Never Ending Birth | From an Old Soul
by Elouise
Even though this isn’t the way I want things to be, I’m encouraged by these two sonnets. I can’t say I’ve had any great miraculous spurts of growth when it comes to making my way home.
It’s all been a bit of a slog in the dark. Never certain where I am or which direction I need to take next, yet never quite coming to a full halt or descending into total despair. Sometimes I have flashes of insight or perspective. And then they’re gone as the road takes yet another turn. Never ending birth. That’s what this is about.
July 10-11
Creation thou dost work by faint degrees,
By shade and shadow from unseen beginning;
Far, far apart, in unthought mysteries
Of thy own dark, unfathomable seas,
Thou will’st thy will; and thence, upon the earth—
Slow travelling, its way through centuries winning—
A child at length arrives at never ending birth.Well mayst thou then work on indocile hearts
By small successes, disappointments small;
By nature, weather, failure, or sore fall;
By shame, anxiety, bitterness, and smarts;
By loneliness, by weary loss of zest:–
The rags, the husks, the swine, the hunger-quest,
Drive home the wanderer to the father’s breast.George MacDonald, Diary of an Old Soul
Augsburg Fortress Press 1997
This is no heroic, Michelangelo-like vision of creation or of us as created beings. Even so, it seems to reflect accurately how we come to be as we are. If not what we will eventually be.
I want bold creation. Large successes. Vim and vigor. Dramatic change. Immediate feedback. Constant reassurance that I’m on the right track.
But MacDonald celebrates the messy, often dark and mysterious winding way the Creator takes just to give one prodigal life a chance to live and thrive. No speeding highways to heaven. No easy access to rest stops along the way. No guarantee of fair weather.
Instead, many small and large ‘hounds of heaven’ snap at our heels daily; surprise us with blindsided attacks; drain our energy so that we don’t want to go on.
Yet these very things drive us mysteriously, without a map or compass, up one path and down another, around in circles and into dense fogs until at last we’re driven to our home. Driven by forces and fierceness beyond our understanding toward the One who knows us from the inside out and finally welcomes us to the only true Home we’ll ever have.
All things considered, I’d rather be a driven wanderer than a stillborn baby. How about you?
© Elouise Renich Fraser, 21 September 2015
Telling the Truth 
Hello dear Elouise, You do realise that there are more poets in God’s firmament than George MacDonald.
There is of course Francis Thompson who wrote the Hound of Heaven.
https://www.ewtn.com/library/HUMANITY/HNDHVN.HTM
And here is Richard reading it much too quickly.https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gToj6SLWz8Q
You have already seen my post .http://wp.me/p4iiLM-BH but here it is again. I’ll see your MacDonald and raise you a Thompson.
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Hi, John. Indeed, I do know Francis Thompson’s wonderful poem–and have read (and listened to it) often. My father used to recite it to us (along with other poems). I don’t know Richard, though, and will go watch him reading Thompson too quickly. And then read again your post. Thanks for the comment and links. And for reading.
Elouise
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I’m back! Well…my father never quoted Thompson’s entire poem to us. Nor have I ever read it in its entirety. What happened in my education to keep all that from my eyes? Thanks so much for the link.
E.
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About Richard Burton’s reading. I agree with you–he reads/recites it way too fast. His grasp of the poem’s dynamics is wonderful and deserves a bit more lingering–which he knows how to do. He just doesn’t do it often enough. Still, I enjoyed his rendition. Many thanks!
Elouise
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You have the ability to put into words things that I realise after you have written them that I can resonate with. Strangely this blog encourages me that there are other pilgrims who are sometimes ‘plodding’.
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What a wonderful comment. Thanks so much, Robin. I’m encouraged to know there are others like you out there sometimes plodding along–when we’d rather be flying. Or already there!
Elouise
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Thank you, John, for the Richard Burton link. I agree that it would be nice to have it read more slowly, but I think the quick pace may be his interpretation of the poet’s flight, speeding away from God’s Hound. I love Burton’s voice!
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John–I hope you see this comment from Nancy. And Nancy, thanks so much for your perceptive comment about the pace of Burton’s reading. It makes great sense. His voice and inflection is spot on.
Elouise
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Just marvellous.
Blessed to read it thank you. Mike.
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You’re welcome, Mike. So glad you found it.
Elouise
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