Yesterday and today involve a lot of meetings and greetings, and not a lot of time for wandering.  Yesterday I did get my hour's worth of walking but tiotally forgot to take a photo.  Today it will come later, but just in case I forget, a quick view from my living room window, on a cold, frosty morning soon after sunrise.

You can just see my 'magic' hills and as yet they have no snow.

I cannot ever imagine tiring of the views from my windows, I am very blessed indeed.

I am running this little experiment concurrently on three platforms.  It will interesting to see how it unfolds on each.

It's a bit of fun (hopefully) and is inspired by today's reflection.

The idea is simple, I write a first line - which is in this post. The first person to comment writes a second line. The person after that (hope springing eternal) reads both lines and adds a third via a comment.  And so on.

Of course no-one may wish to play, and that's fine too.

The first line:

As Mary sang her song of praise, so we now sing ours too...

Today we hear the songs of Elizabeth and Mary, and are reminded that in pretty much every/any people group there is a historical tradition of song, of gatherings in banquet halls or around fires, of bards and makars, minstrels and more. I guess that maybe the British poets laureate and Scotland's makar are in this same tradition of story telling through poetry and song.

The reflection invites us to contemplate the part that song (and let's add poetry, journalling and other creative expressions) plays in our lives.  What spontaneous or recalled music, song, verse arises from within us to worhsip or honour God?

The prayer...

Creator God, who places inspiration for song into the hearts and souls of your people, place in me the song of my heart.  The song you wish me to sing for you, of you, to you. May it well up within me with the sound of heavenly music so that it bursts out of me and comes into being (even if only when no one else is around). Amen.

And a song...

Faint and fleeting, one of the rainbows I witnessed this morning as I walked to and from the univeristy chapel (where it was my turn to lead prayers).  This one I photographed because I had to turn round to see it, and that seemed somehow fitting - a sense of intentionality rather than happenstance.

Perhaps one aspect of the Advent journey is the 'about face,' the choosing to turn and look in a different direction in the hope of glimsping something more.

Among my favourite words in any hymn are these from 'O love that wilt not let me go...'

O joy that seeks for me through pain,

I dare not hide my face from Thee,

I trace the rainbow through the rain,

And feel the promise is not vain,

That morn shall tearless be.

There's a lot of pain in the world at the moment, a lot of hurt and hurting people, a lot of need for hope and glimpses of a brighter tomorrow.

Now, of course, the rain has all dried up, the sky is blue and it's a glorious day... a high speed version/vision of the hope of the rainbow and the hymn, I guess.

I wonder what you make of the image above?  I think these sculptures or babies inside uteri are beautiful.  Created by artist Damien Hirst, and installed at a women's hopsital in Qatar thet are controversial.

A bit like the incarnation, really.

Today, the study guide moves on into what it terms "The First Coming" and focusses on the annunication to Mary.

Here's the prayer offered:

Christ Jesus, as you grew in the womb of Mary, the incarnation began to come about.  As I contemplate the significance and importance of thisd act, expand my understanding of your stepping out of glory, and of your willingness to step into this feeble, restricted form.  Amen.