In Need of New Shoes

We have walked a ways together
But now the time has come for us to part company.
In your frailty, you can no longer bear the strain
Or protect me from the rain
And so you must retire to a
Home for the worn-out.

To discard of you feels like
To discard of a part of myself ,
Married as we have been
These past twelve months.
Who I am is written all over you,
You are trained in my ways
And, in your wisdom, know the pattern of my steps
Even before I take them,
Before I lift my foot to make them.

You have served me well old friends
And I will mourn for you.
As I look back on the paths we journeyed together
Sometimes in extremes of weather
Over rocky terrain
Through sun and through rain, yes,
As I remember,
I will mourn for you.

All the while trying to train your successors –
Naive and neutral
Willing to bend to any who will employ them.
Fresh-faced and eager
But lacking in life experience.
In time they will master each bend and flex
And learn to yield only to me.
We will become as one.

The blisters will heal,
And my memories will blur -
You will become but a chapter in my life.
But until then,
And who can say when
That might be?
Yes, until that day,
I can resolutely say
The socks on my feet will always be black.

Once Again

I haven't posted in a few days, it seems that the hours are disappearing this week.

In light of the current weather conditions, it seemed appropriate to post a poem I wrote during last year's white Christmas...

Crystalline purity falls from heaven
Refreshing the earth and
Wrapping it in a blanket of
Cleanliness.

For a time the ground lies in
Unspoiled stillness -
Recharging
While the street lamp stands as a sentinel
Keeping his vigil.

As the sun rises the sentinel's shift ends and
He retires, leaving his watch
Unguarded.

One by one the civilians surface.
Energised and excited,
They dance their patterns and work at
Leaving their mark.
Their shrill voices that shriek profanities,
Are muted by the graceful blanket
They so readily wreck.

As night falls
Once again
And darkness descends,
The sentinel takes his post -
Standing as a beacon
In the midst of the mire.
A tear rolls down his cheek
As he looks on the pitiful scene
That echoes of all that has been.

A droplet causes his gaze to lift -
The light touch of
Crystalline purity
Raining down in abundance to
Cover their tracks.

The scene pure and perfect
Once again
The sentinel clocks off,
Leaving the civilians to their day.


Lamentations 3:22-23
22 The faithful love of the Lord never ends! His mercies never cease.23 Great is his faithfulness; his mercies begin afresh each morning.

Finding My Voice

I can do this and I can do that

I suit my hair down, I suit wearing a hat

Just 'cause I can do it doesn't mean that I should

Who needs a hat when their coat has a hood?

Which is the right road, which path is for me?

What is my destiny, who am I meant to be?

I'm looking for my voice, have you heard it at all?

She's a little shy and quiet, pretty timid and small

One day she'll step out and emerge with a boom.

Best be prepared for her and make her some room.

For now she's a bairn, she's just a wee pup,

Dreaming and rehearsing for when she grows up.

But when she decides on the path she will take,

She'll work and she'll work till she catches her break.

She'll make herself seen and she'll make herself heard,

In pictures or plays, in music or word.

Just a silly wee poem inspired by a blog I came across recently. I was having lunch with some friends on Friday and Clare and I got onto talking about blogging and poetry and she mentioned that her cousin has a blog and is a poet and does various things. She suggested I look him up and I am sooooo glad that I did. Richard's blog has really inspired me to consider what I am about. He has such a distinctive voice and it's got me thinking, what is my voice? I guess for now I am playing around a bit and trying to work it out.

Check out the blog that inspired me:

Pen Paper Pause - Sketched Thought by Richard Watkins
http://penpaperpause.wordpress.com/

Snakes and Ladders

I was pregnant with destiny

Until I aborted my vision

In favour of fostering someone else's dream.

Now all my ladder climbing is wasted

For I have landed on a snake

And find myself back

At square one.

Back in the place

Where dreams are conceived.

Back in the home of good intentions

And infinite possibilities.

And so I begin my journey once again,

With the resolve that this time I will do it right.

This time I will take my vitamins

And carry this vision

To birth.

Losing Marbles

"I was sure I left my bag by the sofa when I came in. Have you seen my bag, son?"

"No, Gran, are you sure that's what you did with it?"

"Well I was but here I must be wrong 'cause there's no sign of it."

"Have you checked in the kitchen? Maybe you left it in the kitchen."

"Oh do you think so? Do you know you might be right."

She bustles out of the living room and into the kitchen. Her bag is on top of the kitchen table. She picks it up and returns to the living room.

"Ok, now... where's my glasses? I could've sworn I left them on the arm of the chair."

"Well, they're not on the arm of the chair are they, Gran?  Perhaps you left them on the sideboard in the hall on the way to the kitchen?"

"Perhaps I did, what would I do without you, eh?"

She shuffles into the hall and finds her glasses on the sideboard before returning to the living room.

"Now, let's see," she puts her glasses on and pulls her purse from her bag. "How much did you say I owed your mum?"

"Twenty pounds, Gran."

"Are you sure, son? I don't remember her paying for my shopping, are you sure I owe her twenty pounds?"

"Yes, Gran, I'm sure. You seem awfully forgetful today, what with your bag and your glasses. Trust me."

"I might just ring your mum and double check."

He takes the handset from her and replaces it on the cradle.

"No need, Gran, you phoned her to check once already today, you know how she worries about you. You don't want her to worry do you?"

"No, son, I guess you're right, ok twenty pounds then," she says as she pulls a twenty pound note from her purse and hands it to him.

Pipe Dreams

I stepped out of my full time job in August this year to come back to my love of the theatre. It is, perhaps, ironic that in doing so I am now doing even less drama and theatre-based work than I was before. But this theatrical desert has re-ignited a passion in my heart and confimed in me that I am, at my very core, an artist.

So, on this quest to get back to doing what I love, and working out how God plans for me to use this passion and gifting that he has given me, I enrolled on a couple of courses at an adult education college in London. One, an Introduction to Creative Writing, the other, an Introduction to Stanislavski. For those who are not familiar with Constantin Stanislavski, he was a Russian actor and theatre director who pioneered a "system" for actors that was concerned with creating realism on the stage.

The acting class stirred a lot of things within me and sparked a real vision in me for what I think I ought to be aiming towards.

Just over half way through the 12 week course I found myself in a position where I had to make a decision whether it was appropriate for me to carry on with the class or not. I was having some real issues with the content of the scenarios and screenplays that were being studied each week. The climax came when I was asked to improvise an objective that stood firmly against what I believe in. When I refused to take part I was confronted with the argument that acting is about making believe and does not reflect or affect our personal morality. While I believe this is most likely a true statement, for me it offers another question:

Why would I want to make believe about something that I fundamentally disagree with?

Uta Hagen says the following in her book, "Respect for Acting":

It is necessary to have a point of view about the world which surrounds you, the society in which you live; a point of view as to how your art can reflect your judgement.

To rebel or revolt against the status quo is in the very nature of an artist. A point of view can result from the desire to change the social scene, the family scene, the political life, the state of the ecology, the conditions of the theatre itself. Rebellion or revolt does not necessarily find its expression in violence. A gentle, lyrical stroke may be just as powerful a means of expression. To portray things the way they are, to hold up a mirror to the society, can also be a statement of rebellion. You must ask yourself, "How can I bring all of this to the statement I wish to make in the theatre?"

As a follower of Jesus I have a clearly defined point of view of the world in which we live and I have been commissioned to be "set apart" - to stand against the ways of this world. In Romans 12, Paul writes:

 "Don't become so well-adjusted to your culture that you fit into it without even thinking. Instead, fix your attention on God."

It is argued that in refusing to explore certain areas of dramatic content I am limiting myself as an actor and that in doing so, I reduce my chances of "making it in the industry". Good. I am sold out for God, therefore I will not sell out to the commercial theatre industry - working to get paid instead of working on conviction. Where is the art (or faith!) in that?

I agree with Hagen's argument that in our culture we have missed the point of theatre - theatre is meant to make a statement, to challenge and to question. Even the most political pieces of theatre in our culture exist to make money, if it can't bring in revenue then it doesn't happen. So we water down our political stand-point to ensure we can put bums on seats, just as so many churches water down the message of the gospel to put bums on seats - neither challenge us, neither sustain us.

So, what is my point? My point is I want to start a revolution. I want to be involved in creating theatre that has an uncompromising point of view. I want to be involved in creating theatre that will challenge, theatre that is about something other than box office revenue. I want to see Christian artists creating work that challenges our society. I want to see schools that provide the opportunity for theatre practitioners to train to the highest standard in an environment that respects their beliefs and their boundaries, that allows them to say "no, I won't do that" without being written off.

A pipe-dream some might say. Some don't know my God. The God of my dreams is bigger than the enemy of my dreams... so put that in your pipe and smoke it!

A Leopard Can't Change His Spots

I have been in a coma

For three years.

Twelve seasons have come

And gone

While my heart

Has hidden away.

But now, the self-induced sleep

That has sheilded me

From the gravity of my grief

Has come to its end.

My heart is re-emerging.

The past, blotted out,

By amnesia,

Is but a foggy haze -

I hold only an image

Of someone

Who used to be me

But whom I no longer

Resemble

Everything feels

Routinely alien.

I no longer fit the mould.

I have been the subject of

Metamorphosis.

I am a lion that thinks

Herself a leopard.

I try to shed my spots

But they cling to me -

Out damned spot!

Out I say!

Lady Macbeth is loopy,

Lady Macbeth is loopy,

Lady, look, there's nothing there!

For you were guilty, yes,

But another took your stains,

For you were guilty, yes,

But you've been pardoned from your shame.

So, that hazy, spotty leopard

Can't be catching up with you, you see -
For, now you are a lion, yes,
That's who you're supposed to be.

The Prodigal Son

Staring up at the office block of Harper and Sons, I feel the weight of its shadow beating down on me. It takes all I have within me to cross the threshold. The clerk at reception looks as if someone has just held a gun to her head, "Mr Harper" she spews out.


"I'm here to see my father,"the well-rehearsed line spills from my mouth. Avoiding her gaze I look around me. Nothing has changed.


"I'm sorry Mr Harper he's -"


"In staff briefing," I finish for her, "I will wait in his office."


I head straight for the elevator, press the button, think better of it and turn to take the stairs. The eight flights seem like a necessary punishment for my audacity in showing up here. I've picked this particular time in order to avoid prying eyes and gossiping whispers. I know the office's schedule as if it was my own.


It once was.


Entering my father's office overwhelms my senses with a holistic homecoming. I sink down into my father's reading chair and bury my head in my hands, as the realisation of the scale of my betrayal strangles my heart.


A general buzz of activity outside the office door tells me that staff meeting is over. I stand, knees weak, heart bursting out of my chest in an attempt to wrestle free from the hands of regret. The door opens, "Dad..." is the only sound I can muster.


His arms are wrapped tightly around me. Chest to chest the beat of his heart calms mine. An eternity of relief passes before he gently offers, "I'm sorry it didn't work out for you son - I heard you went into administration. I hoped you'd come back."


His grace breaks me and a loud sob escapes my lips. "Dad I know I have no right to be here, I'm a fool to even ask, but take me on as a cleaner, a night security guard, anything, I'll do anything."


"Nonsense, my son. You'll be reinstated as a partner at once."


Another sob breaks forth. I am not worthy.


My father has pressed the intercom, "Julia, I'm taking the rest of the week off. My son has come back to me, we have a lot of catching up to do. Clear my diary and sort out the necessaries for re-instating him as a full partner in the firm."


His arms are around me once again. "Let's get you home and cleaned up," he says leading me towards the door. For the first time in days I am awake to the stench of my body odour and the scruffy mess of a beard that scratches at my face, the grubbiness of my shirt and the weight of the bags under my eyes. The touch of my father's arm around my shoulders bats off the shame that attempts to keep a hold of me.


As my father opens the door my gaze is met by the fury of my brother. "I thought they were joking," he spits. "How dare you?! You made your bed, you ought to lie in it." He turns to our father, "Dad, see sense! How much has the firm struggled since he took his share and set up in competition? I've stuck by you, I've put in the extra graft to get us back on track and he shows up here looking like a tramp and you drop everything to play catch up?! When was the last time you gave me even five minutes in your schedule?"


I feel myself shrinking. He's right. This is when the bubble bursts.


"You've been with me all this time, but your brother was lost and he has come back. Come and celebrate with us," our father invites.


Silence. Stillness. Then my brother turns and walks away, slamming the door as he hides himself in his office. My father turns to me, he cups my face in his hands. "Come on son, let's go," he says and parades me through the office and into the waiting elevator. With his arm firmly around me, he leads me home.

The Point of No Return

I've been talking a lot lately about being at a point of no return. It's been three years since I started trying to walk the walk and not just talk the talk with my faith. And it has hit home in the past couple of weeks that I am well and truly past the point of no return.

I have experienced and know enough of God to know that without Him, I am nothing and in that respect I could never walk away from Him completely. But I also now know enough of Him to know that giving just a part of me to Him is not enough. If I am really serious about being a follower of Jesus it is not enough to just simply believe. It is not enough to just try to be good. I have to lay my life down and die to self. I have to say in every situation, "not my will but Yours". And that is flippin' scary!

But why? Why is it so scary to put my life in the hands of the Creator of the universe, the One who knows it all, who sees the bigger picture, who knit me together and knew me before I was born, who made me for a plan and purpose... Why is it so scary to do the safest thing of all? When it's put like that, the better question would be to ask, why am I not putting my life fully into His hands?

Why am I trundling along in this half-hearted manner, not turning back but in no way pushing forward?

Jesus came that we might have life in all its fullness, so why settle for anything short of that? But the truth is every day that is exactly what I'm doing, settling for something short of what God has for us, by getting distracted by facebook, or something on the television. By shying away from making a stand for what I believe in because of the fear of persecution or by allowing my complete lack of discipline to keep me up  so late that I struggle to get up in the morning and start my day in a rush without even acknowledging God. In the vast majority of decisions I make each day, I choose the path that leads to death.

And it feels like the more I try to sort these things out, the more I fail.

So, how can I make the switch? How can I move myself on from this sticking point, somewhere just past the last exit from God's Highway?

It's clear I can't do it in my own strength. This change has to be empowered by God. But how do I get to a point where I'm letting God in, in order that I can break out of this cycle of death-inducing choices?

The spirit is willing but the flesh is weak!

There is only one way forward. We have to change the culture in which we live. I'm not talking about the culture of the whole of Britain, not even the whole of London (yet!) but the culture within our own communities, our family units. We are called to be set apart, right? We are no longer of the world... so why are we still living like we are?

We have to embed certain behaviours into our patterns of life. We have to make reading the word as automatic as switching on the television. We have to make logging in with God, as automatic as logging in to facebook.

We are called to be set apart - yes. But we are not called to stand alone.

God saw that it was not good for man to be alone and created a companion for Adam. Left to my own devices I will wander off and busy myself with meaningless tasks, but put a group of people in front of me who are going to pray or read the word or worship together and I'm there. There is no shame in leaning on others to help us get the priorities and schedules of our lives in balance. And as we ingrain these behaviours into the rhythm of our lives they become like second nature - our new nature.

"You were taught, with regard to your former way of life, to put off your old self, which is being corrupted by its deceitful desires; ²³ to be made new in the attitude of your minds; ²⁴ and to put on the new self, created to be like God in true righteousness and holiness." Ephesians 4:22-24

We wouldn't expect a child to be able to feed, clothe and care for themselves straight away, so why do we expect that we should be able to spiritually feed, clothe and care for ourselves? Only once we have learned and practiced and matured will we be able to do these things on our own.

It is in standing together in unity - in love - to learn spiritual discipline that we can push forward, cast out our fear and live more fully in the hands of our Creator.

I am...

I've done it. I've finally plucked up the courage and created a blog.

But how does one actually start blogging?

It feels a little rude to launch straight in to sharing my thoughts and views. But on the other hand, why tell you what I am going to write about when I could just get on and write about it?

So I am going to start by introducing myself... how terribly British of me.

Ok, let's not beat about the bush...

I am, first and foremost, a follower of Jesus Christ. This is central to my life, who I am is found in Him.

I am an artist - something I haven't been heard to say much in my life but I am starting to realise it really is written in my DNA and no matter how much I try to shrug it off and avoid it, that is what I am. My mediums of choice are drama (and specifically theatre) and poetry. I am trying to expand my horizons. I don't want to settle for the way things have been and are done, I want to push limits, break out of boxes and experiment. I have something to say and I want what I create to reflect that message. I refuse to sell out to commercialism.

I am a daughter - of the Living God and also to my lovely pops, George.

I am a sister - to my brothers and sisters in the Body of Christ and to my brother Gordon.

For now, I am a children's worker at my church, doing maternity cover until summer.

So perhaps that paints a picture of what you will find in this blog, or perhaps it just paints a picture of who I am. Either way post one is done... now to get on with the real stuff...