Jesus Christ, Superstar!

The 16 year old in me is v. relieved
you had compassion on
the guy who lived among graves and cut himself.

The woman in me is glad
you had compassion on
the sister whose leakage told a tale of woe
to anyone with a nose.

The sick person in me is desperately excited
that rumours are flying of a powerful healer,
so I'm ready to shed my dignity and run.

Everything they've told me about you so far gives me hope,
that here at last,
is a promise keeper. 

time

Dear Lord,

thank you for time!

Thank you that with each day in the warmth of your love I can mean the words "dear" and "Lord" more and more fully,
truthfully,
sincerely.

Dear Lord,
the one who has shepherded me so faithfully,
carefully,
thoughtfully.

You've dragged me through so many disasters!
You've preserved my life,
against fell fortunes,
sad hours,
and countless accidents that never happened.

You've been a friend in dark days,
quiet moments,
and cacophonous melees,
speaking words of wisdom,
words of life.

I giggle at the virginal wonder
of a bride on her wedding day,
believing so entirely that she couldn't possibly love her groom more.

I giggle at the laughter of years,
the throaty 'ha ha' of Sarah,
shored up by the evidence of decades,
believing such a thing could never happen.

Time in love is your great joke on me,
on all of us.
You knew all along I would look back
in wonder
at that other me
and smirk,
now knowing the next part of the story,
the ironic twist in the tale,
coming for her,
ready to invert expectations,
startle her predictions,
delight her with new depths of knowledge,
and a hefty chuckle at her previous ingenue self.

To my shame and to my delight,
I did not expect this development in the plot;
that a 27th anniversary would be more deeply felt
than a first night in the honeymoon suite.

I will still be surprised,
like Sarah,
at 90,
because even now I've only scratched the surface
of all that you have for me,
for us,
for the cosmos.

I'll wait breathlessly to read the next page of your manuscript,
savouring with pleasure the lines of such mastery,
revelling in the delight of finding a playwright
whose every step surprises,
whose skill surpasses,
whose knowledge of human nature saturates every page,
and whose favourite plot is comedy.

Dear Lord,
my Lord,
thank you for time.

Elijah's complaint - 1 Kings 19

Crouched in the cave,
weary from the journey.
Head spinning,
knees knocking,
remembering the fight.

I knew, and I waited,
I had teased and cajoled.
Your perilous power
rested a moment in my gnarly hands,
so I waited and waited for the tension to grow,
then struck a deft, dazzling, dramatic blow.

But the dance took it out of me,
sent me tail-spinning,
loop looping,
nose diving,
over again.

How much longer do I have to keep tapping out your show?
Pulling rabbits from hats
to blind patrons,
carnival rats?

When will you come,
with your hordes,
with companions,
to sweep savagely down
through this rebellious crew,
once for all showing
nothing up their sleeves
no one behind their eyes?

change

My stress in dealing with change seems curiously halved by enduring them all in rapid succession.

But where would I be if you'd not placed all these arms around me?
Where would I be if you'd left me out here alone?

birthday birthday

In 8 days, I turn 27. I have no fixed address, no "career", no children, lots of debt and a somewhat heavy sense that I should have it more 'together' by now.

But my life would not have even been possible in other centuries, other cultures, so despite the mild discomforts, I rejoice in the sacrifices of others that have led me here. For all it's strange disconnectedness, skating aimlessness and burden of potentiality, it is a blessed, blessed life, graciously kissed by love. It's a gift, fashioned for me and given to me by the hands of others.

I am sheltered, fed, warmed and embraced by immortal beings who've opened their lives to me, so I also have a comforting sense that the Lord goes before me, walks beside me, and pushes from behind me. He will never forsake or abandon me. He knows my future, my present and my past, and is weaving it all together in the tapestry of His glory.

But this morning, all my brain would say is, "yeah, you're homeless, careerless, family less; just as it should be. 

You're just a fat fuck who looks like Chastity Bono, wastes time like a stoner and deserves nothing better."

Thank you for the love Jesus. Thank you for caring when you totally don't have to.

Thank you for the love Father. Thank you for guiding and watching over me, even when I sleep.

Thank you for the love Holy Spirit. Thank you for shaping and transforming me, from stunted garden weed toward fruitful, handsome wheat.

"Jesus did many other things as well. If every one of them was written down, I suppose that even the whole world would not have room for the books that would be written."

and now for something not so different

If anyone out there was wondering what it's like inside my head, talking to God, kicking myself around, this will give you a window. 

I'm staying with some wonderful friends at the moment, the next in the long line of beautiful souls who have taken me in and given me a bed. But, I'll be looking for somewhere more permanent, and the issue I keep circling around is whether or not I can psychologically survive living on my own. 

I just made myself a malted milk, and settled down to type some stream of consciousness:

So, the crap-est part is just before bed.

When you walk through an empty house and there's no one to say goodnight to.

Perhaps Phil is right. Perhaps sleep is death. So having no one to say goodbye to is like dying alone.

And I'm sorry, my smaller-than-a-mustard-seed faith often doesn't comfort me with the truth that I am seen and known, at a time like this, when I am alone.

It's fine in the morning, I'm up, I've got things to do. I'm clearly not dead!

It's a new dawn, it's a new day, and it'll only be a short time before I see someone to talk to.

I could take myself down to a cafe, remind myself that everybody else is alive, and here.

I could send a text, call a friend, set up a meeting.

Why is it a problem at night...?

Alien hours stretch before me.

Hours of vulnerability, unconsciousness. Hours of dark and danger.

Hours of rehearsal for lying in a coffin, dark, immobile, silent and alone.

That is the time of day when I most wish someone was with me, by touch or sound. To hold my hand, or kiss me goodnight, or at least exchange a farewell glance as we peel off to our separate rooms. A shared smile, an acknowledgement that we'll be there together, in the sleep of death.

I can't do it because of the nighttime!

I can do it in the day, when the world's alight and friendly, and birds, postmen, traffic, planes and school bells line my way

through this weary progress,

making it all okay.

I could live by myself during the day only... 

No wonder pillow-talk is such a soothing practise. All the secrets and fears of the day come out.

Off-load, release, before the dark closes in and claims all hands of friendship in paralysing doubt.

I can think of nothing worse than dying in my sleep, because I know it's then I will be most alone. More alone than I've ever been before. Laid out, out cold, already waiting in state. But with no one to observe, except the ants and cockroaches, raking over the detritus of my life.

Come sleep, perchance to dream.

If only I could sleep in day, and stay on guard during all the watches of the night.

Stay alert, watch movies, beat sunrise back to beginning. Then rest, the sleep of victory, knowing I have graced the field with bright banners of triumph, defeating the guerilla camps of night.

By day I isolate by choice. Free walking, loose talking, not minding silence slipping by.

I would even lie down with a lion, just for the warmth. And that's what scares me most.

I'm a sheep, not a feline, and until you call Time, that's not a safe place for me to be. Lions still bite, sheep still bleed, and there's no sense in that picture at all.

But sheep are herd animals, just like the rest of us, so maybe they do feel safer with a lion than with nothing at all...

I don't wanna go hunting lions. 

But I don't want to live alone. 

Bethesda

I was stranded by the pool.
As usual.
Too nervous to de-towel and hop in,
afraid of my bare legs and arms.

Other bodies,
already splashing, racing, enjoying themselves
were suntanned,
svelte,
care free.

I wanted to find a corner where nobody was watching
and slip quickly and quietly into the water
where distorted wavelets could cover my horrid flesh.

There!
Right there,
in that shady corner.
No one would see me there.

I slid in and bobbed around
mildly enjoying my anaemic delight.

But the water held no healing powers.
And when I hauled myself up the ladder,
I was just the same as before.

I didn't want anyone to watch me.
I didn't want anybody to see me at all.

My mind was on one object,
and one object only.

Hope.

The hope that one day this would all change,
that I would move freely and easily through the world,
make friends,
have a name.

And when you came by,
I didn't realise at first what you were really offering,
I didn't know the solution you provided was what I needed most of all.
We were disconnected,
remote from one another.
I hiding in transparent water,
you standing strong,
speaking soft,
thinking bold.

I missed it.

I missed all those chances.

But you kept coming,
kept being,
kept knowing
that eventually I would understand.

"There is something worse than being sick.
There is something better than being well."*


*this is a quote from a sermon on John 5 by Simon Manchester. 

not to worry

The foxes have holes, you said.
And you were right.

The birds of the air have nests.
It's true.

But the Son of Man has no place to lay His head.

How did you deal with it?!
The itinerancy. The impermanence.

3 years on the road,
three Passovers,
three passings-by,
of loved ones,
of places you visited frequently,
of people you met only once.

How did you deal with it all?

A leaderless leader -
everyone depending on you for everything,
you depending only on God?

Teach me!

Teach me how you knew man, so you did not entrust yourself to him.

Teach me how you survived, when even your closest companions
were distanced sometimes
through ignorance,
weariness,
hunger,
ego
and human-ness...

Tell me how you did it,
so faithfully,
so well,
when you were so alone.

Show me how to do likewise.
Show me how not to worry.