thank November 4, 2009

Thank You. Thank You. I am here on earth, November 4th 2009 and am so grateful to Him for my life. Thank you for my wife; her formidable intellect and fairy tale beauty, her diamond faith and extraordinary love. Thank you for my eldest son; his capacity for goodness and honesty, his heaven kissed morality and his releasing consistency. Thank you for my youngest son; his passion and strength, his freedom of movement and his pollenhonesty. Thank you for my daughter; for her security and laughter, her prophetic voice and joy giving presence. Thank you for my life. I am so blessed to be alive today.

start October 2, 2009

A fresh start every day. A coronation I like to see daily. Life or death, as simple as that. A choice. Every morning I try and give myself a chance, by choosing life, by giving my day a fresh start. More important than breakfast is feeding my soul the truths that will sustain for another twenty four hours. As natural as breathing is the consistent coronation that takes place in my heart.

We crown the most peculiar things in life. Often without even knowing it. I seek clarity, in everything. Wide eyed I crown Him, with many crowns. Many crowns because there is much to be thankful for. Crown Him, because each day delivers its own set of choices, that can take me further on and in, or detour: back on myself, trapped in circles or completely the wrong way. My life journey is formed by my daily choices. Measured in increments best viewed on a micrometer, my life has to be a series of coronations in my heart every morning. Where I want to be at the end of my life is only possible by what I choose every day, every hour, every minute.

A fresh start is what Paul writes about in 2 Corinthians 5, could there be a fresher start than this? A continual calibration, more consistent than pit stops, the fine tuning of my life; tracking adjusted, fuel topped up, my bearings balanced. How could I ever hope to make this voyage if I don’t regularly carve out time for map reading and pit stops, for choosing life, for a daily coronation. Crown Him with many crowns. Many.

yes September 29, 2009

Like a maze, the outdoor type, where every wall is a NO and every break is a YES. Like the Indica Gallery where John climbed to find a magnifying glass and micro print. The print read YES. Like the post that drips from the letterbox, mostly a collection of No’s with the odd YES.

In my life I whisper YES. It’s not particularly loud, but it is true. A YES that is birthed with hope is dramatically joined with a YES from Him. A YES that lives in my life, affirming me. I am the microprint with magnifying glass. My life is YES. My spirit is YES. The world would want me to think that I am a MAYBE or a NO, the distortion of fear can format anything to suit.

YES is the energy I carry. Hope. Sustained. Restoration. Eternal. Yes.

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.