Poem: Time goes quickly

Time goes so quickly,

When I’m moved to praise you!

When you’re filling my heart

And I am thankful, the minutes slip by.

Is it because I’m looking up

And no longer looking at my feet?

Finally seeing your light and glory,

And not sluggish darkness that weighs me?

Down, so down, down it threatens to drag me.

But when I lift my arms to you,

And cry “Father!” you hear me.

Embrace me Lord, enfold me.

Reawaken my soul on fire!

Lift my eyes to you

Like a tender love 

So all I see is you, and none other.

• “He will call out to me, ‘You are my Father, my God, the Rock my Saviour.’” Psalm‬ ‭89:26‬ ‭

RTBT: Thank you Lord for the freedom we have to love and praise you openly

Baby

We prayed you into the world. 
Our love for each other,

And our faith in our Creator

Were the spark of a light

That will now never be extinguished.

That light grows, like you in my womb

More than love – something else…

An awareness that you, little you,

Will change our lives forever.

We will be yours, and you ours.

A knowledge that my heart

Is now indelibly scarred,

With your name. For a while

We will be your world,

Your guiding light, your flame.

 

Waiting To Know

Thoughtful.

Sadie Hasler

The question “when are you going to have a baby, Sadie?” is like coleslaw. I get it about twice a week. People who barely know me feel fine asking it irrespective of whether they know I can or want to. They come straight in with the “when?” It seems it’s open fodder for anyone who can see you’re carrying a vagina somewhere about your person. It’s more permissible than enquiring about people’s finances or true feelings on love. It’s almost clinical. But the ‘when’ is important. Because time is of the essence.

I’ve always fobbed off the questions, light and smiling, as though having a baby is like going on a hiking trip around Guatamala; possible, but not likely. I’ve been paddling at the luxurious deep end of biological grace; the right side of the right time.

I’m writing a play about the choice that women have to make, about two women –…

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Hello Ash Wednesday

Excuse the reflective mood. Lent starts today, so it’s got me thinking a bit more about others.

I stumbled across this while flicking through Pinterest this morning:

Isaiah 58-10Very much the theme for my life at the moment, my new job working for ASLAN, putting pen to paper again (ok, tapping on keys) with HJ – it seems a lot is being shuffled into perspective!

What’s wonderful about Lent is that it crosses religion, and even cultures. Ask most people in the street, and they will know that it’s a time when you have to ‘give something up’. But what if you turn it on it’s head and, instead of giving something up, make it a time when you DO something you wouldn’t normally do?

I’ve been openly confronted by some who ask ‘why should I give something up?’ Well, if you don’t want to, don’t! But…you’re missing the point…

The main reasons Christians ‘do’ Lent is to reflect on the time Jesus spent 40 days and nights alone in the desert. It’s the time leading up to Jesus’ crucifixion and subsequent resurrection (Easter) when he gave up food and companionship to pray and be closer to God, his father.

At the heart of Christianity is a hope that we’d help and love the needy, the hungry and the lonely. Sometimes that’s really hard to do. Especially when your initial kindness is rejected or ridiculed by others.

Video: Moved to write by Marcken

 

 

Untitled…

Royal CourtsThey walked slowly out of the building; through its long shadows, down the stark white steps and into the sunshine. It was only then he realised how chilled the stone had been, and how muffled the sound as it’d bounced around the cavernous architecture.

He glanced up at the arch as they came out under it. The building seemed to glow in the sunshine. The sky a blue back-drop. In any other circumstance, he may have paused to appreciate it more.

He was suddenly aware of a group of people clustering around the family who had come out just ahead of them. Men with cameras, a woman holding a microphone. Press.

He guided Geena in the opposite direction, and closer to him, thankful that the family had come out before him..and that they were not interested in them. In the grand scheme of things – they were small fry.

He glanced at Genna as they crossed over the Strand and made their way down Arundel Street, towards Temple Tube Station. Her shoulders shook under his hand every so often as she took another gulp of breath. They hadn’t said a word to each other for hours.

But, what do you say?

His attention was caught by a young black man standing outside a coffee shop. He wore a long black robe that fell to just above his ankles. He was holding a white wig under one arm; his other hand held a thin cigar, which he drew on every so often before it collaborated in making another point to his companion. 

He realised that it was the smell of the cigar that had caught his attention. It took him back to the last time he’d smoked one, thirty odd years ago, when his son had just been born.

With two girls already, he’d really wanted a son. He’d have been happy with either, of course. But, he’d secretly wanted a son. So when he’d arrived at the delivery room, and the nurse presented him with a wriggling bundle in a pink blanket, he was slightly dismayed.

Geena laughed at him. She’d looked blotchy and knakered. Her gown was in disarray, and the top of her breasts were streaked with blood. She was beautiful. 

And then he realised, as the nurse, half smiling too, opened up the blanket.

“We ran out of blue ones today,” She’d said, apologetically. 

Up the hill

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Slick pavements,
Water dappled cars.
Air heavy as the blacked sky.
But, it’s not raining. Yet.
Snippets of swoosh, spish of
Six am traffic,
And Kings of Leon play
In a Cold Desert.
This time, I’m faster, further.
But the hill feels steeper.
Burning lungs, knee twinge,
and embarrassment,
As an old man cycles past me.
Slowly.