HAMISH

Belts and buckles, four-wheel

drive utes, Ringers shirts, Ariat

cowboy boots. There is a saying

that clothes maketh the man,

but you're not interested in

conforming to sham. No

drunken brawls or getting

delirious - life for you is much

more serious.

For your eyes are set on

that city above, filled with

His light, His life, His love;

head held up, looking into

His face, determined to walk

only in grace, your spirit

sweet, an offering to Him. So,

I don't care the colour of

your hair or skin, I don't care

where your found on

the spectrum, for I love

your heart and I am sure

we will stand together in

the New Jerusalem praising

Him forever.

MDC 

April 2023

 

I wear this ring

(On the occasion of our 40th wedding anniversary)

I wear this ring with pride.

Pride in what we have attained; Pride in where we

are going. Pride in the witness that we are becoming

as examples of what God can do in a broken couple

willing to turn to Him.

I wear this ring with humility.

It is my seventh. The first lasting barely a week,

our honeymoon longer than it's short, sorry life.

The others in between lost in similar ignominy.

None of them lost with intention, all lost with regret,

but the climbing count of losses indication of

something damaged, if not broken.

I wear this ring in mourning.

Mourning for the many we have lost along the way

and repentant of the behaviours that contributed to

their leaving, at peace that the Lord's hand is strong

enough to recover what we lost.

I wear this ring with the resilience of faith;

knowing that my vows are real, not taking a back seat

in my priorities nor being placed on some platitudinous

mantle.

I wear this ring with determination.

Forty years is no mean feat. Nothing worth keeping

comes easy. While it pales to insignificance when

measured by our forebears, we may yet be afforded

the opportunity to match their persistence. 

I wear this ring with hope.

I believe there is still a good chance that the marriage

we desire is still attainable. What do we desire?

Strong foundations, which we are learning to build, and

the gift of a large portion of His eternal spirit to enrich

our love and lives together.

I wear this ring in love.

Because despite all that has gone before, all the hurt,

shame, and anger, my love for you is still strong, still

enduring, (and I know now,) has been poured into my

heart by Him who is love personified. I know my love

for you will continue to grow until the day we are briefly

parted by death.

I wear this ring with joy.

It is a wonderful thing to be married to you.

It brings me comfort,

it brings me enjoyment,

it fills my life with meaning and intent.

MDC

March 20

Ina

 

Child of the rails with bed upon the platform

You learnt to sleep through the rocking vibration of trains 

passing in the night.

Raised by a widowed mother forced to work 

like a man, and like a man learnt fortitude and courage

to raise her three.

You met a man failing in weakness, seeing in him faith even he knew not of

Married with joy, easily faithful, giving him eight children, never voicing your 

fears for them all

You learnt well, slaving over a hot stove to see your family eat amply

A big ask with ten mouths to feed. You became Queen of the aroma of 

vanilla blancmange.

Never time to do things for yourself, barely time to do things for others

You always made time to pray, establishing a culture that has passed down

To great grand-children.

Your steadfast faith and enduring kindness is known by all

And your days ending on this earth will usher in an eternity

Of holy glory.

MDC

May 2021- June 2022

Add to your faith

2 Peter 1:5-7

So let me receive faith right now,

And let me use that faith to take a step 

toward virtue. And though 

my feet might feel like stones, let 

me take another step towards knowledge.

And though my adversary 

abuse me, give me strength to 

take another towards self-control. 

And another toward perseverance.

And though my way

may feel leaden and slow, let me step 

toward godliness. Though a loved-one 

may step on my toes, may I step 

towards brotherly kindness. May every step 

be forward. And as I go, may I find joy 

in the stepping, grace in the edging 

toward change.  

But if there is little joy, let me step anyway.

Then take another step. 

And another. 

And another.

Until I truly, truly know how to love.

MDC 

January 2021

Grandparenting

She was large, soft and warm

which protected us from her no-nonsense

obedience-is-not-optional style of living.

He was stern, gruff, taciturn, but couldn't

always hide a slim smile when we said or

did something that amused him. He was

tall, angular, hard-boned - nothing to shield

us from his stern, hard-boned exterior.

She loved us by feeding us with the food

of the gods in never ceasing supplies that

were divinely created from a humble gas

stove, chipped crockery and beaten utensils.

He was always busy in the shed, garage or

yard, never happy with playing children

interrupting important things that he liked to

get right the first time. He had no patience

to repair damaged plants, trees, toys,

fence palings and gates that had worked

properly beforehand.

His cure for a splinter was to sit you on

the back steps and wedge you between

the stern, hard brick wall of the house and

his stern, hard-boned body, clamp the

offended hand under his arm, and with a

large needle in his large hand, penetrate

your flesh beside the splinter and rip it out

with vigour and determination. Worked first

time every time, even if healing took a week

or two. There was an unspoken policy that

enforced the notion that whinging belonged

to wimps and women

Each to his own, they say.

And while we gravitated more towards the

soft, warm, comforts, in later years my

brothers and I discussed the merits of his

approach and found a new appreciation for

his silent, efficient, always effective actions

that produced the desired result with minimal

fuss.

MDC

October 2021

Lamentations 3:22 - 23

The hiss of the gas hot-water system firing up outside my bedroom window tells me my 86-year old father is up. His daily rituals are as certain as the dawn.

The thump of a kitchen drawer tells me that my mother is up; her movements around the house as precise as the pendulum clock on the living room wall.

Old age has ushered in many variations but the habits of a lifetime will not be denied. Even the certitude of memory is not convinced by evidence that things are not in their normal place.

They look forward to each day, the new mercies that come with each rising sun all the proof they need that God looks down on them and smiles.

Simple pleasures like the matins of birds and their antics in the bird bath bring a delight that is eagerly anticipated and shared; flowers appearing in or out of season still a rewarding sight.

The difficulties of old age have become a secondary consideration. When their time has come they will not remember the hardships, for the humble joys of righteousness remain forever.

MDC

April 2021

Troubling Favour

(Luke 1:30)

Under the taut swell of her belly He moved.

She knew He was eager. 

She felt alone although He had two fathers.

She knew she would never fully understand.

The enormity of the decision was a weight that grew with each dawn.

The gold, frankincense and myrrh were acknowledgement of what she knew to be true

but they did nothing to diminish her concerns.

The first and only one in her position, only Elizabeth could give scant counsel

She also knew that what was given was holy and, though darkness raged at her door, she would be obedient.

MDC

March 2021

Looking through a glass darkly

My wife says, You look dreadful.

I look in the mirror and see the same me as always. You need to eat, she says.

My brother says Your pain is written all over your face.

I look in the mirror but can find no signs that indicate the truth of his assertion.

I walk daily looking through a glass darkly, illumination only coming after those around 

me testify of what they know is true in me.

I eat and feel better.

(1 Corinthians 13:12)

MDC

April 2021

The View from the Cross

For though He faces a difficult death

He looks now back at long history

And casts His eye to the future soon

As He makes a way free, opportune

Hanging patiently on that tree

He will gladly give up His last breath

For though the pit looks sordid, grim,

He does not fear the dark, the pain

Shrinking not from the cruelty of its awful kiss

He enters into the fastness of that abyss

Knowing that love will raise Him up again

For no predatory embrace can hold Him

And there will be a victory undiminished

No more crying, no more doubt

On our behalf the Father to entreat

A perfect work full and complete

Angels rejoicing with a shout

When at last He says, “It is finished!”

MDC July 2021

Trees are like people

The sound of an axe as it hits a tree trunk tells

a story about the life of the tree; its genealogy, 

its history, its personality. 

An old callistemon or bottle brush will groan with 

a thick wet thunk as an axe blade splits its flesh, 

biting into the resistant phylum, sinews skewed

by the keen whet edge of foreign metal, matter as 

strange to it as alien life will be to humankind.

A dry tone coupled with strong vibrations coming back 

up the axe handle will tell you it's a gum, maybe an 

ironbark of indeterminate age until such times as its 

rings are exposed

The paper bark will catch you by surprise, looking like

a fluffy winter cardigan, its soft skin curling and inviting 

but its resistance to sharp blows can come as a shock.

Take stock - all is not as it seems.

The camphor laurel will greet your attack by scenting 

the air with its perfume, rewarding you with the incense 

of its death long after it is gone.

As we do with one another - we often decide if we like 

a tree from a distance because we like its shape or 

colour, or we know it will do something for us like 

provide shade, fruit, safe harbour or a hiding place

Often, we don’t realise how much we depended on a 

tree until it is cut down; its amenity something we took

for granted until it is lost. My uncle treated people like 

trees - severe pruning being his favourite garden activity

His adage was if a tree doesn’t do what you want, then 

get one that will. Oh, he would graft and prune and 

trim and shape regardless of whether the tree was 

suitable for the ground, the location or the climate.

Sometimes I wonder if we realise that producing sturdy 

fruit requires sturdy boughs. Some people need to be 

handled with tenderness and care, and even then they 

will never produce sturdy fruit. 

Don’t plant an apple tree if you want a dainty flowering 

hedge. Go ahead and plant an orchard of apples but 

don’t be sorry if there is no delicate beauty to soften 

the landscape, or to hand to your spouse after an argument.

Every time I chop wood for the fireplace I wonder at the life 

of a tree. I am so practiced with an axe that sometimes,

before awareness comes, I have one in my mouth,

readying myself to make a deep incision into the 

flesh of an argument that needs to be felled quickly.

Those occasions never end well.

MDC July 2021

A Plumber's View of Light (for Neville)

Light is a beautiful thing; not only does it bring beauty to everything it touches, it is beautiful in and of itself.

It ushers in every day, washing the dawn with the fresh mercies of God. And in the long days of an Indian summer it's fading light warms the world with its tender touch.

I go to work each day, sometimes eagerly, 

sometimes reluctantly, 

sometimes with determination and purpose, 

sometimes with drudgery dogging my steps, but I go always looking for light.

In particular, I look for the light that is mine alone. A gift from Him who is thinking of me in every moment. I have been the recipient of illumination that has been created only for me. I know this because some things that I have been shown in moments have been so personal as to only be for me. Not that I am any more special than anyone else; I don't put myself up on a pedestal. I don't stand on a stage, I don't yearn for the treacherous light of public adoration, but I understand that the Lord throws light on my path so I can know where to place my steps. I know this specific individual light is available to every person, and it's unique application is not diminished by its universal availability, but the light He gives me is not seen by anyone else.

Sometimes light comes in the strangest places; when my hands are covered in the refuse of humanity's existence; when a co-worker is venting over a perceived injustice; particularly when I am engrossed in a task - suddenly the penny drops.

Much of my work is conducted in tight spaces, dim corners, under buildings, in muddy trenches, in rain, in heat, in awkward positions, in drudgery, in discomfort - it is at these times that light often comes.

Light is particularly beautiful in the times when offence has been hard to resist, and the Lord is merciful to me and reminds me that I am capable of being offensive too. And there are times when light is so abundant that I am dazzled by its liberality and I am amazed at how I missed such obvious knowledge.

I am not a wealthy man but there are days when the light has been so lavish that I luxuriate in its glow. The gift of light is such a broad endowment that I cannot specifically remember every happenstance. Yet, I remember some divine sanctions with such clarity that I am more certain of their veracity than I am of the law of physics.

I'm never going to be a lightning rod for popular opinion, I'm not going to grace the cover of any magazine. There is nothing you can read into my preference for wines heavy with tannin or my deep appreciation for prog rock. I give no thought to wishing everyone approved of my preferences. But, I do think about how I may, in my own way, bring a little of this light to others. It will be without fanfare, often without witness except for the recipient, without benefit to me, without my knowing even.

My likes and dislikes do not form a commentary on the veracity of my faith. But one thing I know with the certainty of a rising sun, the effectiveness of my conduct as a man living among men is how my behaviour is informed and directed by light.

And so I go out, each day, looking for light.

MDC 20/04/2021

The Cicadas' Lament

  

Sally, my sister-in-law, half-sat 

half-lay crumpled on the 

front steps sobbing a prayer, 

the words of which I will never know, 

the sound of which I will never 

forget

Her dress was soiled with blood 

and water, and at four months pregnant, I 

instantly knew the terrible truth of her travail. 

I could only glimpse the horror but 

Sally saw all the dreadful desperate 

destiny

Her sobbing tore the air and dislodged 

the sky and when she saw 

me approaching, her sobs 

turned to wailing. My heart shifted 

on its pinions and I was 

undone

I rang for an ambulance, relieved

I didn't need to explain much 

as the operator heard the commotion. 

It's strange how we are thankful for the 

smallest gifts of grace in times of 

trouble

How do I render assistance without 

crossing a relational line? Will there be 

forever an awkwardness between the two of us? 

The uncomfortableness of sharing such  

personal calamity in such an intimate way 

made the air between us heavy

Bird-song and traffic noise muted, 

light lost its gleam, the sky its gloss, 

nature changing its demeanor, 

grieving too at the loss. 

Sally's low keening now the only sound, 

except for the coarse choir of cicadas 

lamenting in the murrayas.

MDC 20/10/2020