Gobble Funking Around With Words

Let there be depth Let there be calm and stillness A sort of enveloping That embraces That allows the noise and busyness The clamour, to damp down That makes room for  All that is That opens a path for What is true What is true in the midst of All of this? Let there be depth Let truth be heard A sort of enveloping

I  think of the poem I wrote, That I wanted to read to you. I think of the way I wanted To ask you to pray with me. And yet my words are stuck In my throat, I can't afford to need you this much. I can't risk the disappointment o f disinterest, The disillusionment of good intentions Fallen flat. They say hope disappointed makes  The heart sick, and my heart is sick. And fragile, and full of shadows. But the risk of sharing that with you Is too great. I cannot be the needy one, Am tired of being one thing Instead of many things. I want to claim my strength and perseverance, My resilience and fortitude. But all you see is this sadness And so, I keep silent.

The places I've lived Live inside me Like so many Russian dolls. Their different faces Appear, with a certain scent, A particular quality of light And air. The smell of freshly cut grass Brings England out to greet me. Tennis on a hot afternoon; Cold beer beside a canal; School uniforms; the BBC news; Christmas carols with the smell of Hot cloves. Crashing waves on a wintry beach And Cape Town grabs my hand. The smell of ozone on damp air; A certain vibe, somewhere  Between vintage and cool; Sundowners on the  stoop, and I'm there. Fresh fish roasting on open coals, Mozambique makes an appearance. A drumbeat heard outdoors; The smell of candle wax Or kerosene; bumping over a pothole; Sleeping under a mosquito net; still Getting bitten. All these places are inside me. Not part of history but Part of my soul. Time is not a straight line of Consecutive events So much as a kaleidoscope, Concertinaed within. And I am all these...

Leaves falling Branches sighing Grasses blowing The world lifts and moves Shifts and resettles Everything the same But all is different See the still centre Around which everything turns Mark the tree’s trunk Its boughs bending Yet still, unmoving The leaves blow and drift around a rock Stick fast against its permanence Where is my steadfast place? What holds firm in me  When all is moving? The world lifts Moves, shifts and resettles What stays the same  When all is different?

We don’t seem to have words for this Kind of tearing, when the life Is pulled out of your body As you face another’s departure And you’re turned inside out With all your soft parts left Hanging. And you’re just  Hanging on. But it feels like You’re falling. And we don’t have words for  This searing pain. That feels like It will never end. This primal Scream of loss as you face the Terror you never thought possible. When all your thoughts about The future are cut off before You get to see them in the Flesh. As you peer, confused and Inconsolable into the blackness That is left. And you’re left. And we don’t have words, only Hope. For this touch of love that Soothes all the raw places and holds us Together when we fear we’ll Split in two. Love that comforts us In the deepest darkness and is Light, However dim, as we face the Brokenness. And yet we live.

I wonder sometimes, How the writers of the word of God Found so many words To describe Him. Me? I’m speechless … Nothing exists outside of You All finds its beginning in You Source and sustainer of all All my words Tumble at Your feet. Keep me from falsehood May the few words I have To You be true Grant me the means To speak of who You are.

Confused Torn in two Longing for easy answers, something simpler Searching for a knowing I know I can depend on Desiring what is good When goodness is a slippery thing Hard to grasp. So far from formulae What seemed obvious in the abstract Is all shadow play Heart-searching Head pounding Stomach churning Who knew doing the ‘right’ thing Would feel so wrong Whichever way you look at it? Wrong.  I could live with wrong on my account But I look in her eyes and feel Her life is forever changed By my choices My idea of ‘right’ choices My right thinking about grey ideas Ideas that are grey The shadowlands of truth.

Alone It smacks back at you Like a cold hard palm Batting away your expectations Swatting at your childlike hopes Those who could never be there for you are Unchanged by a lifetime of trying You’re alone Together It beckons you in Warmth offering longed-for inclusion Overriding your years of cynicism  Swallowing your necessary self-protection The One who has always been there for you Revealed despite years of confusion I’m  together

Grace. It sounds like a whisper, It feels like a gentle touch that reaches out To you when you are crumbling on the inside. Grace. It smells like the ozone off the ocean, It looks like the moving of the palm fronds Under the warmest sort of breeze. And yet. Grace doesn’t always look  As soft as it sounds. Sometimes grace is full of grit. Grace is strength that comes from God-knows-where  When you feel oh, so weak. Grace is the ability to hold on when Everything inside you feels like caving. Almost everything. Grace is crying your insides out, then standing up To pull your daughter close, your tears Drying themselves on her hair. Grace is saying, ‘I believe’ when there’s Nothing around you that makes belief Seem anything less than crazy. And yet. Grace is the  Deep inner knowing that  Belief is the only thing that makes sense. Grace is me and you, our faces before the  Love that made the universe. And grace stands us on ou...

You’re not my Dad. I know this. Yet, if behaviour is anything to go by, I don’t know it. Anger. Tears. Shouting. You’re not my Dad. I run from being abandoned, overlooked, alone, And they follow me. They peep at me over your shoulder When you look that way, say that thing. I blink and - for a moment - I see him Instead of you. You’re not my Dad. I know this. The moment passes, I see you standing there.

Sometimes I fight for you As if I’m underwater and all my breath is gone. I break the surface, I take in deep, heaving breaths. Breath of life, filling me. Filling all the empty spaces, The spaces that were waiting. Waiting to breathe. Breathe in, Fill up again. Breathe

I’m filled with newness, with the unknown, With expectation, with hope  And with fear. It’s all new, this life that forms within me. I said yes to something new and now there’s no stopping it, It’s taken on a life of its own. And now this life that’s at once its own, And also mine, It’s here. Life that’s beautiful and delicate, Life that’s wailing and desperate, It’s here. And I hold it, yet it’s too much for my grip. This life that grows towards the light, Following an ancient path. Life that’s everlasting.

I hear the sound of my footsteps I see the blossom Stop to inhale its rich scent I watch the sky As it changes colour And then I see you Walking towards me Your arms extended

I sit on the bed In a pool of dappled sunlight And crumpled sheets Writing poetry and drinking coffee. It is the first day of the new year Bright with possibility With words waiting to be Thought, spoken, written. The steam from the coffee rises, The air from the open doorway Chills my left side just a little The house is quiet. Two dogs padding softly Birds outside twittering And I wish I could sit here longer Before everything begins.

If shame is bound up In all our brokenness Our sense of not being enough Of being less than others Of missing something necessary To make us loveable Desirable, befriendable, includable Dependable and valuable Jesus invites us to trust in Him To trust in His enough-ness To believe in His view of us To embrace our inclusion  And belonging and belovedness. He says, look at me And know who you are Sons and daughters Adored children Inheritors of all that is good Co-regents in ruling Fellow seers in seeing Hand on the rope next to Him Partners in pulling the kingdom Into today Just a little bit more. Trusting Him Means standing tall A deep knowing of goodness A leaning into embraced-ness A falling  But held fast-ness No shame in falling Not ashamed of standing. How tall you are How glorious Your eyes flash with knowing Enlivened with longing Your being exudes strength  That belies the size of your frame Which somehow seems larg...

Morning ritual Peace with a side of coffee Words dance off the page Truth lodges deeper Mealtime gatherings Conversations flow like wine Knowing and being known Sharing the journey Chasing freedom Running into the wind Fresh cheeks in the rain Smiles only you see Bread and wine Opening to the largeness offered Grace and presence for now More than we know

The sauce on the stove The tree in full-leafed glory The healing of a wound The building of a marriage that flows It all takes time. The tanning of summer skin The choosing of the perfect gift The relationships that form community The strengthening of weakened limbs It all takes time. The learning of a new skill The painting of a masterpiece The journey through a foreign land The creation of a home from a house It all takes time. So take your time, my love Take time to listen to your soul Take time to let things grow The flowers may come later It all takes time.

Our love has been the flare of singular blinding light That causes the world to reposition; A light that blinds, and yet rescues. In this light I have leapt into the unknown; I have raced to shady places in grassy fields; I have lain, and rocked, and danced. And our love has been the beam of a lighthouse, A regular, turning shaft across the rocks; Holding back from shipwreck, and destruction. In this light we have stood strong; We have been brave, we have been faithful; We have held firm, and shone bright. Our love has been the flicker of a candle; A warming glow that draws, it beckons ever closer; A circle of invitation, a comfort in the night. Into this light we have welcomed, Made room for warm bodies around the table; We have held hands, and shared stories, and laughed. I’ll take the bright but short-lived flare That lights up the night,  And lodges in my heart. I’ll take the sweeping beams That cast dangers into shadow And bring courage to ...

The earth is dry It is so deeply parched Huge fissures have appeared In a crazy pattern of Broken expectation. What happens next Goes beyond all hope - The waters of the deep Burst out of the earth Gushing, overflowing. And everywhere the water touches Every dry and dusty part Becomes something new The very colour of the dirt Is richer, fuller. And everywhere the water touches Life pushes its way Out through what was broken. What was dry and disappointed Is covered with beauty. Flowers everywhere Throwing their petals and scent Upon the air In an abandonment of delight. Life, beauty, joy.

Something about the ocean lures me: The never ending draw and pull, The beachline that gets washed anew. I want to be all scrubbed clean, too. Something about the ocean woos me: The coolness of water on warm skin, The unfailing freshness on tired feet. I want my soul to be refreshed this kindly, too. Something about the ocean awes me: The thunderous waves come crashing down, The power to smooth the tumbled rocks. I want my rough edges softened, too. Something about the ocean stirs wonder in me: The way it looks different every day, The way it stays the same, no matter the change. I want to be constant yet renewed, too. I wonder at the ocean, it draws my heart to you.

Leaning sideways Pulling away from upright Feeling unbalanced, destabilised. Leaning. I’m leaning away from sameness Away from security, from what I know. Leaning. I’m leaning into You, into the sureness The certainty of who you are. I lean. And there You are. I lean no further.

Everything we need is in there. It’s all been zipped, and folded, Rolled into sausages, Slid into pockets of space. Squashed and pressed and Sandwiched together. Everything we need. All our papers are in there. Our passports and medical cards, Stamped and signed so that We can cross borders without Being stopped, or questioned, Or pulled into side rooms Where imaginary needles await us. All our books are in there. Well, as many as we can carry, Before the days of Kindle and E-books. Lonely Planet is our Bible And, along with the Bible, there’s Michelin maps, and journals, dictionaries And a novel to swap at our first stop. All the rest is in there. T-shirts and shirts, a swimsuit, A towel. And the rest of the space Is taken up with dreams and Hopes. A sense of being called into a  Future as large as the continent  To which we’re headed. As our remember our laden backpacks I still feel the lightness that I felt, To have shed so much - bo...

The delicious indulgence Of lying in bed late Light already streaming through Windows, curtains flung back Limbs heavy and warm Noises of a day underway Elsewhere, as if from far off. To lie here To postpone responsibility To be a child again Held and comforted While others lift life’s  Heavier and more costly burdens Is blissful, if temporary A delicious indulgence.

I will not celebrate That tree of torture I will not soften  The edges of that pain And torment But I will remember That when all looks lost God is working To bring His redemption That when it looks like Powerful systems Determine our future When it seems as though Justice is beyond our reach When longed-for hope Slips from our hands Like the last sliver of light, God is working To bring His redemption.

We’re halfway there, so they say. Halfway.  So we should have seen some progress; A couple of false starts might be allowed. Then rungs must be climbed, Titles assumed, status established. A cellar stocked, new wheels bought. Wrinkles filled, where necessary. Halfway there. And so little to show for it. Leaves curl and flutter in the gathering wind. Halfway to a lifetime of loving. I can tell you of the softness of a baby’s cheek Now tan and lit by eyes that sparkle humour. Of loving the same, solid body That reaches for mine, night after night. Of sharing half a lifetime of sunsets and caresses. Of journeys to unknown places that become Memories of songs sung, friends made, Islands dancing beyond the trees. Only halfway there. And yet, could the place They sent you in search of Be any more solid than here?

Sometimes standing doesn’t feel at all glorious . It feels like drowning in a flood of tears; It feels like being thrust into the dark earth, the crust hard and unyielding. Standing can feel like not-falling. But only just. It can feel like a whisper, our praise being forced through lips tight with anxiety; It can feel like a heart heavy with the holding of a burden. Standing is still saying yes … The ploughing, the holding on, the words of praise, the one-step after-another. "And having done all things, stand."

We live in this grey place. No black and white here. A place of dilemma, Of holding in tension What is good for one And good for another. We live in this in-between place. No easy answers here. A place of now,  And yet not yet. What has come and will be, Is also not here fully. Can you live with the grey Without insisting on your black Or your white? Can you know what is to come And not despair at what is? Could this grey be filled with light?