Waterfall

I don't know much about poetry; none of the rules about how it's supposed to be structured or anything like that. Rhythm, rhyme, meter - hmm, not so sure about those things either.  This just came. There wasn't much fiddling around to choose words, and I don't think that the verses (stanzas?) are even the same length, but it sort of says what I want it to say. 

I think God says something too.

I am weary and burdened 

 and I want that rest you speak of.

My burdens are trivial:

daily stuff, detail stuff,

motherhood and marriage,

women and worry.

Who I am and what I'm for;

when to pursue the dream 

and when to stop trying.

Today, too difficult.

I am tired.

I know that burdens come much heavier than mine:

dirt and drought and death,

fear and fighting,

bombs and bloodshed.

Add guilt to my burden

because life is hard right here

And yet I have nothing to complain about.

I am blessed but broken.

I'm feeling small.

Inadequate and fearful.

Still I come.

I come because I know your grace;

You know my dissatisfaction

and you love me anyway.

I come because I'm thirsty 

and the water that you give brings life;

heals and restores

gives energy and hope.

Water to drink and bathe and swim in.

I can stand beneath the waterfall of peace

naked but somehow unashamed.

Washed and nourished.

You see me.

I can't hide from you,

and so I approach;

just as I am; just me.

You are the God who sees.

The darkness and fear.
Every doubt and uncertainty.

My weariness and weakness,

ingratitude and pride 

and instead of anger 

you pour out never ending love.

Waterfall

I am weary and burdened 

 and I want that rest you mentioned.

My burdens are trivial:

daily stuff, detail stuff,

motherhood and marriage,

women and worry.

Who I am and what I'm for;

when to pursue the dream 

and when to stop trying.

All too difficult.

Tiring.

I know that burdens come much heavier than mine:

dirt and drought and death,

fear and fighting,

bombs and bloodshed.

Add guilt to my burden

because life is difficult right here

And yet I have nothing to complain about.

I am blessed but broken.

I'm feeling small.

Inadequate and fearful.

Still I come.

I come because I know your grace

and you know my dissatisfaction.

You love me anyway.

I come because I'm thirsty 

and the water that you give brings life;

heals and restores

gives energy and hope.

I bring hurt and wounds

and you give me water

to drink and bathe and swim.

I can stand under the waterfall of peace

naked but somehow unashamed.

Washed and nourished.

You see me.

I can't hide from you,

and so I approach;

just as I am.

You are the God who sees.

You see it all.

You see my weariness and weakness,

ingratitude and pride -

and instead of anger 

you pour out never ending love.

Turning to you

My eyes are open

Looking, searching, gazing

But not seeing

Not realising

I have already found you.

My ears are open

Listening closely

To an internal melody

Turned up loud

With a beat of me, me, me.

My mind is closed

Knowing everything 

All the answers

Narrow, oblivious

To the vast glory of you.

My mouth is open

Always saying something

Convinced I'm right

Not thinking first

Imparting my wisdom.

My fists are closed

Holding tightly

To the rubbish

Worry and fear and regret

Preoccupied with misery.

Blow your Spirit through me

Fling wide the doors

Closed and cobwebbed

Clear out the rubbish

Stacked in corners.

My heart is open

Deep down - I know

I long for you

Feeling my need

I turn to you, my Father.

Remembering to breathe

I am making myself dizzy

Up so high that the air is thin

And then so far in the depths 

It's hard to breathe.

I soar and fly and somersault

Free, inspired, creative

Full of possibilities

Full of hope.

Without warning I'm in free fall

Plummet down and down

Until I can't get much lower

And I stop.

I sit with my head in my hands

Dissatisfied and worried

Concentrating fully

On misery.

Either way I realise:

Flying or falling, 

Ecstasy or despair

I don't breathe.

It's only when I'm still that I know

That I need to breathe

I need to inhale

You.

I need to fill myself with you

To feel cool air rush in

Touch every cell in me

Inspire. 

Allow you to fill and refill me

Every breath I need to start again

Inhaling deeply

Living.

I need the life you give me

If only I take a breath

For air to reach

Every fibre of me.

Sometimes I forget to take a breath

I am so absorbed in being me

That I don't breathe at all

Until it hurts.

Sometimes arrogance prevails

I think that I can do this

I think that I don't need to breathe

That I'm enough.

Without your life the best I am

Lasts only as long as a breath

Held tight and short

Before I gasp

I can't do anything holding my breath

I can't see or hear or feel

Fear takes over

Paralysis.

I am powerless without you

I can't manage on my own

I need your breath 

I'm waiting.

Listening for the whisper of your Spirit

To breathe life into me

So I can mean something

Reason to be.

So I am here and I am expectant

Focused on you

I am still and I know

You are God.

It's you

You are the whisper after rolling thunder
You are the spark of light in the dark
You are the flash of silver in the raindrops
You are the gleam of gold in my heart

You are the brightness in the dullest of days

You are the colour in the black and white
You are the breeze when there's only stillness
You are the stars in the sky at night

You are the rain in a parched landscape

You are the warmth when the north wind blows
You are the safety of a Father's arms
You are the flower pushing through the snow.

You are the harbour that my soul longs for

You are the signpost on the longest road

You are the safety on the storm tossed ocean

You are the carrier of the heaviest load.

You are beauty amid all that's ugly

You are the answer in a confused world

You are the focus when all seems blurry

You are the first and the final word.

You are the sunset reflected in water

You are blossom on a tree in spring

You are the rainbow in a rain-filled sky

You are the eagle on its outstretched wings.

You are strength where there's only weakness
You are sunlight after days of rain
You are healing where there's bitter hatred
You are peace after all the pain.

You are power where there's indecision
You are love amid all the fears
You are the song in the heart of the blackbird
You are the One wipes away all the tears.

You are the Lord, the King and the Author
You are my Saviour, my God and my Friend
You are the Father, the Son and the Spirit
You are the beginning and you are the end.

The view looking backwards

Oh, Lord.


I keep coming back to the question of not knowing where I'm going.  


It makes me a bit anxious as I like to plan.  I've done my Spiritual MOT and am looking forward to talking it over with a wise and patient friend later this week.  Some answers were easy, instinctive; others were thought provoking or challenging, and a few were difficult; difficult to face up to or simply find an answer because I don't know.


I know you are doing something with me.  There are too many new things in my life, too many reminders, too many little prods and impressions for it not to be the case. I know you have something up your sleeve but I don't know what.  


It's that question, 'How do I know when I get there if I don't know where I'm going?'  I still have the sense of anticipation that I had in January (it is only March, I suppose) but I also know that the last months have brought me closer to you in many ways.  So is that it?  You just had it in mind that 2011 would be the year that I tuck myself a bit closer under your wing?


If so, that's alright.  I don't mind that.  That's enough.  It's a life's work, I think, to get close, stay close.  And the closeness;  that's a prerequisite for actually accomplishing something on your behalf.  I need to be close enough, in tune enough, to hear what you're telling me to do.


I'm sure that you're moulding me into something new.  New and improved.


I've missed three consecutive weeks at the acapella group now.  The first we were away in London, the second I had dodgy tonsils and the third I was generally unwell and tucked up in bed.  This week I find that I don't very much want to go. And I was so enthusiastic!  I was so wrapped up in it, and so looked forward to it from one week to the next.  The thing is, the last time I was there I sort of lost track of what was going on - I'm not musical and it takes me much longer than other people to catch on to a harmony. I'm an alto, and since altos rarely have the melody line it takes a lot of concentration for me and lots of practice.  The thing is, you know me well, Lord, and you'll know how much it meant that I went to the group in the first place.  I've never had much confidence, and to try something so far outside my comfort zone was quite an achievement!  So the last time I went it wasn't easy and I lost my confidence, and now after three weeks things will have moved on loads and people will know it all and I won't, and so it seems much easier to abandon ship than to try again.


People have said they've missed me, and I find that hard to believe.  I know they're being nice, and I appreciate it, but I still find it hard to believe that it's true.  It's only in the last few years/months that it has occasionally occurred to me that I might have something to offer in terms of who I am, not what I can do; not just being on a rota, or helping with such and such a committee, but by being me, because only I can be me, and you told us that we all have a vital role to play in your family.  


I've always hung back because there seems to be so many other people more qualified than me.  I've found it hard to welcome or reach out to new people because a voice in my head says, 'Why would they want to know you?  They have their own friends, and can make new ones and they wouldn't choose you, so why be so presumptuous as to imagine that you turning up on their doorstep would be a good thing?'


So I've left it to others.  I am starting to see that it's not the case. People have been so kind, so encouraging.  I look around and everyone else seems so confident, secure, comfy being them.  Then again, I suspect that no-one looking at me would see through to the flimsy and ailing self esteem that has dogged me since junior school.  Or before that, maybe.  Even asserting that I've started to feel less like this makes me cringe because it seems to invite contradiction; someone might confirm that yes, it is the case that I don't count for very much. 


I see it in Elizabeth, and it worries me that it's my fault that she's so diffident about some things.  This very morning it was her class assembly and it was just wonderful.  She was one of two children in her class who had been chosen to read a poem that they'd written out to the whole school, and parents of her class.  She did so well, and I'm so proud of her.  She's five, and she's written a beautiful little poem:


'At night owls fly and look for food
The food is mice.
At night the moon and stars shine and twinkle brightly.
At night we see shooting stars
The shooting stars shoot super fast.'


How lovely is that?


After the assembly the headteacher came over and congratulated the other child, saying, 'My goodness, here's the little poet!'   To Elizabeth, three feet away, nothing.  


My little girl just tucked herself in beside me, head down.  She didn't seem to expect anything.  Last night at bedtime she was crying in case people laughed at her as she read out her poem.  She doesn't want to get involved in the Comic Relief Talent Show at school because she says she can't do anything that anyone would want to see.  She's five, and the self consciousness that has crippled me for all my adolescence and adult life so far has set in already.  Am I to blame for this?  It terrifies me.  Don't let it happen to my girls, Father God, please.  


But back to the MOT. I know I've started a journey, and I know that you won't leave me stranded. 


'...being confident of this, that he who began a good work in you will carry it on to completion until the day of Christ Jesus'.   Philippians 1:6


So if you've started, you'll finish.  I don't know if that means you'll finish this side of Heaven, but I know that I'm a work in progress, not something abandoned under a dust sheet in the back room that the craftsman has given up on. 

So maybe it's about moving past this self esteem thing. You know, I think I can imagine life the other side of it.  It's like a mountain range ahead of me; the things I need to unlearn; ways of thinking, assumptions I make, my reaction to people, what's in my head as I walk into a room. An apologetic approach to life - feeling inadequate and assuming that people can see that I'm a fraud, slightly less worthwhile than the person next to me. 


It's a big thing, as it's formed the basis for how I see myself for thirty-odd years.  How I can get across these mountains is beyond me, but I'm in the foothills, with your help. I've struck out; left base camp.

I've only just left the foothills.

So this mountain range.  I know that there must be another side to it.  A place where the mountains are behind me. 


Another country.  I reckon that there might even be a viewing platform over there, where I can turn around and look back at the mountains I've crossed over and left behind.  I can imagine, perhaps, what that view might be like - I just can't see it yet.  


But you've brought me so far and there've been a few peaks and troughs before, so if you will lead me, I'll follow. Even if the air gets a bit thin and it's high and scary and a bit rocky in places.  


But please don't let my daughters follow me. Save them the journey; please let them get off a plane already at the other side and meet me there.