see how transparent they are... for more than shells

Monday, 26 March 2007

He is the same God.

"Great is your faithfulness Great is your faithfulness you never change, You never fail oh God."

Intellectually I understand and have always understood this to be true, but yesterday as I sung those words in church I realised that I wasnt really believing them, living them.

I realised that in the midst of millions of words to write in a few weeks that doesn't seem possible and the pressure of making a decision about next year that rests on so many things and many painful goodbyes no matter the decision. One way or the other september will bring tears. That doesn't always feel good, though I do know I am blessed to have options.

At the same time in this time of uncertainty and pressure I was reminded again that God is faithful. Not in a whimsical sort of way but in that He doesn't change. He is the same miracle working God today as He was at times when I led friends to him. He is the same miracle working God today as He was at time when I saw him heal friends, when I saw 'huge' answers to prayer. He is the same, He doesn't change.

I change, my life changes. He doesn't. He is still the same miracle working, faithful God who hears my cries. He is the same miracle working, faithful God who loves me, who delights in me and sings over me. He is the same miracle working, faithful God who requires of me to love mercy, act justly and walk humbly with him. No matter my circumstances, my fears, my anxities.

And with perspective it ceases to be about me. And I walk in peace and confidence.

Saturday, 24 March 2007

This always happens. Blogging block.

When I first started blogging it was a way of creatively expressing my thoughts; sometimes trivial, sometimes important, mostly trivial. Or a verse, a song, a peice of writing, something that was meaningful. Then everyone started blogigng and I think I got overwhelmed by the potential and also the formula. Some people write about their day, some people write about God, some people cover up the crap and talk about the good, some people just write whatever. I never know what to do.

Not becuase I haven't got stuff I could say but writing it down, putting it out there is like saying "hey world, you should read this." I feel slightly arrogant. I also feel a sense of the fear of man; wanting to write something well, or interesting or positive or that makes me look great is always a temptation. I don't want to be fake but I also don't want to be 'real' for the sake of being 'real'.

It was why I ended my last blog becuase so many people read it and I felt I was putting on a show, too concerned about how people would think about me through my blog. Both the good and the bad. I didn't want to edit to encourage fear of man in myself. I long only to fear God.

And so I get bloggers block.

Wednesday, 21 March 2007

"Dear Becci Brown, you will probably be feeling better by the time you get this but I thought it would be a nice gesture anyway. Sorry you're feeling rough but do know that i love and that I am praying for you

Also i know the future isnt always clear but we can have FULL confidence in the Living God who DOES know what the future holds (Luke 12:24-25) Praying that you will have a productive week celebrating your salvation in all you do! Lots of Love Podbo.xx

Sunday, 18 March 2007

carrying home gold

The sun is setting overhead
I've been racing since I got out of bed
The moon is peaking through the sky
Reminding me time likes to fly
It keeps me deep within the thought
That I can't bottle days
And can't slow down the clock
And it makes me want to hold more dear
Every moment I have here

So whatever I do
Whatever I say
May it all be for your glory
And all be for your praise
Whatever is pure
Whatever is true
And everything that's holy
Let it shine through
Whatever I do

The good life will soon be gone
Quicker than a vapour carries on
And the only things I'll carry home
Are silver, gold and precious stone.

Wednesday, 14 March 2007

Mind The Gap

“A consciousness associated with the soul is more relaxed, less intentionalized than a consciousness associated with the phenomena of the mind. Forces are manifested in poems that do not pass through the circuits of knowledge.” (Bachelard, 1958:xxi)

The pages stir, flicker and flip. There’s a breeze that inches it’s way past, over, round and through. There’s a deep whisper of a rumbling emerging and gathering volume, velocity and vroom, clatter and bang.

The doors slide and click. Stand back, hold yourself in, tuck in your hands, your feet, but edge, edge, edge. You dance with them, you rhythmically jostle with them until they’re past and you’re through; through and on.

“Excuse me, sorry….Can you move down please?” Hurdle that barrier? Crash through them? Ease round them? Will you speak, will you push? Nestle in, under an armpit, touch a leg. Hold your breath, bow your head and pray to the god of good hygiene.

Don’t look, don’t speak, don’t smile; your eyes are your final frontier. Listen to your music, read a book; nustle and edge; try to extend your boundaries, or give in, accept, relax; make yourself alarmingly cosy and disembody.

One gets off, two, three, weaving, dodging “excuse me, sorry”. Move casually, slowly to extend new boundaries, new rules, new norms. But don’t be na├»ve; never fixed, never certain. Regulate and watch yourself watching others watching you.

A seat vacated, draw your bag close; it is you. Sit; it’s warming, affecting, mixing. You’re not you and you alone. Your bag, your book, your iPod, the arm rail, and you; create a corner, steal away, dream.

Listen to them talking; American, Chinese, Italian, the student, the business woman, the tourist, the child, the old man and you. Whispering, as in the library, shouting as if alone, jabbering, animating, questioning, suggesting, and every nuance in between. The whole world on you, beside you, around you.

Watch them pouring off, create spaces, extending yours. Will you relocate to the emptiness, away from your neighbour, risk causing offence? How much is it worth? Do you need it? Why? Stay, stare ahead, stare around to anywhere but, Them.

Need new teeth? Afraid of going bald? Need a career change, to study, to do the worthwhile? Or just need to gorge on ice-cream? Informing, commanding, exposing. Give us your money, your time; you need us. Don’t linger, look too long, They’ll think you’re looking at Them.

Sandwiched between the bibles for today, the map; functional, modern, a scientific artwork of navigation but don’t be fooled, taken in, it lies, deceives, whispers dreams of transports speed. Sometimes, trust your legs, walk the walk and Mind The Gap.

But what about the irregular; A jostle, a touch, a push? A beggar asking you, a drunk sleeping on you, a loud chatty lady invading you? From rush hour to empty, above ground, below ground, histories, stories, patterns and shapes. Shifting, changing, moving space. Never constant, never the same, this strange phenomena, this, ‘The Underground’.