Wee Red Light

“The wee red light
means that God is home”,
Mammy whispered
as she pointed with reverence
at the red sanctuary lamp
away up at the altar.

Brenda, my sister, and I
were fascinated
as our child minds processed
this information.
And between us,
we worked it out –
God, who was in the tabernacle,
must be keeping this wee light lit!
We stared up at the altar,
transfixed,
watching with wonder
this tiny, red, glowing miracle
taking place
right before our very eyes!

Wow!

Then one day
when I was about eight years old,
we called into the chapel
at Dunfaghy, Donegal
to say a wee prayer.
After a while
we left Mammy and Daddy in the chapel
and headed outside
to play.

Running round the back of the chapel
I stopped suddenly
and stared
horrified.
There, lying in a heap,
were dozens of burnt-out
sanctuary lamp candles –
cracked, slightly-blackened
and thrown on the ground
like ordinary rubbish!

In that moment I realised
that it was only a very ordinary candle
that was keeping the sanctuary lamp lit –
not God himself.

I was stunned.

I’m all grown-up now
and much has changed in my life
but the wee red light in the chapel
continues to fascinate me
and draw me in.
And even though I now know
that it’s only a candle
one thing remains unchanged –
the wee red light still means
that God is home.

And that’s good enough for me.

© Claire Murray, 25th May 2019

The Nettle

A thin strip of ground
stretches along the foot path
in front of the car wash.
It’s just a couple of inches wide
and looks for all the world
as if it’s just stones
and gravel.

And yet there’s life here.

Several hardy plants
have taken root –
a few nettles
and a tiny sycamore tree!

Some work man has lined up
a series of traffic cones
along this narrow strip.
And guess what has popped its head
out of one of the traffic cones?

A nettle!

There it stands –
about two inches of nettle
nodding in the breeze
and quivering in the sunlight
on this sunny May evening.

Wow!
This wee nettle
is surely one of nature’s gladiators
as it battles for life
against all odds!

Thank you, Lord,
for this wee nettle,
this slightly-straggly beacon of hope
reminding me
to keep fighting
during those times
when life unexpectedly
throws a spanner in the works.

© Claire Murray, 15th May 2019

Blossoms

I nip out to the garage
for just a wee minute
but find that I have to sprint
back into the house
to dodge an unexpected shower of rain.

Just as I reach the back door
a faint fragrance fills the air
and I pause at the door
sniffing the air
just like a Bisto kid
as I try to find the source
of that light perfume.
After a moment I find it –
it’s the rowan tree
beside our back door!

Tomorrow is Vocation Sunday
and sometimes I wonder
what I am called to do.
I am called to be
many things in life –
a wife, a mother, a teacher.
But I feel called
to do more than that –
I feel called
to spread a little bit of God
through writings
and through song.
These actions are tiny
and they often strike me
as quirky.
But I can’t help it –
it’s what I feel called to do.

I wonder whether,
through my writing and singing
I am called to bring
a wee flavour of God
into ordinary, everyday life?
Not overpowering –
just a gentle reminder
of our extraordinary God
in the midst of the ordinary?
A reminder that is light,
just like the fragrance
of the rowan blossom
at our back door.

© Claire Murray, 11th May 2019

Rusty Wire

It’s a glorious Sunday afternoon
in May
and we have headed off
to the Birren Road
away up in the Sperrins.

After a picnic
we dander along this mountain road.
The sun blazes down
and larks chorus overhead
as they climb high into the blue sky
before plummeting to earth
singing all the while.

Blue skies, bird song and sun cream –
who could ask for more?

Then I spot the fly in the ointment –
here in the midst
of this heathery expanse of beauty
a farmer has deposited
a huge, rusting, coil of sheep wire –
a functional but unsightly way
to seal a gap
beside a huge gate.
Such an eyesore!

As I turn to continue
the most beautiful bird song
fills the air
and I glance round
to see if I can spot the singer.

And there it is –
a tiny, brown lark
has actually chosen this rusting coil of wire
as his perch of choice
and is singing his wee heart out!

Such beauty among ugliness!

And sure isn’t that always the way –
if only we take the time to look?

© Claire Murray, 3rd May 2019