You only see part of the picture.

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(Lessons gleaned doing a puzzle extending 6 inches beyond the borders pictured on the box.)

You only see part of the picture

There’s more to your life than you see.

You see what happens around you

But outside that framework there be

Unknown factors and measures

Images, colour and light.

Though to put the pieces together

It can be more of a fight.

Part of the picture you work on

Putting the pieces in place

The other unseen surrounding

You leave to My infinite grace.

Guessing at last what’s portrayed there

Trying to make sense of it all

Feeling your way to an image

You don’t have a sight to recall.

But think of the wonder in this child,

It’s much more exciting you see.

The whole of the picture completed

You’ll see it at last as I see.

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A child.

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Unto us a child is born,

Not just one, but many.

Following in steps divine.

In innocence and eyes ashine.

Within this earthly realm align

These blessed lambs.

 

Each one a touch of Heavens grace

The path from which we’ve gone astray

Endeavour to retrace.

Till sullied so by acrid fumes

Pollution of our strife

They yield at last their childhood faith

And enter into “life”.

 

Only one did keep the faith,

Emerged at last unscathed

From fear and darkness, hate and lust

And to us all proclaimed.

“To enter in become a child

Be born upon this day

And follow me both one and all

I came to show the way.”

 

Whispered prayers.

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As softened cloud transfused with light they breathe upon the air

As soft as mist, transfused with love, the essence of a prayer

As spiraling up in dancing steps the words from lips bring forth

The melody they hold within to sing for all it’s worth

They enter in another world these wispy words so fraught

With earnestness and purpose and from the heart brought forth.

 

So let them rise upon the air with fragrant scented awe

And enter in, as mist the air, and turn to God once more.

Transfused, and rendered, bringing life, transformed to hope from pain

They shall return upon the wind and come to you again.

thread in the darkness.

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A thread in the darkness, silken, reflective,

Glowing in the stillness and silence of the night that had engulfed his world.

He reached out. It did not quail.

Spider silk strong, it responded to his touch as he wrapped his hand around it.

Tensile strength lifted him, souring from the darkness to a world of light and song.

He looked into eyes pure and true. Love reflected,

The tiny thread that rescued him sprang from those eyes.

He took her hand, delicate, frail, yet strong as the web she had wove round his heart.

“Don’t ever leave me,” he whispered.

Feeling old?

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Age is opportunity no less,
Than youth itself, though in another dress.
And as the evening twilight fades away,
The sky is filled with stars, invisible by day.
(Longfellow).

We all have our days when we feel old, even twenty something spring chickens! However when you pass the 60 something turnpike it becomes reality that your body, no matter how well maintained, starts to sag and wilt at some of the things your energized mind conceives.
There are three paths.
1)Fight it and be in denial – get face lifts, try every supposed miracle health cure, where inappropriate clothing etc.
2) Alternatively you could throw in the towel sit back in your armchair and turn on the TV.
3)For me the other course seems better, embrace the beauty of each age. Not trying to be something you are not (young)but still living life to the full. Tapping into the wisdom and maturity you’ve hopefully gained along the way, remembering, though glorious in summer, the true strength and beauty of a tree is not truly visible till winter.

Who are you hiding ?

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(A thought for the new year)

I’d so often tried to be
The sort “they” thought I ought to be.
To wear the clothes, the face, the fit
To wow the crowds, to be a hit.
Yet hidden deep beneath it all
My hidden self began to call

“Now let me out, don’t be a fake!
Just let me fully life partake!
Open the window of your soul
For good or ill ‘twill make you whole”.

Hand shook and thumbled with the catch,
My inner being to unlatch.
Flung wide the door to let them see
That thing that was the inner me.

To my surprise and not alarm
They looked within serene and calm,
Embraced the inner me with love
Became connected far above
Those former shallow futile links
I’d made with “friends” all full of kinks.

The sun comes down upon me now
The art of living? I’ve learnt how.
The precious you that dwells within
Just set it free real joy to win.

Be still.

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I came across an old poem 

 

“I know an old house on a hill,

A mountain road, a grove, a rill,

And billowed hilltops stretching far

To sunset and evening star.

I take a path through glade and wood,

Deep drinking of its solitude,

And find a spot o’er reached and still

Where peace and poise the spirit fill.

The Master’s presence there is near,

The Master’s plan again is clear,

And far removed from work or strife

I re-appraise the worth of life.

Yet hill and outlook, glade and wood,

The time, the place, the solitude

Hold not the secret of the prayer

The secret place of anywhere.

It impressed on me the verse “Be still and know that I am God”. In this busy world folks often seem chasing a dream they can’t catch, or running from some intangible fear, how wonderful to be still, and in that stillness find the pervading strength and peace of God.