3ww It cannot be so

It is a difficult thing to do. Represent someone, I mean.

It involves a deep understanding of the person being represented, and an intricate knowledge of who they are.

To represent someone in a negotiation is to know their wants very well indeed. To represent someone always is to know their whole being very well indeed.

So I wonder about Jesus. I wonder about what he represents. He represents God to the world. He represents God's love, God's justice, the rebirth of God's kingdom.

But Jesus also represents me. He represents me when God would be sorry to look at me. He pleads for me, dies for me and bleeds for me. Once he has finished representing me God smiles upon me once more.

It is typical of the human condition (if one can make such a generalisation) that we are combative about this. We question whether this can be, we wonder at a God who would forgive all, and then we discover others wondering at a God who does not punish enough. We fight grace and our sluggish minds think not of the wonder of it, but at the lack of reason behind it all. We say to ourselves,

"This is not logical. It cannot be so!"

 This would be correct in a world only of logic. But this world has other attributes too. There is beauty, elegance, art, music, love, laughter, good food, friendship, hope and humanity. My faith permits me to marvel at these things, to worry not about explanations but rather to enjoy the gossamer thread of this moment.

May I remember this each day over the coming festive period. May I have the patience with others and myself to enjoy each moment as it comes! And may you find it too.

Submission 3ww in a sentence

May the highlight of my life be not to instruct, but rather to submit.

3ww: A brief exposition

A brief post to insist that we expose the brokenness of this world, that we may weep for it and begin some reparations.

3ww in two sentences

If you're curious, be wary of the inevitable. Cats will die.

Sick in the Sink

I am a bit odd.

That's what people tell me, anyway. I don't really like people sitting on my bed and I certainly don't like people resting their head on my pillow. I have no idea why this is a daunting situation for me, but it is. Something about it makes me squirm. I am fastidious about keeping my hands clean as well. Generally I wash them several times during my bed time routine.

I am also someone who despises vomit. I don't think this is that odd, to be honest. It strikes me as pretty normal.

Last night I was going to the toilet to clean my teeth (in the left of the two sinks randomly in the toilet where I live) when I noticed a funny, eggy smell in the air. This created a feeling of queasiness in my stomach. Upon arrival at the toilet, to my surprise, someone was there. It was one of the girls who had left the door open. I asked if she was all right, but got no response other than a door closing slowly in my face. I waited.

A few minutes later she emerged, and I stepped into the toilet to use it. I was greeted by the most unpleasant of sights. As you will know plugs are used in sinks when we want to keep water in the sink for things like shaving or hair washing. I have never before seen a plug used to keep sick in the sink. Until yesterday. A thin, yellow liquid dappled with colours once vibrant, but now victims of stomach acid. Lovely.

No doubt you will understand this did nothing for me but intensify feelings of queasiness, and you will realise why I left the toilet quite so rapidly.

Fortunately, I did not have to brave the sick again. I was a valiant coward and asked the mother of the house to sort out the situation. What a blessed relief she did, otherwise I might still be cleaning my hands!

Love Wins

Greatness aspires to humility

In the eyes of the wise,

Yet foolishly we seek not to love, but to be loved.

Our yearning, power hungry minds cannot capture that the meek will inherit the earth.

So we stride ahead, rather than hobbling with the broken,

Ever demanding, ever wanting, never satisfied.

Confusion follows as we look behind, and see those at the back of the line,

Laughing, dirty but smiling.

Envious we frown our disapproval. Happiness is not allowed without power, without possessions, without promotion!

Understanding how the weak could ever be made strong, pah! Ridiculous.

The cycle goes on, always seeking riches, never realising we have them in our hearts.

Perhaps one day we’ll realise, perhaps one day we’ll see, perhaps one day we’ll get it.

Love wins.

Folly 3ww

It cannot be helped; this folly. Folly is sometimes called wisdom; the wisdom of the idiots! Now, there's a thought. I wonder what constitutes an 'idiot' nowadays. Once upon a time it had clearly defined boundaries. But to be an imbecile was worse. I used to pronounce that 'im - beck - ile' - just shows what I know! I digress.

No, when I consider myself wise, then I know I will be a fool. That is how I shall approach tis life. Then perhaps I will blunder a bit less! Now, as I squeeze the last word in, please do not cringe at the obviousness of its placement. Much obliged.

Paradox of loving

Love has grown ever fonder, broader, wider

Shouting in agony from the rooftops,

The terror of life.

Solitary confinement on a pavement full of people,

Walking by in a hurry, desperate to finish without thinking what’s at the finish line.

Body slightly broken, Pain stops mobility,

Horizons seems further than it’s ever been before,

But the birds are singing,

The rain is falling and I can’t help but dance in joy.

For love has grown ever fonder, broader, wider

Though it makes the solitary confinement longer, sadder, lonely

And the agony pronounced

The terror and wonder of life.

The abyss called despair

The hapless delinquent pulled the trigger, beginning a descent to the abyss called despair. If only grief were not so consuming, if death not the end, if forgiveness could be found; then hope might be seen as a shimmer on the horizon, glimpsed in the distance, kindled in our hearts.

Marching to Glory

Boots marching, marching, marching
Through two entire nights,
Marching to war,
marching to glory,
incorrectly perceived,
misunderstood.

Hopeful they arrive at the walls,
shovels digging, digging, digging,
through two entire weeks,
and the cannons are set,
aimed,
fired.

No room for flabby men here,
not food enough,
room only for disease,
entrenched in the skins of men.

In a few days it is over,
The indignant stench,
rising towards the stars,
but never getting there.

They marched to glory,
incorrectly perceived,
misunderstood.

Living today

I came across these poems this evening and thought I would share them here.

The Summer Day

Mary Oliver

Who made the world?
Who made the swan, and the black bear?
Who made the grasshopper?
This grasshopper, I mean-
the one who has flung herself out of the grass,
the one who is eating sugar out of my hand,
who is moving her jaws back and forth instead of up and down-
who is gazing around with her enormous and complicated eyes.
Now she lifts her pale forearms and thoroughly washes her face.
Now she snaps her wings open, and floats away.
I don't know exactly what a prayer is.
I do know how to pay attention, how to fall down
into the grass, how to kneel down in the grass,
how to be idle and blessed, how to stroll through the fields,
which is what I have been doing all day.
Tell me, what else should I have done?
Doesn't everything die at last, and too soon?
Tell me, what is it you plan to do
with your one wild and precious life?



I like the slow dance poem

Have you ever watched kids on a merry-go-round, or listened to the rain slapping on the ground?
Ever followed a butterfly's erratic flight, or gazed at the sun into the fading night?
You better slow down, don't dance so fast, Time is short, the music won't last.

Do you run through each day on the fly, when they ask "How are you?", do you hear the reply?
When the day is done, do you lie in your bed, with the next hundred chores running through your head?
You better slow down, don't dance so fast, time is short, the music won't last.

Ever told your child, we'll do it tomorrow, and in your haste, not see his sorrow?
Ever lost touch, let a friendship die, 'Coz you never had time to call and say 'Hi'?
You better slow down, don't dance so fast, Time is short, the music won't last.

When you run so fast to get somewhere, you miss half the fun of getting there.
When you worry and hurry through your day, it's like an unopened gift thrown away.
Life is not a race, do take it slower, hear its music before the song is over.

Predestination

The imperative of a thousand stars,
gained the traction of inevitability,
when the explosion happened,
and all fell into place.

No wonder garbage day is a Friday.

Murder on the Thames

Behold!

Cry below on the misty river,
Phantom in the dark,
So quick and agile,
that reddened knife,
 that ended life,
and made the body flaccid.

3 WW in style

Wouldn't it be clever to finish a threewordwednesday in silky style?

Three Word Wednesday from the Bible

'Arise LORD! Lift up your hands, O God. Do not forget the helpless.' Psalm 10:12

'Be sober, be vigilant; because your adversary the devil, as a roaring lion, walketh about, seeking whom he may devour:' 1 Peter 5:8

^' Hear this, you who trample the needy
    and do away with the poor of the land,

 saying,

‘When will the New Moon be over
    that we may sell grain,
and the Sabbath be ended
    that we may market wheat?’–
skimping on the measure,
    boosting the price
    and cheating with dishonest scales, 

 buying the poor with silver
    and the needy for a pair of sandals,
    selling even the sweepings with the wheat.' Amos 8:4-6

 

I'm an Ass

It is a while since I have written anything remotely substantial in terms of creativity. Doing a degree causes unending destruction to the creative spirit. Yet here I am. Refusing to be beaten by the apparent necessity for qualification. The choice between writing for fun or writing for deadlines; an unhappy ultimatum ultimately ignored. I made writing for deadlines fun (or as fun as it can be) and have surfaced from the waterboarding of a degree almost a year after it is complete.

Yet struggle makes you stronger. Makes you harder.

So they say.

Yet I believe this to be untrue.

Struggle does not make one stronger or harder. I mean it can, if you let it take some of your humanity away. Sometimes struggles cause us to give the illusion we're strong. We don't want to go through that again so we show the world how strong we are by making sure we look strong. We place on our selves a mask. A mask to intimidate and fend off threats. We do not leave ourselves vulnerable to friends, we trust little and we make sure we look good so people know our strength. This happens when struggles batter our humanity.

But if we actually let the struggles build our humanity rather than chip it away then we might find a differenct kind of strength. Struggles can make one more understanding, empathetic, gracious. If one is strong enough to let them.

I used to get worried about friendships. I used to grip them so tightly my heart hurt at the smallest rejection.

Now I see things differently. I don't mind that my short friend doesn't contact me often, or that the dark haired one hasn't been seen in a year, or that the lanky one doesn't reply to my facebook messages, or that the older one no longer emails. I have realised that they're people, like me. They have worries, concerns, joys, thrills, fears and longings which might make them self absorbed. Who am I to moan about that? I'm self absorbed too. What a hypocrite I would be to complain. So I don't. Instead I have realised; I'm an ass, you're an ass. Get over it.

See Awareness by Anthony De Mello on understanding selfishness and being an ass.

My Prayer Today

I lift this prayer to you O Lord.

I am weak and weary. My vision is blurred. My walk has become a stumble.

Lift me up God. Hold me in your arms once more.

I have had enough of aloneness. I am created to be in community. Yet do not rid me of my awareness, I pray you would make it deeper.

Be with me and guide me if thou would'st.

I would be grateful.

Amen

Fire to the Stars

The stench of darkness,

Discordant with the long forgotten stars,

Stretching beyond the horizon,

Bleakness.

Wait!

There!

A spark. Did you see that?

It sparked I tell you.

The hope sparked!

But it has gone again

Blown out in this land of despair

For now

Yet if it is sought, one day it will surely be found

Then it will not go out.

The wood will be ready

And the fire will blaze to the sky,

Its light reaching to the horizon,

Its heat burning away the clouds,

To reveal the stars once more.

Stating the obvious

I have a very good friend. I haven't seen him in person in about a year though.

Once we were going to change the world together. Now, we have gone our separate ways.

Yet the world can still change. There is no need to give up hope.

My friend and I used to run a youth group together, we used to write songs together and used to laugh loads together. We thought we'd need to work together to change the world. But now we have gone our separate ways. We remain friends, but we do not have the time to spend with one another anymore. Other commitments have entered our lives. We now live relatively far apart and we speak much less often.

But that does not mean we are unable to change the world. I do not need my friend (specifically) to change the world. I need love.

My friend does not need me to change the world. He needs love.

Love takes small steps. Love is careful. It is patient. It waits to see where it is most needed and it fills the gaping holes of coldness, turning the darkest places to light. Love drives out fear.

I am reminded of the starfish story. I won't tell it here. I'll let you take a google journey to find it.

But let us conclude with this:

The smallest acts of love can make the biggest difference. Perhaps it's stating the obvious, but we forget it all too often.