Be August 31, 2009

I am learning. I am growing. My life expanding. Very few divisions. Balance merges every facet. My faith, reflected in how I choose to do life. It is not a Sunday morning chore, neither is it a bible study, it’s my life and how I wish to model my faith. The actions and decisions I take, I do so with a desire to profile my beliefs, I do so motivated by my beliefs. Hope is the spine that runs along my framework.

I wish to BE my faith not just do it. To be. To model. To be commissioned by Him to be grace, to be life, to be faith. Commissioned with gifts; a bouquet of restoration, a jeroboam of unmerited favour, a garland of hope. Gifts brought to my soul not by the Magi following the course of the stars but by the Great Comforter charting out my course. Spiritual farming brings a harvest of hope; Love, Joy, Peace, Patience, Kindness, Goodness, Faithfulness, Gentleness and Self Control.

side August 30, 2009

A key turns, a barrel spins, a lock drops, a handle twists but the door remains closed. A locked door; boundaries, security, secrecy, limitations. A restriction on travel. Authorised personnel only. No Entry. Private.

A room full of students. Drunk on fear. Replaying the past few months, looking for clues to illuminate. A belief ushered into darkness can distort compasses, can fray the edges of reliable maps, can remain lost when everyone else knows where to look.

Hope can walk though walls, it has no restriction. Hope has no secrets, it brings balance, restores maps and re calibrates compasses. Hope reminds a room full of students where to look. Hope appears to an absent student and reveals marked hands and a scarred side.

This morning that same hope climbed through my bedroom window. The grey Sussex sky wept His name as he walked though walls. He brought gifts of balance and restoration. He reminded me where to look. A re calibration of the soul. Hope filled my lungs.

Clean laundry lounges on the armchair in the bay window. Hope breathes in. It’s raining outside. Hope breathes out. It’s raining outside. England couldn’t be more normal, nothing has changed. Hope breathes, everything is different.

just August 29, 2009

Small. Such smallness, still illuminated. Countless stars. Known from a distance. Such smallness packed with enough Hope to start a big bang. Such smallness that evaporates when the world rubs its eyes and yawns, stretches a morning stretch to reveal how vast this life is. How huge this sky is. How big the universe is. I disappear, the scale of proportions do not have a facility for me. Me who is not visible when viewing the earth from space, no matter how high I jump. Me who is not even visible from the nearest big town, not even visible from across the road. Small.

Big. On soul radar I beep every time the luminous green second hand sweeps around the clock face. I am big. My soul is recognised. In these scale of proportions I am visible from Heaven. I do not have to jump to get noticed. My lungs breathe in, my frame swells, I am known. I am seen. Visible from the sun, visible from the moon. Visible if I stand in hurt, visible if I bruise myself on tragedy. I am visible always, I am known always. I am seen always. Big.

One. A partnership. A merger. A unity. One. I travel to Him. He is in me.

friend August 28, 2009

When One ascended, the Other descended into the hearts of all who hope. A friend, born out of Him. Created. A bigger big bang. Like Quantum Physics’; some personality to life that forces particle formation out of nothing. From nothing into something. Life is birthed. Hope squeezes itself into this world and then before He departs, sends more Hope to “live in.”

A new energy, a driving force created in me. A job that comes with accommodation, my heart ready for a comforter. My soul ready for a guide. My life ready for the spirit to walk inside, in the cool of the day. Where are you SantoJude? Here I am, I say. I am not hiding anymore, I am right here. I know, says the spirit, I Know you.

Known by all three.

Closed Circuit Breathing August 27, 2009

The out of towners. They swept into this village because actually their religion didn’t quite inspire them, didn’t quite engage with their heart, mind and soul. All conquering Greeks in Galilee. They knew where to find Him. All they sought was truth and it lead them to a feast in a small fishing village with a large lake.

The Far East sent representatives to cradle The Christ, the Far West sent them to His cross. Central to all things is The Christ. So when the out of towners turn up at a feast in Galilee and ask to see Him, there is reason for His strange reaction. They were not random party crashers, they represented a unity that He was preparing himself to be broken for. The figure of these two Greeks symbolised a global nation, moving from comfort zones to seek Him.

He reacts with all the fusion of a bitter cocktail; Hope and Sacrifice. The reconciliation of life itself should countervail his being but somehow his Galilean shoulders distribute the load and He drives forward. To have it, you must be prepared to lose it.

What does He say when invited to an audience with the out of towners? A comedy, A Tragedy, A Fairy Tale. You must fall into the ground and die before you can grow. Like a seed, Like hope, Like a dream, Like a grain.

This is my life. This is for me. I am burying myself deep in Him, ready to grow.

known August 26, 2009

To recognise someone by just their voice. To know someone by just their footsteps. By just their breathing. Just their presence. There is a deepness to which I am known. As mysterious as the ocean, depths that I cannot travel and yet someone else has. The further down the more transparent. Until at the sea bed is me. Simply me, no inhibitions, no agenda, no fig leaf, no appearance for the sake of the world. Me, the me who has no fear because he has no hatred and is full of love. That me knows His voice. Starring down at the sea from the safety of a fishing boat, I know His voice. But He KNOWS me. Truly, madly, deeply.

To be understood when no one else quite gets me. To be understood before I can understand myself. To be known. His wisdom has made me a fool. On the sea bed I look up with the refractive index of hope, one day there will be no more saltwater. One day the restoration from distortion to gem stone will be complete. He knows me distorted, looking down at the sea, and He knows me as a gem stone, looking up from the sea bed. He knows me. Through Him I can Know me. Through His time machine eyes I can see my distortion and my gem stone. Through knowing Him, I can dive into the big blue. By being known I have a start point and a destination. I have a journey. By being known by Him I cam make myself known to others.

To be known is a beautiful place to be.

trainspotting August 25, 2009

A Comedy. So far from the reality that one is left with the option of laughing or crying because the situation has already exceeded life’s maximum allotted capacity. Comical because imagination has been captured and a new way of doing life has been designed. Hope, sought.

The Magi knew where to find Him. The outcasts knew where to seek Him. The broken hearted knew where to listen to Him. The sick knew where to be healed by Him. The women knew where not to look and even Judas knew where to betray Him.

Comedy because everyone knew where to look except those who were supposed to know. The disciples didn’t know. Comedy. Different. Life giving.

A Tragedy because after we laugh, we cry. Tragic because we are expecting to laugh but there is no punch line. Tragic because the new way of life steers totally out of control. A tragedy because at first its dark, then its light, then its dark again.

A tragedy because life is difficult, painful, unfair.

A fairy tale because the ending is spectacular. The resolve is tremendous. The hope restored. Back in Kansas with Toto. A fairy tale because after the tragedy there is nowhere left, somehow a new world is birthed where there wasn’t one earlier that day. Somehow the parameters of life itself are stretched so far that a spiritual big bang occurs.

A hopeless situation is one where hope is rejected from the outset. With no hope, it is impossible to find Him. A molecule of hope is all that is needed to begin the fairy tale from distortion to gem stone, it is all that is needed to find a precious pearl, to find a lost coin, to avoid the empty tomb and seek Him amongst the living, not in a cemetery.

Hope bursts onto the scene like a million stars. A new world, my world, my life, a fairy tale.

neither do i August 24, 2009

Where are they all? Where did they go? They were the best of the best, the elite. They looked like they meant business. They had a fire in their bellies. They were restless, they grabbed a human being to make a point, to trap Him. It was so wrong. Wrong that their actions were protected by the law. Wrong that an agenda was attached to a judgement.

A pocket of wind scooped up a middle eastern dustbowl that was no sooner in mid air that it darted into different directions, a hindrance into the eyes and mouths of the so called elite but desert ink for Him. Crouching down he cut into the soft dryness producing arid graffiti.

Like the relentless thud of a bass drum pedal at sound check. Rocks and stones dropped from heights of less than a meter create a percussive soundtrack, a rhythm that is awkward for some and enchanting for others. Hands that gripped judgement tightly are now compelled to do no more than simply let go. Only the religious leaders retain their weapons of destruction, the oversized rocks distorting the shape of their hands. The desire to launch their pride for now has been diminished by the wisdom of the one who writes in the wastelands.

Soon, they were all gone. Where to? There was no reason to stay. In the end just He and her.

Woman He said, where have they all gone? She as mystified as those who gathered to punish her, shrugs her shoulders in disbelief. has no one condemned you? A fragrance wrapped up in dust circles her, frees her. No master, no one she said. Then neither do I. From there a call to pursue a life undistorted, to walk away from a twisted routine to becoming a gem stone.

Hope.

beth sad a August 23, 2009

I want restoration. As simple as that. I desire to pursue this journey from distortion to gem stone. Discipline is my vehicle, consistency my tax. There is no rocket science formula. There is no secret. Discipline and consistency in pursuit of Him bring me to a place where life is balanced, restoration allowed and transformation engaged.

I have to want it. This life cannot work if at my core, I am fighting.

I can sit and watch or I can engage. I can apply peace of mind or I can exercise hope. I can lay down in Bethsada content and broken. I can watch a life pass me by. I can convince myself that this is a good as it gets, and quite frankly it could be worse but I am here to change-ish. I do kind of want to be a better person. And then, fireworks. Explosions. Dynamite. He sees me,

“Hey, Do you really want to be change?”

Do I? I thought I did. My life positioned my self in a place where I wanted to improve. Maybe my actions didn’t always demonstrate that, but, yes I do want to change.

“Yes”

“So change, leave this place, Go.”

So change? That’s it? Comedy. What a joker. After a few seconds, minutes I realised there was no wry smile on His face. I stood up and left. I kept walking in the direction He went. I have never looked back. I am still walking, following Him. All this time, waiting for some magical fairy dust to transform my life. All along I could have just got up and left. I Spent so much time trying to over-complicate everything, find the broomstick of the wicked witch and bla bla bla. All along I could have just got up, all I need is discipline and consistency.

demus August 22, 2009

Comedy. A moment, what lies before me had been spoken in an anechoic chamber, no sound apart from God sound. In that moment the foolishness of what was said drip drips into my mind. So crazy, I have to laugh. It is comedy no?

My dear Nicodemus, why its obvious, you simply have to be born again. Thank you and goodnight.

(N) What? Come again?

My good fellow, its like the wind, comes and goes. That’s it. No more.

(N) You’re kidding right? That’s it? No more?

Comedy, the comic before the relief, the joke before the pain. Laughter before tears. Life. From one comedy to another tragedy. The great thing is that the fairy tale is real. The fairy tale changes my life. The fairy tale isn’t an alternate ending, it is my only beginning, my only now and the only conclusion I would ever want.

So when Nicodemus ponders on the comical answers there will be tragedy as the time bomb of His words go off like a big bang when you least expect it. Tragedy when realisation dawns and opportunities remain un-grasped. The story isn’t about Nico at all, it’s about me. It’s for everyone who dares and wishes to engage. It’s a mirror. What do I see? A comedy, A tragedy or a fairy tale?