So Much To An Image
I took this photo a few years ago in Norway. I found it this year and cropped it a bit, sent it off to be printed by an online printing service and it now sits in a simple frame on my desk. It seems to stand for how i've been feeling these past months although i'm not sure exactly what that is. Sometimes lonely, often in awe. Apprehensive yet intrigued. Somedays the girl in my picture stirs the water with her toe, on others she dances, but when I think of the future and the promises that God has given for my life, she steps out. On those days she laughs, deep and clear as the water before her. 
Isn't it strange how we can attatch so much to an image? As an interesting aside, the girl stands on the royal property of the King of Norway, the location of their small but beautiful palace which rests on the banks behind her overlooking the fjord. Does she realize that she herself is royal property, a pearl of great price?
Yoghurt
I've realised that untill you understand your brokeness, your complete reliance on God's grace for any hope of a future, you have no chance of understanding true meaning of redemption. Without this understanding how can you truely show grace to others? Without your love for others being rooted in your understanding of God's incomparable love for you, it is a hypocritical and frail thing indeed.These poems with a mixture of fun and meaning were written while i was coming to that understanding and are meant to compliment each other. Yoghurt
When you open your yoghurt,
And your spoon into mould insert.
Dirty dairy, rancid raspberry,
The response is quite unnecessary:
Righteous wrath, moral checkmate,
Makes you feel good to relate,
A story of corporate irresponsibility,
To your friends, who find hilarity,
In joining with just indignation,
Your tirades of rhetorical objection.
You can indulge in a little intense,
Yet harmless humour at ltd expense.
And with pomp you plant your pot,
On the customer service desk.
And punctuate the air with tuts,
At the ironic sign above your head.
In a frigid flurry of customer care
You find you’re no longer there,
You’re blinking in the parking lot,
Hands clutching a refund and pot.
You start to eat with consternation,
Your fresh dairy reincarnation.
And realise, as you do, you’ve lost,
Out on what the petrol cost.
Crass consumerism in rhyme,
Can bring insight to the divine;
When God peeled me open, I knew,
He had nowhere to return me to. Yoghurt 2
The outside looks good to the eye,
Really looks quite elegant.
White and colour splashed and splayed,
With crisp curve and line of font;
Nought point this and that displayed,
All emblazoned with logo and pride.
Packaging genius.
But God sees past what I adorn;
Taste and see that I am rot.
Best before I was born.
My life a complaining little clot,
Of bad attitude and shame;
An intense miasma of blame.
Throw me out.
But again I am found guilty,
Having defamed Gods Glory.
For I’ve been righteous-redeemed,
And I dare to devalue the dowry,
By declaring myself unclean?
In his grace I’m recomposing.
See; He smiles at what he’s done.
The spitting image of his son.
Slugs and Yam?
I’m going to Kenya in a few weeks and I have to confess to being a little nervous. Mostly I’m just looking forward to it. It will be my first time in Africa and I’m pretty sure that it won’t be my last. It’s clearly such a diverse continent that going to just one part of one country isn’t going to give me a truly holistic picture.
So, why am I nervous? After all, apart from the political unrest, the prolific hijacking and mugging problems, deadly wild animals, scorching heat, malarial insects and corrupt government officials there’s not really anything to worry about. Oh, and I neglected to mention the fact the continent of Africa is a giant petri dish for every vile and malicious bacterium known to man. Seriously, call me a hypochondriac but how people survive out there is beyond me. But it’s none of that that bothers me really; I have to say that it’s the food.
Now I’m not a fussy eater, don’t get me wrong, but I’m not going to Kenya for a safari. I’m not going to be staying in even a moderately sanitised hotel. I’m going out with a small team to teach people about the bible, which means travelling out into small villages and staying in peoples houses/huts/shacks or whatever they live under and, obviously, eating what they eat. I’ve taken a rewarding visit to the Kenyan High Commission website and discovered that the local diet is rich and exciting, but looking at the ingredients of the dishes I suspect that they mostly consist of what only the very rich could afford. I guess it’s like caviar being a Russian delicacy but 90% of the population struggle to find themselves enough bread to eat day to day. Looking closer I saw that yams and cornmeal soup seem to be the staple diet. Let me assure you that cornmeal soup is not soup. It’s gruel. And that yams are not a tasty alternative to the potato. I’ve also heard the horror stories of our pastor being served delicately seasoned slugs on a bed of mashed yam on a previous visit. I really don’t want to embarrass myself, or my hosts, when semi-masticated slugs and yam with a generous helping of bile is projected, at high velocity, from my mouth by my horrified stomach. The stain on the carpet would be the least of my worries in that situation. Lord, have mercy.
So, as I was saying I am actually looking forward to the visit more than anything else. I’m going to be there for about 3 weeks during which I hope to absorb as many of the sights and sounds, and as few of the deadly viruses, of Africa that I can. Whatever happens I’m sure that I will come back with some interesting stories to post here.
Here’s to adventure and everything that stirs my heart to seek it.
