Lady Waiting Read online

  Yet his thoughts are focused on where he will go from here.

  No one speaks. I understand.

  No words are needed. His strained silence is easy to read.

  Such control. Such urge to be free.

  Just one touch does he need and yes, he’ll flare like me.

  Impervious

  With a need to be wanted,

  And a longing for approval,

  Why do I react so badly

  When each is lavished upon me?

  Why do these glances embarrass me?

  Why do these words make me feel I’m on display?

  Why is it when I receive what I most desperately want

  That I feel like a commodity at an auction?

  Inadequacy… Endeavouring to please.

  Failure, when driven to succeed.

  Each time the emptiness reinforces the need,

  But the truth won’t be known

  While I can still swallow this lump in my throat.

  Rejection…still searching, seeking my mate.

  Disappointment becomes sorrow – alone again.

  Self-abasing numbs the pain, then buries it deep,

  Where my sadness remains a tombstone no one reads.

  Tests of time

  Time is rhythm keeper; steady is its pace.

  Somehow in the training I lost the yen to race.

  Time is a challenge, a means for most to test.

  I always seem to flounder just when I reach my best.

  Time is a friend to some, achievements it will bring.

  I turn my eyes up to the sky but fly with wounded wing.

  Time is a fleeting thing. All search for it in vain.

  Clouded is the view through my window pane.

  Time is a dream at best, a plan of things to be.

  O may the Timekeeper teach his time to me.

  No need

  This world will fill most any order placed.

  I need. I want.

  Yet no portion can ever see me filled.

  Eagerly my hands embrace what will satisfy.

  Again I say:

  “I’ve had enough.” knowing hunger still.

  One day we are told emptiness will have no place.

  In the presence of the Lord all our yearnings will be stilled.

  A stitch saves nine

  ‘A stitch in time saves nine.’

  A proverb proven and true

  If it’s fabric you’re applying it to.

  But what if it should be

  Your heart, your soul, your mind

  That’s been damaged and torn?

  A stitch in time

  Will always save nine.

  With patience, and using love as the thread

  A gentle hand can work wonders

  For the soul fraying at the edge.

  Moved by the pool

  When life’s cares have ravaged you, brought you to your knees,

  Stretch out a hand to Jesus - he knows our every need.

  So like the cripple you can boldly cry out too:

  “I found healing when faith moved me by the pool.”

  When the darkness of injustice has cruelly blurred your sight,

  Turn you eyes up to the Lord; seek answers in his light.

  So like the blind who were led when the spirit moved,

  Your eyes too can be opened by the clarity of God’s Word.

  When your burdens seem so heavy you fear you might drown,

  Take heart, the Lord is waiting to hold you in his arms;

  That like those who felt the power each time the Spirit moved

  Your strength can be refreshed in this Living Water pool.

  Accountability

  If your life could be frozen

  At any moment, at any time...

  If without warning you could be halted

  Like the people of Pompeii...

  How would you be perceived?

  What impression would you make?

  If your life could be ended

  At any moment, at any time...

  If your life’s worth could be captured

  By the skill of artists’ tools...

  What kind of monument would be moulded?

  What would be the vision that you leave?

  If your life could be suspended

  At any moment, at any time...

  In what light would you be regarded

  By those you leave behind?

  On my pillow weeping

  What of my children?

  How will they fare on their own?

  What plans have they printed?

  On what foundations will they build?

  How well have I shown that

  Stability, security, and all strengths known

  Are planted, nurtured in a place called ‘Home’.

  What of my children?

  How will they fare on their own?

  What prayers have they whispered?

  By what principles are they living?

  How has been my example that

  Nothing else matters once this you know:

  Only being right with the Lord grants peace to the soul.

  Purpose

  Like sides of a coin

  Purpose and meaninglessness

  Confront us in all that we do.

  Depending on the flip -

  The attitude we give to it -

  Our heart or nothing

  Is what will be meted each time.

  Just because he asked

  When I was young many of life’s trappings enthralled me;

  One was the stage – it was another world up there under the lights.

  Wanting to be a part of it while fear held me firm in my seat;

  I was in the audience not merely to see the show

  But because experience had proven it was better to watch

  Than to take part and fail.

  Not so young anymore I still enjoy the stage,

  Aware that every day we too are on show as we play out life.

  Though I wouldn’t say I’ve conquered my fear,

  I do when necessary meet the challenge to rise to my feet.

  How did I change? Someone changed me.

  A veteran of this stage he called me to work at his side.

  We shone; and I shone just because he asked.

  Lamp high (Sweet memory)

  By the roadside, awaiting morning’s light, I stood alone in the dark.

  You paused in your journey; with warmth from your heart

  And no more than a spark you kindled a fire.

  Your love, a light, it burned so bright.

  Your love, my life’s now sole delight.

  Give me courage to hold it - to hold my lamp high

  That one day you will see it and my rescue be nigh

  Passers-by did sneer (they valued not your deed).

  Still they deride me; your return they cannot believe.

  Others dispute my claim yet they can’t deny

  The proof, the flame that lights my eyes;

  The proof you gave to be your guide.

  Give me courage to hold it - to hold my lamp high

  That one day you will see it and my rescue be nigh.

  “Keep watch for me.” you said. “One day I’ll return;

  “Surely I will find you if that lamp you still burn.”

  I’ve remembered your words. I’ve posted my sign.

  My love, my hope, I burn your light.

  My love your promise has changed my life.

  With courage I hold it. I hold my lamp high

  For the day you see it will your glory be mine.

  Devotion

  For the light that now shines in my eyes

  I keep the lamp for you burning.

  For the fire that enlivens my heart

  I dedicate my life, each day a gift to you.

  For the smile that now beams from my face

  I give you praise, no other name shall I speak.
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  For the light in my eyes I love you.

  A flame dancing, flickering bright;

  No more is the darkness –

  The loneliness I once knew.

  For the fire in my heart I love you.

  A warm embrace it comforts me;

  No more is the fear, the cold –

  The power that once stood me still.

  For the smile on my face I love you.

  A picket fence amid roseate blooms;

  No more are the memories –

  The jungle past shadows grew.

  Hand in hand, I need no other.

  Face to face, I need not look further.

  Heart to heart, I need only your love.

  I was. You came.

  I was. You claimed.

  I am and yours remain.

  3Mud on our hands

  Life from the dirt

  If life

  Is but a tittle,

  A wisp of smoke,

  A splinter of time,

  This life -

  Life unseen, microscopic.

  Life awesome, universal.

  If life can be described as such,

  Then what is my life,

  That I should consider it prized?

  Destiny

  Where will you be when your life’s at its end?

  Forever in heaven? Or in hell ‘down below’?

  In heaven we’re promised perfection without end.

  Hell is a place we’d rather not go.

  Though hell’s wrath is depicted as fire and flames,

  What if this furnace is fuelled by things like isolation and fear?

  “Fitting punishment for some. Not me, I’m a good person.” you say.

  Rejection of Jesus gets you in - not your lack of good deeds.

  Jesus is preparing a place in heaven for you.

  Hell was intended for Satan; God never wanted us to go there.

  Blessed with life we must experience death too;

  Now is the time to decide whose eternity you’ll share.

  The judged

  Searching for happiness I seek out new friends;

  With gusto and mirth we party through dawns.

  “I’m wasted.” I cry, “I can party no more.”

  Still burdened by emptiness I walk the road’s end.

  Lonely, tired, I ask for a room; only to be told

  “We’ve none for the likes of you.”

  No defence can I offer. I am guilty as judged.

  The evidence against me is the adherence of mud.

  Locked out, turned about, into the darkness I trudge.

  Each step an echo - ‘There is no rest for the judged.’

  A trail of footprints behind

  Like a child on vacation we greet life’s myriad of roads.

  With our destination in mind we’re ready to go.

  No sooner than having started do we come to find

  Each step of progress leaves a trail of footprints behind.

  Sometimes in our journey we meet signs reading: ‘Detour Ahead.’

  Though irritating at first we find they are instead

  A time of refreshing, a chance to put our feet up,

  And escape the drudgery of the ruts we trudge.

  When in life our circumstances change as they predictably do,

  We adapt to the situation with a new pair of shoes.

  Yet, when we glance back at the new territory we’ve claimed

  We again find the scene dotted, scarred by the imprints we’ve made.

  With the placement of a single bloom against polished wood

  All our memories are sealed, both bad and good.

  When at the end of my road I pause to reflect

  I pray wisdom will put to rest these footprints I’ve left.

  Memories of a girl

  A warm Sunday drive is the beat my feet walk to;

  A rolling scene of faces: The familiar; the new.

  Then without warning to shatter this view

  Is a single glance, clinically labelled ‘Déjà vu’.

  Silently his eyes read the line: ‘Don’t I know you?’

  In frozen response I rummage the files I once used,

  But time has erased the best part of the proof.

  I cannot name him. He offers no more. What more can we do?

  Deprived of the answers that would expound the truth

  We simply pay tribute to one who died in her youth.

  To wordless goodbyes we bury her too,

  Both parting with memories of a girl we once knew.

  Hitchhikers beware

  To lone travellers the road is long

  So relief runs high when a ride comes along.

  To congruous greetings a union is forged,

  Fate’s then sealed with the close of a door.

  To lone travellers the sign reads:

  ‘Hitchhikers beware! There is much to consider

  When a journey is shared.’

  Too late we fathom those words long spoken.

  An error confessed; a heart turned:

  “Father, forgive me for being unequally yoked.

  Divorce

  Death seems a better option than life bearing a placard

  Emblazoned with that word ‘Divorced’.

  It would be a declaration of failure for which there is no recourse.

  Vainly I grasp at future and hope, while trying to balance them

  With despondent thoughts;

  Over and over I attempt to convince myself that things will

  Improve, only to once again contemplate the packing of ports.

  Reneging on wedding day vows appeals more and more -

  Yes, solitude, peace. But that goes against all I’ve been taught.

  Continually I remind myself that though this might please me

  I was not alone when I embarked on this course.

  Evidently there is no redemption for me, so a new vow I make:

  “Never again will life tempt me to charter love’s course.”

  Effort

  I feel irritable today and I don’t know why.

  The birds are singing. There are no clouds in the sky.

  My family is healthy. No friends have died.

  Perhaps I’ve overdone it...

  Perhaps I’m just tired. Have I allowed others to engage me -

  When I needed that time?

  Maybe it’s too much pressure on too fine a wire.

  What is the matter?

  Why is my mind troubling me this way?

  It’s restless, burdened. I don’t want to work

  Yet I can’t sleep. Things I planned to come back to

  Have now been left for a week.

  Of course! The problem is clear.

  The mind, like a house, should be cleaned daily with zeal.

  The pieces picked up, sorted and dealt with at once.

  To delight in the mundane doesn’t come naturally to me,

  So, with effort everything will once again

  Be found in its place, and I’ll be much better company -

  Well, for a little while at least.

  Balancing the scales

  I am thinner today. I know it.

  In fact I felt sure of it the moment I woke.

  Without its voluminous armour my face has met the day -

  I look in the mirror but don’t notice any change;

  My face always looks this way.

  The circles under my eyes are darker,

  But that’s because I’m tired. Yes tired.

  Yesterday was horrible. Everything went wrong.

  As usual I swallowed my failings

  Then all night war raged and tore flesh from my bones.

  I know today will be just as bad

  Because every face I meet will repeat that drawn out story:

  “You’re too thin!”

  Then I’ll hate myself even more -

  For not being able to be like t
hem.

  They can be happy.

  They can be content with who they are and what they do.

  Or are their faces masks?

  I’m not going to lie to fit in with the crowd;

  I couldn’t be at peace doing that.

  I want to be happy...

  What is wrong with me? Why can’t I get it right?

  I need to get this balance right.

  Stature

  I shall tell you a story,

  And I shall tell it in parable so as not to offend.

  Its message age-old is:

  ‘The emptiness within comes not

  From the image without.’

  So begins the tale of the little tree.

  The little tree thinks not of the Gardener’s plan.

  He thinks not of the fruit he’ll bear

  When his season comes.

  His thoughts are only of oaks, cedars

  And those whose boughs

  Are laden with birds, their songs and nests.

  He laments: “What is my life? Where is the worth?”

  He cries: “The birds avoid me and I know why.

  “All I have to offer is this little twig.”

  So he strikes a deal with the forces and powers.

  The elements test him. The wind blows; the rain falls.

  Soon he is mighty, his boughs great and lofty.

  He welcomes each dawn and the light it brings.

  He cherishes his image and the shadow it casts.

  So high is he now he is up in the clouds;

  No more can he focus on the cause of his woes -

  But it is still there,

  Tucked between birds, their nests and lofty boughs.

  You cannot measure happiness

  Why is it assumed that you’re miserable