Some days you see freedom as such a strange thing. There is some of us who fight with loud voices for freedom and others who sit and gnaw at the bars that encase us. There are many who admit defeat, even to the point of not realising the cage may not be locked. No matter how pure we may be the bars are the same, no matter how small the cage, it is still a cage, and ultimately the whole world is this to us who know of the reality that is beyond. For the limits of now will not be the limits of eternity, the biggest question is how we are to deal with what we see?
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I woke late this morning, no more able to prise my eyes open than to pull my arm from its socket. One feels cheated of daylight when so much has passed unseen, and yet I felt relief to be released from the dream world where I had been trapped amongst students who epitomised all self serving notions and found such concepts as truth, righteousness and justice mere folly. The real world some days seems as equally dark, but the face of a loved one, the sun through the glass panes, the softness of the blanket, all remind me the grace abundant that shows itself. Distance has permeated my life, pushed through the cracks in the ropes I tied to my security, questioned my core and been found wanting. Distance has let me forget and today as I watched the miracle maker, as I thought back to past fights of my faith, the seeping desire to not be so far away, the uncertainty of having little direction, and the quiet knowledge that it was already decided. As I watched the animated characters I found myself with tears in my eyes. I watched Jesus walk into the water knowing the next part of the story but still being brought afresh to the wonder of the unsuspecting bystander as the light appeared and the voice spoke: You are my beloved son I delight in you My beloved son And suddenly I saw the bigger picture, the voice was not simply for this man who was God, it was not just to confirm Johns belief or convince the few who happened to go see the prophet that day. The voice was more than that, echoing down through history. It was reminding me afresh that I have become a child of God, a sister to the Incarnate who was being portrayed here. That voice was for him in that moment but continues for us. For We are his beloved, he delights in Us, his beloved children. No matter what nights darkness may bring, no matter how distant we get, nothing in heaven or earth or beyond could ever change the words that were spoken. That's where we went yesterday, a very short trip across the border, saw a family, visited a shop, and returned home. After months and months of hearing the wonders of this country that birthed my husband it was a sort of anticlimax. The countryside seemed less ironed as we came into border country, the fields rumpled and greened as the land showed the increase of water. The space was vast, houses, like the one above, hanging in fields like wall mounted masterpieces, fields of plowed land sloping up and down the roadside. Though, even more noticeable from the rain stained windows was the jet black of the graveyards, placed so near to the roadside, so shiny, monumental but also fresh and raw. There seemed to be so many similarities, so little differentiation, but not in the hero's neatly set lines but in the overcrowded and outwardly spilling, few set shapes with names and religious symbolism scratched into them. This is no minor obelisk with the hero's of war least we forget, this is battle scars shown to anyone who would look, quiet unrest and incitement, unshielded reality. I came to think how my imported religion must look to them, it's quiet inoffensive nature of choice, how I don't boast, how the anti-climax must be reversed. The scars of religion are celebrated but not paraded like these poor mans mausoleums, nor threatened and manipulated so openly. honestly thats' enough with the title! I've been cooking away in delight this past fortnight, cakes and biscuits mostly but somehow cooking isn't as much as a chore as it used to be (the cleaning up is though). I've also been happily preparing my English lessons, making my own worksheets and I've finally started to update the other site with new kids resources (well most are still drafts but one step at a time!). As the weather has cooled down it's like a spring has released and I'm just wanting to do and do and clean and sort and get things in order, most people do this in spring but then I was never like most people. I had felt quite angry at God, quite abandoned without use, and somehow I just needed to shake myself into action open the door and meet the host of things lined up there. I had briefly glimpsed a future God enabled, only to have it shut off, briefly allowed myself to see a stability, only to be left tottering in uncertainty again, briefly i had boasted only to be left with egg dripping off my face. But i must not wallow, for wallowing betrays how far this journey has come, betrays how many structures and plates i should spin, betrays how blessed I am already. Deep in the chambers of the monarch, surrounded by dusty maps and frowns of concentration the plans are drawn up and the strategy is born. There are two ways to keep your kingdom, both have risk and both usually have casualty and loss. The first is to attack, you need to scout your territory, network with those who may ally you, be that army or spy, spur on your men for the fight and ride out to battle. The problem is I’m no good at networking, I forget the knights names, and for all my brashness I feel bad exploiting the spies or making them bend the truth for a greater purpose. I can't seem to grasp how to weave a conversation to manipulate the listener in a matter of seconds, to sell myself as anything other than what I am. I also shy away from risking my men in open combat, for a know I will find it so hard to let go of every injury they endure. And so however the attack strategy is planned I quiver and quake, excuses pour from my mouth and I picture the new widows of each side. Eventually the generals give up, they know that it is a lost cause and they propose the alternative, they utter the word 'defend'. I jump on the chance, the chance to put peace before the sword, to let people be who they are and not what they can do for us. And so I defend fearsomely, defend the lives of each of my men, of every citizen who resides near and far, defend until the last breath. I open wide the gate, extending the kingdom by open invitation rather than brutal force. For years the kingdom is battered by the troops of one army after another, the peasants and noblemen alike shelter afraid and with scarce rations. Hoping that we will always be a shelter, always be a place of peace in the midst of the worlds lust for war. Hoping one day the quiet calm will drown out the battle cry. Am I nieve, should I simply strap on my armour, ride out with the men I have left? My mind had been on vacation. I stood at a bus stop yesterday and totally ignored the bus come round, it wasn't until it was gone I realised I'd missed it. It's like I've been suspended in some sticky viscous liquid, waiting to be released for my struggling ties me in knots. Somehow, through the 'slowness' life has planned much for me, God had nudged me, and suddenly the world seems full again. I woke this morning fresh to the realisation that there is actually something going on here, that the full diary is a long awaited prayer answer and that somehow I'd forgotten to even notice, let alone give thanks. The air is full of whispers of possibilities and some are finally speaking in full voices. The long heat of summer is subduing and those who hid in the air-conditioning, or at least shade, can finally walk free. Productivity moves from theory to reality again and my mind is buzzing with mini projects. And this fresh energy seems so needed, seems to apt, for soon I may have more to say thanks about. But for now i look round and realise with an shock the stunning gratitude that i should hold, the hurdles seem suddenly small and the grace so huge. |
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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