Brief and Lasting, Hard and Fast

Lasting and fleeting

So much I feel the lake lap still

in crisp new Spring’s liquid sun sharp

with winter’s nip at my shameless,

unshod, bare toes where soft  spring breeze

tickles glistening water sheen.

Momentarily I shiver.

 

Sun glint on each wavelet brings clear,

real nearness to each fleeting ripple,

but at some way off in the morning haze

those solid castle walls now seem

a dreamy shadow, not quite true,

as much a ghost as spectral knights

and imagined long dead archers

beneath a roof long rotted away.

 

Every little curve of water is less

than a breath long, but whole lifetimes

watched those stone walls stand. I think

long borne,  unforgiven old hurts.

scarred memories can be like that:

firm, unyielding, but misty shapes,

stuck on landscapes of me.

But in this new son light

Under spirit wind’s soft breath they

become mere ghosts from forgotten times

while bracing eternal waters

wash me in their gracing life flow.

 

© Johan Rich November 2011

 

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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

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

Sunlit Water

Kandas 1

Photographer ~ Kandas Ackhurst

Living Water

Living Water

Photo by Di Wilson

Colours of Love

Painting by Caitlin Schulze

Glory Rain

Painting ~ Nicolette Stewart

Overflowing Love

Jesus loves kiddies and our kiddies love Him back!

Drawing by (a much younger than she is now) Nikita Wilson