For the past two years i have done the holiday club material 'Waste Watchers'. this hasn't been through choice and the two occasions were chalk and cheese in their approach. However i'm left with many pages of reflection on the two events, including this picture. Each day you have a 'waste watchers word' - which is actually a phrase and i love the imagery brought up by the 'Darkness to Light' sentence. the story is about the encounter a blind man has with Jesus one Sabbath day and the more i dwell on the idea the more it brings me light and fresh inspirations. I'm really searching for God in the great cracks and crevices of life at the moment, trying to look beyond the plain or the mountain and find the God who gently slopes and rises sweeping you off your path almost without you noticing. you suddenly find yourself on a cliff edge without realising you've climbed a mountain, you find yourself looking at fresh vegetation unlike you've seen before, reading the shapes of leaves and streams and flowers and encountering the new melodies of bird song. it comes often in the Sabbath, the time you rest in God and he carries you to these unknown horizons, it often comes when you allow yourself to be blind to your old ambitions, your plans laid at the feet of the cross and your self sufficiency surrendered. with my new horizon unknown i search not for a definition of what it may be but for a pathway that the Almighty is walking through for me, breaking the branches of trees in the way and trampling the footstep marks i will place my own feet in.
Oh to find what is meant by this word 'Spiritual'. its been a word that has cleaved it's existence as separated from 'Faith' or 'Belief' and yet is in it's very nature intertwined with them. i found some long jotted words on my travels, to find other recolds of events, while sifting through bleached leaves marked with clumsy squiggles. And in these bound papers are contained writings of the holy, and copies of his words. diaries and poetry and tear stained letters of forgotten lovers bliss.in these letters are the pilragamage i have been on and continue to develop. and through them all the Almighty writes back to me, between the lines and in incoherent sentences he seeks out not my faith, nor my belief, for them i can begin to comprehend, but my spirituality. Spiritual Please I came to church today, I walked and drove and ran as the bells tumbled through the air. I came to church today, welcomed to the silence of a building cold with years. But I still came The rain no longer fell, the lights faded, and the crowd that had been sitting in Greenbelt's 'Last Orders' moved slowly through the site. Back to the cold sleeping bags and murmers of conversation that flowed from the thousands in the canvas town, rippling across the muddy grassland. it was the end of a year, the end of a greenbelt year, and the 'Old Lang Syne' moment would come with the sunrise, as the floresent stewards waved the fleet of cars off site. all the misfits and winged teens, the hippies that had aged and still remained, the children in car seats with pillows jammed round them, and the guitarist retuning yet again, they left the teams unwinding ribbon and ripping flags to the ground. This temporay home was dispersing but leaving behind it a trace in lives, a challange to the spirits, a glimpse at an eternal sunrise. as we qued to return to reality i sat alight with a new passion, a new idea forming in my head, a new path to process and persue. next month, next month i could meet again with the insiring prospect of leaving the safety of berkhamsted and going into another form of the real world, next month i would meet agin with the eep project, next moth i may be planning the mission. all those pieces and bits and hopes and prayers and passages and readings. all the waiting and watching and trusting and letting God take his own time, led me to see things beyond my confort zone, and here i wait standing on the edge of the cliff. I know not what is below me, but i know that if i jump he's going to save me! what will be my story as i enter through the gates of my greenbelt home next year? |
The other siteWho is GfeefGfeef is the name that my writings have been under for some years. As far as I know it's unique to me. Originally from the UK, I now live in Serbia but continue to have a passion for childrens and youth ministry. Archives
October 2014
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