May is a special time for me.
It’s the month of Our Lady
and it’s also the month
when I remember Danny
who was born in May,
died in May
and always took part
in the Rosary procession in May.

This year
we decide to do something special
for May
and so off we head
to the Mass rock
in Glenshane forest.

After a week
of heavy Springtime rain
paths are covered
with waves of pine needles
and puddles that ripple
as tadpoles wriggle.

Arriving at the Mass rock
we place a wee posy
at the shrine to Our Lady
before saying the Rosary
while birds chorus all around.
When a cuckoo calls
from a nearby tree
in this leafy glade,
it feels like a gift
from Our Lady –
idyllic.

Back home in Belfast
a friend invites me to join her
for a trio of Rosaries
in West Belfast.

A Rosary in the rain
at the Calvary scene of Saint Paul’s
as noisy traffic rushes by.

A whispered Rosary
inside Saint Paul’s
during Adoration
of the Blessed Sacrament.

A final Rosary
as we walk the wee streets
around Saint Paul’s.

This is a far cry
from the stillness and birdsong
of Glenshane
and it’s definitely not idyllic
but Our Lady has another gift for me –
a memory.

This is a memory
of a photograph of Danny
taken during his final Rosary procession
along the Andersonstown Road,
as he walked along,
Rosary beads swinging from his hands.

I can’t help wondering
whether Danny is looking down
on the two of us
as we walk along,
Rosary beads swinging from our hands
in our own, wee, Rosary procession.
I reckon Danny would be delighted
and I find myself grinning
at the thought.

May – a special time.
A time to pray to Our Lady,
a time to remember Danny
and a time to allow Our Lady
to shower us
with her gifts.

© Claire Murray, 23rd May 2022

Once upon a time,
when I was a student,
I bought a wee balloon china cup.
I still have it.
It’s my cup of choice
when I take a notion
for a wee cup of tea.

The years have taken their toll
on my wee balloon cup –
a tiny chip at the rim
and a short crack,
stained brown.
Not bad for almost 30 years
of constant daily use.

But the other day I knocked it
against another mug.
I glanced down,
expecting to see
that I’d broken it
and I sighed in relief
when my wee balloon cup
appeared to be intact.

Today, while washing the dishes,
examination revealed
that a new crack now stretches
from the tiny chip
all the way down
to the bottom.
Another new crack
reaches half way down.
And I thought to myself,
“My balloon cup is on borrowed time,
just like Danny.”

Something tells me
that soon my wee balloon cup
will be gone.

And so will Danny.

© Claire Murray, 13th June 2012

Mammy often says,
“If you find a grey hair
and pull it out
ten more will grow
in its place.”

I think that the same thing
can also be said
about fox gloves –
for every fox glove
that dies in your garden,
ten more will grow
in its place.

And I reckon
that Danny was well aware of that
all those years ago
when he planted his first ever fox glove,
reassuring Dolores, while he did so,
that this one wee fox glove
wouldn’t take over her entire garden –
sure, wouldn’t it only last one year?

Every year now
Dolores’ garden is dotted
with pink and purple fox gloves
that pop up
abundantly and randomly
in so many corners
of her garden –
among trees and hedges,
shrubs and flowers,
flower beds and terracotta pots.

Thank you, Lord,
for slender, swaying fox gloves
that remind us all
of a slightly mischievous Danny
with his deep love of gardening
who found slender, swaying fox gloves
simply irresistible!

© Claire Murray, 11th June 2017

Sunshine, blue skies and a bank holiday –
what a combination!
We pack a picnic and sun cream
and then make a bee-line
for the Sperrins.

Today’s destination
is the Birren Road,
a wee road
that climbs steeply out of Draperstown
towards Dungiven.

Gold and purple slopes surround us
and far away in the distance
lorries and cars file by
on the Glenshane Pass.
Up here there’s no rush.
Invisible larks chorus incessantly
somewhere high above our heads.

We savour the tranquillity

The Birren is a place
that Paul and I are drawn to.
It’s a place that is very special to us,
a place that Paul has called,
for many years,
his “spiritual home”.

The Birren holds memories for us
of life as a young married couple,
picnicking on sunny summer days
and making snow angels in winter.

But there’s more.

The Birren holds memories
of my late father-in-law, Danny,
who was born nearby
in Derrynoyd.
Danny told us tales of growing up here
and we can picture Danny as a child,
holding his Daddy’s hand at night time
on the Birren Road
as he gazed in wonder
at Northern Lights
which dance in the sky.
We can picture Danny as a teenager
on the Birren Road,
flying down on his bike
at breakneck speed.

The Birren Road,
high up in the mountains,
holds so many memories for us
of our past
and of Danny’s past.
No wonder it feels like home!

© Claire Murray, 30th April 2017

Fr Éamonn O’Brien always began Mass
in the same way –
by greeting the congregation
with a smile
and then joyfully proclaiming,
“This day was made by the Lord.
We rejoice and we are glad!”

In his daily greeting I sense
that Fr Éamonn was sharing with us
his own prayer,
his own personal rule of life.

The week following Fr Éamonn’s death
was a challenge to me
for one simple reason –
fatigue.
After a long summer break
my return to work
left me feeling unbelievably tired.

But each morning
as I sat down to morning prayer,
feeling absolutely drained,
Fr Éamonn’s words would spring to mind,
“This day was made by the Lord.
We rejoice and we are glad!”

My heart would lift
and I would find myself smiling,
reassured that
even in my exhausted state
I was exactly where My God wanted me to be
at this moment.

I sense that if I can adopt
Fr Éamonn’s prayer
as my own
I will be better able to face up
to all of the challenges
that my own life may present.

I find that I now echo
Fr Éamonn’s prayer
as I go about my daily life –
“This day was made by the Lord.
We rejoice and we are glad!”

© Claire Murray, 29th August 2016