He Will Bring To You The Morning

He Will Bring To You The Morning

Alone she wrestles

In darkest isolation.

The night stretches on

never ending,

forever.

Wisps of gloom swirl wearily,

Time stands still, 

A sentinel of gloom,

Immortal,

Eternal.

Inky darkness envelops,

Tears mingle with murky waters,

Concealing pain,

Drowning,

Hopeless.

Tenaciously she clings

And wonders why.

He will bring to you the morning.

Hold on.

Not long.

A hush enshrouds her grieving heart,

A whispered glimmer of light 

on angel wings

soars awakening through the skies.

A blush.

A dash of beauty.

He has brought to you the morning.

Thirsty

Thirsty

It had been a long, hard, hot week for my friend, Lisa. One trouble after another had bubbled to the surface. Difficult problems to be solved, irritable people to be dealt with and an accumulated lack of sleep, had brought the week to an exhausting close. Soaking up the glory of a crimson sunset, Lisa inhaled slowly and visibly relaxed. It was now the Sabbath. Half murmured thoughts surfaced in her mind of a deep desire to enjoy the presence of God this holy Sabbath day. She was tired, more than tired and she craved worship. 

Lisa woke and stretched slowly, easing her limbs gently from their sleeping position as the familiar ache of rheumatoid arthritis  brought her fully awake. It was late. She had overslept. A deep longing for quiet time with God filled her soul as she carefully made her way to the shower. Time was a premium and she brushed her soul-filled hunger aside with wisps of hair and plunged into preparing for church. Arriving late at the already filled car park, she hastily parked at the far end and made her way to the house of the Lord. Lisa silently slipped into a comfortable back pew but the thirst for God grew greater. How she longed for God deep within. Her week had been so hectic that she felt disconnected, as if she had run far ahead of the Lord. “Are you there for me, Father, “ she quietly prayed, “I so long for you, to be near to you.” Her disjointed thoughts tumbled between the troubles of the week, her aching heart for God and the service currently in progress. 

The programme ended and Lisa slid slowly out of her seat and made her way thoughtfully across the car park. She was thirsty, very thirsty. The heat of the sun beat down on her relentlessly as she made her way back to the car. In her hurry that morning she had left her water bottle at home. Now she felt parched in body and spirit. Discouraged, Lisa started to drive away from the church. She chose the long route home, past houses framed with bright green lawns, flowering garden beds and shady trees. Startled, she saw a sign  by the road and pulled quickly to a stop. In bold black letters the sign read, “Free plums.” The large plum tree with rich green foliage was laden with ripe, deep purple plums, just ready to be picked. In joy Lisa picked one soft plum, then another and still another. Going to her car she retrieved an old, small plastic shopping bag and excitedly continued to pick plum after plum. The delight of the shade and the beauty of the gardens and lawn refreshed her spirits. With eagerness she took a bite of the sweet, juicy plum. Trickles of red juice squirted into her mouth and quenched her thirst. God came near and spoke into her heart words of comfort. “I have never left you nor forsaken you, Lisa. I am here for you.” She reached for another plum, satisfying her physical thirst even more. The peacefulness of the scene brought rest to her troubled mind. God’s presence was so near and His words so comforting, her thirsty soul for Him was filled. Her heart filled with thankfulness towards God for the gift of the plums and for the refreshment of body and spirit she received in those few brief minutes standing under a leafy tree relishing the sweetness of succulent plums. That moment and those plums were her gift from God. Tears welled up and threatened to spill over as her heart felt warmed by God’s thoughtfulness care and tender love for her. 

We have all experienced harried and frazzling weeks of problems, exhaustion and less time spent with God. Those moments of craving for God’s quietness and presence as expressed by the psalmist in Ps 42:1, 2 “As the deer pants for the water brooks, So my soul pants for You, O God. My soul thirsts for God, for the living God.” In the stillness of the moment God calls to my soul and I hear His voice  saying, "If anyone is thirsty, let him come to Me and drink.” (John 7:38). I eagerly drink and again hear His words, “With joy you will draw water from the wells of salvation.” ( Isa 12:3) I smile and I experience Psalm 116:7 “Return to your rest, my soul, for the LORD has been good to you.”

My Good Shepherd

My Good Shepherd

Leaning lazily against an old rustic fence post, I  nonchalantly took in the scene at our local Agricultural Field Day. It was a scene I had witnessed many times before, the Australian way of moving sheep. I love Aussie sheep. I love the smell, I love the different tones of bleating, I love their peaceful grazing, I love the feel of their wool and I laugh at their mob mentality. Yes, I love Aussie sheep. An Australian saying that signifies the importance of the wool industry to our economy, particularly in our history, states that ‘ Australia rides on the sheep’s back’. Now here I was with the sights and sounds of the stock being moved, in a demonstration of the skill and expertise of the Aussie Kelpie dog. 

The paddock held a mob of about fifteen sheep for the demonstration. They huddled fearfully up one end, circling each other, yet staying in a close knit group. Their eyes were riveted on the other end of the paddock where the kelpies were tied in a row to the  old fence posts. The working dogs leaped, barked and strained on their leads with the excitement of the moment. The farmer, with his broad Australian accent of shortened words, run all together with distinctive Aussie phrases, was giving a fast paced commentary on how to successfully train and work your dog. Finally, he selected an eager, slightly built, black masked kelpie and unclipped his lead. He called to the dog who came and sat with impatient anticipation beside him, waiting his commands. With a series of short calls, hand signals and whistles, the kelpie was off and dashing. As he approached the sheep, the stock dog took on the form of predatory stalking towards the apprehensive animals.  The farmer kept up an array of whistles and the active kelpie was soon successfully manoeuvring the mob of anxious sheep toward the direction of the races, which were set up in the paddock to receive, hold and sort the sheep. The working dog used stealth, stalking and tactics of fear to push the sheep toward their destination. As they would turn in the wrong direction, the dog was fast to wheel them around, staring a lead sheep down with intimidation, coming at it from the front, yet circling around the mob to urge them forward from the back. Always the sheep were nervously moving, tense and watching for a way of escape. Finally, they were herded into the race with the kelpie jumping on their woolly backs to push them through until the metal gates could close in behind them with a clank. It was a job well done.

My mind wanders to another time and another place. I think of Jesus and the many occasions He  would have observed the pleasant passing scene of a shepherd with his sheep. How different was the middle eastern shepherd from our Aussie farmers. Instead of tactics of intimidation and driving the sheep through force and anxiety, the Shepherd of the Bible lands led his sheep with gentleness and kindness. As evening fell the shepherd would guide the sheep tenderly to a holding pen and lead them to safety, staying with the sheep through the night and often risking his own life to protect them. He would lovingly call the sheep and they knew his voice and with confidence they would only follow him. The shepherd of Israel was tender, kind, yet firmly protective of his sheep who trusted him and followed him knowing he was leading them to rich pastures.

Jesus is a good shepherd and we are His sheep. In John 10:11 the bible says, “I am the good shepherd; the good shepherd lays down His life for the sheep.” What kind of shepherd is He? Does he drive and coerce, intimidate and force?  In Isa 40:11  it states, “Like a shepherd He will tend His flock, In His arm He will gather the lambs And carry them in His bosom; He will gently lead the nursing ewes.” John 10:27  tells us, “My sheep hear My voice, and I know them, and they follow Me”

Who is my shepherd? Do I choose Jesus to gently lead me or do I allow another to push me in a way of his own choosing? Ps 23:1-4 “The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want. He makes me to lie down in green pastures; He leads me beside the still waters. He restores my soul; He leads me in the paths of righteousness For His name’s sake. Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil; For You are with me; Your rod and Your staff, they comfort me.”

Today I choose Jesus to lead, comfort and restore me with His tender, loving kindness.

The Dance

The Dance

Frail and brittle thoughts,

Empty eyes

Of loneliness,

Whispered hopes,

Washed to and fro.

Self doubt in swirling mists

Darken corners

Of her Soul.

Shimmering light

Awakens love,

Gentle Ripples in her heart.

Strengthened hope, 

Upward gaze of radiance bright.

Awkward steps,

Timidly taken,

She walks.

Twirling, laughing,

Arms outstretched.

Joyful dancing 

In brightness gleaming.

Gracefully bounding.

Her tears cascading

Mingle with mine.

In Beauty, peace and courage,

She leaps.

Shame's Journey

Shame's Journey

Mocking glance

Of pounding words

Hollow echoes in my mind.
Soul piercing, fake masks.

Failure.

Scornful sneers,

Icy fingers

Coldly grope my clutching heart.
Revealed agendas.

My Loss.

Wooden smiles

Paint love, concern,

Empty lies of prideful eyes.
Hidden motives born.

Naked.

Lost, alone,

Hopeless despair,

Whispers catch, twirl in heartache.
Murmured prayers. Silence.

Grief filled.

Gentle Light,

Shame cowers low,

Shimmering rays envelop.
Tumbled waters wash.

Hopeful.

Timid steps,

Tender Jesus.

Cloak of darkness, falls forgotten.
Honoured, tall, serene.
I dare,

Courageously.

I hope.

Patty the Homeless Peahen

Patty the Homeless Peahen

Where did she come from? I don’t know. How long will she stay? I don’t know. Where will she go? I don’t know. Strutting gracefully up the street to the end of the cul-de-sac in which we live, came a peahen one day. Young, but fully grown ,we dubbed her Patty. At first we were unsure if she was a female or a young male. She lacked the long and glorious tail feathers of the mature male. Her proud chest was the silky white of a female. Her sudden appearance was around St Patrick’s day, so she automatically received the Irish title of Paddy. She remained Paddy until a friend on facebook easily identified that our Paddy was indeed, a Patty.

Patty is a pretty little peahen. She walks pompously around the cul-de-sac, head held high, calling in her deep, haunting honk as she feeds from one yard to the other. Her emerald neck feathers glisten in the sun as she scratches tentatively for worms and insects. Always her attentive eyes look alternatively between food sources and danger. Her large, grey wings lift her seemingly too heavy body, above any imminent trouble, as she perches on roof tops, cars and balcony railings, honking in panic as she flies. 

Patty is homeless. She doesn’t belong to anyone. She is lonely. Sometimes her trumpeting call is mournful and filled with a longing for her own kind.Each morning as the sun rises in a splash of crimson across the eastern sky, Patty awakens from a neighbours yard of safety, and starts her daily round of searching for food. She spends time scratching and pecking on our front lawn. In sympathy for her plight, we toss the dried cat food scraps on the lawn. Always she is eager to find them and consume them rapidly. As the rising sun warms the front of our neighbours house, Patty roosts regally on the roof of their car, sunning herself contentedly. The afternoon finds Patty lonely once more. She seeks my company, sitting peaceably on our pebblecreted front patio, and listening to our household voices, sensing our companionship. I often take a piece of bread out to her, breaking it up into tiny pieces and dropping it gently by my feet, to be hungrily pecked up by Patty. I talk softly and tenderly to her and she cocks her head comically from side to side as if to understand and in some way communicate back to me. Occasionally Patty wanders far away, plodding along street after street, sometimes calling in a melancholy tone, sometimes eating but always looking. Looking for a friend. Looking for home. Looking for a place to belong. Will she one day find it?

Patty’s plight calls to my mind the deep desire the human heart has for a sense of belonging. We all desire to belong, yet at times we feel lonely, we feel like we are on the outside looking in. The Bible tells us that God fills that need for a deep sense of belonging with His calling on our lives.

1 Peter 2:9 “However, you are chosen people, a royal priesthood, a holy nation, people who belong to God. You were chosen to tell about the excellent qualities of God, who called you out of darkness into his marvelous light.”

Deut 14:12 For you are a people holy to the LORD your God, and the LORD has chosen you to be a people for his treasured possession, out of all the peoples who are on the face of the earth.

Do I have my sense of belonging rooted in God? Do I know He has chosen me? Do I realise I am His treasured possession. I belong to God. 

From Anticipation to Disappointment

From Anticipation to Disappointment

A young Korean man named Min-jun stepped off the plane, on a sultry summer’s day at Sydney International Airport, into a new country and into a new life. With much eager anticipation he looked forward to a new beginning leaving behind his broken past in the home land of his birth. Although he spoke English fluently he soon settled into life inside a close knit Korean community within Sydney itself, giving him a sense of family and a sense of belonging in this new country.  The streets of Strathfield, a leafy suburb of Sydney, housed a miniature Korea. There he could receive Korean dental care, Korean medical attention, buy Korean clothing, eat Korean food, shop in Korean supermarkets and have Korean haircuts. Soon after migrating to Australia ,Min-jun met and married a pretty Korean lady and together they attended a vibrant Korean church all within Sydney, Australia. 

Min-jun started his own business in Sydney restoring old wooden flooring, in large spacious homes, into beautifully polished woodwork. Here he met and associated with many caucasian Australians. His English was effortless and he connected with ease with his clients. Although he moved in and out of the Australian culture through work, he maintained a strong network of support and friendships within the Korean community itself. 

Min-jun was still gaining a working knowledge and understanding  of Australian culture, foods, colloquialisms,  social habits and lifestyle when he visit a non Korean, Australian church for worship one Sabbath with his wife. After the service they decided to stay for the delectable pot luck lunch, where there was a vast array of Australian foods to be enjoyed. That’s when he spied it. A large jar of chocolate spread. It looked delicious and inviting and beside it was a loaf of bread. He waited patiently for the grace to be said and then as he picked up a white, plastic disposable plate and cutlery, he headed for that enticing jar. He pulled out a soft piece of bread and with deliberate thought, he layered it thickly and smoothly with delectable chocolate, his mouth watering in heavenly anticipation. Just one bite was enough to fill him with horror. He held in his hands something that did not in anyway taste sweet and delicious to him. In fact it was strong in taste, salty and very disagreeable to his taste buds. At the risk of offending his new found friends he slowly, bite by bite consumed the very detestable slice of bread slathered with a deep layer of what had at first appeared to be chocolate. He went from the heights of anticipation to the depths of disappointment.

Soon Min-jun learned that what he had thickly covered a slice of bread with was in fact an Australian spread called Vegemite. Vegemite is a very dark brown,  Australian food paste made from leftover brewers' yeast extract, with various vegetable and spice additives.It has a salty taste. It is spread thinly and enjoyed tremendously by Aussies from babyhood. Vegemite is an Australian icon and part of our culture, having been around since 1922. 

How often I have been like Min-jun. With enthusiastic earnestness I plan in advance or I look forward to, with hopeful anticipation, scenarios and events and situations. Then suddenly I find myself plummeting to the bottom of despondency as the situation has turned from one of joyful anticipation to frustrating disappointment. 

Did Jesus ever experience disappointments? Does He understand how I feel? Can I come to Him with my disappointments? The Bible tells us Jesus does understand me Heb 4: 15 “ For we do not have a high priest who is unable to empathize with our weaknesses, but we have one who has been tempted in every way, just as we are--yet he did not sin.” He himself experienced disappointments. How hard it would have been just to know that one of your close friends would betray you to death? John 13:21” Jesus was troubled in spirit and testified, "Very truly I tell you, one of you is going to betray me.” 

When disappointments come my way Jesus knows and understands but He also shows me the way out. It is through the way of praise and rejoicing. Hab 3:17-19 Though the fig tree should not blossom And there be no fruit on the vines, Though the yield of the olive should fail And the fields produce no food, Though the flock should be cut off from the fold And there be no cattle in the stalls, Yet I will exult in the LORD, I will rejoice in the God of my salvation. The Lord GOD is my strength, And He has made my feet like hinds' feet, And makes me walk on my high places…”