On living brave.

The

work of

living

as water,

allowing it

to trickle

liquid

hope

from my

belly,

even

during

dry seasons.

This,

is a brave

life.

— On living brave.

© Liezel Graham 2018.

.

.

.

.

He who believes in Me [who adheres to, trusts in, and relies on Me], as the Scripture has said, ‘From his innermost being will flow continually rivers of living water.

‭‭John 7:38

Amplified.

How to drink Water.

You must look for its

scent

on the breeze.

Be careful not to get

distracted

by things that

masquerade

as

sustenance.

And when you find it.

Drink.

Hands cupped

for

more.

Soak it up

through your skin.

Let it flow over your exhaustion

like

relief,

and

Life.

— How to drink Water.

© Liezel Graham 2018.

On being Thomas.

God

within

and

still

I look

for

wounds

where

it

is

finished.

—On being Thomas.

© Liezel Graham 2018.

Becoming Mary.

And

there are times

when

I am

Martha.

Choosing

the

brief

comfort

that

zealous

labour

brings

when

broom

in

hand

I strive to

regain

desperate

control

over this

valley.

But,

there is

a time

and

a place

for everything

and

Rest

is

not

afraid

of dust

and

disorder.

And

there are

holy

feet

to be

sat at

where

these

withered bones

can be

revived.

So,

I

sit

allowing

my

tender

faith

to

unfurl

as

the

world

hurries

by.

— Becoming Mary.

What the trees teach me in September.

A blackbird sings.

Notes

tumble

clear

over

sweet sprigs of hay.

Leaves

exchange

the known

for

the unknown,

as trees

humbly

let go of life.

Trusting.

And

I am here,

a life

made of seasons.

A solitary

witness to

the earth’s

worship.

And it is

good.

— What the trees teach me in September.

© Liezel Graham 2018.

(You are) The God of the verb.

And this is the thing

about You.

This great paradox.

There is a rest

in

You,

as much as there is an

active

seeking.

A pushing back

against

the world

and the pain

that follows

life.

The greatest gift

You

give

to

me,

is

choice.

Forgiveness

is mine,

but will

I receive

it

when You

place it

there

in front of my

fractured

heart.

Healing is there,

but I must choose to

ask for it.

Hope is there,

but I must look for it,

even in the dark.

Joy is there,

but I must give it a

chance

to

unfurl.

And sometimes this

is

a life’s work.

Seek Me,

You say.

Press in.

You are the God of

rest

and

the God

of

verbs.

There’s

so

much

more.

But always,

it is my

choice.

To receive.

Or

not.

To

leave

the old

life.

And

search

desperately

for the new.

For,

to

Whom

else

can

I

go?

—The God of the verb.

Some days I win.

All my life I have

wrestled

with

fear.

Most days

it

just

sits

there.

In the periphery

of my

vision.

Intimidating.

Other days

it edges

in closer,

ready

to

strangle.

Me.

And

my

fragile

hopes.

Often,

I fall

for

its

lies.

But,

sometimes,

on particularly

sunny

days,

when the sky

is

just

the

right

shade

of blue.

I look

it

straight

in

the

eye,

whilst

I drink

tea

from

my favourite

fine bone china

tea cup.

And

I

laugh.

— Some days I win.