Silence

silence
is not silent
listen carefully
you'll hear the distant sound.

the whir of the washing machine,
the tick
of the clock,
the hum of the vacuum cleaner
from a distant room.

silence
is not silent,
it's the sound of the things
we don't normally hear
in our cacophonous culture.

a beating heart,
a clunk from a radiator,
a dog shifting position
in his daytime sleep.

silence
is not silent,
listen.

This weekend is not silent
listen for an intake of breath,
a rustle of sheets,
a creak of a stone...

Barabbas

 

 

 

 

 

Sword in his hand,

hate in his soul,

sold out for revenge.

 

Washing feet,

love as his core,

sold out for forgiveness.

 

Which one would you set

free?

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Holy week

 

 

 

A time,

set apart,

giving us moments to remember

an ancient story,

full of pain,

suffering,

nails,

guilt,

fear,

anguish, 

tears

failure.

 

Thank you God

for that pain,

Without it there

would be

no

resurrection.

 

An empty net is filled,

grieving friends are met,

breakfast is cooked,

guilt is forgiven,

and not just

left

but restored,

and set on a new

path.

A new life...

 

 

 

 

Spring

 

Soft shoe shuffle

on the pavement.

Walking to school.

Boots gone,

new sandals,

soft and gentle.

The hard heavy steps

of winter gone.

The lightness

of my feet

reflects

the world

around me,

spring has come,

but I pay no

attention

to

daffodils,

snowdrops

and

crocuses.

It is

new sandals

that 

reveal

spring

to me!

The Last train

The last train leaves the station.
I remember hearing
that sound
as a child lying in bed
knowing
that others were downstairs,
grown ups,
my parents,
people who knew what to do,
who would always make
sure I was safe.

Now I lie
and hear that same noise
every night.

I am the one
who is the grown up
the one that keeps
others safe,
but yet
I still feel safe
as the noise
travels
down from
the tracks.

Is it the sense of
one greater
than me,
beyond me?
Who knows me and
loves me
as he did when I
first heard
the train
leaving for its
last journey?

Home is ahead

Travelling
takes us
all over the place,
to cities, towns,
streets, houses.

So unusual to me
these places,
unknown,
unexplored,
strange faces,
hidden stories.

But to the people
in those places
it is their home.

They know
the number of cracks
in the pavement on the
well worn route
to the shops, or station,
or school.
This strange place is their place,
where they have grown,
and loved,
and learned,
hoped,
prayed,
laughed,
and cried.

Homes are everywhere,
each one belonging
to someone.

But this place is mine.

Jen

Dismantling Christmas

Nativity scene packing

The mantelpiece is dusted
the photos returned to their place.
The carpet is vacuumed
and the rocking chair
is back where the tree stood.

Early days of January,
We tidy
and pack and restore.

Restoration is more
than a returning,
it is a new beginning
a time to re think
to meet again
the normal,
the routine,
the everyday.

But the little
baby Jesus
packed away with the
nativity scene
hasn't  gone.

He is in the everyday,
the normal.
Transforming,
restoring,
bringing hope for
the days that lie ahead.
.
Jen