat, scarf, gloves,
a day to wrap up warmly!
As I drive to work
I see a grey sky overhead
and rain on the windscreen.

Brrrr!

Suddenly my grown-up children
call out from the back seat of the car,
“Look! There’s a rainbow cloud!”
I search the sky for a rainbow
but see nothing.
“There!” point the children, excitedly.

And indeed, high above me
I see what’s causing
all of this early morning excitement.
It’s a cloud,
large and silky smooth
that has been gently kissed
by all the colours of the rainbow,
its delicate pastel colours
shimmering in the sky.

Wow!

This is amazing
and so unexpected.
The sight of it fills me with joy
because in all honesty
this rainbow cloud feels to me
like a smile from My God.

This isn’t just any ordinary day –
it’s the feast of the Presentation,
a day on which I renew my commitment
to My God.
But when I see the rainbow cloud,
this early morning gift from My God
I feel that I’ve got it all wrong.

Today isn’t just about me
giving myself to My God –
it’s about My God, in return,
showering gifts upon me …
beginning, today,
with this beautiful rainbow cloud!

© Claire Murray, 2/2/16

Today is the feast of The Presentation,
a feast day that I love.

I think of Mary
going to the temple
with her precious baby
and presenting her Baby Jesus
to God.
In doing so,
Mary was saying, “Yes” to God
again.
And on this feast day
I always try, in my own way,
to say “Yes” to God.

I love The Presentation
and yet, if I’m totally honest,
I have to admit
that I find this feast day
a wee bit scary.

On this day five years ago
I knelt in prayer
at Mass in Hannahstown
and said to My God,
“Lord,
whatever your plans are for me,
go on ahead –
it’s OK with me.”

The next morning
as I stood in our kitchen
getting ready to do a school run
I felt a tickle in my throat
and in that instant I knew
that I was going to lose my voice.

I was right.
My voice started to fail
and finally disappeared
a fortnight later.
It didn’t fully return
for three long months.

I was forced to stop work
and I struggled through
some very long, dark days.

And yet, towards the end,
I was able to see
the hand of My God
in all of this.

Looking back,
I think that, in my illness,
My God was giving to me
the precious gift
of time –
time to be by myself,
time to be with Him,
time to simply be.

I look back on that time
as a blessing in disguise.

And so, this morning,
on the feast of The Presentation,
I find myself once again, saying,
“Lord,
whatever your plans are for me,
go on ahead –
it’s OK with me.”

What else can I say?
This is scary
but this is My God –
how can I resist Him?

© Claire Murray, 2/2/16

The year is 2000.
My children are all still small,
my kitchen is in chaos
and I’m busy there
trying to get the dinner ready
for Paul coming home from work.

I’m playing my new CD,
In Blue, by The Corrs.
The final track, Rebel Heart,
begins to play.

A slow, haunting melody
of fiddle, whistle and drum
fills my kitchen
and a scene floods into my mind.

I’m somewhere away up in the hills
of Celtic Ireland,
surrounded by heather-clad hills
that stretch down into bog land.
There is no-one in sight.

Then, some distance before me,
I see a massive granite boulder,
the size of a house,
rolling very slowly and deliberately
through the landscape.
And coming from the boulder
I hear the sound of the fiddle
from Rebel Heart
as it plays with gentleness
and yet with strength.
This music is like a call,
an invitation.

One word describes this melody perfectly –
irresistible.

People begin to emerge
from the hills all around,
drawn by the music.
These people are Celts –
men, women and children,
all dressed very simply
in plain woollen tunics
that blend with the colours of the hills
greens, browns and purples.

And as these people
answer the call of the music,
they dance –
a slow, swirling, twirling dance
as they follow the huge boulder
which processes very slowly
and deliberately
through the hills.

I have a sense
that this boulder
is God in Ireland,
calling out to this ancient people.
I have a sense
that this call is timeless,
a sense
that this call is irresistible,
a sense
that this call is eternal,
a sense
that this call has tremendous power
and a sense
that this call will go on forever.

This call is unstoppable.

Rebel Heart stops playing
and I find myself
back in the chaos of my kitchen,
amazed at what I have just seen
in my mind’s eye.

And yet I can’t help thinking
that The Corrs have mis-named this melody –
it really should be called
Inexorable.

© Claire Murray, 31/1/16