I declare this day…new life is springing forth in every promise and all that God has prepared for me. I will not fall with no-one to help me up, I will not fall as God upholds my right hand, I will not fall into despair and I will not fall in love. I will walk into love, I will walk with the support of my life mate, I will walk hand in hand with the Lover of my Soul. I shall walk and I shall not fall!
The Hundred Year Old Letter
Today the letter arrived, on time, 97 years later! When we arrived home, 5 boxes were waiting for the Gabler Family, on the porch. As Lynne saw the label, she recognized it to be part of her husband’s inheritance. The boxes were heavy, filled with photos, letters, old lace doilies, china Christmas ornaments, a little silk dress…and more photos. She painstakingly went through box by box, reading letters and salvaging that which could be saved.
I was working on promoting my novel and was feeling the trepidation that I think every skydiver feels, when he is about to take the leap. “What if the parachute doesn’t open?” This is a Steve Harvey reference “The difference between someone who made it and someone who didn’t, was the JUMP.” My novel is now in the painful stage, it is written but it still needs quite a bit of tweaking. Then the promotion of it all, marketing, branding, launching out, cover design and finances needed to live the dream. It all seemed too daunting, and I was not sure if this was allotted to me.
Lynne interrupted my mental monologue, with the announcement of a letter, she found, dated 1920. As I opened the 7-time folded, yellowing papers, I read…
“At the beginning of the year 1920, figuratively speaking, you had placed in your hands a book in which there were three hundred and sixty five white blank pages. They were ready for use, they were to have something written on each one of them, and you where the individual who-not because of choice, but because you are a living being-had to write something on every page.”
I sat there trembling at this holy moment, how is it possible that words meant for us today, would lie folded in a box, in the garage for over 50 years. It reminds me of “Letters to Juliet” that when a letter over 50 years old, is found, new possibilities emerge of restoring an age-old love. Then there is the movie,“Message in a Bottle” where a woman finding a bottle on the beach, falls in love with the author of these notes. We are all connected in intricate ways with a past, present and future history that may seem insignificant at first, till we dig deeper.
Lynne marveled that the many other letters with it had utterly disintegrated but this one remained fully intact. I read more…
“During those twelve months you have been somebody, you have done something, and the startling fact is that whoever you have been, and whatever you have done during these twelve months is done forever. The record is fixed. Your life during this time has made its history.”
So it is time for “The Blue Door” to make it’s mark, I recently said in a meeting I would love to write a book that is read in many nations. Then as I continued to read this oracle I was stunned to silence once again.
“One other thing about this imaginary writing is that regardless of what your heredity may be, or what language, or languages you can speak, the writing that you do in this book can be read by anyone, it can be understood by all, the people of any nation on earth.”
This moment as surreal as it has been, has not only given me the will to take that leap, but also to hope that perhaps, I too will inspire someone a 100 years from today.
Stop the Killing!
Please stop this killing God! I don’t want to live in my ivory tower saying it’s their fault. I don’t want to stand and shout offenses at things I don’t know and have never experienced. I don’t want to point fingers at people telling them to clean up their act while slinging mud.
I heard the explosions around me, some of us feared it may be gunshot others ran to view fireworks! It depends what you grew up with! Yes I remember gun shots, ducking in the mall praying that nobody would be hit. Please stop this killing God! I know that you care I know that you hear our prayers but what are we doing? Do we take time to see a need and meet it? Do we see the ingenuity in a young person and give him a channel to express it? Do we only shout our side but never sit for a moment and hear the other? Would we make the same choices in the same circumstances? Please stop the killing God! I believe in the power of prayer but I believe in the power of doing more! Yes I agree we have filled our Sunday pews too long with controlling messages of submission. But when are we going to get out there and live the mission! Go into all the world and make them my disciples. Disciples of what hypocrisy and Pharisees or transforming glory. If we bared Christ likeness we would sit with the pimps, prostitutes, the downtrodden and the hopeless. Those strung out on drugs and those strung out on power all need a Savior. Mother Theresa said: “We are his hands and feet” “That she is just a pencil in the hand of God!” It’s time we take the pews to the streets! It’s time we walked where He would have gone! It’s time he sketches His artwork with my life. A waiter recently told me: “You know the Master’s Peace therefore you are His Masterpiece.” His Masterpiece is what you are! You are a Mona Lisa collaged with magazine clippings. Please God stop the killing! Let us peel away the clippings of rejection, abuse and regret to reveal the serene smile of a Master Piece! You are His Master Piece! You were divinely chosen to display his splendor. You are part of a divine design, divinely chosen for the display of his glory. It’s time we radiate, it’s time we rise up in splendor, and it’s time that nobody will dull your glow! God please stop the killing!
My Patchwork Quilt
This morning I woke to the song in my ear: “Born in the USA” I remembered listening to it beneath my African skies. Dad loved the “Boss” as we sped down the freeway to our destination. Our destination memory lane, I think Dad knew his time was drawing near so he wanted me to see my country of beauty. Mom was always much quieter than Dad as if she was always pondering. There were times I wanted to shout Mom what’s your thoughts on this. Mom taught me to dream and imagine, we would attend movies with pixies in the garden, gypsy parties and dress up. She decorated cakes with infinite detail and beauty. Dad was tall and tender, he loved all things military and I became a military brat. Dad explained that it was right and normal for people who were different to live in difference spheres. Apartheid was normal it meant that we each lived in our own place. We each had our own places to go and our own friends to make. Dad was always right of course, I mean how could he be wrong he was my Dad right! Mom loved Dad and their relationship was a playful one! Maybe I could have that someday too! “Surfing in the USA” is what I wanted to do as we listened to the Beach Boys on our journey down memory lane. First stop the graves of my ancestors, he told me their origins of French, Dutch and German but I knew I was African. I looked up seeing wind in the Blue gum trees they whispered a different future was about to unfold. He took me through the tropical forest of Tsitsikamma, down to the raging waves of Kommetjie where I saw the dolphins romp! My class rooms, busses, beaches and churches were filled with people who looked just like me. “Where is the Love?” Now plays in my head. Dad only taught what he knew and yet I knew I was missing out! I was missing out people so different from me that could transform my heart into a patchwork quilt of diversity. 11 Languages we now have, Sotho, Tswana, Ndeble, Zulu, Xhosa, Swati, Venda, Tsonga just few that are official now. Dad taught me to love…Mom taught me to love all. They came to live with us when Dad passed away four little girls from the Sotho tribe. My sisters, 2,3 4 and 11. Mom had to raise them under the judgemental tolerance of many. But Mom knew the love, she knew the love of a mother that had to nurture and had to give. She was teaching me to sew my own patchwork quilt of beauty. We are called the rainbow nation because your hue adds to my beauty. My patchwork quilt includes people of creative beauty. People who don’ t see the world like me, people who don’t hear the world like me, people who don’t dance, paint, sing or create like me. My patchwork quilt is stitched together with forgiving and asking forgiveness, listening and speaking up to injustice, embracing and weeping with you. I am not born in the USA and I am not good at surfing either but I hope someday I can share my patchwork quilt with the nations!
Star Williams’ Response
Star Williams Lisa Starr Jane oh wow! I don’t know what to say… But I am so humbled and blessed to be apart of such a beautiful story!
And I’m stunned that you mentioned the story of Angelo. I read Rick Joyner’s book The Final Quest, and the thing about that book that stuck with me the most was that story of the guy who didn’t kick the cat. I read that maybe ten years ago, but it always comes back to me because I feel so inadequate to do anything that would matter to God. But that story gives me hope.
And I’m touched that you really get what my art is all about at the heart. My heart longs for beautiful mysteries and I express that in my art. And lately I’ve had a hard time believing that any art I created would really matter to anyone. So knowing that it has mattered to someone who is such a beautiful selfless person just means the world to me.
Thank you so much!… Do you mind if I share your blog?
Anthony, Star Williams and Angelo.
Anthony, Star Williams and Angelo.
I only remembered him as the man who never kicked the kitten. Why did this little story stick with me all these years? I found this mini illustration at the end of Rick Joyner’s book-The Final Quest. I couldn’t quite remember why Angelo had such a prestigious place in heaven, for not kicking the cat! I will come back to that but let me introduce you to Star and Anthony. I hastened to beat the downpour as I entered Rhino’s café to do some much needed internet work…when my beloved coffee haven was over taken with little stalls and exhibits. I was a bit disappointed that my place of respite was invaded with bustling artists, vendors and patrons…I was more forgiving when I saw the jazz band. It was Star Williams’ Irish cross that caught my attention. She told me she had painted it for her husband’s birthday, as he loved all things Irish-So do I! I had just recently watched the Life of St. Patrick and the history of the Celtic cross. All her paintings had so much soul and light! But there was a little postcard that caught my attention. I loved the galaxies of swirling light and eternity in a speck of dust! The colours of red, orange and green fascinated me. The phone booth in the middle riveted me, as if we could be whisked off to another world in a heartbeat! I purchased three post cards not sure who the recipients would be. I did have one friend in mind.
I got on my bus to New Orleans, it was a peaceful journey but I wasn’t looking forward to the hour long wait in the Baton Rouge train station. I normally just watch the jumpy TV in the waiting room, becoming more irate at the political mess. This time I bought some freshly made fries and sat down at a table. I looked up to see a young man with bright natural red hair and huge hole piercing in his ears. “Do you mind if I join you?” As I listened to Anthony’s story I knew that it was no accident that we were seated at the same table. He told me of growing up in Taiwan with a missionary family, and that he was from Elizabethtown, Kentucky. I laughed telling him I had just watched the movie the previous week. He continued in sharing his life story; that he was fluent in Taiwanese and how his family were destined to be in Taiwan even though they initially wanted to go to Africa. I told him of my many journey and fascinating encounters. I asked him where he was heading and his plans. His response surprised me but this is where I want to interrupt my thought to tell you about Angelo. I never knew his name…I just knew him as the man who never kicked the cat. I recently picked up the book and re-read that familiar story…”Angelo would so appreciate a cardboard box on a cold night that he would turn it into a glorious temple of My Presence (God speaking). He began to love everyone and everything. He would rejoice more over an apple than some of my people do over a great feast.” Final Quest p153. The strength of Angelo restraint was measured by the level of abuse that he experienced. He was born deaf, kept in a dark cold attic, shifted from one institution to another and finally turned out on the streets. This homeless man had never known nurturing love all his life, and yet in this moment of anger he chose grace. This grace was not just registered on Earth but also in Heaven. He was faithful in little and was given so much more. It took all the love that he could muster to refrain from that aggressive act. This softened response allowed his heart to open to another action of mercy…which gave him strength for another and another. He had sewn of his limited seed of love and was starting to reap a bountiful harvest of compassion. So what do Star, Angelo and Anthony have in common…they are world changers in their own way.
When 23 year old year old Anthony told me that he was about to live amongst the homeless for a year I was pretty speechless. What a selfless way to want to make a difference! Who would choose a life of discomfort? But then I realized as he shared his heart of compassion for the disenfranchised that perhaps he could find true joy under starlit skies of Kentucky. He did tell me he had a plan, he already knew where the shelters were and how he intended on making a life for himself. The mother instinct in me wanted to dissuade him, but the understanding of a man’s need to feel significant, silenced that. His heart was hurting, not that he had to leave all that was familiar but that he didn’t have his father’s approval. I asked him what his parents thought…he said: “Funny you should ask. I just got an email from my father” He proceeded to share the ultimatum his father had set if he continued this foolish quest. We changed the subject to art, movies and adventure and I saw hope and excitement flicker in his eyes. As his bus was shortly to depart I looked frantically into my purse to see what I could give him. Wrapped up in white paper where the two remaining post cards. As I presented it to him, his entire face lit up! “Oh my word! I love TARDIS…Dr. Who is my favourite show! Wow I can’t believe you are giving me this!” I said: “Well just to show you God and His angels will go with you Anthony” He nodded yes, and didn’t take his eyes of the post card as he made his way to the door. I honestly have never seen a Dr. Who show in my life. But something drew me to Rhino’s that day to meet Star…so as to encourage someone I was yet to meet. Anthony is venturing out perhaps foolishly, but he is going to encounter the many Angelo’s who need to be given a second chance.
But perhaps the “Angelo’s” that he meets will give him a second a chance. Growing up in Africa, I am faced with poverty on a daily basis and it never ceases to move my heart. But I will never forget one evening, I was traveling home late at night. I was depressed, feeling lonely, misunderstood and very insecure about my future. It was 11 at night, when a man caught my attention. He was seated at the traffic light clothed in rag clothing. His hands were out stretched, used to rejection. I didn’t have any money in my purse but I found an apple from that day’s lunch that I had overlooked. I leaned out the window placing it in his hand! The joy that erupted from this man, broke my heart….not because of his state but because of mine. I had so lost myself in the shallowness of this world that I had forgotten the joy over a simple apple. I will never forget that grin that lit up his face and the hands clapping with joy. Perhaps he had just prayed for an apple or perhaps he wasn’t expecting anything at all. Yet I left from that encounter with renewed joy in my heart. It was no longer about what I had or didn’t have but was I able to find a glorious moment in the simple things of life.
Maybe that is why I was drawn to this telephone booth in the galaxies because we are all longing for that adventure that will enthrall us with majesty. We all long for that moment that we can step out this current reality and be swept up into mystery. I often pray for Anthony as he roams the streets and finds his comfort in a shelter. What stories he will have to tell his grandchildren. He can hold onto a postcard that reminded him that God might seem out of sight but he is never out of reach! Star Williams may your art continue to remind us of the mystery that awaits the seeking heart. Angelo never gave up on in his quest to share this unfathomable divine love and maybe forgotten on Earth but venerated in Heaven.
G
Ode to a City
“Nola” as she is affectionately called, has dirt on her face, mud beneath her nails, like a child making endless mud pies. “Come and see, come to my party” she beckons! The table is set and the music plays but what a dirty face. She scrubs and scrubs trying to look like all her pristine siblings. Her clothes always tattered from climbing trees for a gander view and hair wind tossed from cartwheeling in the dale. She tries to fix her hair just right and put the neat bow in place, which seems to glide over her eyes. Maneuvering it up with her nose, no reflection in her unpolished shoes. We try to shine her shoes, we try to brush burs out of her hair but it seems that the wild at heart can’t be tamed! She sings, dances, paints and cycles! She laughs too loud and whispers deep secrets! She prances, she spins and she does her jig! I had only heard of the fame of saxophone blues and bass notes of old! I have only heard of her exuberant colors and flowered littered balconies! I have only heard…till now! Now I see the delight you exude as you express the fullness of the rainbow in every other hue! Now I hear your notes that prance of the ivories, I see you welcome every stranger and present them a pie. With childlike affection you offer your best, grit and all, we smile at your juvenile confections. Nola has a dirty face and grime beneath her fingers, she is making her mud pies and climbing the mighty Poplar. Cartwheeling with mirth and flinging stars into orbit. She is made for a world far greater than this; a celestial city of grandeur. The invitation is in the mail; Dear Nola, you need not your Sunday best or even to wipe the grime of your face. Just come as you are at the King’s request; a banquet, the grandest affair; cream puffs, roast beef, baked potato and more; displayed before your famished face. Clothing of velvet, fine linen and satin replace your tattered wear and burs came falling out your hair. Dear Nola who loves to summersault in the wind and skip through the dale, find your solace in a Love Unchangeable and sure! A fortress of love so secure, a haven from scorn of judgmental eyes. The wild at heart can not be tamed and from her fortress again she proclaims, “Come skip with me over muddy hill and dale. Find your lyrics in the wind and your rhythm in the clouds.” Sweet melodies rise from a voice captivated by glory! Arrayed in Satin spinning light, no longer earthbound but her dreams take flight! Her song is heard, the dance escalates in a jubilant celebration of liberty to create! Our Nola’s face is dirty once again with paint, flour and ink. Canvas before her a vision expressed, pen in her hand she writes of a New Romance and aroma of richness wafts through the air. Mud pies transformed into pastries of delight as Nola’s dreams take flight!
Dedicated to all the inhabitants, wanna-be inhabitants and visitors of New Orleans!
Let it Be
Dedicated to Brian
Ashes to ashes, dust to dust…are we..
Made up of stardust I believe..
Galaxies flung into being by one word…
Celestial encounters in my soul!
Spirit being having temporal earthly existence…
Created to reflect as the moon the Son!
Why so downcast oh soul put your hope in God!
My soul longs and yearns for the ebb of the moon…
Motionless in sway, the dawn of a new day…
Long have I tarried, long have I waited for life to spring forth….
Life from death how is that possible..
How can the moon give way to the Son?
When all it has known is stagnancy….
Stagnant dreams drift upon the shores of immortality…
Within bottle S.O.S not a sailing ship…
Sailing ship on mantle trapped in glass encaging….
I desire the freedom to sail the 7 seas yet the SOS of my soul grows stronger…
Moon you cause my tide to ebb and yet you hint of life nearing birth…
Our eyes are fixed on your season as you go from new to full…
Celestial birthing of dreams that seem so stagnant…
Reward for the tarry, reward for the longing, striving to live in another world…
Galaxies whirl and twirl at His beckoning…not one beat a miss…
Yet we question the goodness of the One said: “Let it be and it WAS!”
Longing Fulfilled
Barren wasteland of regret,
amidst tombs of isolation.
Sterile confinement gnaws at my soul,
imprisoned by my own folly.
Mindset of such limitation
has had no other expectation,
not sure if cry is heard of silent desperation.
Soul yearns, soul longs for the end
of this dirge of desolation.
Ever winding path of no consolation,
Why do you beckon to a watery mirage?
Tormenting winds blow tussled thorn bush,
Across path, hinting of possessing a prior life.
Rootless thorns your harassed journey has found no place to settle
Amidst the arid, barrenness of isolation.
Life beckons as roots find place of habitation
The enticing sound of essence indispensable…
Stream of consciousness invades the gulf between
what was and what can be?
Cascading life infiltrates sterility
producing hope into perpetuity.
Trepidation gives way to expectation
dreams tussle with resistance…
Giving way to aspirations fulfilled.
Delving roots find renewal in soil of promise
Seclusion dissolves to inclusion as life and hope mingle
Mingled promise, mingled hope…refrain of sweet liberty
Limitless boundless, bending in the breeze
Profusion bubbling forth in abandoned
Surrender to the way of the wave
Whisked in a moment from shore to crest in
Divinely orchestrated pageantry
GritinmyOyster 