The Inkling

simplicity // 28
the Inkling

“I have struggled,” writes Michael McCarthy, for the Independent, “to find a way of expressing my elation at seeing the first butterfly of the year.” Have you seen yours?

“It was a brimstone, a bright yellow brimstone,” he continues. “Using science, and rationality, I can tell you quite a lot about it: that it was an insect; that it belonged to the butterfly family Pieridae, the whites... that in its caterpillar stage it had fed on the plants buckthorn or alder buckthorn; and that it had hibernated disguised as a leaf, probably in an ivy clump, until the first warm day in March woke it up.”

But that doesn't really describe it, he muses. That brimstone “electrified me instantly; it was the sign of the turning year, not just of the warm times coming again but of the great rebirth of everything, the great unstoppable renewal, and the brilliance of its colour seemed to proclaim the magnitude of the change it was signalling...”

My dad and I had a similar experience when walking through some gentle countryside in the late afternoon sunshine this week. We’d already savoured the spectacle of a buzzard circling low, and a heron hauling itself up and away like something prehistoric. But what thrilled us the most was the unmistakable silhouette against the blue sky above us, of the first swallow of the year.

Such a small signal of what’s to come – my mind raced to cricket, fresh-cut grass, rivers, beer gardens, sunsets - but one that lifted the spirits and touched our souls in a way that left us walking in cheerful, contemplative silence, for a few moments, buoyed by a shared inkling.

The turning of the year, as McCarthy puts it: the rebirth of everything, the great unstoppable renewal... I’d say he did a pretty good job of describing what we can sense, deep down, on a weekend such as this, when the world spins towards the light, and a season turns before our eyes, and we feel that fierce and fathomless link to the promise that “I am making all things new.”


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action point:

Look for the simplest of signs, today, and try to describe its effect on you.

Michael McCarthy’s lovely article about science and beauty can be read by clicking here.


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rsvp:

“Have you ever listened to ‘Here, there and everywhere’ by the Beatles with God in mind? Really lovely on such a sunny evening...” George

“Lord
I volunteer
More importantly - you volunteered
Freedom still needs a volunteer - it always did
Only because you set your face like flint and chose to go to the cross
Only because of you I am free to volunteer
Thank you, first volunteer of freedom.” Mike

“For Lent I have tried to give up over-indulgence - not just food, but other areas of greed as well. Making space for others' needs, moving towards (hopefully) becoming a hand of hope for those who have had theirs stripped away. I have grappled with the over indulgence a lot, trying to justify why I needed this or why I deserved that; observing my own irrelevant needs has not been comfortable! Gradually I realise that God has been showing me how I can become a hand of hope... Freedom needs a Volunteer. Love is not for hoarding. May His light become a beacon of hope for the people he wants me to reach my hand to.” Heather

“The place where I am has become too small. Stretching in their cramped home, my roots cause the pot to crack. A gentle crack, because the compacted soil and my roots adhere to the inside surface of the pot, so nothing looks very different. I feel like I ought to be able to get out, but in the piercing blackness numerous unhelpful thoughts disturb my mind. Above and beyond me I see a chink of light which casts a shaft of seemingly unreachable hope. The light indicates an exit (that’s the hope), but I don’t know how to get there (that’s the despair). The light penetrates the darkness, suggesting freedom. I remember that where there is light, there is hope. In the darkness it is easy to focus on the shaft of light and to know what I want and where I am heading. I don’t see any reason to stay here any more. I struggle to be free of the pot. More cracks. More light. Final exposure. Then the sense of being homeless and undefined. In this light place I see that all must be well; yet it is harder to focus, harder to journey, harder to work, harder to do anything. Should I just sit and think? I fear being useless. Should I search for a path? I fear being confined by its limitations. I seek a greater wisdom.” Sandra

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May you be a sign, yourself.
Go well!

Brian