Her cold still body
Gave no clue as to
The intensity of the
Pressure which so
Violently halted her
Heart, as it burst
Like a pressure cooker
Blowing its valve
Releasing pressure
And with it draining
Away strength until
No pressure meant
No life, dead. Done.
The irony now lost
On the worrier was
That it was the fear
Of her worst fear
That gradually, steadily,
Built up until her
Body gave up being
Constantly on red alert,
And switched off
Realising that a
Mind of fear has
More power than
A body bent on
Playing the part
Of the worrier.
Everyone could see
It coming, even the
worrier, though she
Was unable to change
A defining pattern
Of her life, where
To worry was to
Be alive – to have
Purpose and something
To occupy the otherwise
Banal existence of
Being ‘refined’ like
An emperor with no
Clothes, always chasing,
Never secure, worrying
To feel safe with insecurity.
The eternal weight loss
Diet of brie mixed with
Cholesterol reducing,
Money wasting drinks,
Seasoned with enough
Salt to turn her liver
Into cured pate, and
Pureed into slurry.
Highlighting the blatant
Inconsistency and lack
Of control, as what she
Ate was eating her,
One blocked artery
At a time, until the day
When the perfect storm
Of fat, pressure and
Worry, finally combined
Like a chemical bomb –
Exploding both the
Myths of denial, and
The flesh which tried
To tell her it was all
A ticking time-bomb.
So she got the last thing
She wanted as the
Last thing to happen
In her life, a fitting finale
To the perpetual
Pessimism and fear,
Obsessed with the most
Unimportant things
From her waking hours
Into the long hours
Of the sleepless nights
Lost to worry, and the
Worry of worrying too
Much to sleep!
Rest in peace worrier –
There’s no point
Worrying now, just
Be still in your death
And let the pressure
Be stopped for us too.
Author Archives: Juan Fernandez-Arias
Sophia’s poem – my sandwich
My sandwich is made of cheese
It makes me very pleased
I eat it very fast
I hope it will last!
By Sophia
The fellowship of suffering
My beloved, it is a place of meeting. A place where you and I can come together in complete honesty and truth. Why do you want to rush this time? Am I not closer to you right now than I’ve ever been before? You call to me as though I am distant, far away, as though I need to come to you to take you out of this place. But I am here with you, and it is I who have called you to this place. This is not a place I despise because it is a place I have been to before you, a place of creation and renewal for you.
Can you trust me that I would bring you to this place, not because I am punishing you, or because I have forsaken you, or even because I delight in this place, but because I trust you. I trust you to bear this load and I trust you to seek and find deep truths in this place – to mine the depths of the riches of grace in this dark place. Only when the eyes of your heart are open and seeing, only when the ears of your soul are attentive and hearing will you discover that this is not a place of isolation, or loss, but a place of opportunity, of hidden diamonds in blackest coal, of groans of deep prayer like labour pains before something amazing and beautiful is birthed.
I promised that being with me would lead to life. Will you die to suffering so that you might live to joy, deep everlasting joy? Will you know me – really know me – in my sufferings, in my passion, in my darkest hour, so that you might share in my brightest glory, to behold me as I really am – unveiled, scarred, yet beautiful? To live in my resurrection life requires that you also die in my death. Will you share with me what I can only entrust to those whose hearts are made for this, hearts shaped for the amazing expression of joy through suffering? Will you make up for others in your body what is lacking in my sufferings so that they might know the weight and true value of my costly grace, and not seek out cheap grace as a means to an unfulfilling end?
My beloved, if you knew how much I love you, how much I value you, how much I know you, then you would know you are totally secure and in a place of complete safety. Will you remain here with me a while longer, until my work here is complete?
Will you release to me your most hidden parts, your deepest longings, your greatest dreams – will you offer to me your life plan so I can replace it with the best plan that your life could ever be?
Is it enough for you to know that I am here? Let it be enough and discover that my grace is more than sufficient.
Only sons can enter the
Father’s house
Your call comes out to me
Right where I am.
You don’t call me out
Of a place of life into
A place of loss, of condemnation.
Your call to me is a way
Out of darkness into light,
From being dead to being alive,
From the filth of the pigsty
Into the Father’s house.
Only as a son can I enter
The father’s house.
Not as a servant, or even as
My own self with my own life.
No, only sons can enter
The father’s house,
And the father only has
One begotten, fully His,
So I enter as He does,
With His life, as human as
He is – nothing less, or more.
Weightless
Only you can hold me the way you do,
Weightless in your loving arms,
Safe and secure in the only way
I know to be true.
As you carry me I know that in this way
You show me that your love is not just
Something you say, or something you feel,
But something you do – for me.
I didn’t realise just how much I needed
Your love for me expressed this way –
How much I was yearning and earning
For a love that has always been given.
Though I can’t do this same thing for you,
I know that as I receive this gift
You experience a joy, and a knowing,
That as I receive you, so I am loving you.
To be weightless in your loving arms
Is like a shedding of many loads –
A gentle unbinding of covered wounds,
As I surrender my heart to your care.
Only you have loved me this way,
And as you hold me, there’s a sense of eternity –
A moment with no beginning and no end;
Like it was always this way, and forever will be.
Stolen
It was never meant to be this way;
The gifted opportunity
For strength in numbers
As we all came to terms
With our shared loss.
Taken from us, yet still with us
Her life switched from living,
To dying and dying.
Even now the frame lives
But the being is diminished.
Lucid glimpses give way
To common confusion.
The mind once full of
Endearing trivia, now scrapes away
At fading memories which
Portray a life now viewed
Through a lens refracted.
Existing or living? The question
Perpetually put through the
Slow, steady changes which
Mark the narrowing
Of days and hours until
The clock will tick its last,
And what remains will not be
The mum we knew, and can
No longer know, leaving us
To remain; not she the remnants
But we, to decide whether
To piece together what has been
Broken.
Scandalised by the loss,
The scandal spilled over;
Commoditised care and rationed
Time meagrely offered
To placate the demons of
Guilt – commanding that
“All must play the game”,
And all are bound by the
Rules which quantify love,
Like a money lender
Working the exchange rates
To maximise their gain and
Minimise their loss.
“Shame on you” if you
Will not play; will not join
The chorus of pious pity,
Where blind consensus
Determines the standard of
Truth against which
All will be measured.
All must earn their right
To be that which can come
Only through birthright.
Usurpers bear their teeth
Unashamedly; snarling at
Any who approach the gate
Without the recognition
Of who the top dog is.
Judge and jury in joint refrain,
“Fair is foul, and foul is fair!”
But in the courtroom,
None escape the long shadow
Which casts at the late hour
Of day as evening approaches,
Hurrying the sunset which will
Leave us all in darkness.
Hidden shame provides
Temporarily relief until
The day when everything
Will be brought into
The light of The Light.
In our hour of exposure
Will we see our finest
Or recoil at our foulest?
Will we see our gain
Measured in silver pieces,
Or our loss in the broken
Pieces of a family torn
By self-interest and
Callous disregard for
Open wounds and
Vulnerable feelings?
Will sick satisfaction of
Battles won give way to
A pyrrhic victory of the war,
Or will the trenches be
Dug deeper, the sludge get
Heavier underfoot?
Forsaken.
Forgotten.
Betrayed.
Stolen.
(For D&M)
Insurrection – resurrection
In my being,
Right there
In the centre,
In the darkness,
Lies a cold,
Hard, dead heart,
Which stands up
In weak defiance
And rebellion
Against the One
Who made me,
And loves me.
My lifeless heart
Confirming the truth
That I am dead
Through my
Insurrection.
The Father calls,
The Spirit breathes,
My heart awakens
To the beauty
Of the Son,
And as I believe
His grace moves
And that which is dead
Quickens to life,
And rises up
With strong conviction
And deep certainty.
My beating heart
Confirms the truth
That I am alive
Through His
Resurrection.
Because I live, you also will live
In the darkness
Eclipsing not just nature,
But drawing death
Like a cloak over
The Light of men,
Life is crushed,
Weighed down by
Hard, lifeless hearts.
Hanging there,
Hanging on, until
“It is finished”,
Life gives way
To the death
Which brings death –
The curse of ages
Which loves the darkness.
The lost call out,
Even in His dying hour,
“Jesus, remember me
when you come into your kingdom.”
The Life knowing that through His death,
He would have life and that life
Is life for all who believe;
As He had already spoken,
“Because I live, you also will live.”
Few gasps of life become fewer
As the darkness thickens,
The blood runs ceaselessly –
Draining the life of the one who is Life.
Ever trusting; “Father!”
“Into your hands I commit my spirit!”
If we share in His death, then
We share in His resurrection.
Wounds
Wounds
So deep, so long lying there as a space, a gap between us.
It’s you – your everlasting and eternal majesty,
My God, my creator, my life –
It’s you who meets me in that place of unknown pain
Where wounds so deep have scarred my soul,
And in my pain I have scarred you.
Yet you received it,
And on the cross your deep wounds
Are meeting mine now.
In the meeting of my soul with you, the wounded one,
Do I see my real pain,
And only in the overwhelming and crushing experience
Of the knowledge of your eternality;
In the face of this truth –
Your face which is The Truth,
Do my wounds yield to allow you in.
Come in Lord, come deep, and place your wounds on mine.
Let it be a meeting place, of your grace and compassion
With my scarred and damaged soul.
And there let me yield to you, to your mercy,
And so let me be healed.
With you and I in that place together,
I am healed.
Isaiah 40:27-31
Why do you say, O Jacob,
and speak, O Israel,
“My way is hidden from the LORD,
and my right is disregarded by my
God”?
Have you not known? Have you not
heard?
The LORD is the everlasting God,
the Creator of the ends of the earth.
He does not faint or grow weary;
his understanding is unsearchable.
He gives power to the faint,
and to him who has no might he
increases strength.
Even youths shall faint and be weary,
and young men shall fall exhausted;
but they who wait for the LORD shall
renew their strength;
they shall mount up with wings like
eagles;
they shall run and not be weary;
they shall walk and not faint.
How do I call you Abba?
I long to call you Abba,
But I don’t know how.
I can form the word,
Letting it pass my lips
But how do I say it
Knowingly?
You made me.
You made me to know you
And to be known by you.
But how do I know you
As Abba?