I was reminded tonight on the power held in words. Sometimes not even held in the meaning, just in the sound and the texture. Crisp and then around the bend languid, and long. Sometimes not even held in the word but the in-between, in the silence and the breathing and the pulsing rhythm of the connect flowing between listener and speaker.
I was reminded of the power of words to stir and shape, to remind that the stories we live can be told in a myriad of ways. As JP Cooper sang his heart-song in soulful tones which made my eyes squeeze shut and Alysia revelled in crescendoing fullness of all she was born for I felt it deep. And I breathed easy and hard at the same time as I felt the release that can only come from being in the presence of people released into their gifting.
Alysia Harris told me that Continue reading
Why do I choose eyes half shut and feel surprised when things seem grey and I have no vision?
Why do I choose heart half closed and wonder why I can’t love; why my words tear down more than build up?
Why do I choose hands half clenched and feel surprised when they are empty at day’s end?
Why do I choose seconds upon minutes upon hours of procrastination and wonder why my roots are so covered in sediment that Light can’t nourish them anymore. Then blame you for my brown-edged blossom. Though really I know I blame myself. Shame seals the sediment, and I accept the half-life. Continue reading
Until last week, going climbing was just a nice excuse to see Ellie who I feel homesick for in busy London, discover new muscles and somehow feel more connected to John. Sure, my muscles would ache the next day but nothing that a coffee wouldn’t fix. But then last week, I spent the best part of a week after a climbing session feeling a raging ache that wouldn’t shift. It was an ache right to my core, and I could barely lift my arms above waist level. Although it was horrible and made me swear temporarily off climbing, it got me thinking. Continue reading
My little sister is about to sing her first ever solo open mic night in Tokyo tonight. At 17, she’s hardly little anymore but I’ve never been good at remembering that – as she will attest to with a well-practised roll of the eyes. I feel a twinge of regret that I won’t be there to see her and clap and squeal more loudly than anyone else, but also reminded of how great it is that I can cheer her on from the other side of the world, through whatsapp, through prayer and through this thought thrown out into the blogosphere.
My sister is SO BEAUTIFUL! Of course I’m biased etc etc but that’s not really what this is about. Because through any lens, she is beautiful, as we all are. Made perfect in His image, Christ’s kiss sealed on her heart. And I have been so humbled and proud of her as she made this adventure to Japan on my parents’ coat-tails, as the only child still living at home with them. Starting American school, being thrust into a world of new accents, school lockers, basketball teams, promposals, friends with maids, APs, long bike rides every morning and electronic babies. Good for you, sister, I always tell people I don’t think I could have done it as well as you have, and you should be so aware of your courage. Continue reading