Hairbands

She sat on the bathroom rug

With quiet methodology

Fingers grasped around the plastic tube

Holding black stretchy ring

She tested each for it’s elasticity

As they were pulled off and on to the floor

She looked up at me

With wide eyes bright

As I told her

“Put them back on”

Head back down

With determined obedience

Her little fingers once again clawed:

The ease with which they flew off

Was not to be repeated.

Each day we read.

With her wry grin

we turn pages,

sing songs,

speak high, speak low

and close our eyes into sleepy submission

But eyes were opened wide for these words:

And I feel my life

Is turning more into dots

A mass of gray

Gold desperate to twinkle through

More and more

My daily trawl of

Facebook

Online newspaper comments

Political discussion websites

TV debates

Seems like vomit

Thoughts of waste

Expelled from the mouths of drunkards

Down 3am dark alleys

Waking up with foul taste in mouth

Groggily justifying

“Hey, I’m entitled to my opinion,

I’m just saying what I think.”

I see your

#100DaysOfHappy

Your

#OnlyGoodThings

Your

#KindnessIsMagic

Desperate to speak against the barrage of hate of

#BigBenefitsRow

Controversy of

#CBB

Because nothing is sacred from public abuse

#HateTheQueen

Even when good is done

When NekNomination is turned upside on its head

With sandwiches instead of Smirnoff

Angry words still condemn

When did we get so critical

Deeming ourselves so high

So right?

When did we forget

That in each vein is blood

Pumping to heart

Desperate for life?

So me and my mini-me

immerse ourselves into the stories

Of the caterpillar that is hungry

Which lion is hers

Discussing the places she will go

And anything else

That allows me to do silly voices

And speak that truth

Reiterate It over and over

Until it becomes rote, ingrained, her being

Over and over:

The importance of words

The life and death they bring

And the difference they can make

They flick off so easily

So quickly

So flippantly

But can’t be put back the same

“Taste your words, before you spit them out”

The wise woman said.

Plastic

I have always liked Simon Cowell

I remember Saturday evening's, Pop Idol on TV

My mum making critical but funny comments

At the “talent” paraded on TV

Finally she had met her match

In sky high waistband

And hairy chest

As I watched yesterday

Heard his words rip through souls

And dream

My ears pricked up at one sentence:

“You guys are over-rehearsed and insincere”

Five coffee-skinned

buff guys, with matching t-shirt

Slick Usher moves

Sweet harmony of voices

When asked how to spend $5million

Talked of helping community

Buying diapers for new baby

Yet shot down.

Even Simon Cowell

Million dollar mogul

With mansions galore

dates flawlessly dressed females

surrounded by musical artists

and the fickle nature of the recording industry

hates the fake.

“You’re not cold, you’re not hot – far better to be either cold or hot! You’re stale. You’re stagnant. You make me want to vomit. You brag, ‘I’m rich, I’ve got it made, I need nothing from anyone,’ oblivious that in fact you’re pitiful, blind beggar, threadbare and homeless.”

The dishonesty of the human heart

Can still be seen

On a stage

This world cries out

Pained scream

As she labours to birth

the authentic

The real

The truth

Who are we meant to be?

Not an imitation

Nor interpretation

But the true manifestation

of our inner self

and who it desires to be

truth

the truth of who you are

will set you free

for in that freedom

you can truly live

that is the John 10:10 life

to the full, to overflowing

fully who we are

fully who we were created to be

fake skunks the room

bellies doubled over

retching in the aisle

as it walks past

some are lulled in

bought into the lie

but only temporarily

knock off Guchi’s are noticed

in fair time

Flawless divas

pass the dutch 

and walk the halls

envy turns to disdain

then back to pity

you see them for what they are

cold shiny plastic. 

Sleep

Last night my eyes hit the pillow at 4am.

Facedown into my billowing down clouds they went

Only to be abruptly awoken at 8:50am by a husbands kisses goodbye,

and a glance to the clock to see that I was being picked up

in 15 minutes time.

Car horn honks at 9:05 to which a reply is sent:

Just got out of the bathroom. Be down in 2 mins.

Tiredly I climb into the car emotionally but not physically ready for 8 hours of writing, conversations, birthday brownies delivery, emails and Facebook polling.

Followed by dinner and talks, celebrating the life of an 8 year old.

Cosied in pyjama’s, at nearly midnight, I cuddle with husband as he continues his Fifa ‘Battle of Glory.’

Oh how I wish this day wasn’t typical.

But such is the life when you believe.

That your skills and gifts are not for your sake.

People are valuable.

There is much to be learned from those older than you.

That children desire and love your attention.

That even brief moments together can make an impact.

That Father God is doing great things

And you are desperate to be a part of them.

My feet drag when faced with enforced task

Knowing there is an impact, and I need to be a good steward,

I will continue to work hard

By my heart knows it tastes dissatisfaction

And it longs for more

But when you love

Oh how your butt can haul

And work

Feverishly

Feverently

Tirelessly

Relentlessly

Tired eyes continued to type, edit and examine

With the arrival of the dawn

For the heart believed in the work

Of the hands.

How long can my soulless body

Sit at bring desk

And look outside at open field

Desperate for exploration?

When I stepped out of Pais almost a year ago,

Several wondered if this was a turn wrong

I stretched and pressed in

To hear Father God’s voice speak to me

Yearning for the noise in the whisper

And I stand now

Awed

Amazed

At how wonderfully hard

How beautiful an adventure

Into who I am

And who I am in Him

And how this changes

the world around me

Exposing where my heart lies

by what my actions have done

time spent on strange, and new, and ordinary

made sweet lemonade

when given oranges

The wandering 

has been the most honest thing I have ever truly done.

deep calls to deep

soul cries loud

"Wouldn’t take nothing for my journey now"

Wandering

I feel like I’m wandering.

Just existing with no real purpose.

And it feels bad.

Feels like I’m wasting the life that Father God gave me.

Feel like I’m wasting the talent

The gifts, the skills…

But the truth is

Last year

I was

Wandering

Aimlessly

I had a job title

A role

A description

An email signature

A to do list that never seemed to end

Calls to make

Meetings to have

But mentally

I don’t know if I was there

Mentally

I was wandering

Wondering if this was all there was to life

Examining whether I was passionate about this

Knowing that this was not what 100% looked like

Knowing this wasn’t what I wanted my life to be

And I was wandering onto a path I didn’t want to be on

I wonder if it’s better

This way

It might not look like it

Look like the better way

But it feels more honest.