Living – sethlewis.ie

It Isn’t Night for the Moon

Winter in Ireland. The time of year when the sun keeps shortening his hours, and the darkness encroaches steadily. It wasn’t late, but as I passed through our town that evening the sun’s face had already been missing for hours. And yet, I could still see his light. I saw it reflected off the full moon, beaming in the sky in all of its silver glowing glory.

Learning by Experience

The moment I met our first child, everything changed. It happened as quickly as a heart can beat, with a force that took my breath away—my eyes and my heart were suddenly opened to understand love in an entirely new way. I had heard about the love of parents for their children. I had experienced it from the other end, as the child of truly wonderful parents. But none of this prepared me for how it feels when your hearts bursts with absolute, unconditional, unfathomable love for a human you don’t even know, who can’t respond, and whose needs never seem to end—and none of that matters at all.

Thanks in Advance (a poem)

I thank you
right now
for the light you will bring
though I sit in the dark
where I can’t see a thing

I thank you
right now
for the peace you’ll command
though I wait in a storm
that I can’t understand

I thank you
right now
for the gold you’ll refine
through the fire and heat
in my heart, in my mind

I thank you
right now
for the good that you’ll do
for your promise and presence
that carry me through
for this long night of mourning
will end with a dance
so I bring you my thanks
in advance

The Other Side Of Human Rights

Some of the most common language in cultural and political debate these days (besides comparing people to Nazis) is the language of rights. In the Enlightenment era, philosophers began to lay a particular emphasis on the idea that humans have natural rights, and this concept has driven social change ever since. The idea was not invented by the philosophers, it was only rediscovered. It was already built in to the Christian foundations of their civilisation. As the U.S. Declaration Of Independence put it, “We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable rights”.

Our ancestors’ emphasis on rights was a new and necessary correction to a social order that was terribly out of balance. Their culture needed to remember that every human is valuable beyond calculating because every human is made in the image of God himself, and because of this, every human has a right to be treated with respect and fairness by their fellow humans. We, the children of our enlightened forebearers, no longer find concepts like equality and fairness difficult to accept. These values are no longer revolutionary. They are the basic assumptions we grow up with. But I’m afraid our emphasis on rights has led us to a different kind of imbalance.

The Loneliness Of Being Rejected

Loneliness doesn’t wait for an invitation. Sometimes, it doesn’t even wait for you to be alone. Quietly, it can gnaw on you, even in a crowd. It could be in a thousand stony eyes that look through you, in feet that automatically move around you, or in heads that nod polite acknowledgement and move on quickly because your existence didn’t matter enough to engage their conscious thought. The solitary loneliness of the wilderness would be kinder. Fresher. But the worst kind of loneliness of all is the loneliness of rejection. To be known, and seen, and still cast aside. To be intentionally marooned. At least with a crowd you can imagine that maybe if you had the right opportunity and started the right conversations the strangers around you might eventually become friends. Not so with the rejection. The betrayal. The abandonment. They did know. And you’re still alone.

The Never-Ending Novelty Of Staying With The Same Person

Love songs will never go out of fashion. But have you noticed that most love songs are limited to the very first stages of love? They’re almost always about two specific topics: either the excitement of meeting someone new, or the sadness of breaking up. It’s rare to hear love songs that focus on love in the decades after the “I do’s”. They’re out there, certainly, but they don’t make the top twenty lists.

It makes sense—by sheer numbers, there are a lot more relationships that start and end than relationships that go the distance. Perhaps the excitement of meeting someone new seems more interesting than the settled daily living of established relationships. There’s an appearance of novelty to it, except that when every song on the radio is about the same kind of novelty it doesn’t quite feel as novel anymore, does it?

Clouds (a poem)

As clouds diffuse
the sun’s great light
and drain the world of colour
my restless thoughts
have covered up
your glory and your power
at times a ray—or two—breaks through
at times I think I’m glimpsing you
and suddenly the world explodes
in living colour I behold
all things as they were meant to be
(it’s in your radiance I see)
and then my anxious thoughts return
and then my anxious heart unlearns
the beauty of your majesty
the goodness of your plan for me
and in the clouds (the glory-thieves)
I cry, “Lord, help my unbelief!”

The Little Weeds

It used to be a vacant lot, in the middle of town. Over months and seasons the grass and weeds have slowly given way to rows of potatoes, apples, carrots, pumpkins, onions, and more. This is our local community garden. We even have a poly-tunnel that fills up with tomatoes, lettuce, and courgettes that grow bigger than my forearm. Some of our volunteers are keen gardeners with plenty of knowledge and experience, and then there are people like me and my wife, ready to do as we’re told. This year, I’ve spent a lot of my time in the garden on one job in particular: killing things.

I Miss The Stars

One of the advantages of growing up in the country in Alabama was the clear view I had of the night sky. As a child, I got used to seeing billions, maybe trillions of stars—I don’t really know, there were far too many to count. Stars were a given for me, along with the noisy nighttime chorus of cicadas, crickets and frogs. Now I live in Ireland, where most nights the clouds pull themselves over me like a duvet. Under these covers my town is equipped with rows of man-made lights that imitate and compete with the stars, so even when the duvet is lifted, I might—on a good night—be able to count a dozen stars. But I know better. I know what’s really out there in those seemingly dark, empty spaces—I’ve seen it with my own eyes. I remember the sparkling host, the glittering crowd, the innumerable army of light with its clustered regiments and flag-bearing constellations. Can I be honest? I miss them.

Dappled Glory (a poem)

Our world is full of wonderful things, and life here is brightened with moments of grace and happiness so powerful it almost hurts. And then they pass. Like sunlight through the leaves, these moments cannot last, but our longing for more directs our hearts upward, to where these glories come from. That’s what I was thinking about when I wrote this poem.

Dappled Glory

There’s a kind of beauty that
makes the heart ache
that makes the heart long
that makes the heart break
to be bigger and wider
and stronger to take
in the glory
of one single
moment

There’s a kind of summer
that makes the heart sing
and still
somehow
you miss the spring
and long for autumn
as wonders move
like sun-beams
across the grass—
dropping dappled glory
as they pass