I opened my curtains early this morning to my own personal sunrise. Not through the window, as one would expect, but on the wall opposite. My grandfather’s old handmade matchstick church and the bonsai tree were surrounded by a brilliant, flaming glow of red and orange light, just as if the sun were rising behind them.
A large tree obstructs my view of the sunrise (at least till autumn comes) but the sun shining through a tiny gap had created the glorious vision above my book shelf.
How like life, while we cannot yet see the full beauty of the eternal realities they are sometimes reflected in mundane objects (like my wall) and for a moment we embrace their beauty, but are unable to effectively pass it on to others. My photographic skills couldn’t capture the colour, due to the dim light (with flash no colour/ without flash just black). I can only offer a meager description which cannot catch its glory. Even so some things in life can only be shared by those who have also glimpsed them.
The water was fresh and pure, unadulterated by chemicals and piping. A deep breath of fresh air filled his lungs. He felt… alive! Raising his hands to the sky he yelled for pure joy. It was over.
He began to laugh, a deep-throated laugh that echoed all around him reverberating from the trees and flowers. He began to run free as the breeze, hands brushing the tall grass and leaves. He was free! Where he was he didn’t know only that “life” no longer held him captive. The end had become the beginning. Somewhere doctors fought to bring him back, but his body, old, tired, and riddled with disease no longer responded. He was free!
A touch of sadness tinged his joy. His loved ones, would they understand? Would they see why he couldn’t go back? He’d served his time, done his part, now he was home. He’d wait for them here. They’d come one day when their time was up, when they too had accomplished that for which they went. He wished he could tell them how wonderful it was, how happy he was, but that would distract them. Having seen this, how could they experience joy in their pale earthly lives. He saw the wisdom but was sad to know they’d grieve. Still the sky beckoned him on. In the distance he saw others waiting for him.
Fear and intense joy says it even better.
It’s the feeling that comes when you are party to a miracle. Not simply a routine answer to prayer but the unbelievable, unexplainable, totally outside science and understanding happenings.
Fear comes upon us when confronted with the impossible. Powers so far beyond our understanding invade our comfortable little world and we realise we are but dust, less than dust. Yet fear is closely followed by great joy as it dawns upon us that this immense, uncomprehendable power source loves us. Suddenly all is possible, the problems of the world no longer rest as heavy on our shoulders. God is real and he loves us!
from November 2014
My son put this picture on the screen of the laptop he was setting up for me knowing how much I like upbeat pictures of Jesus.
I thanked him (of course) but didn’t retain it. Though a great picture and well portrayed the premise was off. Though an attempt to portray the more dominant side of Jesus (rather than the frequent milk toast versions) it falls short. At no point even when occupying a human body was the Devil ever on equal enough terms for there to be any power contest. Even during the temptation in the wilderness the Devil had power only to trick and deceive. In the new testament Jesus just orders the demons around.
So while this is a great picture and I love it, a truer one might be (thank God) that Jesus appears and the Devil makes a run for it!
flash fiction from October 2014
“Can we go walking?” she asked in the depths of a troubled dream.
“Of course, come,” he answered, “just reach out your hand.” An icy precipice stood before her feet.
“Its not really there,” he whispered, “you just think it is, so for you it’s real, like the gap between our worlds”. Taking his hand she stepped over.
“Now, let’s walk. See the snow is deep here. That’s when you leave the deepest, longest lasting marks, when the snows of life are deep. Look out over the valley and realise how far you’ve come. It feels a little lonely, but this is where you can hear my voice best, also the voices of others”.
“Let’s go higher.” Transforming like spirits they soar upward. “Up here we can see much but leave no footprints for others to follow. It would be easier for you if I brought you here, you could…
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from July 2014
Twilight years evoke a response as a cord of music entices the ear and stirs the senses reverberating in the dusky silence. You long to sing but don’t yet know the words or melody, just an echo stirring your heart like a gentle breeze, sweet to the lips. Pause, breathe in its essence, soft, fragrant, defused.
Watch as the sun dips low on the horizon and purple and crimson splash their colours on the sky. Listen for the echoes far off. You’ll not hear the melody till the sun sets and things of life grow dim, but you hear the echoes. Like ripples on the water they come to you from the declining sun, borne on the tide of faith. What sweetness can be found here, standing at the water’s edge as the sun bathes the ocean in scarlet. Its dark red orb sinks ever lower seeking its reflection in…
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