Timeless

Over the past few months I have been more and more inspired to write- to learn about writing, and almost to unlearn everything I have ever known about writing. Yes indeed our beautiful English language should not be reduced to txt lingo in college essays, however there is something different happening with our language. I guess this is not something new, language has a certain power within itself to transform and revolutionize. When I read text books from the 70's I notice the change between then and now, again it seems every decade there is something new to say in our lingo. We are learning and it is valuable and transforming. Language marks the changes in our society- oh how we reminisce to MJ's lyrics whilst giggling at the prospect of that being 'cool', 'wicked', 'awesome', 'rad', 'sweet', 'ridiculous'... or whatever else deems the most popular word to describe the most popular thing in our most popular decade.

Last month marked the beginning of our writers club. A mix of different types came. We mingled, gathered and shared. I got so excited at the prospect of people gathering together and coming up with new ideas and ventures upon which to write. I was truly amazed at everyone's enthusiasm and charm about the club and this timeless hobby. It seems at the end of studying for my degree is the time when I have fallen in love with books- what a shame! Art calls my name and let's just say there are not really any books with words. Most artists presume that picture say much more. My two loves conflict, I want both! PICTURES AND WORDS PLEASE! As I engulf myself within Borders corners on my days off I discover new worlds, lost dreams and new dreams. I do hope this book phase will never end. I wonder if the books I write will become classics, or just dated within the decade I write. I guess that's up to the language I use.

Or is it that 'classic' is the outdated but oh-so-loved MJ song? I could spend forever trying to make what I write timeless, in the hope that those once the first kids to read, would read the stories to their grandchildren. Time is just another way of locking our history and secrets into books. Who we are, who we were. What we loved, what we now collect. Where we lived, Where we have explored. Maybe one day I will be laughing at the prospect of having a 'club' to write! Oh the joys of time.

the murder.

Today I woke up to the sorry state of my street. The council had to unfortunately chop down many trees that lined our sweet entrance street. There were about ten in total. Inside the trees lived fruit bats- about twenty. And countless birds that would wake me up with singing or squealing. Tonight I found a lonely locust on my outside wall, I imagined that he lost his home too. The trees held a magical suspicion about them, they gave us shelter when walking the extreme summer heat, they covered your car when the hail storm hit with golf ball pellets. They kept the traffic from entering my bedroom. They kept me safe, gave me shelter and they were part of my home. They were so much more than that. Sometimes I would imagine how magical it would be if our street got together and closed the road- put up fairy lights and had a big dinner on a huge long table that was covered with food, red and white gingham table cloths and with everyone finding our home with one another, the connectedness that meets us at our doorsteps- yet we miss every day. The trees made 'our' street what it was and is no longer. It separated us from the rest of the community in a good way, we are the entrance into the busy suburb and the trees would always be there when you drove to work, and there again they would be welcoming you home to your family. They made the best parts of the day even greater. I am blessed enough to still have a beautiful tree outside my window, but I notice the difference when I walk outside. I see the locust and cricket missing a home. I wonder where the bats have gone. I wonder where the leaf spiders will hide to? I am listening to a song from Jason Upton called "chop down the tree". It seems pretty applicable right now. When I talked with the men chopping down the trees they told me the reasons why. It was not for pain sake, but because the trees had in their majestic beauty to power to damage our homes and our drains. They plan to plant new trees that will not have roots to destruct the road. It is a shame, however in this song I find a little rest in knowing that death is just another stage of life. Painful, but truthful.

How great are Gods sights

Mighty are his wonders

His kingdom has no end

Through all generations

Tree so tall

It was visible to all

Fruits of abundance

The bats and beasts lived under them

And a holy one said, Yes a holy one said

A holy one said

A holy one said

Chop down the tree

Strip off and scatter all the fruit

Let the birds and the beasts leave

For I am God

No kingdom comes above me

Yahweh

For as the rain comes down, from the skies

From the snows that come from the heaven above

They do not return there

But they water this earth, they water the earth

And they make it bring forth from them buds and the grass that grows

So shall my word that goes forth from my mouth, for it shall not return to me void

Just as the rain, just as the snow cleanses this earth- so does the word of God

It will cleanse us and keep us from sin

It revives us, it strengthens us, it saves us

Let the rain come down, let the snow come down, let it water the earth

Cleanse us. Revive us. Strengthen us. save us.

This is the truth, this is the truth that sets us free, that sets us free.

Truth. This is the truth.

Tormented Youth

For the past couple of weeks I have come across teenagers in abundance. Unlike most Christians my age I AM NOT A YOUTH LEADER. It's not that I don't like kids, it's just that I have older friends and seem to mix and influence people over the age of 20. The 'stream' of Church I find myself in is for 25-35 year olds. I am still 22. I don't know how this happened. It just did.

Anyway... TEENS! I am noticing the horrors of the teenage years around me all of a sudden. Their faces are miserable. They swear and smoke more than grown ups. They have this look that says "You owe me something" Like they have been jilted in life. They either dress gothic and have piercings all over, or else they act mindless smiling, laughing and drunk around the place, kissing everything of the opposite- or even the same sex. I remember people used to say to me, "Oh I would never be a teenager again if you paid me" I used to think those people were old farts. Now I realize why. Arhh I'm just disgusted by the body odor, the massages in public places, the rough attitudes, the proving-I'm-worth-something. What the heck did hormones do to us? I feel like my teenage years weren't like this. I remember some boy troubles, but never like the kids I see today. (Gosh I sound like an old fart) Was I really that obnoxious?

In this state on nostalgia... here are some of my teen photos.

HOME.

Ok so for the past few days I have been sick with a tummy bug. I hate being sick. I hate sickness. As soon as I was somewhat better, there I was rubber gloves on cleaning up the kitchen. In one of those moments where you snapshot your life, I wondered why is it only me that would be cleaning after just recovering from being sick? I was dizzy and a little bit crazy, but there I was cleaning. Isn't this a strange habit to posses? I have come to realize that even though I am messy sometimes- I am really a clean freak. I don't know whether this is good or bad. I enjoy perfection. I enjoy design and when I walk into a space I feel it on my skin. Isn't this normal?! Apparently not for most people my age.

This has become one of the contention points within my house (full of gorgeous and some very single ladies from all over the World). I genuinely appreciate acts of service, it is how I love people and how I serve those whom I live with. This is not a 'gift' that many people afford to give. It is one that I crave others would give to me and to be quite honest- (in my moment of delirium after a tummy bug I will be honest) I get ticked off when people leave mess and then in order for me to enjoy space, I have to clean up their mess? For example: toilets. If you do a #2 be gracious enough to not leave it, or the running track of it at least. Or someone makes toast, not using a plate and then for the rest of the day the remains of the toast crumbs sit on the bench waiting for an unsuspecting bug to chomp it up or else me to clean it up. Or another example, when someone washes the floor- rather than brushing it up and then mopping, they decide to do a two-in-one-job and mop the hair and dirt into the sides of the wall. oh what a delight for someone like me... Am I controlling? wouldn't anyone get frustrated?!

I have a longing, not to live alone or be a hermit- but to have my own space. I dream of putting my furniture there and coming home to an atmosphere with lit candles and sweet smells of home cooked food. I desire space where I can listen to music and be captivated by the sounds of what lies outside my window. I desire peace. I want a place where I can read, write songs, paint and delight in the space provided. I want to wander across the earth and to bring back memories in pictures, artifacts and textiles into my home. I desire to invite and share with people in my home. Tea, coffee, chocolate and charity events. Gardening clubs and cooking lessons. Writers clubs, cheese and wine tasting. Art exhibitions and fine art lessons. Delight.

I know Im only 22 and that most people my age are not that concerned with these things, but inside I feel ready to make a home. It's not about being married or having kids (although they would be nice in due time) this is about space. HOME. It's funny how I imagine this place, and although this might be my desire in my mind I reckon I am longing for something else. I am longing for Home that may be available in an expression on Earth- yet is only that, an expression HOME. I am reminded of that song by U2 that exclaims;

walk on. the only baggage you can bring is all that you can't leave behind. a place that has to be believed to be seen. Home: hard to know where it is if you've never had one. Home: I can't say where it is but I know I'm going. All that you build and all that you break.

How do I know that this physical home I desire exists? Is it my Western mind thinking for me? Or is it a desire that I have already tasted of? What is home? What is home to those who have never seen it?

Last week I walked down a street that from where I first stood looked like a beautiful suburb. As I walked under the night sky towards this street I was aware that this was not the picture I first imagined. I was expecting a new suburb to fall in love with alongside the few others in Sydney I have found. This was no such place. I could see inside some of these homes, although the bricks and mortar looked beautiful with overlooking balconies and trees that lined the center street, there was a restlessness there. Kids were playing after 11pm and running around these streets, young men scurried into corners and drugs were dealt even with street lamps shinning. As I reached the end of the street there were around 20 people homeless laying under a bridge. I have never collectively seen so many people homeless. I was challenged. I was scared. I wanted to run away and forget the images I had seen. What really is home? Is it space?Is it place? Is it rest? Is it peace? Im restless with these thoughts. I am so blessed.

sticks, twigs and skinny things.

Oh gosh I am so tired. Today was a horrible day. I lost something, walked around too much in a shopping mall and wrote a late assignment. I don't feel like I'm doing life that great but in the ungreatness of me doing life I am finding I am looking to 'Him' more than ever before. I need Him, want Him and crave Him.

I wrote this today:

And this is me on bended knee, offering me I do ascribe to thee. My plea: I want to be free.

Is it you my love. Cherished dove. The one and Only Blessed and Holy?

Is it you Spirit and Son. Three in one. Offering me love that makes me undone?

Complicated are the mysteries, my desires and my histories they sing to me...

Taken back and breathing in. Taken back Im taking you in. You win.

Winner of all things true. Maker of all things new. I choose... I choose. I choose You.

Enough of me and my tiring restless wanderings. I need HIM.

Above us more than sky

The past few weeks have been filled with study and restlessness. During this time I have written four children's books, painted for a major exhibition and messed up my bedroom more than once. I have visited the City many times and stayed over at friends houses. I have volunteered in Church and ran around finding costumes for a Christmas event. I am not tired... this is different.

I am now in a state of slow.

I am struggling with forgiveness and grace. I don't get it. I can't fathom it. I need time.

I need space right now. I need space to breathe and to explore with God. I need soothing music and time to tidy up my clothes. I need to think alone.

I have this basket with books I want to finish reading.

I have a journal I want to write in.

I have music my ears want to listen to.

I have daylight my feet need to walk under.

I have scarves I want to wear.

and I need time. I need time to do the things that make me who I am. Above us is more than sky. I delight in this, but I struggle with the concept of incarnation. Forgiveness and Grace, although near to me are foreign to me.