Seven

There's a little girl inside of me.
She's seven.
She doesn't understand.
She thinks it's all her fault -
thinks there's something wrong
inside of her.
She doesn't understand
why no one will rescue her.
She doesn't realisethat a child is not guilty
for the things done to her.
She doesn't know
that it isn't her fault,
can't be her fault.
She doesn't realise
she is beautiful.
She doesn't know
she is precious.
She has no idea
how much she is valued.
She is seven.
And she doesn't understand.

Sunday

When?

This too shall pass - but when?
Patience is harder still
when the pain is
strong and
sharp and
digs deep.

When?
Friday's suffering and the
silence of Saturday
seem to echo
without an answer.

When?
I have to believe Sunday will come -
resurrection
redemption
glorious salvation.

If my body shares your wounds,
your pain,
I share in your glory too -
but sometimes I think
the price is so high
that my cowardly bones would settle for less.

Would settle for the ordinary
and the not so special -
your plans for me
seem too big,
too glorious -
too painful.
Ordinary would be just fine.

I shrink from the pain
with which you would mould me,
which fits me for your service,
which is creating in me
the likeness of
your son.
I am not this brave.

But the potter's hands,
so capable of mercy,
of gentle care,
can also hold me fast -
there is no escape
from the grip that knows me and loves me
and refuses to give up on me.

Life From Here: 31 Days of Giving

Life From Here: 31 Days of Giving

I will try and remember to share this nearer to Christmas too, but it's worth a head's up a little in advance to get us thinking about what Christmas is really about.

Limericks

A little light relief...



There was an old man from Khartoum,
Spent his days looking up at the moon.
When he died, his wife said,
"Twas from a hole in the head,
A meteor got him in June".



There was a young donkey called Neddy
Who went to bed with his teddy
When his granny found out
She gave him a clout
That sent poor Neddy to beddy.

Weakness

Weakness


For he understands how weak we are; he knows we are only dust.
Psalm 103:14

You know my weakness
better than I do -
my fragile dust,
my feeble frame.

You know me, you who made me
in the secret places and
the dark before time.

Your creation is delicate,
easily bruised
quickly cracked
marred so soon.

Heal and restore,
you who understands
my fragility.

Rebuild me with your love
and your power,
so that I may stand
in your strength alone.

What would they think?

What would they think?


Their shadows haunt my tv screen -
brown faces and
distended bellies.
Forced to choose
who will eat
who will starve.

What would they think?
Home distant
hunger as long as memory
food a luxury.

I worry about bills.
I get angry at interruptions.
I complain
that life won't devote itself
to keeping me happy.

We grumble at the cost of fuel
grouch that we can't afford to have
everything
right this second.
We whine about taxes
bemoan waiting lists
want everything now
microwaved happiness
in our timing
at our convenience.

Our houses are too small
our neighbours are too loud
out leaders are imperfect
and none of it's our fault.

We have so much.
We complain so much.
Those shadows on our tv sets
pictures in our papers...
We forget that they are real.

What would they think, if they could see me now?

What would they think, if they could see you now?

What would they think?

For Him

For Him – to my husband


Who you are sometimes seems
                    obvious
                    certain
                    set in stone
Other times I'm confused
            and wonder if you're out there at all
Do you dream of me
                think of me
                    wonder how we'll meet?
Do I know you already
        or is your face yet a mystery
    waiting to be unfurled?
If only I knew...
            but I know you're in God's hands
            and as he looks down   
            and sees us, together or apart,
            he sees the future and his own
                    hand print on our lives
 
                                            - and he smiles.

Miracles

Miracles

people say
there's no such thing
God is not interested

but I know differently
I have seen miracles
the blind seeing
the pollen on a bee's leg
a butterfly's wing
a tear
a smile

bitterness turned to happiness
a baby fresh shelled like a new pea from its pod
silken petals
the velvet of a puppy's head

friendship growing in unexpected places
like magic beans
like a fragile flower

the lost found
or given direction
the first swallow of summer
the perfection of freezing fog crystalised on the leaf
a starry sky
a crescent moon

a letter
a message from a friend arriving at the right moment
a postcard
a hug

unexpected healing
or peace despite the pain
a spider's web
the scent of a rose
a toddler's giggle

people say
there's no such thing
God is not interested

but I know better

Bitterness

The bitter root
takes hold so easily
it's not fair, why me,
why not me?

It's hard to see
blessing
in pain
in what I do not have
in waiting
in uncertainty.

I'll break, this time
I'll shatter I'm sure
can't take any more
or won't.

I do not understand, and it
angers me
to see dreams dying
again and again
and you say they
must die
I must die
to see the fruit
but must it all be
posthumous
won't you give me
one
tiny
taste?

The road to trust
is long
is hard
is arduous
demands my all
and promise waits
beyond sight
hazy
diaphanous
a mirage
or reality?
I must trust what I
cannot see.

I'm so tired.

This learning weighs me down
I walk on
blind trust in ancient promises
no other choice
I must trudge on
and on
till like fresh water
blessing will arrive
to refresh
to renew.

Till then
I stumble on.

There's nothing else I can do.

Who am I?

I don't know who I am any more.
Tell me who I am.
Show me who I am.

I see only an outline,
the shape left when I take away
all the falsehoods I believed,

I don't want to be the fake me,
don't want to hold on to the lies.
But I don't know who is left without them.

Others see something more.

Through their eyes
I catch tantalising glimpses
of the person you are making me.

But they cannot show me who I really am.

Only you can show me.
Please.
Let me see.

26 letters

Life, love, loss, learning, and 26 letters recombined to say something that might just be new...

Welcome to my blog and please check back often.