Home is where the Heart is

Nothing beats family. People change, we grow up - it's been a long time since we were little kids, but in some ways, you return to that chapter of the story when you go home. And you get those precious glimpses of what, despite everything, will always be the same.

It's amazing to think that though we change so much, and journey so far from that point where it all began, God never does. He remains the same. He's been there the whole time.

^{Malachi 3:6}

⁶ “I am the Lord, and I do not change.

~Psalm 65:5~

You faithfully answer our prayers with awesome deeds, O God our savior.You are the hope of everyone on earth, even those who sail on distant seas.

Words of Weight

Here is another thought; I came upon it during another of my excursions deep into the depths of my blackberry archives. It was wedged carelessly into a pile of yellowed, musty old sermon notes, so I have dusted it off for you and smoothed out the wrinkles in an attempt to return it to its former state, and hopefully, bring back some cohesive dignity.
It was written some time ago.

I don't want to be the kind of person that just says all the right things, but does things that are right, and sincere, and purposeful, and out of doing, and loving, and giving, then learns to speak words that count; words that can be weighed, and in time, applied,  providing sturdy stepping stones for someone who may find himself or herself suddenly without an explanation,  floundering in a murky swamp of confusion, in need of a lifeline - a direction.
Words that will have a weight of sincerity and wisdom behind them, and a strangely familiar ring in their utterance. Words that, upon reaching the ears of those listening, will resound with significance because of the journey that was first walked, and the paths, highways and by-ways that were explored and pioneered and navigated that gave them their substance and color... and weight.
All the battles, the victories, the losses, the gains. The joys of living, the sorrows of pain, of letting go and starting again.
Words that will uplift, and clear away a bit of the debris for someone, and shed some light, some HOPE.
Out of these experiences we emerge; we discover what we want to say. Our characters are formed in the places we least expect to find ourselves, and by the people we least expect to ever meet.


Be. 
Do. 
Speak.

Blackberry bits

In the days of my youth, before I ever had any such thing as a mobile phone, or even dreamed of owning one, I would often be out somewhere, lost in daydreams or wandering wayside paths in the summer heat, when suddenly,  inspiration for a piece of poetry would descend on me, or a thought would flash through my brain that, upon reflection, I would feel I needed to record in writing.

But, usually being equipped with nothing but a few morsels to eat in case I should find myself feeling peckish during the course of an excursion, or the dog, or a tag-along sibling, this was often impossible to accomplish. Thus, I had to try to store up thoughts and musings in my head until any paper or ink should come into my possession. But oftentimes, by the time it did, my mind had already emptied itself of these great insights into the human psyche, (aka the musings of a naive, idealistic little girl) and I would find myself staring blankly at the blank page before me, wracking my brains for what I knew had been there awhile ago.

Now, the years of rudimentary memory journaling are a wee way behind me (but not too far), and I have in my possession a piece of technology that I find to be very handy when I now find myself facing such dilemmas. 

The Blackberry.

I can be anywhere, doing anything; out walking, watching the sunset, picking up shells from the floor of a sandy cove, having a coffee with a dear one, or even cooking and cleaning. And there it is, small and compact enough to be nestled nicely in my pocket, ready and waiting to accommodate me in my effort to keep track of all the poetic ideas I could ever conceive. It is equipped with all kinds of word tools and document programs, and its own little keyboard of miniature letters.

Perfect. 

I have now come to rely upon this little guy for backup whenever paper and ink are not within my reach; because after all, they are still first on the list. 

Nothing could ever replace real paper and ink... words seem to have more weight when they are written; when they are penned in a neat, sincere hand onto something that can be held, and folded neatly and tucked safely away for future reference. History survived that way. Because someone took the time to record what was taking place in their every day circumstances and realities. To that person, back then, these happenings and events may have seemed commonplace and tedious. But to us, years on, we find they were significant events that shaped the way we live today, and paved the way for people to be able to think and advance and experiment the way we are advancing and experimenting today. 

So, keep the paper coming, I say!

But... returning now to the topic of the handy Blackberry.

The other day I was scrolling through some of the notes and ideas and thoughts I've saved on mine, and came across a few that I thought I would share.


This one was entitled 'Weakness'
I am content with my weaknesses, with the places I've come from, because they remind me of my need for Christ, and I don't want to forget how much I need him. Without weaknesses, or a stubborn refusal to acknowledge them, I know I would.
But when I know I can't exist without Jesus, salvation becomes a way of life, not just a religious ideal, or a prayer at the end of a sermon. It's an unfolding revelation - one that does not lose significance, but gains it with the passing of time. And I learn that out of my weakness, he reveals his strength.
And where I end, he begins.

Each time he said, “My grace is all you need. My power works best in weakness.” So now I am glad to boast about my weaknesses, so that the power of Christ can work through me. - 2 Corinthians 12:9


Psalm 136:23 - He remembered us in our weakness.His faithful love endures forever.

                                     

Introduction

Yesterday, as I stood folding chip wrappers in my place of employment, which happens to be a restaurant down on the Sydney harbor, with a splendid view of the harbor bridge, my mind, not being employed with the mundane concerns of keeping customers content, who at that particular moment were few and far between, had begun to wander, as I find it often does, and was now flooding with musings and imaginings and reflections and observations about life and people, and saying Goodbye, and learning to let go, and loving, and hurting, and growing up, and hoping, and laughing...
and writing.
I am a day-dreamer. And I had just bid goodbye to someone close to me in the wee hours of the morning, over a mug of steaming Long Black, in the deserted corner of a cafe. If you are familiar with Goodbyes, you'll understand the emotions one experiences when someone that is dear to you is going away. A close friend, a loved one, a family member. You get that dull ache on the inside; a knot of trepidation that only tightens, and an acute awareness of time, of the moments steadily ticking by, and the feeling of impending separation that hangs in the air. All the emotions you are forced to address AFTER saying goodbye are almost harder to bear... you are empty inside. The sights and sounds that used to seem so pleasant and enjoyable now suddenly feel foreign to you.
But, I digress. (See how easy it is for me to lose my train of thought!) As I was saying, on this particular day, the emotions described above were still very raw. So my mind was being very easily distracted from the work before me, to lines of poetry that kept flitting through my head. And now I am approaching the point to this little story.
Ever since I could read a novel on my own, and write a story without help, paper and ink have consistently been two of my favorite things. The smell of a fresh, glossy page as you flip open a new book; the tea-stained brittleness and dog-eared corners of an ancient, musty, well-loved volume. The fluid lines of dark ink staining a blank page. Or in this case, the jumble of plastic letters beneath my fingertips. Alphabets. Couplets. Stanzas. Phrases. Verses. Passages.  Definitions, origins. Words to me present an ocean of building blocks with which I can create my own realms and worlds and lands far away. The possibilities are endless!
I love finding words that compliment one another; words that fit neatly beside each other, and others that flow smoothly in a line of poetry. I love discovering a word or phrase that defines an emotion I knew existed, but couldn't describe. Suddenly a new window opens up. Words give life and breadth and depth to the empires of thought we build in our minds. That is, if we choose to write them down, and record them for others to read. Because, I think, in that lies a great opportunity to learn. We only have one life. And soon it is over. Some people can live and breathe for a whole lifetime, and no one ever knows them, really gets to know them. Others never speak, or never get the chance to say what they think, or verbalize the dreams they keep alive, but deep down inside, tucked away, invisible to the rest of the world. And no one knows they're there. But every single person, no matter the outside, has an immense supply of thought, of wonderings and imaginings and observances and hopes and dreams and fears locked up inside them that only they have the ability to unlock. And there, a danger lurks.
We can build worlds of thought in our  minds that, unchecked and uncharted, can lead to our demise. We may take a certain view, argue it over in our heads for a time, convince ourselves of its truth or validity, and come to a conclusion - arrive at an opinion, all without uttering a single word. We form our own rules of what is and what isn't. Yet, what if this process is full of errors? What if I am wrong? How will I know someone understands what I think and feel unless I say so?
In writing down and recording some of my thoughts and feelings, using words to interpret them as accurately [and creatively as I can], I do become slightly more vulnerable. But again, you only live once. And in writing down your thoughts and feelings and the emotions you feel from things like goodbyes and hellos, or deaths, or separations or friendships and moments and joys and sorrows, it helps you to keep check on them, and creates a relatively solid anchor for you, so as to keep you from drifting away into the doldrums of delusion.
If you are like me; that is, if speaking is something you are less enthused with than writing, and composing songs and ballads and poems and stories with bright cobalt ink and a clean piece of paper comes most naturally to you, then I hope you find something to relate to here. You see, everything that I've just taken the time to write down, first went through my brain at work yesterday, while I was still caught in the aftermath of emotion from saying Goodbye, and trying to focus on clearing dirty dishes from tables; and while I stood there in the quiet period, folding chip wrappers and looking out at the harbor bridge, dreaming, the thought "maybe I should start a blog" suddenly flashed across my mind.
So that is how this all began. And here I am! If I am making the wrong decision, I am sure I will find out in due course.
I am not a professional, and I certainly don't claim to have an adequate understanding of proper Grammar and correct writing styles, nor a degree in the history and the inner workings of the English Language, nor am I an experienced or cultured Poet. ;)
But I do know this: when my Mother first introduced me to Poetry at ten years of age, it stuck with me, and my appreciation for the idea of arranging   words in order to evoke something or stir something in me has only grown. I love reading Poetry and Literature, especially the classics, and  [attempting] to compose my own bits of it, out of the wealth of thought I myself entertain about life, love and laughter; pain, hurt and growth; salvation, joy and surrender, and other things that present themselves along the way.
We're all on a journey, and here are a few glimpses into mine.