He was real, I was young enough to love him for what he was, a real sea creature in the early waves, Bay of Bengal. Through the years, he has followed me, city after city, lane after lane, along with a certain “Harrison” Aussy Life Saver/priest who took me to the Shoulder of a wave. The two become one in a world of creative fiction, where the real story is one about Trusting the One Whose Shoulder we may lean on with the heart of a child. Do check preview attached👇🏼
Stoked by Prayer Requests from the Ukraine and our very own home fires. Dearest Lord is Your kindv Love impossible in these times?
“Vineyard of Prayer“, my new painting / fav place.
Will be writing 365 verses for each day of the coming 365 (wish me consistency); a book of conversations with God. Vineyards are places of productivity, of pruning and eventually the wine of soul comfort. Where am I going with this? Unsure, but it is a call and am taking it.
After another season of lockdown, and losing more people then we bargained for, am losing all shy and doing the thing my soul loves: putting down what I really feel in the presence of God. So, blogging might take a back seat till there’s a way to breathe between new paint knives and words. I’ve been thinking on the colors of prayer:
viridian green: for me those are deadly greens. Ocean blues, and lighter tones: /like dawn after a midnight, and the Light of God reaching into me. Empty pots, far left as at the Wedding of Cana, where Christ spoke new wine into those emptied pots: ay. He saves the best for last!
Vineyards are a Pact between Soil & Gardener &Vine. It is a crushing process, rich with learning, with leaning heavy on the Vine, drawing from the source of Life.
John15: “I am the Vine, you are the branches. Vitally connected to Me,… Ask and it shall be given…”
Yes I’m asking Peace, Love and Joy for all, but not without Him- the Vine that Lifts my soul.
Touch me Lord, deep within the fractures of my territory. Cleanse me here where darkness hides, but You know! You know every battle wound, curse & bleed. You who hears my cry, unlock my joy, fill my eyes with your Light, my ears with Your Life.
Father God, liberate my sensitivities; may I need none else but You: Your gaze, Your embrace, Your absolute Friendship; all my citizenship in Your Kingdom-unshakeable,
within this heart so easily broken.
Un break me Lord, forgive the sins of our fathers, melt my stones, rebuild my body as Your Temple. Healing God, birth me anew, regenerate me: only You can, only You.
Michael, Writer of Haikus he collects from moments between days, sent in this Beauty that graphically describes human query. “What’s your Title ?” I asked.
He replied,”‘Hope in our lament’? Though, ‘A Psalm of Lament‘* , has more advantage in simplicity…”
Amazed by God’s faithfulness and grace, especially over long-term mental health problems, he finds God in the pages of Scripture and in cups of coffee. Psalm 139 is his favourite place in the Word.
*A PSALM OF LAMENT
In fire and grief
Orphans are made
Oh Lord, Your tears are in their hearts
For You say “…visit orphans and widows in their troubles“
And, Lord, You do.
In isolation and despair
Loneliness is made
Oh Lord, You are so near
For You say “…there is a Friend who sticks closer than a brother”
And, Lord, You do.
In chaos and chemicals
Addiction is made
Oh Lord, You liberate
For You say “He has sent Me to proclaim liberty to the captives…”
And, Lord, You do.
In stress and exhaustion
Breakdowns are made
Oh Lord, Your compassion descends
For You say “I will give them rest.”
And, Lord, You do.
In greed and corruption
Injustice is made
Oh Lord, Your Spirit is fierce
For You say “The Lord works righteousness and justice for all who are oppressed.”
And, Lord, You do.
But we grieve for the orphan
With tears that feel unceasing
We grieve for the friendless
With such a cry of emptiness
We grieve for the addicted
With such a raging storm within
We grieve for those burned-out in life
With such a totality of weariness
And we grieve for the oppressed
With such a cry of anguish and bewilderment
With all creation we groan for our deliverance
We see no end to this suffering
Before the New Heaven and New Earth
And we wonder ‘do You even care?’
Oh, Lord, You do.
Written by Michael, U.K. “It is beautiful what we can learn (the rocks are what you climb on) but no less painful, though the Spirit alleviates.”
Wishing you a blessed 2021!
The room gasps: outside our window beneath a hunch of trees, it’s there. In a rush of light & stillness … a Bouquet from the King, in a fuss of forest early evening mist. “For you.” He whispers;
I fling my mind down and lunge to where we get a closer angle: this pic doesn’t do justice to what real-time iris sees in 360 panoramic degrees of an October going to November, in the wake of ..
.. of Year 2020 tip toeing on all our nerves. I’m certain 2020 feels bad by now, and we aren’t breathing easy yet, not me. Woke up this morning feeling like I’m on Mt.Everest and scared to look down….
then He sends us a Bouquet among 295+ shades of green tender/ savage noon light.
Heart slamming our ribs we stare at His bouquet staring at us in equal devotion: every curl, petal and sepal, a startling testament of Him, His unshakeable Kingdom around our little planet.
I look up at Light filtering through nearby trees and see another Bouquet closer: its orange blossom flushed with rain. These trees were always here, now they are no longer just trees,
they are Messengers from the Creator: His voice in startling tones I never really thought were specific convo with me, in this here tiny moment no one else might even notice. Vihan, my daughter grins and says, “Yeah Ma, you’d catch this! Now pl Blog post it? “
The picture we managed here, barely captures what really was, pulsing with His 7D Presence! I needed to share it with you this eve of November: a Bouquet for you from the King.
May you too be startled by wild insane Events in corners just waiting for you to notice Him-
notice His Messages of Unblinking Love, no matter the forecast. Nothing mortal compares with His presence- NOTHING.
Listen close and you will hear a bus, a neighbour’s drill….. yea was recorded in a tiny home studio, at a time of transits. This Album was worked off a Psr 630(keys), and my undying love for Theatre: it is perhaps who I am without choir costume and acquired taste… just all my voice & human pulse. It is the rough of pavement psalms and His pursuing love; (thankyou ABBA Father for being Who You Are: creative, generous, incredible!)
my daughter insisted we put it out again(released 2004,Mumbai). We even found lost Master tracks…. thanks hon risking this one on your channel💔
Often we might go barefoot in trails where we are in the enlarged presence of Other Intelligence. Here we strip protocol, and might hear a Reply. Here I knelt unashamed of my crying need for Christ alone: for Yeshua who gave His life for us, for me…
for the local prostitute who walked around our bus stop. She’d mock me with an inscrutable stare; oneday I saw her in an outfit I gave away to our building watchman for ‘his wife back home’ he said;
now this street girl knew it was my dress she wore, she watched me recoil, watched my righteous indignation. And then I sensed God watch me: my superior brows rise in ‘whoa’ as if the rest of us mortals were such perfection!
This one is because of that street girl.
Ads. seen here? Because this is not WordPress Premium. Love WordPress though.
I’m staring at an impossible formula here: the child was alone his entire life from the time his parents left him to when he was found later by more tormentors. Then there’s the story of a young girl in further trauma one wouldn’t wish to detail. All of this towers over the mess in my brain this morning as I mull over few incidents that got me all raw. I see another article about a woman who braves all kinds of home fires to find her identity in God.
My reading today is in the Song of Songs: “Set me as a seal over your heart..” the Good Shepherd replies,”Let me hear your voice my turtle dove. The winter is past, it is now time to hear your song.”
Rejection is rejected here in His vineyard where He grafts her into His care. I cannot think of a better way to describe the act of a prodigal heart returning to Love. Returning to the act of accepting oneself again: one’s renewed self.
Physical abuse, trauma, hurt, pain….
If you’ve done a little homework like I have these past months, oh even looking into my own existence, you’ll come to the conclusion that Loneliness is perhaps the most rampant ailment in our societies wherever we live… in shanty towns or Penthouses. And yet..
that very loneliness draws me in to His Vinepress like never before. Like never before I see how True Love crushes out then endorses human bruise and frailty with His banner. The lonelier I am, the more I see His light. Darkness itself pulls to the Light, have you noticed?
Have you noticed how evil cringes before Love? Have you gazed with forgiveness at Hatred? Have you hugged a person who taunts you?
That said, Pain is a strange child of loneliness and circumstance. It can be a great guide, sent from the tenderest yet most trafficked portal of heaven.
Pain can guide us to better understanding of each other, it humbles, it clothes, it Graces. Pain can be sweet and it can empower. It sharpens intuition, it is unafraid. When pain rules, a person loses shy. They Deliver. Pain’s features are true. In pain we say it like it is, we are shed of fear.
The little I’ve had of it, has made me who I am: a little less of me, a lot more of the world within us all. We cover our true selves with masks of this and that but inside we are people with sensitivities waiting to be addressed. Pain addresses. It shears, sheds. It sets apart, it shifts gear.
In pain a human’s velocity changes. They morph. They lose formalities. They… we change: we face the day differently.
These past 2 months I’ve heard stories of some brave humans who walked out of the carcasses of yesterday into utterly new creations. And every tale was one where they found the peace, the acceptance of God which smashes human slavery to each other.
When in pain, humans don’t fake it. This peace cannot lie. It is beautiful to watch, breathless beautiful to learn from.
The little pain I experience in my own life pales next to the stories of those who’ve suffered criminal injustice and risen again as Jesus did. Yes the incredible power of hurt, of loneliness…. and all it can do to re- arrange us:
we misunderstand its uses. The more I live, the more I see why God allowed portions of pain. Without it I’d never have understood what it feels like to become unafraid of mortal concerns. The power of pain has given me a freedom impossible to describe in few nice words but I’ll try:
- It frees you from social approval
- It lifts your thresholds of tolerance
- Pain/ loneliness helps you see yourself as your best human Confidant.
- It shuts out other noise and you hear that Still Small Voice.
- Aloneness… leans the human soul to the supernatural. Some turn to the dark, others to the Light. Yes, there are grey areas that anesthetize the process.
- Pain and her mates show us our inner strengths/ disabilities. Tough. It gets tougher to meet our own personality; some of us may dull that pain with drugs and other comforters. Or we walk away.
- Stay here longer, you are free of human recipes for fulfillment. No wonder monks, sanyasis… go to caves and trees to find the truth about everything. From Newton to modern thinkers. .. silence is a great mirror. It reflects the Light of the World. Here no darkness dare crush the human spirit which is the physical heart of the Living God.
I can go on.
But today I apologise to God for misunderstanding some of His most powerful gifts.
Last night sometime around 2 am sleep got me in little bits: but my daughter’s words tossed me on pillow. “Hope can be a painful thing,” she said, her face melting with the things I was telling her….
…how I want my brother in law back from the valley of death (not Covid) : how bad my sis Thel needs a miracle, how impossible it seems. Sometime now they will know whether he can really make it back. And how. Should I say all this in a Post at all; here it’s become an altar, an altar of healing, prayer for us all in steeping places: the best of us may face the worst. Dearest God please bring my brother back even for a bit, there were many wishes he had, many we all had, have.…
Yes I know the pain of hope, how it can wrench heart. And we’ve seen the fulfillment of many things these past years.
Don’t you too wonder where the spirit of us goes when we rest in particular state in hospital bed? That tunnel of life, the Light at the end of breath….
Yesterday and now this reading: “..the word of God is alive and full of power( active, operative,energizing,effective), it is sharper than any two edged sword, penetrating to the dividing line of the breath of life(soul) and the immortal spirit, and of joints and marrow….” (Heb 4: 12, Amp.Bible)
What d’you say in a day like this…
we wait, pray; grief and hope hold each other. It’s raining outside. Is that a sign? My brother you are with God right now I know, just wish you’d come back for a bit and tell us all of it all. Love you forever.
Just got word, you’ve gone ahead
…outside skin deep existence. Set me free Lord from selfishness and the pride of Eye. Hold me here where my spirit is, with You, in the reality of Why I’m here at all. Lose my heart to love like You do. Like You do, here beyond the superficial.
Your ways are Mystery and Wonder. I stand as a miracle myself, we are all miracles in this hour- little footprints of You, in a desert of oceans of nothings: here we are…on the threshold of an intoxicating loneliness.
Every move of leaf, bird, human voice, a kiss from the heaven we seek.
You are more suddenly more audible, more watchful in Your distance. We are weaning from other mothers, we are closest to the stars.
You are like the silence of the sun, the wind I cannot see, fire I cannot touch. Against my will, I glow in the glow of This.
Its been released! Asha– Journey of Hope, featuring my Cover and 8 paintings along with others’, in a slim back gorgeous Book that anyone anywhere might be intrigued by…
If you’ve ever been there, in the throes of trauma, you’ll feel this. The Paintings are perhaps personal windows, illustrating soul stirring Bible study Leads on the fact of Divine healing via the Gospel of John’s 7 “I Ams“. Written by some of our finest Contemporary Writers.
The above Paint theme* was inspired by the Song of Solomon, portrayed as the human spirit, now embedding in His Vineyard; Rejection is rejected.
Will post a Review shortly.
*Set me as a seal over Your heart:
I AM THE VINE, YOU THE BRANCHES. His Presence/His Acceptance and Divine Support.
Read on, for my personal footnote with above image of Vineyard painting, if you’re wondering what that handcuff is doing in a Vineyard, with Scarred hand….(not part of the book):
Reading the Gospel of John in the light of these themes is visiting a cellar deep within, for me. Familiar text and images merge as John’s chapters reach between lines and push boundaries between Seen and Unseen worlds. Blue-green vineyard violets seep like tears on canvas: Rejection is rejected;
the Word crowds my canvas with VINE as the palms of two people facing each other, rest – one being released of handcuff, the other with a scarlet Scar. I’m a whole new essence, a new Cask of outpour. For any of us with scarred identities, Heaven signs that dotted line endorsing us as first citizens in the unshakeable kingdom of God. This is the permanent secure address of the Vineyard of Engedi (Song of Songs). Mathew Henry’s commentary on that book reads like a Song of Evangelism). Ezekiel’s’ River of God’ cleanses out Dead sea’s putrid En-Gedi Banks, turning it fertile! The whole Bible pieces together with the promise I AM THE VINE YOU ARE THE BRANCHES. ‘Set me as a seal over Your heart’ is today’s scream for God.
Will be posting more of Asha here, but truly excited about the impact of a Book like this one, Published purely for those of us hurting in silence.
…they fall most not when we sin,
but when we repent…
what can compete with the perfection
of a repentant heart…
Today I woke up with an absence of pain in the area they call heart. As I write this Joh gives me another smile, but wider. I’m fumbly with wonder. It’s been a long year of post seizure med reactions erggghhh! There were days we couldn’t even pray or smile. This morning, gratitude gushes. I’ve not enough words. A smile is the heartprint of wellbeing, thankyou for this Prompt Trent. You put it so well; here I’m incoherent, gawking at peace. God bless y’all. Sometimes you lose it deep, bad. And sometimes you just plain hold on to what Held you all this time. Words fall back dumb founded when a storm ceases and you breathe again, for the smile of a loved one healing. Joh is 18, his gentleness returns slowly. As I write this he’s holding my hand, what can I say – life is worth all the bad moments for the Joy it delivers. 😅
Hey, did something make you smile today?
My last Post: Saturday’s child was with an old photograph taken in my years when Joh was at Blind School. He’s since moved and is now homeschooled (hates that word and we’ve had to stop all forms of academy since the past year and half). So we just be. He loves going out, shopping, oh even doodling when he can be still. Big foodie. Loves people, remembers every single ones birthdays; shopkeepers, oh anyone. We’ve wondered what kind of job our 18 yr old would really like, and I think it’s this: he’d love a world desk with everyone’s birthdays registered, just to call and wish them! I’m serious. Maybe it must happen.
May the day ahead and the ones to follow, fill you with a brand new season of rest, harmony and joy!
We took them out one by one. Joseph has lost his little clay head and there’s no time to fix him back so I cover his torso with a tiny cane head piece. Can you spot Joseph?
Our son Johann is blind and yes he put out each figure like last Christmas, but this time, post seizures/ meds, he cannot concentrate. His hands shake and I do not insist that Joseph goes next to Mary, so it’s all askew. Does it matter, I wonder.
Would the real Joseph have been quietly seated next to new mom Mary? Wouldn’t he have lost his head, even just a wee bit,with this surreal pregnancy of his betrothed, a ferocious Herod, … the details of that divine birth blow my mind each time. My spirit fills with gratitude that over the years, Christ has not stayed in clay, but has gazed into my life with very real presence.
The reality of Christmas is fantastic. A Divine Babe that grew to face a Cross, a resurrection garden, He would walk through walls to get through my heart of stone.
May the heart of you be warmed warmed warmed this season, with Love Divine from the Manger to the moon and back.💓
Rest my heart, your fabulous heart rich with kisses from heaven,
rest your thoughts, pick berries, eat sweet raw tender leaf made by the fingers of God,
Life will pass its days in ways that surprise you & me; sunbathe your tears.Rest my heart, your fabulous heart
rich with kisses from heaven.
There’s keys and stairways, vents and switches- in this heart. Like it or not, there’s a cooking pot and stove, a freezer and corners. There’s levels,floors,ceiling,tile and wash. There are left overs and water; bathwater, sprinklers, showers,bucket,toothbrush,needles, spoons &knife and fork. And cushions and covers. Mats, floor mats, table mats, dinner ware for guests/everyday. There’s a welcome mat and a throwaway. There’s towels and sheets, carpet and garbage. Oh veg peels, bouquets, flower vase. Garden balcony,books,papers,papers,papers,wires,cables, photographs, memoirs,chairs,canvas,easel,cases,boxes, music,chatter,silences,markerpens, erasers,coughs,sighs,laughter,prayer,steps, dreams, vision,hope,faith,dusk,twilight,dawn grey blush bright, noon orange yellow gold sun, rays sifting,shifting in, rising waning moonlit dust/steam, answers,questions,healing,tears,fears, rejection,hearth,peace,
My heart has walls,entry,exit, skylight,dewfell roof,rainharvest water,pulse,rhythm,arteries of Breath:
She goes around the sun, she goes upside down, revolutions rotatary- she can take this, she was made to run with me, no roots,
I’ve not understood how deep the wealth of the human heart, how inscrutable a store
Whats its measure, its define,
what an insanely blessed owner am I.
..thankyou for every drop of sun and rain that grew us like bouquets on tables of grace,
for the colors of my life among colors of an earth on fire,
for leaf that went away and those that grew,or birthed
for stars that fell and those that lit dark night with light not e’en of sun
the longer my day the shorter my reason to not stay silent,
..to dance again as if I were worth all the trouble You take my Father
I give thanks.
You broke my heart in all the right places,