Hope In You

Hope, or there lack of, seems to be a recurring theme within Evelyn's outlook on life. She has utterly given up on the idea of happiness, or more appropriately, peace for herself. Hope is an amazing gift that we have been given. It provides us with the strength to carry on. It's no small wonder that Evelyn has stopped "carrying on" so to speak.

 Hope is a choice,

Peace is a result.

Belief. Trust. Faith-

Words that mean nothing without action.

We can, of course, choose the opposite

And encounter the destruction of that choice.

Hope is a choice,

Peace is its result.

Worthy

I read in scripture once that "none are righteous, no not one". Then one day another scripture contradicted it by saying that we are "worthy of so much more". It really confused me, and made me question whether I was worthy enough to know Jesus or not. This reminds me of Evelyn's latest antics: "My eyes darted anywhere but at his, like I was not worthy to see his face" and her struggle to see, accept, and work through her past mistakes.

Find in me a contrite heart.

For a long time I was living in deceit, in the dark.

I was sneaking among the shadows.

Paranoia found its place in me.

My back was never far from sight.

But I could not hide even in the black of night.

It was like a spotlight fixated on me.

I stood out like daybreak.

There was to be no more hiding.

The truth is safer anyway.

We wait for her to realise that the spotlight is on her, and see how she may react. Because, after all, God has given us the amazing, yet terrifying gift of freedom of choice. We can choose to grow and move forward, or we can choose to stay in the grief of our past forever.

Slippery Slope

Excuses are a cowards way of pushing the blame onto something or someone else.

Because of my wounds
If I didn't do it, he said he'd...
But I'm not as bad as her 

Evelyn certainly sees her part in her actions- and the ugliness of the results. Her real issue, however is that her greater excuse lies in why chooses not change. 

She is stuck in the slippery slope of her transgressions. Evelyn honestly does not believe that she has the strength to say no, to choose another path, to fight the upward battle. Quite rightly, she doesn't. It's not something that a person can easily do alone, and yet she chooses to rely on herself, failing dismally. She believes she will keep failing, and it's the reason that she does.

The strength that would be required

To fight off that spider…

Its web is sticky and I am stuck.

But not for long.

It’s one of those things

That cannot be done alone.

But You can help me,

I just have to ask.

That’s half the struggle.

I was happy

Evelyn acts as if she believes that things will always be as they are. As if she has no power to change her circumstances. And she ruins any chance at happiness. She has only a sliver of hope, not allowing herself to get too excited over something, just in case the bubble is burst.

As she puts it, "I was happy. Then the happiness ended." It is almost like life is something just to be endured.

Anguish and tears fill my heart, fill my life,

It hurts too much to bare.

To run would be cowardice

To step closer would be foolhardy

There is only one choice; to stand my ground-

The place where the pain is most intense.

It is excruciating, unbearable, never-ending.

And my heart dies just a little...

Back To The Drawing Board

My brain was being pounded with

Understanding to understanding.

Like a tennis ball,

Back and forth it goes.

In the end, all that remains is

Deflated.

Fluffy.

Ruins.

It's frustrating when you think that you finally understand something, where all the pieces fit in place in your mind like a puzzle and you have that small EUREKA! moment, and then before you know it, that understanding is blown out of the water. Like all those people who believed the Earth was flat. I mean, it makes sense, doesn't it? When you look far away, it appears flat. When you look up in the sky, it seems to just stretch for kilometres. But then they go discover its "roundness" and you feel stupid for you naivety. You're not that smart. You still don't get it. And you have to "go back to the drawing board" and try and wrap your head around something new.

This is Evelyn in a nut shell. She's still searching for answers. She's still trying to "discover" what it means to be alive. And she's still trying to understand the people around her and the way that they work. And where she fits into all of this. It's a typical journey for a young woman growing to be a woman, but there is definitely something different about the way that Evelyn goes about it. She gets beaten to a pulp every time, and yet somehow manages to reappear as if a ball out of a new can, just with the innards of the old.

The Red Tree

Shaun Tan is amazing. Just amazing. I was doing a little bit of research at Pulp Fiction for a Uni assignment on Monday and I came across a stand plastered with his works. I'd heard of him before and hadn't been that impressed, but standing there in that bookstore, seeing it all before my eyes, it suddenly hit me how brilliant his work is. I felt like I was in heaven! I played with the idea in my head of how nice it would be to OWN one of his books, but as I usually do, I talked myself out of it and began to walk away. But I didn't get more than two steps away from the shelf before stopping, turning around, grabbing "The Red Tree", and then quickly buying it before I changed my mind. Nothing could wipe the smile from my face as I walked away from that bookstore, Shaun Tan in my hands. I rarely buy things for myself. And even rarer do I buy things to cheer myself up. But this was a one-off. Oh how glad I am that I changed my mind!

I feel so inspired to create just by thinking about it. If you haven't heard of him before, you don't know what you're missing out on! The Red Tree is a true masterpiece.

I mean, seriously, look at the brilliance in this absurd image:

Nobody Understands Me- Shaun Tan's The Red Tree

The words, so simple, are beautifully crafted prose that resonates deeply within me. And I love a story with a circular story-line. It just feels "good" when you get to the end and it links back to the beginning. Like things have happened, things have changed, and things will be different from now on, and yet we're back where we were before.

As much of a words person I am, I just love stories. So a story with such little words is no problem to me. The less words you use, the better, really. I can't wait to get my hands on "The Arrival". It has no words at all...

That's Deep

Evelyn is head smart but definitely not life smart. In a way, it's like she sees how to reconcile a situation, but is just too stubborn to. Her pride gets the better of her. And she wants nothing more than to wallow in her own self-pity.

Just as I am learning more about myself every day- more about who I am, who I was created to be, what I like to do, where my passions lie, and what I believe in, Evelyn is doing the same. Her person is emerging in a thicket of words that flow from my brain through to my fingertips. She has taken on a life of her own, and I am thoroughly enjoying getting to know her.

I'm getting a small sense of what it would be like to be God. It's rather exciting. And at the same time, enlightening- feeling a persons internal struggles and the actions they cause externally. As Evelyn has become victim to her own torture, it's helping me to see the ways that I have caused myself to suffer over the years. Refusing to remember things- that only pushes the pain deeper.

I have buried my past so thoroughly

That the memories are lost and forgotten.

I have come so far

I don’t even remember who I used to be.

Lost And Found

Last week I was lucky enough to spend three days straight on my book! It was probably the first time that I have ever been able to just go and go and go all day long. Boy was I on a roll and loving every minute of it. To my great dismay, however, on Thursday evening after work, I re-opened the document on my laptop to find that the previous days' work was not there! I didn't know what to do. I was gobsmacked and the reality of my work gone took a long time to sink in. When it did, it hit me hard. I just couldn't believe that it was gone and there was nothing I could do to get it back- other than to write it all over again.

Luckily I went to footy that night and it helped to clear my thoughts and get this great tragedy off my mind. I knew that if I didn't write it as soon as possible then the motivation would be gone and I would have really struggled to "piece the words together". So, when I returned home I was ready to sit down, suck it up, and do what needed to be done. It took just over four hours and it was well into the morning when I had finished, but that was just it- I had done it! What was lost from the memory of my computer was found by recollecting the general flow of where I had taken Evelyn. It wasn't the same, but that is okay, it didn't need to be. Perhaps you could even say that it is better now?

Most importantly, I've learnt my lesson- back up, back up, back up!!!

Thank goodness I didn't let despair get ahold of me as I did once upon a time:

There’s no point holding on anymore

It’s lost, forgotten, never to be found.

The result is as expected;

Disappointment rains down,

The silence rings out deafeningly.

There's more to this piece but perhaps I'll share it another time when I'm feeling a little braver :P

It's All In The Eyes

It took me an hour and a half of research and critical thinking, but eventually I managed to piece together the words that described beautifully my [currently] nameless character! It would have been too much to tell of his creaseless buttoned dress-shirt and pants, his sandy-brown hair that sparkled like the ocean when the suns' rays hit it, and his long thin fingers, that whilst they were harshly charcoal-stained black, they still appeared gentle. No, that would have been too much for such a seemingly perfect character. Because by definition of being perfect, there is a lot of unknown- because a person can only seem perfect, not be perfect.

So I satisfied myself with targeting his eyes. Eyes can tell a lot about a person- you can see pain in someone's eyes. You can see secrets in someone's eyes. A person can use their eyes to cause you to trust. And that is what he has done with his opulent emeralds: caused Evelyn to trust a complete stranger.

There’s something in your eyes

It gets me every time.

The sincerity, the care, the love

And it’s that word which creeps to my lips,

Daring to hang naked between us.

But before I get the chance,

You speak, your smooth voice making me melt,

And your words take my breath away.

It doesn’t matter how good a liar you are

The eyes will always give you away.

Well, eventually Evelyn will see it, anyway...

Difficult Descriptions

Okay, it's make or break time. I'm at that point in my book, where if I don't write this part right, it will be the difference between a best selling hardcover, and an unpublished file on my laptop.

It's the introduction of a key playing character, whose name I am yet to discover. None seems perfect for this seemingly perfect person. It will be because of him that change is instigated in Evelyn's life. It will be because of him that things get better and things get worse. It will be because of him that she will eventually find peace.

And so, because of this, his entrance into her life needs to be perfectly described. His face, his voice, the way he dresses, the way he holds himself, the way he speaks, the way he treats her... it must hold the audience captive to his every move- wanting, yearning, desiring to hear more about this man.

So far, I don't think I've done him justice. The way I've written him to be, yes he is intriguing, but certainly not captivating. 

The cruciality of one character. I've never been stumped by such a description. It's like trying to put words to the beauty found in something like this mushroom I saw in the Dandenong Ranges in Melbourne:

Oh the things that take my breath away,

That leave me speechless-

Unable to find the words that capture

The essence of the beauty I witness

They are Your creations

And they cannot be boxed.

Try as I might, words are not enough-

Beautiful, wonderful, glorious… just not enough.

I Have A Responsibility

Although I have wanted to write for a very long time, doing so was a means for my own pleasure, and hope that others could learn and be entertained by my writings. It was not until this week that it occurred to me that I have far greater a responsibility than that. As a social communicator, I play a role in shaping the community at large, or at least having an effect on a portion of it. Every word I write. Every letter. Every number. Every punctuation point. It all has a ripple effect on the people who read it. The neurons firing in my brain causing thought processes, leave me through my writing, and then attach themselves to others (the readers), causing more explosions, contained in their brains... and from those people, they pass it on to the next, and the next, and the next...

Our existence is not in and of itself. Everything we do- and don't do- has a consequence, whether good or bad, or neutral. And because my love is of writing, and writing is rarely kept to oneself, it is inevitable that I will have an effect on other people. I already have- whether I like it or not!

Now when I decide to write that status on facebook, upload a new blog post, or add another sentence to that novel... I must tread carefully. For every word that I write has the opportunity to build up or bring down society. For with everything there is a chain reaction.

I must not write purely for "aesthetic considerations", or even to write in an aesthetically pleasing way. His Holiness, Pope Benedict XVI agrees, "too often, the beauty that is thrust upon us is illusory and deceitful, superficial and blinding, leaving the onlooker dazed; instead of bringing him out of himself and opening him up to horizons of true freedom as it draws him aloft, it imprisons him within himself and further enslaves him, depriving him of hope and joy" (www.zenit.org/article-27632?1=english 2010).

I must write for something more than that- to "make the moral climate of society more wholesome!" To counteract all the immoral social communication out there! And I am not alone in this responsibility. Artists, writers, social communicators, God is calling you to more!

Oh the Catholic Church is so smart!!!

"Artists, writers and all in whose hands are the means of social communication should use their skills in ways that are in keeping with their Christian faith and with a clear awareness of the great power that is theirs to exercise over men. They should bear in mind that 'all must accept the absolute primacy of the objective moral order' and that it is wrong to give priority to what are known as aesthetic considerations, to material advantage or success. Whether it be question of art or literature, entertainment or communication, each person in his or her province must be circumspect, prudent and moderate and must display sound judgement. In this way, far from increasing the growing permissiveness, each will help control it and make the moral climate of society more wholesome" (Vatican Council II- Volume 2, 109 "Declaration of certain problems of sexual ethics").

Having said this, there is nothing wrong with writing beautiful things. Beautiful things can be uplifting and bring about good morals and a wholesome society. Benedict XVI continues that authentic beauty "unlocks the yearning of the human heart, the profound desire to know, to love, to go towards the Other, to reach for the Beyond".

Reaching for the Beyond... I like that... I like that very much!

Taking A Risk

Today poses for a challenge. Something that I find scary to take on. Something risky- putting myself out there.

A lot of people have asked me if the main character in my book is based on myself. I've been safely saying "no" for six years now. But I'm starting to see my own life emerge in her life. Situations, personalities, attitudes... But her story is about her, not me, I convince myself. And yet the feelings I experienced at certain moments in my life is all too similar to the feelings she is experiencing in her life. I guess the difference is the experiences themselves. I've never been through what she has been through. And I'm glad for it!

Anyway, back to the risk. I'm going to share with you a part of my life that was hard to face. It happened a very long time ago and I feel at peace about it now. However, it is awfully interesting how Evelyn is taking upon the same emotions as I did...

Ok. Breathe. Here goes:

And I find myself thinking about him again.

His face creeps back into my mind.

But I push it away.

I cannot face it, not today of all days.

It's too much for me to handle.

Too much for me to bear.

I am not strong enough yet.

And there is nothing to hold me up

No one to lean on.

I cannot do this on my own.

And I start to wonder if I will ever be strong enough

To stand on my own.

To face it without crumbling, cracking, flaking away in the sun.

I cringe at the thought,

And in my mind, run away and hide.

I wasn't strong enough then, I am not now.

Oh will I ever be?

Now, that wasn't so hard, was it?

I Dream Of Sleep

One of the subjects I'm taking at uni this semester is narrative production. In groups we had to nominate a script (written by one of the group members in a previous assessment) and make it into a short film. I was delighted yesterday when my group decided that we would produce my script, Insomniacs.

In the lecture we talked about copyright and using other people's material in our films. Unfortunately my script included the characters singing a song (no, it's not a musical!). So in order to dodge the copyright bullet, we decided as a group that we would make up our own song... or rather, that I would make up a new song! So, that's what I've spent this morning doing- writing a song about sleep (or lack of).

Once we finish the production, I'll post it up, so the lyrics below will make a lot more sense. But for now, enjoy!

I Dream Of Sleep

All I want to do is sleep,

If only I could close my eyes,

But in the end I know I’d weep,

To know you are not by my side.

Oh if only I could sleep,

I’d dream this night away,

If only you were in my arms,

The night would turn to day.

Where are you, my one, my true?

If only you were here tonight

Oh I will sigh and wait for you

‘Til my heavy eyes can shut tight.

Oh if only I could sleep,

I’d dream this night away,

If only you were in my arms,

The night would turn to day.

In the end, the time will be worth it

In the end, we will be strong

In the end, nothing else will matter

In the scheme of things, ‘tis not that long.

Oh if only I could sleep,

I’d dream this night away,

If only you were in my arms,

The night would turn to day.

Materialism

Back in high school, my year twelve english class journeyed on many-a-tangents. My memories dwell not with the curriculum we learnt (because who remembers school work anyway?), but with how we ventured into random topics, even going as far as what it meant to be an emo. I can recall one particular lesson, my English teacher making a very interesting statement about teenagers and mobile phones. That mobiles had become "an extension of the arm." This thought has come back to me every so often, mainly when I'm in the city. 
I feel that there is a new evolution to the human body in recent years. That of the iPod. I am so intrigued by this, that I decided to include it in Seasons. "Their iPod’s were like an abnormal growth out of their ears, permanently attached after many years of the body accepting the symbiotic relationship."
How does such a thing come about? We went from having home phones to "bricks", to your iPhone of today... and then where did the cassette player go? It's people searching for more and more. They wouldn't need to if they had true fulfillment in our God. Only He can fill the hole in our hearts; the hunger, the yearning inside.

Satisfaction

Customer satisfaction is hard to come by,

When consumers raise the bar every time.

Always wanting, expecting more,

And everyone goes home empty inside.

We fool ourselves thinking that this time will be different.

Full of longing, hopes held high.

And still the disappointment rains on our parade,

Washing away our dreams, 

Leaving us with a little hole that nothing seems to fill.

We all know the answer.

We know where to go.

We all know the question to ask,

And who to ask it to.

So tell me, why don't we?

A Seed Of Hope

It's been a while, I know, however writing has been in a different form as of late. University calls for a mind blazing with ideas, and yes they have come flooding in. The problem being that the hours required in study plus the celebration of a significant birthday bring about a certain level of exhaustion- and being tired finds it hard for inspiration. It is incredible how much freer a person feels when they aren't rushing around from one place to another. I can recall only a month ago, before Uni started for the year, just how much easier it was to be creative. I fear for the completion of my novel in the time period I have allocated myself- December is looming!

Thus, it calls for a seed of hope:

In every hug there is a little bit of love.

In every laugh there is a hint of happiness.

In every dream there is a seed of hope.

In every today there is a thought for tomorrow.

No matter the person, the place, the thing,

No matter the church that brings the ring,

No matter the child that waves goodbye,

No matter the good times that make you cry.

Don't ever doubt the goodness in this world,

Just look to the Heavens you will see the reward.

He has a great plan in mind for you-

The most perfect one in fact: it's yours to pursue.

Something A Little Different

My eyes have been widened in the last few weeks and I feel the need to share it, rather than my usual banter about writing. Disaster seems to be left, right, and centre. It’s in countries far from reach, but it also feels as close as my back pocket.

There has been destruction happening in the Middle East for years, but the coverage of car bombs and dead soldiers has been increasing steadily on the TV screen as we’ve watched.

My wake up call to natural disasters began in 2004 when the tsunamis hit the Indian Ocean. The reason being that I was actually in Thailand at the time when it happened and was meant to be in Phuket (one of the places in Thailand that was wiped out), but due to a series of circumstances, I holidayed safely in Pataya (a sheltered cove close to Bangkok). From then on I have paid closer attention to the scary thunderstorms, unusual weather patterns, things like the black Saturday bushfires in NSW, and more recently, the earthquake disaster in Haiti.

Then there is the daily tragedy of people dying in third world countries from disease, malnutrition, and other things that the rest of us take for granted. Not to mention the fact that abortion is now an accepted practice in many places and pregnancies are being treated as “unwanted problems”.

As much as these things break my heart and make me wonder where all the goodness is gone in the world, what tugs at my heart the most (and likely the same for many others) is those things that are happening to the people around me, those people who I know personally and care for deeply. It started with an acquaintances mother passing away. Then a family friend contracted cancer. And then another with cancer, another having surgery, and then another had a heart attack.

I always thought myself lucky to not have experienced the extreme illness or death of a loved one- or myself for that matter. Especially when I knew that others around me had to deal with tragedy after tragedy. And even though these things have been happening gradually (with natural disasters and the like), it still has been a bit of a shock to the system and shaken me up a bit. It makes me wonder what there is left to be done- what could I possibly do to help? For those far away, it just seems too big, too many people. And as for those much closer, how could any of my words or actions be enough? I feel there is only one thing left to give: prayers. Unceasing prayers for the needy- whether it be in basic human needs of safety, shelter, food, love, or belongingness.

I have been given a blessed life so that I can offer this simple thing for these people. It may not be the only thing I can offer, but I can offer it at any time of any day- so can you and anyone else. It’s as simple as the few words, “Lord be with them.” And what would bring Him greater pleasure than to receive, not only our prayers for His people, but also the gratitude for the blessed lives we live- no matter the difficulties faced? I suppose the key is that life is always blessed with the presence of the Lord in it. And we should be thankful for that alone. Anything else is a bonus.

Fail Me

It’s interesting writing a book and suddenly deciding that you want to include a character with an accent- and then trying to write their words with that accent. For example in chapter 3 (yes, my dear audience, I am up to chapter 3!) I have written in a young British male. He uses such words as “innerested” and “attenshun”. What's even more interesting is how this book seems to be taking ME on a journey, rather than the other way around. What I mean to say is, I used to look down at writers who wrote blindly and let the ending just "happen". They didn't plan, they didn't organise, they didn't brainstorm everything beforehand... they just started writing. A brilliant example of this is the writers of Lost (the TV show). They keep adding sub-plots in, not knowing how they are going to pull it all together in the end- well, until this series (or so they tell us). Anyway, now I can properly appreciate these writers. I'm experiencing similar things. The story almost has a mind of its own, and even though I have it all planned out (ending and all), it's the little bits in between that are surprising me. The characters are acting differently to how I had imagined they would! I learnt at Uni the other day that this is actually a good thing. They are being unpredictable. It is a sign of good writing. Props to me :)

Evelyn is currently in a state of not knowing what she wants to be. Does she want to be noticed? Does she want to be nonexistent? The confusion is preventing her from excelling. This piece of prose I wrote is quite similar to the emotions that Evelyn is going through (minus the "God component").

Fail Me

Running doesn’t work anymore.

Who am I kidding? It never did.

Human instincts fail me again.

I feel

Helpless.

Hopeless.

Unwanted.

Rejected.

When will I be good enough?

Or is that the point?

Only to one will I ever be.

People will always disappoint you,

But my God, no,

He is steadfast and unfailing.

He will never let me down-

The only one I can trust,

The only one I can count on.

I keep my eyes on watch,

Looking out for Him

As I hide in the cracks in the wall

But I am not invisible- or am I?

I try, but instincts fail me again.

It's About Time I Was Honest With You

I like describing things. Not verbally, but writing them down. And I love putting something I see in my mind onto paper for others to then imagine. Today I spent an entire paragraph just describing what one of the characters in Seasons was wearing. She was a rather oddball kind of character- a lot of fun to "dress"... I'm talking missmatched clothing, chunky gold jewellery, and a chiffon "tail". I rather enjoyed putting her together!

I've decided, that in order for this book to oneday be completed, that I need to commit to writing at least three A4 pages every week. There are approximately 44 weeks left in this year. That means that if I stick to my commitment, there are 132 more pages to write. That's 132 more pages of goodness, if you ask me! :)

Anyway, I wish to point out something about my shorter peices now. I've been very picky when it has come to sharing what I write. So many of my peices are very vulnerable and illuminate some of the darker times of my life. However, in being so raw and honest, they are some of the most poetic that I have written. So today is going to be the beginning of a beautiful friendship between this blog and my "past" so to speak. I want to share this side of myself with you- all in the name of good literature!

But you will notice that these peices reek of self-disgust and loathing. I would like to point out that it is merely an attempt to guide my way through my innermost thoughts and desires, unraveling them in wonder at how someone could think such dark thoughts. In the moment of writing, I allow my thoughts to come tumbling onto the page, I've no idea how they end up sounding so poetic, as I'm just being brutally honest with myself... afterall, I am my own worst critic. So, do not be alarmed that I am mentally unstable, or stuck in a whirlwind of self-pity, or stepping down the ladder into depression. I can safely vouch for my own sanity :) but I just wanted to allude to the facts of how and why my short peices of writing came into being.

Now that I think about it, I've been reading some of St. Augustine's "Confessions" recently and have noticed this self-disgust in his own writings. Perhaps I'm just being human. Anyway, a brilliant example of this is a peice I wrote in February last year:

The noise is fogging my thoughts.

Words escape me-

All I can do is stare.

Autopilot.

Mental riot.

My brain wrecks havoc.

This war I cannot bare.

Time passes and yet nothing changes-

The thoughts,

The feelings,

The pain.

It lingers, hiding amongst the cloud.

I'm nothing more than a fence sitter.

I don't even know how to surrender.

Where is the exit?

Where is the off switch?

How do I escape this hell that is mine?

Seasons of life

As you continue to read my musings, a certain theme will begin to emerge... a pattern. Nature. It is the Lord's creations that stimulate me the most. I experience great love from Him through the beauty of this world. The contrast between a grey sky and green treetops, a dazzling sunset, a field of grain blowing in the breeze, the stars twinkling brightly from above, a flower in full bloom... These things warm the cockles of my heart and make me feel so alive. What I love most about nature is how it is ruled by the seasons- and it is this that you will find in my writings. The difference a leaf looks, acts, feels, in spring, compared to that of autumn.. or the non-existence of them in winter... such a wonder. I love it! It's no wonder my book will be titled "A Season For Everything." Out lives are ruled by similar seasons. Cold and dark like the winter, or bright and joyful like summer- it is constantly changing.

As I continued to write Seasons last week, the story deepening, the "plot" thickening... it took upon a summertime full of thunderstorms and heaviness that only comes from humidity, matching that of the "heavy" heart of the main character, Evelyn. The story starts out in a rather depressing state, but unfortunately this is necessary. I'm looking forward to getting onto the more "beautiful" parts of the book. However, that is still some way away, because what follows summer? Autumn. And what follows autumn? Winter. And it will not be until the springtime that beauty will truly arise (in the story at least)... however I cannot deny that even in the midst of a dark and cold winter, beauty is in abundance!

So, I share with you now this very thing- beauty in the midst of darkness- a dark season of my own life, last autumn. It's a little bit of a prayer. Enjoy!

May

The first leaf of autumn has fallen

And I find myself thinking of You.

I try to picture Your face

But the cold morning mist covers my vision.

I know You are there.

Sometimes.

Always.

Everywhere.

Except all I can see is black nothingness.

It consumes me,

Envelopes me,

Takes me.

Where are You, my Love, when I most need You?

They tell me that You are always with me.

But I find myself doubting.

Why do I forget You are there?

Give me the gift of faith, O Lord.

So that I might forever believe

That Your love is greater than any other.

That the leaves were made for me.

Passion

It's funny how God places a passion for something on your heart and once you've got it you don't let go of it until it's complete. The moment Moses saw the injustice of a Hebrew man being beaten by an Egyptian man, his heart was taken. He wanted to see freedom for the Israelites, his people. God equipped him, and he followed this passion until the day he died.

Different experiences in my own life have led me to be passionate about several things. One such passion, is that I want to help women see just how much they are worth- that they truly are beautiful. God created them good, and so they are good JUST AS THEY ARE! That they deserve to be treated with dignity, respect, and honour. I believe that the world is influencing us to treat ourselves, men, and women in ways that only hurt everyone. I want to spend the rest of my life changing this. And God has given me the means to do so, with this beautiful gift of writing. I want this theme to be an underlying value throughout my book.

On Monday I decided to start re-writing the story. I found that the original (which isn't actually the original, but draft #2) just wasn't heading in the direction I had intended, with the emotion that I had intended. It has a name (which I'm not entirely satisfied with): A Season For Everything (which will be referred to from hereonin as "Seasons"). I am, however, very satisfied with where it's heading now. I shall share a snippet with you all:

...I stood for a moment, watching the wonder of it all, a power far greater than I. But I could not be left alone with my thoughts. I shook my head as if my brain would topple out through my ears and be left on the “welcome” doormat at my feet. My car beckoned me...

And as for Moses' passion. Well, I wrote a piece similar to "Dear John The Baptist" in July last year... It's amazing how much scripture can spur a person's imagination. I was reading the daily readings (Exodus 3:17-20) and this just came to me:

Moses

A promise was made me

Of a better life.

Of a life filled with freedom

And a land flowing with milk and honey.

They were to hearken to my voice

And be compelled by a mighty hand,

Smited by wonders I do not know.

When He makes a promise,

He does not fall short

Trust should lie in that at least.

Listen and believe, I will myself.

But I doubt, I doubt.

I am nothing special after all,

Why would He choose me?

But with much reassurance I trust anyway.

I choose to trust in His choice.

Joy & Hope

After looking over my more recent pieces of writing, I have come to the realisation that there are so many that have come from negative emotion. So many written out of desperation, out of hurt. I suppose it rings true that a writer does produce his or her best pieces when written with raw emotion. Although I love how so many of them have turned out, they give off a very "sad" feeling.

These last few weeks, the Lord has filled me with such great joy, and so I do not wish to focus on the negative things of the past. I want to spread the love and happiness that He has blessed my life in abundance with. So today I wish to share one that is far more hopeful. It was a "conversation" I had with the Father one day in October 2009. He wrote the first stanza, then I the second, He the third, and I the fourth.

Saturday and the sky is blue,
a dazzling bright for my love for you.
I have given this day for you, My child,
A gift from the heavens above.

I will honour You with this day, my Lord,
I will love You with my life.
I give it back, a gift from me,
It is Yours to do as You see.

You must be weary, the road has been long
The test, the struggles, have taken their song,
But trust in Me, and you will find,
Relief is on the horizon.

I DO trust in You, my strength, my rock,
I seek out the horizon,
But not without first looking around me,
For right now is the matinee.

As you can see, He is a far better writer than I... the author of the greatest book we know :)

Dear John The Baptist

As I said I would, last week I opened up the file that contained my book. It was the first time in... well, a long time. Unfortunately over the years I have not had (or made) the time to sit down for a solid amount of time to just write. So I've resorted to tid-bits here and there, which haven't proved very fruitful. I seem unable to actually get anywhere unless I'm consumed in it for large amounts of time. So, as of last week, I learnt that it is not wise to attempt to "get anywhere" with my book when my sister is in the same room. I just cannot focus.

In the end, writers block consumed me and I left the computer feeling dejected. Not something that I am likely to attempt again in the near future (that is, writing with other people around).

On the plus side, New Years Day showed promise for the year to come, as inspiration flooded over me! It was all very exciting, jotting down in a notepad the thoughts as they came, feeling very much like a real writer- something that I haven't felt in a long time. I'm certain it was an interesting sight for my friends to witness... the other side of me that others rarely see. Like a child on Christmas morning, it was like something had awakened in me. Like that moment was the first day of the rest of my writing life!



I've been reading a book by Francine Rivers called "A Lineage Of Grace" (five stories about five significant women from the Bible). I do not agree with everything in the book, however have been fascinated by her idea of getting into the minds of those who walked this earth over 2000 years ago.

It reminds me of my own attempt a few months back. I feel inclined to share... You'll find that the first stanza is from the point of view of Elizabeth, the second from John The Baptist, the third from King Herod.

Dear John The Baptist

I fear the Lord and He answers my prayers
To bare fruit as I had desired-
It is now my reality.
A miracle that loosened the lips of the one I love.
In my old age I held fast to my hope.
The Lord stands close to the faithful.

My life is a witness to the Glory of God.
Such miracles do not come by everyday.
I have taken upon myself the faith of my mother
And the Lord has blessed me abundantly.
I vow to follow His hand
And so I leave the wilderness for life-
A life-giving water; it is my calling
And I call others to it.
They come in the masses.

My pity lies with this man
Who does not know what is to become of him.
The wickedness of the one I love
Has forced an end to his life.
My stomach churns
But I have guests to tend to.
It is not but a distant memory...
Only on the finest of silver.