DON'T DIP

Don't dip, she pleaded to her wavering spirit.
Don't dip, to chemicals, who sometimes forget their order;
Stay balanced!

Feeling fine, equilibrium high:
Don't dip body, stay in line.

Coincidently

I found out yesterday that Watford is twinned with Wilmington, Delaware. This is interesting because yesterday I was in Watford and a week tomorrow I will be Wilmington, Delaware.

I set off on Sunday afternoon for a summer of madness with UrbanPromise, who, amongst other things, run a summer camp for children in the inner-city. You'll find me in the art room, the intern house, the kitchen; at staff devotions, leading bible-buddies, crammed on a bus and probably struggling in the heat.

I'm very much looking forward to going though aware of the culture shock likely to meet me - inner-city Wilmington is home to the realities of poverty, drugs and crime and the children we'll be working with are from largely broken families.

It's a great challenge, privilege and opportunity to give what I've got to this place, its people and to the ministry that is UrbanPromise.

My first UrbanPromise encounter was at an Easter day concert in 1999. A gospel choir made up of young people who were part of the UrbanPromise progamme in Camden, NJ, made a sound that I can honestly say I've not heard any other gospel choir match. 8 years later when some UP reps came to college, I felt challenged to get on board.

So here I am, a week from my trip.

More to follow.

www.urbanpromise.org

Essay Writing

Apple on the desk.
A swig of tea left in a mug beside the laptop
and strewn papers that fill the space.

It’s essay-writing time and
inspiration flicks off the walls
bounces round the books and forms,
through careful fingertips on the keyboard
an almost masterpiece of thought
and excitement
all captured on a page on a computer.
But it radiates much further
in changed thought and action
and the by-products of distraction
- the many things that get done when procrastination
threatens efficiency.

But essays get done
eventually,
with a smile and a change in style

and an apple on a desk
beside a cup of nearly-drunk tea.

Will you proof read my essay for me?

The Vacuity of Life - Precisely who or what is is all for?

Sitting on a park bench I delve into the mysteries of Qohelet’s1 scribbles. I’m trying to be on my guard against cynicism but I find that I relate to these words much more than I’ve ever done before.

For the first time ever I can relate to the sense of the vacuous expressed in his literary ramblings. I know that all that glitters is not gold. I live it.

But ‘[God] has set eternity in the hearts of men’ and all is not lost. Living post-Messiah we see a bit more what this eternity looks like. ‘He will wipe every tear from their eyes. There will be no more death or mourning or crying or pain, for the old order of things has passed away.’2

But the old order of things has not yet passed away. Living in the gap - the now but not yet - we feel the tension. We know a little of how things will operate in this new heaven and new earth, and we can operate in its values now. Because we know He will wipe every tear from their eyes, we can wipe tears from peoples’ eyes. Because we know there will be no more death or mourning or crying or pain we do all we can to make sure there is no death or mourning or crying or pain. We have a purpose, one that fits into eternity.

And for the first time in a long time, I know hope.

__________________

1 The canonical book of Ecclesiastes, written by Qohelet, or ‘teacher’.
2 Revelation 21:4

The Way Forward?

Okay, so I'm toying with the idea of starting a blog/using this blog to work out fictionally all the thoughts passing through my head as I study theology. I'm envisioning little 'episodes' that give me the chance to process, document and express what's going on in my little brain, and have some fun while doing it. Watch this space.

Confessions of a Girl from the Pit

I'm so sorry, it's become all about me;
Some assumed retribution for my years in the pit.
But what was meant for evil You worked for good.
I'm starting to see it, even now.

It's not about me -
The pit from which I've emerged doesn't owe me a thing,
All that's owed is praise to You,
I've got a new song to sing.

Let praise ring from my every breath,
Breath you bring faithfully until you decided otherwise,
I can live with that but not with the lies
That try to tear, and cloud and divide,

So come and clear the sleep from my eyes,
I admit I've used excuses
But now you've set my feet on solid ground.
There's only one confession left:

On Christ this solid rock we will stand,
All other ground is sinking sand,
All other ground is sinking sand.

Attack of the Butterflies

This evening would have been much more productive had I not had to take so many trips to the toilet. (Starting to get nervous about starting college on Monday).