It’s pip spitting time!

423 small

There are seasons when the ground is hard and nothing you sow grows

This is not that season

Times when dreams remain dreams, hope – an invisible cord  to cling to

Now is not that time

Lean, barren, colourless and hard

Not even close…

This is the time of seeing every pip you spit take root, grow and flourish

Every dream and desire, come alive in your heart and His hands

The lid is off

The door is open

The soil, ready and waiting.

IT’S PIP SPITTING TIME!

 

 

 

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The Rubbish Heap

007

 

At one time I so dreaded

Growing old, fearing regrets

Dumped in a dark rubbish mound

At my memory’s back door.

 

Would I regret choices made,

Opportunities lost,

Journeys not yet taken,

And friendships forsaken?

 

But now, after the pain

Of fifty years,

Some joys, some tears,

It seems there is some gain.

 

What’s outside I won’t deny,

But the dark heap seems to have

Become a small green hillock

Of soft grass where children play,

My wife delights in the sun,

And friends long known or new made

Bury things of no more use.

 

I guess it is a little

Untidy, but it doesn’t

Seem to smell much any more

And it does give me something

To look at from my back door.

© Johan Rich 2009

Image – Di Wilson

Flash Fiction Photo Challenge

078

This is a first for HCC Living Letters – a photo inspired flash fiction challenge. It came out of one of our small groups – Write and Be Read, and was intended as a mere exercise for writers to flex their story-telling muscles. The challenge was simple – using the above image as a launch point, write a piece no more than 200 words. The two pieces that came in this evening are completely different, each stunning in their own right. I love that they are written by husband and wife. I’ll stop gassing on. Enjoy!


Story 1 by Andrea Rautenbach

I sat in the silence at the crossroad.  What was I going to do?  The blow had come like a sudden hard rain. The anger was simmering below the surface but the fear was winning as it rippled across my mind. Run, RUN, RUN!

We had met two months before at a friend’s house. He was classic tall, dark and handsome and seemed to be perfect.  Tonight perfect seems overrated.

The dinners were evenings spent enjoying stories of misspent youth and previous dates gone wrong.  Afternoons were spent learning to appreciate the outdoors and how much he loved riding his bike.

Tonight was a celebration of sorts, two months of fun, learning and sharing.  Maybe tonight we would become serious.  But not now!  Now I sat wondering how I had missed this, how had I not seen?  What was I going to do?

I had to move had to keep going but where?  Looking in the rear view mirror I noticed the blood trailing down my chin; saw for the first time the damage done.  It was over.  What had started as a dream was done.  Never would he touch me again, never would he see me again.

 

Life 2 by James Rautenbach

O dear, what is that coming from the rear?

There is light, there is shadow, there is bone, there is marrow!  How can I go far when I spend nights looking at the retreating mists of my life while strapped into my safe haven of a car?

O delight, I can see a light – what have I missed, deep in the night.  “It’s all over” they say, “the chance is gone, you are done”.  The light I see broadcasts mockingly at me, or does it?

What if it’s all true; hope can renew me and you?

What if all my regrets, guilt and shame, what if those blotches held against my name, what if whispers, fears and pains, what if anger, darkness and the perceived hatred and negative thoughts words and actions of others, which cover me like a stifling bank of dirt, trying to squeeze my life to despair and helplessness – what if all of this CAN BE SWEPT AWAY IN AN OVERWHELMING, ALL-ENCOMPASSING, EVERLIVING, EVERGIVING, EVERFILLING, EFFERVESCENT, PULSATING, NEVER-ENDING, ALWAYS-HOPING, ALWAYS-LOVING, SAVIOUR-SATURATED, HOPE-RESTORING, PEACE-RETURING inundation of LIFE.

So I unharness, open the door and slowly step into the fresh air of a new-life, everlasting and full of glory…

You’re Glorified

10.3.2013  During worship on Sunday I wrote the basic words. Johan went to the mic and spoke of how the Lord is Glorified in all things. Gavin then explained that the Lord is even Glorified in our failings. I knew I needed to put the finishing touches to what the Lord had given me.

100

Dolphin leap, the Eagles soars to Your Glory.

Spiders spin, proud Peacocks, Your Glorified.

A gurgle of a stream, of a baby happy,

All murmur:

Lord of all creation, be Glorified.

Flash…CRASH…Raging Waters to Your Glory!

Lions roar, Parrots Screech, Your Glorified.

The scream of the tickled one,

All SHOUT:

Lord Almighty, be Glorified.

Fallen, sin, condemnation. To Your Glory?

Guilt, failed, No Hope. You Glorified?

Where to turn for freedom?

All PAID:

In full, Jesus, be Glorified

 words – Stan Dugmore March 2013     |     image – Di Wilson

 

Thwarted Thoughts

Abstract red, green and blue background

You start with a blank page. Slowly, slowly, you put your finger to the keyboard, and whoosh! You’re away. The thoughts come thick and fast, not really stopping to say hi, just skipping right through the gateway of your brain, down to your heart, and then out through your fingers. You never really knew that you had it in you, did you? You never knew that you thought so much, so vibrantly, in a swirl of living colours that are constantly changing shape and yet always look vaguely familiar. Like the mirror.
You look in the mirror one day, and you will be surprised at what you see. Really look into your own eyes, the windows of your soul, and tell me if what you see is who you are.
I sometimes sit and stare at myself in that piece of silver truth. Not because I’m vain, but because I’m curious as to how this pale white girl’s face can really be mine. I’m pretty sure I don’t look like that inside me. I’m pretty sure my soul has no race, no excess flesh, no pierced ears. I think my soul is a lot more interesting to look at than this carefully fenced perimeter that is my body. Is that face really the mask in front of all my dreams, all my ideas? Is that face really hiding my thoughts?

I think that maybe if my face looked like my thoughts it would look very different. My thoughts don’t come attached to dark brown eyes and even darker hair. They don’t have freckles and the odd occasional left over teenage acne. They don’t need their eyebrows plucked and they don’t enjoy wearing make up. And they certainly don’t arrive with a stud in their nose.

My thoughts would appear like liquid silver rainbow, flowing and winding around each other. You wouldn’t be able to kiss them, because they’d be either very hot or so cold your lips would stick to them. Every now then you’d see a flash of blue as inspiration came sliding up from everywhere, slowly caressing or hitting with a sledgehammer.

There would be a thought made up of pink cloud, winding it’s way along the garden path, dancing and being blown in the breeze. Fragile as smoke, strong as my will. It would be called “love”, and it would be everywhere.
Then there is “freedom”, which wraps itself around everything at once. Where it is restricted, it creeps through the keyhole and under the door. It is green, and feels like candy floss and mozzarella cheese. But not together. Apart.
“Joy” is a tricky one to describe. It starts from my toes, you see, and it bubbles it’s way up my legs, into my stomach, through my heart and then comes out in a fountain of yellow sunflowers and little white daisies. It’s soft and warm, and it’s not blown away like “happiness” is. It’s sturdier. Like bubbles made of steel.
A swish of black, a sprinkling of gold, a spiral of purple and red and yellow and orange, and lilac and puce, and mauve and apple green and…is “creativity”. It never stops moving. It’s always there, sometimes tossing and turning restlessly in sleep, but mostly waltzing it’s way around like it owns the place.
Sometimes there is “anger”. When he comes out to play, in his thunderous black cloud, all the other thoughts go running, cowering under each other in an attempt to get away from the destruction. Anger leaves behind a sooty black trail, as though a chimney sweep has been making his way through my heart. Only one wonder thought can get rid of the greasy marks. “Repentance” grabs a hold of the wafting “love’, and pours it out on the stains, then pulls up it’s sleeves, gets down on it’s hands and knees and scrubs till it’s knuckles are raw with “forgiveness”. A tricky job repentance has.

There are many more thoughts that inhabit this swirling mass of silver cloud. A few are dark and torturous, but they are kept on a leash, with a muzzle to soften their snarls. They are often not fed, and then they slowly disappear and die, with only a slight burn mark to commemorate their brief non-existent existence.
Sometimes I put them in a cage, these dark ones. I tell myself it’s for my own benefit, when in actual fact it’s so that my King can’t get to them.

You see, all these thoughts are held in the hand that created me. He does not control them, but they are jealously guarded and cared for. He waters and develops the beautiful ones, and will often give me a gift of some more.
The dark ones He roots out. Burns. Destroys. If I let him.
He cultivates a beautiful thing, behind this mask-face. If I let Him. And I want to let Him. I figure His thoughts are a whole lot more, a whole lot bigger, a whole lot brighter, than any of mine could ever be.

So God, do as You will.

Words ~ Abi Ackhurst | Image ~ Corel

Promises over our children

We had a Children’s Church pow-wow today here at HCC. In between video clips, training material, tea, cake and play-dough, we spent some time praying for our children and those who work with them on Sundays. These drawings are promises over our kids that came out during that time…

CCPW - KA

Bridge Builders by Kandas Ackhurst

CCPW - AA

Hands of Promise by Abi Ackhurst

CCPW - DW

Each one unique, yet knit together… catching the wind of the Holy Spirit! by Di Wilson

CCPW - HW

Outside the Box by Hayley Wilson

CCPW - KA2

by Kandas Ackhurst

CCPW - TS

They will be His smile, His hands and feet, His movement and His voice – Thobani Sojola

Sshhh!

Kandas Newness

Hush now-

Growth has

begun!

~

Listen to the

Soft sounds

Of secrets

Revealed

An unfurling

Of dreams

Gone dead

~

Now

Alive

Now

Revived

~

Ssshh…

The song

Of celebration

Is starting

The tune

Of transformation

Is ours

~

Take it.

Trust it.

~

Life given…

Freely received.

image ~ Kandas Ackhurst | words ~ Abi Ackhurst

Living Water

Living Water

Photo by Di Wilson

Rescued!

029

The possibility of

Something else

Something beautiful

Something more

Doubles the weight

Of the chains that

keep

Me

In this dark existence

Stuck

 Hopeless

Broken

But then

Light

Colour

Sound

That sends

Bubbles and

Vibrations and

Dance

Swirling through

My body

And soul

An EXPLOSION

of life!

Ah!

How beautiful

Salvation is!

Image ~ (a much younger) Hayley Wilson | Words ~ Abi Ackhurst

 

Colours of Love

Painting by Caitlin Schulze