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.