Grace

GRACE-

Mistake after mistake,
I’m my own worst enemy,
At times everyone knows when I’ve gone too far but me………

And yet with blood still on my hands,
Treason fresh on my lips,
I’m re-made to be whole ,new and loved.

Not in an instant but through blood and tears,
Saved by another’s crucifixion –

A gift unwrapped by a gradual realization-
And now I’m wrapped in a blanket of grace.

Walking completely undone.
Its in this undoing that we are re-born,
embraced and set free by a relentless kinda love,

Amazed by this divine romance,
Inbetween a fallen world and perfect God –

Found and redeemed,

This is a story of Grace.

I have two Dads and get to decide which gets to define my worth.                             

One walks in and out of my life, the other swears he will never leave.          

With one I share DNA and similar scars but it's the other who fathers me.            

By one I am labelled to be more trouble than I'm worth, yet another paid the highest price and continues to fight for me.
We are designed to crave a Dad.

Someone who's when little shoulders we can sit on and as we grow hand to hold.

Truth is not all are willing or able, though my earthly Dad walked away leaving me fractured I am not left abandoned and discarded.                                                  


It's through ridiculous grace that God fills this space.

He tells me I'm loved while healing skinned knees, protects and provides, holds my hand when I feel outnumber, when I rebel and wander he comes to find me.


Our God is a God who shows up and cares for his kids in 10,000 different ways. Though he asks fathers to show his fathers heart even if they don't he'll do it anyway.

Out my window

A shooting Star catches my attention as it races across the sky. I heard somewhere that shooting stars are angles throwing away their ciggerets before God can catch them smoking. There are lots of ideas about falling stars but j think I like this one the best.

As I stand with my neck craned out the window my mind floats up towards the sky. There are 100 billion galaxies estimated although mankind has never left the one we were placed in. In our galaxy, there are 200 billion -trillion stars and in amongst those 88 constellations, funny thing is that out of 200 billion-trillion stars we can only see 2500 of them from where we stand. In this galaxy God made 8 planets but only gave one life.

My gaze falls out across the patchwork of roofs I can see from my window. On this earth, there are 197 countries, 7.9 billion people and 6500 different languages.

Out of 6500 different languages, I speak 1.

It is a big world, in an instant, we could pack up and go somewhere no one knows us, call a rewrite. There’s something wonderfully freeing about this concept. We could stay in the same corner of which we were born in the hopes of knowing it and the people they’re intimately and thoroughly. We could speak 1000 languages but still not truly understand all that people have to say. We could meet 1000 people but only truly know a few. I guess in comparison to all there is to know we will always know nothing, but maybe that’s the beauty of it.

Dust (a dorky poem\ prayer written a little while ago,)

My prays hit the roof and turn to dust,
Worth no more than rust-

My words and heart lay on the floor around my feet,
I scream dut it appears no one hears-
Someone please see my tears!

Beautiful things are to made outa dust,
Maybe this is how I learn to trust-
Don't all fall before walk?

And although right now I simply try to survive,
It is written in blood I shall to thrive-

Although I'm scared, although I'm small,
As it is written in crimson ink fears a lie after all.
On waves I'll dance, under waves I will not sink,

Beautiful things are to made outa dust-
Beauty was found in my unheard words,
Perhaps prayers go above the ceiling?
Turns out someone heard all my screaming.

Falling leaves.

Does a tree greave it leaves?

Wish to hold tightly to what was once a part of them,

No more than bones without out them one day,

but now freely given away?

Don’t you ever miss what you grew out of?

Dose a tree ever feel leaves fall a little to fast?

Looking back wasn’t childness a fine garment?

enercence and conference so rare

Why are the wrong things often so freely given away?

You can’t tell me you don’t wish to savour spring leaves.

Before the deauty of autumn,

Change scars the bravest.

God may of intended it, may be our biggest blessing

But truth is even trees grave their leaves

The game of war.

Game after game we do the same thing . Everyone has the same jod and we fight those across from us. I asked the king once if I could be a hores or a bishop but he said no………

I asked the king once if we could stop fighting war but he also said no ……….

I am sick of fighting the folks across from us when no-one knows the reason.My friend Gary agrees with me. If war is a game the kings wish to play then fine but there is no reason for the rest of us to be killed off every two seconds because of it.

Myself and Gary are going on strick until someone explains the nature of this war. I told the king …… who was behind me as boldly as I bare . “Oh there is no reason why we just fight because there is nothing eals to do!” The king said somewhat confused and laughing. “It is the life of a chess piece so you must learn to cope. ” he said turning away to instruct a castle.

I hate being a chess pieces.

Home.

My home is down the bottom of a quite dead end street. The first thing you see when you come to my house is not a house but a lush garden buzzing with unseen life and taller then tall hedges .We have a gravel drive way in need of weeding that leads to the side gate and pass the front door . Our small front porch is tiled and there is a stained glass window depicting a long legged Crane . Our house is made of the usual red brick . We are glad that you cant see the street from the door . When you come inside the two big dogs will bark but dont mind them, they arehttp:// just protecting their territory. We have ,polished ,lighty scratched wooden floors and pale grey walls with windows that reach from the floor to the ceiling and showcase the gardens like organic and forever changing artworks filtering sunlight into our home . In the loungeroom we have a telly that sit high on an old vintage sideboard. A soft cream rug on the floor to stretch out on and play one of the board games that spill out of the woven basket in the corner . Theres a deep tan leather couch that you could sink into and loose hours positioned under the window. A fire place joins the loungeroom to the dining area and recycling is collected in a pile under a calendar. Our kitchen is small and duck egg blue. On the chalkboard fridge there is collection of shopping lists , notes , to old photos and drawings . The kitchen is probably messy .The wooden dining table seats 8 at a pinch and is stained from when nail polish remover was spilt on it and there is playdough ,glue and sparkling glitter stuck in the deep cracks and forgotten adout frome days spent crafting. There are 4 bay windows overlooking the back garden.That let the sun spill in onto you if you sit here for breaky. We have a sideboard here that is home to two Goldfish , a salt lamp and a larger then large fruit bowl .Essentail oils sit inside an old timber box and a pot plant spills from the confines of its seramic pot. Heart shape leaves fall like a waterfall down the sides. Science books and history texts fill the remaining space . Down the hall the first door you will come to opens to a bedroom that is painted vibrant purple . There is a tall white bunk bed on one wall and a large mirror. A keyboard sits under the bed , dolls and lego scatted carelesly on the floor. A brightly coloured hoop tent hangs beside the window . The second door you will come a cross is a dated ,pink tiled bathroom with towels hung up on hooks and butterfly stickers stuck to the mirror . Theres sunscreen and toothpaste on the sink .A corner shower and deep bathtub . The nexted boor is my room, my awayses. I have a tall wooden loft bed with a besk underneath that is home to all of my beloved art supplies. In the corner is a over full bookshelf , a papper elephant mobile and photos, postcards and cutouts frome magazines turn cordord boors into an artwork. There is paint on the carpet just infront of the window that over looks a Gardiner hedge. The nexted and last room in this hallway is a bedroom/gests room. This room is painted a light egg shell blue and has an old, white,nicely made mettle bed sitting up aainst the window. In the corner hanges a sea-shell mobile infront of the braws and fishtank. Underneth the modil sits a fabulous guitar. On the old cane chair there is swimmers and a hat. On cordord boors photographs from magazines bisplay a love of surfing. The master bedroom has a squeaky old meatle queen bed. On one side of the bed a woven basket holds books containing the ideas , experiences and realizations of countless Christian authors. Above a very small bedside tadle their is artwork from three generations back and a butterfly chart. In this room the boorway to the shoe-box size,blue tiled onsweet is across from the bed. The walk in worded is cluted with old things from grandparents, on one side bright bresses and scarves hang. Across is a cearful selection of gens, flanes and work uniforms. This is the inside of our beautiful and imperfect house. Outside is a wounderland of garden beds. We have a deck that windes its way around , a pool with beep greenish blue water and trampoline that sits quietly behind the citrus trees that are of great abundance bue in the cool months. An old shed and chook coop blend into the surroundings hanks to passion fruit vines and the towering silver truked gum tree. This is our home. Just like us it is full of imperfection, just like us it is completely covered with scratches, stains and sticky finger prints. We love our home because of these thing’s .