Where should we go today?

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When you look in the mirror

You see someone small…

You see a body too short

to see out high windows

Hands not strong enough to open doors

Legs that get tired when ‘over there’ is too far from ‘over here’.

 

But when I look in the mirror,

I see you and Me.

You in Me.

Me in you.

I see We!

 

What shall we do today, little one?

 

Come sit on My shoulders, from up here you can see…

Out windows,

Over fields,

Across dim valleys to brighter places that are waiting for our feet.

We can see into Forever.

 

Those stubborn doors?

No door can resist your hand on Mine,

So pick one!

 

We will go exploring.

It’s okay if your legs get tired,

we’ll use Mine.

 

When We look into the mirror, what do We see?

 

Light-Bearers who shatter darkness

Key-Holders who rescue captives

Love-Healers who fix broken hearts and lives

 

You in Me

Me in you…

WE

 

What shall We do today?

 

Word ~ Di Wilson   |   Image ~ morgueFile

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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!

 

 

 

The Broken Bowl

Tracey Govender Bowl

Tracy Govender’s beautiful hand built stoneware fruit bowl cracked in the kiln when fired to 1200 degrees centigrade. Yet it’s exquisite beauty lies in its redemption as its cracks were repaired in gold.

As such it provides a perfect metaphor for our salvation. Just as Jesus is beautified by His scars, so are we who are in Him. Our sinfulness and frailty have been more than compensated for by the gift of His righteousness given us in Christ. The glorious gold of God beautifies from guttermost to uttermost; from sinner to saint.

How glorious is God’s workmanship in Christ! How perfect He the potter, for we the clay!

Pottery – Tracey Govender | Words – Gavin Cox

It’s a New Dawn, It’s a New Day!

001image ~ Di Wilson

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.

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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

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The Nod

The Nod

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

You Call Me… A Child of Promise

Child of Promise

Now we, as Isaac was, are the children of promise …
And as such we are heirs of the promise made to believing Abraham.
Galatians 4:28 King James Bible (Cambridge Ed – paraphrase)

Image – Di Wilson, also featured on the Facebook page You Call Me

Rescued!

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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