Washing my spirit clean - by Helen Murray

I have a diary. You see, there are all these days and I need to keep track of them. No sooner one finishes than another starts and I hate just letting them slip away without being marked.

Actually, I have dates all over the place. I have a calendar in the kitchen for appointments and arrangements; one of those with multiple columns so that I can keep track of the whole family's social and sporting commitments. My column looks much more impressive than it really is because it consists largely of chauffeuring duties and swimming training - overflow from other people's columns. Of course, this calendar isn't portable so I have a tiny diary that is supposed to enable me to make a note of appointments as I schedule them. Unfortunately, because I never get round to transferring calendar-notes to diary and vice versa, I find that much of the time I am attempting to live two parallel lives.

The system is in need of refinement.

Then there are other diaries. Electronic ones that I can never be bothered to programme. My prayer journal where I chat with the Lord about my day, flap about what might be and work through what might have been. There's the desk calendar I got for Christmas with a scriptural quotation for me to take into the day. 

And then there's my Diary. 

I'm not sure what to call this one. It's gorgeous to behold; a large square thing full of wonderful full page photographs.

It's from the John Muir Trust, promoting its work in wild land conservation. The photos are by some of the best wildlife and landscape photographers in the country and they are honestly breathtaking. 

From the preface, by John Beatty:

'In March 1867 John Muir suffered a serious accident that caused him to be completely blind for several months, believing he may never recover his sight. The subsequent return of his sight was an epiphany in his life that led to a lifelong commitment to experience the natural world. 

He wandered for years in the wilds absorbing the richness of all life forms, seeing the world with increased intensity, reflecting its wonders through the written word.' 

I stood with this beautiful book in my hands in the shop and read about John Muir and his appreciation of the natural world and I thought, 'Oh, Yes.' 

I want to do that. I want to notice, and record, and give thanks. 

I decided to buy this diary and write in it every day, but not use it for appointments at all.

Each day I make a note of a glimpse of God that happened that day. Some days I see Him everywhere and I have lots to write and there are other days when I'm so wrapped up and inward looking that I miss Him completely. I'm starting to see the correlation between the depth of my awareness of His presence and my prevailing mood. 

One day there was a buzzard in the garden; a big majestic looking bird with a bright yellow eye and big claws. Another day it was the way the low morning sun shone golden on the church clock as we walked past on the way to school. Early this year we saw tiny shiny ice crystals on the car roof, and the other evening the sunset between storm clouds lit the world up in orange and purple. 

Other days it's different; it might be me on my own in the car with the music turned up loud.

It might be a special hour over coffee with a friend. It might be holding hands with my daughter on the way to school, holding hands with my husband on the sofa in front of a film or holding hands with Jesus as I realise all over again that I can't do any of it without Him.

Ann Voskamp wrote down A Thousand Gifts and people all over the world are inspired and making their lists. I know that if I write one thing a day I'll only have 365 in a year, but it's a start. I'm adding between the pages little things that I want to remember; a note from one of the children or a page from the desk calendar with a scripture to remember.

I'm making a year of Thank Yous.

John Muir wrote:

'...keep close to nature's heart...and break clear away, once in a while, and climb a mountain or spend a week in the woods. Wash your spirit clean.'

I would so love to disappear off into the wilderness once in a while. To stop the hamster-wheel and find a remote little windswept cottage on an island in the Hebrides, perhaps, just me and a kettle and my journal and some custard creams. And my computer (and WiFi!). But to find solitude. No noise but the wind and the birds. Peace, quiet. Undisturbed nature. Sky and landscape and freedom and space.

To wash my spirit clean indeed. 

Not so fussed about climbing a mountain.

In the absence of such an opportunity I want to make a note of the moments that allow my soul to breathe, even if only for a moment. 

I want to see them, appreciate them, savour them and store them up for the times when I can't remember how it feels.

Because I can't just disappear into the wilderness for years like Mr Muir, I want to pin down and bottle the glimpses of God that come my way so that I can take off the lid and inhale deeply when the walls seem too close and claustrophobic. 

Waking up to the sound of birdsong.

Mist and sunshine on the moors.

The first jaw-aching sip of red wine on a Friday night.

Two planes vapour trails crossing in the sky like a heavenly kiss.

A letter from an old friend

Wonder on my daughter's face as we watch the sunset.

Vanilla latte and a good friend. 

A sky full of stars.

So this is my project, Lord. 

Give me eyes to see and ears to hear the wonders that you place in my path just because you are a God who delights to delight. 

Don't let me walk past the gifts that you give me. 

Please don't ever let my eyes be so focused on the dirt under my feet that I don't see the vastness and beauty of your creation. 

John Muir again:

'Everyone needs beauty as well as bread, places to play in and pray in, where Nature may heal and give strength to the body and soul.'

Amen to that.

Amen.