I emerged from another ride in the scrub on day 6 of lent and arrived back at the roadside about 500 metres from my parents property. I thought to myself, instead of going home I'll go for one last little ride up to the end of the road and back. As I headed up to the colder sack at the top of the hill I came across a familiar face. It was my dad and he had our two dogs with him.
I said g'day and stopped. I guess my early morning rides have inspired someone to take the dogs for early morning walks. Instead of going on my way I stayed with dad and the dogs chatting with dad on the way home. Dad's a good mate.
It wasn't always this way with dad. In my late teenage years I was a right little punk. I gave my parents absolute hell. I remember having some run ins with dad that I thought our relationship as father and son would never recover from. Sometimes I can't imagine what I put my parents through with some of the choices I made and the arrogance by which I lived my life. I could tell story after story about things I did that strained my relationship with my parents almost to the point of disrepair. There was a time there where I thought, either they were going to kick me out of the house or I would leave.
Yet through all of this my parents loved me, they provided for me and they prayed that through some divine intervention I would wake up to myself. There were times in my life back then when I felt very alone yet my parents were the unfailing companions all the way.
When I saw dad on the road with the dogs it reminded me of that sense of companionship. Being Labrador and Border collie, they are the most loyal dogs, they'll stick by you through anything. We need companionship like that through the journey of life and discipleship. May we all be blessed with loyal companions.
Shalom
Mark
Saturday, March 03, 2007
Death and new life
Day 5 of lent and I've headed back out into the wilderness down the fire track I've been exploring. I remember, when I was younger there was another track that came off the main track only a few hundred metres from the gate. I used to walk this track all the time but now it seems to have disappeared. I had a careful look for it today and found it. Ever since the fire new growth had been springing up on that track and it was grown over, but you could still make out a path.
I decided to give it a go and see just how far I could ride along this track. I made it about a few hundred metres along the track before it started to feel like I was in the middle of nowhere with no place to go. Instead of getting worried about the track and how I was going to find my way, I took some time to notice and appreciate my surroundings since I was now deeper into the scrub away from the main track.
The scrub here isn't as dense as it used to be. I remember trees and bushes so think the sun could hardly break through. Now 12 years on (from the fire) and in the middle of a drought, the bushlands here have not recovered as well as they could have. This time instead of noticing the new life I noticed more of the trees and bushes that were left as skeletons and hadn't recovered. There was so much evidence here of death that interestingly I did not recognize when I first pedaled in on day 1. It's interesting how we look past the death to see the new life right away because we don't 'do' death very well, we'd rather go straight to resurrection moments and forget that which led to it.
I began reflecting on this some more in the context of what some of mine and Verity's friends are going through at the moment. A few of our closest friends are suffering this tension of holding the reality of a death in the family along with the expectation of a new birth. One couple lost their uncle to cancer just last week, they are also expecting their first child in a few weeks. Other couple are dealing with the loss of a parent. His mum died of cancer last week. His dad died just a few years ago. They are expecting their first baby in a few months.
How do you journey with such tragedy in the context of expectation of new life? How do you find the appropriate spaces for grief and for celebration in their own right? It's interesting, death and new life, it's part of everone's reality and some time or another. It's also Christocentrically at the core of our theology. Having said that, it also seems to be that part of the Christian faith we deny the most. Why don't we do the suffering, grieving, death stuff very well? We generally don't journey with it or acknowledge it well at all, it's too painful. Yet it is there and the scares are always left as a reminder even in the presence of new life.
I eventually emerged from the track I struggled to follow through the fire and drought burdened scrub. It actually brought me out of the track that leads to the grapevines. Now I was back on the main track and I new my way home. My vision was clearer now. My legs were a bit sore so I look down and noticed my legs were covered in scratches and black ash. A reminder of the journey through new life still emerging from a once dead and desolate wilderness.
Shalom
Mark
I decided to give it a go and see just how far I could ride along this track. I made it about a few hundred metres along the track before it started to feel like I was in the middle of nowhere with no place to go. Instead of getting worried about the track and how I was going to find my way, I took some time to notice and appreciate my surroundings since I was now deeper into the scrub away from the main track.
The scrub here isn't as dense as it used to be. I remember trees and bushes so think the sun could hardly break through. Now 12 years on (from the fire) and in the middle of a drought, the bushlands here have not recovered as well as they could have. This time instead of noticing the new life I noticed more of the trees and bushes that were left as skeletons and hadn't recovered. There was so much evidence here of death that interestingly I did not recognize when I first pedaled in on day 1. It's interesting how we look past the death to see the new life right away because we don't 'do' death very well, we'd rather go straight to resurrection moments and forget that which led to it.
I began reflecting on this some more in the context of what some of mine and Verity's friends are going through at the moment. A few of our closest friends are suffering this tension of holding the reality of a death in the family along with the expectation of a new birth. One couple lost their uncle to cancer just last week, they are also expecting their first child in a few weeks. Other couple are dealing with the loss of a parent. His mum died of cancer last week. His dad died just a few years ago. They are expecting their first baby in a few months.
How do you journey with such tragedy in the context of expectation of new life? How do you find the appropriate spaces for grief and for celebration in their own right? It's interesting, death and new life, it's part of everone's reality and some time or another. It's also Christocentrically at the core of our theology. Having said that, it also seems to be that part of the Christian faith we deny the most. Why don't we do the suffering, grieving, death stuff very well? We generally don't journey with it or acknowledge it well at all, it's too painful. Yet it is there and the scares are always left as a reminder even in the presence of new life.
I eventually emerged from the track I struggled to follow through the fire and drought burdened scrub. It actually brought me out of the track that leads to the grapevines. Now I was back on the main track and I new my way home. My vision was clearer now. My legs were a bit sore so I look down and noticed my legs were covered in scratches and black ash. A reminder of the journey through new life still emerging from a once dead and desolate wilderness.
Shalom
Mark
Sunday, February 25, 2007
Grapevines
I set out along the same path for my morning ride on day 3 of lent. This time it was a much warmer, clearer morning and the sun was breaking through the tree tops with bright beams of light. The once fire devastated scrub was lit up much clearer than the last time and I could see just how much was really missing from the density of the scrub from what I remember when I was younger.
I eventually came to the same crossroad again on the fire track. This time I decided to go right, I knew the track was not as steep and there was a great view over green fields through a clearing at the end of the track. As I approached the fence that marked the boundary and the end of the track the view that awaited was not what I expected.
I cast my eyes over rows and rows of grapevines as far as I could see. They ran parallel to the fence line, down the hill into a valley then back up a bigger hill to a house which sat at the top. Half way up that hill, right smack bang in the middle was a huge gum tree. I remember that house and I remember that tree. Actually last time I gazed upon that tree was from the back of a CFS truck on that day the bushfire came through the area. I remember the tree was surrounded by spot fires and the land where the vines now grow was a black desert.
These vines were young, they couldn't be much older than 10 years. I crept through the fence to the other side, I just had to see if they were bearing fruit. I got close enough to see that there were tiny grapes growing. Wow, what a sight to see these grapevines growing on once barren and devistated land. It has now become quite fertile.
Hence my reflection for lent today. Isn't it amazing that even out of the darkest, most hopeless moments, unexpected new life can surprise you in amazing ways.
Shalom
Mark
I eventually came to the same crossroad again on the fire track. This time I decided to go right, I knew the track was not as steep and there was a great view over green fields through a clearing at the end of the track. As I approached the fence that marked the boundary and the end of the track the view that awaited was not what I expected.
I cast my eyes over rows and rows of grapevines as far as I could see. They ran parallel to the fence line, down the hill into a valley then back up a bigger hill to a house which sat at the top. Half way up that hill, right smack bang in the middle was a huge gum tree. I remember that house and I remember that tree. Actually last time I gazed upon that tree was from the back of a CFS truck on that day the bushfire came through the area. I remember the tree was surrounded by spot fires and the land where the vines now grow was a black desert.
These vines were young, they couldn't be much older than 10 years. I crept through the fence to the other side, I just had to see if they were bearing fruit. I got close enough to see that there were tiny grapes growing. Wow, what a sight to see these grapevines growing on once barren and devistated land. It has now become quite fertile.
Hence my reflection for lent today. Isn't it amazing that even out of the darkest, most hopeless moments, unexpected new life can surprise you in amazing ways.
Shalom
Mark
Friday, February 23, 2007
Crossroads in the mist
It's day two of lent and I am actioning one of my disciplines for lent. At 6am I woke up before the sunrise to organize myself for my everyday Lenten activity.
My wife (Verity) and I are currently living with my parents in the wilderness of the Adelaide Hills called Ironbank. To cut a long story short, we bought a house which settled in January but we can't move in yet as we have agreed to allow the tenants in the house to see out their contract which ends in June. Until then we live in a small accommodation block on my parents property with one bedroom a lounge and a humble little kitchen.
My parents own a 3 acre property which borders with a large conservation park. The backyard beyond the boundary of the fence line is a thick wilderness of Australian scrub and wildlife. Every night we hear the grunting of Koalas marking their territory and every morning we wake to the squawks of dozens of different species of parrots. The wilderness beyond the boundaries of the fence line is a bush walkers paradise. It also holds many, many childhood and young adult memories for me.
I am a keen mountain bike rider. I decided that each day of lent I was going to venture into this wilderness with my mountain bike and use the time for contemplation, reflection, and listening for God.
I geared up and rode my bike to the top of the driveway then turned down towards the gate that gives access to the fire track that leads into the conservation park. It was a very cool misty summers morning. It was becoming lighter as the morning broke through the darkness. the mist filled the tree tops and there was an eerie silence in the air. As I glanced down the path of the fire track disappearing into the thick bush I stood in amazement at what I saw before me. I recounted other moments I had stood at that exact location gazing into the bush.
On one such occasion I was dressed in yellow overalls, black boots, gloves and a white helmet. On my face I wore goggles and a scarf around my nose and mouth. In one hand I held the nozzle of a hose and in the other I supported a canvas line pumping water at the rate of knots. Although I had the training and the equipment to fight a fire nothing could prepare me, or my crew, for the monster that stood in front of us. The fire had engulfed everything in our sight and it was beginning to close in on us. Even though we stood 40-50 metres from the blaze the water we were spraying at it vaporized before it even got close. We stood in helplessness as we watched flames leap 50 feet above tree tops and listened to the trees exploding under the intense heat.
It was another 2 months before I ventured back to that spot and stared into a desolate expanse of ash and black sticks left as the remnants of trees. As I ventured into the scrub alone the fire track now 12 years later, I was in awe of the regrowth but also reminded of the past by the black scars that remained on the trees. The mist in the trees was even more eerie now as my ride took me on a slight incline. The more altitude I gained the thicker the mist. I kept riding until I came to a crossroad.
Since this track was familiar to me I knew where each track led. But was I going to encounter the familiar sights I expected from my childhood or has it changed? I chose the track to the left, a steep long incline to the top of a hill. When I got to the top I came to a clearing where the sun was beginning to break through the mist. At the edge of the clearing was a boundary fence and running alongside that was the Evans Drive track. More memories came flooding back. This was the track I used to use as a short cut whenever I walked or rode to high school.
As I sat and rested in the nostalgic moment God gave me a vision, a memory. I was 18 and and doing year 12. I was riding my bike home from school along Evans Dve. However this wasn't just a leisurely ride I was riding like a bat out of hell. You see I had encountered someone on the track, a guy I vaguely recognized from school. I stopped to say hi and he offered me a smoke (not of the tobacco variety). From that moment on I rode high as a kite. I couldn't get home fast enough as I was paranoid someone was chasing me.
At that moment of contemplation I imagined myself stepping back in time and encountering my former self. I just wanted to grab him and knock some sense into him. Why did I make the choices I made when I was young? I was such a young punk with no rhyme or reason. That vision was just a glimpse into a window of a past I would rather forget. That time of my life was a time of turmoil and destruction. Sometimes I wonder how I survived it. Yet here was a young man wandering in the wilderness searching for God.
That vision I had, that vision of the past began another wilderness journey on another level. As i contemplated the me I was and the me I have come to be I wondered, 'who is God for me now?'
That was quite an adventure into the wilderness and maybe a necessary journey of self examination in the spirit of lent. Lent is a time of recounting and showing remorse for our sin. It is also a time to let it go.
Shalom
Mark
My wife (Verity) and I are currently living with my parents in the wilderness of the Adelaide Hills called Ironbank. To cut a long story short, we bought a house which settled in January but we can't move in yet as we have agreed to allow the tenants in the house to see out their contract which ends in June. Until then we live in a small accommodation block on my parents property with one bedroom a lounge and a humble little kitchen.
My parents own a 3 acre property which borders with a large conservation park. The backyard beyond the boundary of the fence line is a thick wilderness of Australian scrub and wildlife. Every night we hear the grunting of Koalas marking their territory and every morning we wake to the squawks of dozens of different species of parrots. The wilderness beyond the boundaries of the fence line is a bush walkers paradise. It also holds many, many childhood and young adult memories for me.
I am a keen mountain bike rider. I decided that each day of lent I was going to venture into this wilderness with my mountain bike and use the time for contemplation, reflection, and listening for God.
I geared up and rode my bike to the top of the driveway then turned down towards the gate that gives access to the fire track that leads into the conservation park. It was a very cool misty summers morning. It was becoming lighter as the morning broke through the darkness. the mist filled the tree tops and there was an eerie silence in the air. As I glanced down the path of the fire track disappearing into the thick bush I stood in amazement at what I saw before me. I recounted other moments I had stood at that exact location gazing into the bush.
On one such occasion I was dressed in yellow overalls, black boots, gloves and a white helmet. On my face I wore goggles and a scarf around my nose and mouth. In one hand I held the nozzle of a hose and in the other I supported a canvas line pumping water at the rate of knots. Although I had the training and the equipment to fight a fire nothing could prepare me, or my crew, for the monster that stood in front of us. The fire had engulfed everything in our sight and it was beginning to close in on us. Even though we stood 40-50 metres from the blaze the water we were spraying at it vaporized before it even got close. We stood in helplessness as we watched flames leap 50 feet above tree tops and listened to the trees exploding under the intense heat.
It was another 2 months before I ventured back to that spot and stared into a desolate expanse of ash and black sticks left as the remnants of trees. As I ventured into the scrub alone the fire track now 12 years later, I was in awe of the regrowth but also reminded of the past by the black scars that remained on the trees. The mist in the trees was even more eerie now as my ride took me on a slight incline. The more altitude I gained the thicker the mist. I kept riding until I came to a crossroad.
Since this track was familiar to me I knew where each track led. But was I going to encounter the familiar sights I expected from my childhood or has it changed? I chose the track to the left, a steep long incline to the top of a hill. When I got to the top I came to a clearing where the sun was beginning to break through the mist. At the edge of the clearing was a boundary fence and running alongside that was the Evans Drive track. More memories came flooding back. This was the track I used to use as a short cut whenever I walked or rode to high school.
As I sat and rested in the nostalgic moment God gave me a vision, a memory. I was 18 and and doing year 12. I was riding my bike home from school along Evans Dve. However this wasn't just a leisurely ride I was riding like a bat out of hell. You see I had encountered someone on the track, a guy I vaguely recognized from school. I stopped to say hi and he offered me a smoke (not of the tobacco variety). From that moment on I rode high as a kite. I couldn't get home fast enough as I was paranoid someone was chasing me.
At that moment of contemplation I imagined myself stepping back in time and encountering my former self. I just wanted to grab him and knock some sense into him. Why did I make the choices I made when I was young? I was such a young punk with no rhyme or reason. That vision was just a glimpse into a window of a past I would rather forget. That time of my life was a time of turmoil and destruction. Sometimes I wonder how I survived it. Yet here was a young man wandering in the wilderness searching for God.
That vision I had, that vision of the past began another wilderness journey on another level. As i contemplated the me I was and the me I have come to be I wondered, 'who is God for me now?'
That was quite an adventure into the wilderness and maybe a necessary journey of self examination in the spirit of lent. Lent is a time of recounting and showing remorse for our sin. It is also a time to let it go.
Shalom
Mark
Lent
It is the third day of lent. I have had good intentions to commit to certain disciplines this lenten season, one of those is to blog my lenten reflections as reqularly as possible.
It been a while since I've blogged at all but no doubt if you're back checking this blog you'll catch up on what's happening in my new ministry and journey of discipleship since I moved from Melbourne to Adelaide.
For now over the next 6 weeks I'll be posting my reflections about my spiritual journey towards Easter. I hope this may be helpful for you.
Shalom
Mark
It been a while since I've blogged at all but no doubt if you're back checking this blog you'll catch up on what's happening in my new ministry and journey of discipleship since I moved from Melbourne to Adelaide.
For now over the next 6 weeks I'll be posting my reflections about my spiritual journey towards Easter. I hope this may be helpful for you.
Shalom
Mark
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