Contentment 20.05.2019


21 May
21May

It is a long time since I wrote a blog entry, but turning seventy seems like a good reason to put my fingers to the keys.

Yesterday, I was inundated with birthday wishes from family and friends, by email, Facebook, WhatApp, Messenger, SMS and i-messages and not least by cards which rained through my letterbox. Truly a day of blessings.

Many people encouraged me to enjoy the day, and I was asked many times what I was doing to mark the occasion. My reply might have been a surprise or a disappointment for truth to tell I was busy at home. I spent the morning walking the streets of the village where I live delivering leaflets related to the upcoming elections in 2 days time, followed by a trip to the dentist and then time in the garden uprooting fence posts and planting summer bedding.

At the end of the day I confess to being rather tired, but pleased with a day that felt fruitful and constructive, and I relaxed in the evening with a TV documentary on the artist Goya with a glass of red wine and an excellent dinner for two.

Paul wrote nearly 2000 years ago in a letter to a church that he had founded some years before, in the ancient city of Philippi (in Northern Greece),  I have learned to be content whatever the circumstances. I know what it is to be in need, and I know what it is to have plenty. I have learned the secret of being content in any and every situation, whether well fed or hungry, whether living in plenty or in want. I can do all this through him who gives me strength”.  

I may not have experienced the trials and triumphs of life to anything like the extent of Paul, but the simple things of life still taste as sweet as ever, and I pray that long may they remain so. I have many things on my (as yet unwritten) “bucket list”, but I am content that they take second place to an “ordinary” family life, quiet endeavour, and simple pleasures. Maybe I am getting wiser as I get older?


Contentment

Simplicity of life

Lived at a slower pace

Lies close to the heart.

The time to work at ordinary tasks,

Hands in soil,

Sunshine on one’s back.

Birdsong.

A long slow walk,

Even interrupted by a hundred letter boxes

Which snatch at finger tips.

Such pleasures hidden in the everyday

Mark out the march of time

Across seven decades.

And all the roaring of the crowd

That now is silenced

In an early summer sunset

And the comfort of my home.


© Martin Wild 2019

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