Lessons on Joy.

My neighbour

has a three-legged,

chocolate brown

Border Collie.

Every afternoon

I stand

at my window

and watch

her exuberant,

lopsided

joy

as she discovers

the familiar route

of her daily walk,

once again.

If she could

talk

she would tell you of

a long line

of hard-working

ancestors

who helped bring

order

to the

chaos

that often accompanies

farming life.

Speed,

and

agility

are in her DNA,

but

not

in

her bones

and

she has every right

to

mourn

the limb

that

never was —

the

absent

appendage

to her

wholeness.

But

all

she

does

is

live.

Loud,

vigorous

and

ebullient,

with

open-mouthed

enthusiasm

at

the great fortune

of

yet another

day.

And

my heart

contracts

at this

choosing

to grab life

and shake

it

upside-down

until all the

good

has fallen

out

of

its

pockets,

in

spite

of

all

that was

lost.

— Lessons on joy.

© Liezel Graham 2018.

(Even in this) My Grace is Sufficient (for you).

How

many

times

have

I breathed

Your Name,

a desperate

holy

declaration

at the

faceless

terror

that

roars

in the night.

Only

to watch it

limp away,

subdued

but not

(yet)

crushed,

because

it knows

the

map

to the

darkest

corners

of my mind

and

it

does

not

give

up,

but

God.

— (Even in this) My Grace is sufficient (for you).

© Liezel Graham 2018.

For those who battle fear and anxiety — especially that faceless 3h00 am terror that threatens to strangle the life out of your faith, but for the grace of a very big God.

Keep fighting.

I see you.

xx

How to enter the Kingdom of Heaven.

And,

perhaps

what You meant,

was that I need to

unlearn

this

frantic

becoming.

This search for

position

and place

and purpose,

and instead

learn

how to

just

be.

Like a small child,

delighting in

how red ladybugs

are.

And,

do you know that whales sing

songs to each other?

Especially when they’re

sad.

And,

why is Wales called

Wales,

it doesn’t look like a whale?

To know that

heaven

is right here

and tomorrow

doesn’t have to have

a name

yet,

because

today

is really

all that matters

and

in all of this,

You are

all

around

me,

and

I am loved.

— How to enter the Kingdom of heaven.

Matthew 18 v 3.

© Liezel Graham 2018.

Today, we are held.

And this,

is the wisdom

of nature,

this love letter

You write

daily

of sparrows

feeding

young

and

woodland orchids

quietly blooming

where eyes seldom see

and death

comes

to

all,

eventually.

Even then,

in musty

decay

there is beauty

left behind

to nourish

others.

But,

today.

Today,

there is

enough.

We have enough

and

tomorrow

will come

holding her own worries

in a basket,

but

today,

we are held.

— Today, we are held.

© Liezel Graham 2018.

There was so much more I wanted to include in this poem. How the continous thread in God’s Word speaks of ‘just for today we have enough’, and how this life can cause us to chase tomorrow’s blessing and worries, but that is for another poem.

Another day.

The places I cannot go, yet.

I am

a house of

many rooms.

Quiet, dusty corridors

sunlight

gently

dripping in

like liquid

gold.

How I love to drink my tea,

a lovely Assam,

malty on the tongue

and comforting,

as I walk through

these spaces

gently touching

things

I had

almost

forgotten.

But not

yet.

It is comforting

to find

old friends.

You,

and you,

and even

you.

We must stay in

touch,

I say

to the past.

But

some doors

are

locked.

In dark corners

where the

light

does not

quite

reach.

And try as I might

when I stand before them

trembling key in

hand

I cannot enter.

I cannot enter

though

I must.

There is

work

to be done

within,

but not

yet.

And so,

instead

I sit before them

quietly

weeping

ink

onto paper.

Until.

— The places I cannot go, yet.

© Liezel Graham 2018.