Posted in Life line, Surge, Thought process

New Rooms

So, before I write write, here’s a little entree.  I’ve got “rooms” in my life that have, quite frankly, been filled up with rubbish, toot, baggage, hurt, etc etc.  Slowly but surely, I’ve been de-cluttering these “rooms”, not by myself, but with 2 very dear, patient prayer warriors; through our meetings, God is at the heart of my healing.  As painful and battling as it has been, it has also been remarkable and pretty wonderful not to have such messy “rooms”.  The windows are finally open, the carpets have been cleaned, and the fresh air of God is in the building…


New Rooms

I’ve been doing some decorating.

Some stuff has been ok and not too messy to deal with- only having to take 3 layers of wallpaper off instead of 10.

Then there’s the rooms where I couldn’t even turn the handle- bolted and secured with so many locks that it’s taken crowbars, hammers and a good deal of power to get in.

A dark room, with curtains thick with dust; a glimmer of sunlight drips in the haze. Floor to ceiling junk , boxes, suitcases, manky, unpleasant.  Imagine the programmes you see where the owner has filled it with books/paper/stuff they don’t want to get rid of/stuff they hoard.  Paper archways, with just enough head height to get under.  There’s always the feat that it could give way at any moment.

Could you live like that?

Could you live with the possibility that all this junk could, one day, more than possibly, crash, with you underneath?

So, the cleaning had to commence.

Painful is a word that springs to mind when you are faced with the utter crap, the rubbish that you’ve let build up, clogging up your veins, making it hard to function, getting by by living on the edge of fear and irrationality.

Life is life when you’re teetering, when all you do is smile, I’m ok, I can cope, no, I don’t need any help/it’s all in the past/time to let bygones be bygones.

Easy? No.

And the wretchedness oozes from every pore; shortness of breath, legs that won’t, can’t stop shaking.

The anger that wells up, the indignation, the bruises, just walk away, walk away.  But if I walk away then this room will stay just as murky, as horrid, as tiresome.

So, I breathe and muster all my strength against the part of me that wants to run, to hit out, to break the chairs, and I start to move the furniture, cleaning the walls, shaking the curtains, wrenching the old pictures off the wall. This stuff isn’t needed anymore.

Pulling the barbs, the stings out, and letting my Healer replace with love, with His furniture, His way of living.  I owe the ruins of my life nothing. I owe My Redeemer everything.

Every breath, every cleansed room, every burst of sun, every open window. Every stripped back wall now painted in radiance. His radiance.

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Posted in Life line


Just a quick intro to this poem.  Counselling comes in so many forms, with some being much better than others. Trust me, I know!  People talk about “journeys”, and the word journey is sometimes used too tritely, too “luvvie”.  Well, my journey keeps changing.  I’ve got an invite to live life,live it better, live it without all the rubbish. So I’ve accepted the invitation. I don’t want all the misery/horror/cramping/numbness- I want, I need something different. So, here’s an invitation to get out of the corner(“No one puts Baby in a corner”) and grip life with both hands…


Thanks for remembering me; so kind of you to say
That you missed me, missed my laugh, my hugs.
Realising that I’m the one
You treasure is perfectly perfect.

You invite me to sit at a table full of sumptuous food,
Puts me in the mood to eat, to demolish every single morsel.
Not like the stuff I used to eat
Bush tucker trial kinda food.

No, this is delicious, mouth wateringly gorgeous
Just enough to sustain, maintain me and make me feel that I’m
Filled with love to the brim and then some.

Bubbling up inside
My love for you is something so divine, so in time
With your heartbeat, with your arm wrapped
Around my shoulders.
A whisper of love, like Turkish delight
Cleansing and sweetening my soul.

And this table you’ve prepared is for me.
And the invite is for me to come, sit, eat, relax
Chill out in your company, be your honoured guest
Not just for today but for every second.

The old, decrepit table has gone, been pushed away, no need to sit
There again.

And I’m here, with you.
I’m not going anywhere.
I’m staying with you.


Posted in Life line, Uncategorized


Like a huge blanket, you wrap me, warm, snug.

Protecting me, but also giving me time to re-couperate

So that I’m stronger, wiser.

Whenever I need that embrace, you’re there.

But you remind me that you’re with me wherever, whenever.

Standing on top of the O2 arena or the nearest wall,

With my heart in my mouth,

You are there.

Screaming silently with pain and anger,

You are there.

Sitting, half asleep, with a cup of tea,

You are there.

Dreaming, half awake, with my alarm blazing,

You are there.

Wiping my tears,

Holding my hand,

You are there.

Cheering me on, telling me “don’t give up!”

You are there.

Every time, every season, every cloud, every starburst.

You are there.

Every. Single. Time.Helping-Hand

Posted in Life line

I am

I may not be a superstar,

I may not be a Nobel Prize winner,

I may not have a name that’s lauded to the rafters,

But I am me.

I may not possess great intelligence,

Or command mighty audiences,

I may not woo the paparazzi

,But I am me.

I may not always be liked, loved,

I may be hated, derided,

Laughed at, scorned by,

But I am me.

I may not have an hour glass shape, be over weight or have a face that launches a thousand ships

(well, maybe in retreat…)

I might have weird feet and a hairy chin,

But I am me.

I may have true friends that will always stand by me,

Or friends that leave, abandon me,

Turn against me,

But I am me.

I may not have the voice of an angel or move like Fred Astaire

(old school)

My dance moves may leave a lot to the imagination,

But I am me.

I believe I was created for a reason, a purpose, even though I sometimes wonder what that purpose might be, as I battle, rage against the time and tide.

I was created in my mother’s womb, my wonderful, loving, amazing mother’s womb,

And there, in the darkness, with the sound of a heartbeat,

I grew.

Then and there, yes, even before I came into life, before I was a blink,

You had your hand on me, knew my future, knew the plans and dreams of every second.

You, who made everything from nothing,

You made me!

Why would you waste your time on me when there are so many more important things to be done, but you say

“Hold up! What are you going on about?

You need to understand this- this world wouldn’t be the same without you.

Even when you wanted out, when you wanted this life to end,

I said No, I decide when life begins and life ends,not you.

When you glance at yourself in the mirror, then quickly turn your head away,

because you don’t like what you see, remember, I created you.

If all life was the same, if all races were the same, same hair colour, same eyes,

Where would the beauty, the wonder, the myriad, be?

You are mine and I love you.

That Star Wars line, that was mine in the first place, and which they used most effectively,

“I am your Father” is completely true, though I’m not Darth Vadar and you’re not Luke Skywalker.

But what you are is mine, what you are is astounding, creative;

What you are is unique, with a humour not everyone gets

And a taste in music that some would say is decidedly strange.

Face it, sweet cheeks, I made you and I am more than pleased,

I’m ecstatic, in fact, I’m over the moon,

I’ll always be in love with you.


Posted in Life line

Some might say…

Some might say

That I’m slightly mad, a bit off kilter, or that I need my head examining;

They might say that being with me is hard work, that I’m needy, that I’m too emotional.


They ain’t seen nothing yet!

I can be a Lioness, ferociously defending her cubs,

Facing the threat full on, hissing and bearing my teeth.

I get like this when there’s injustice done against those I love,

When they’re maligned, when someone lies about them.

I get the bit between my teeth.

I can be an Ostrich, hiding my head in the sand

Until the danger goes

But the danger never really goes away, and so my head is permanently stuck

Half way between fresh air and the depths of despair.

The fear of losing my head, my heart or my sanity

To some obtrusive enigma who stalks me, ready to pounce.

I can be a Deer, strong and mighty,

Proud (in a good way) of what I’ve achieved, of knowing that what I do

And say makes a big difference; using the strength to help others,

Be a positive influence, loving life, being creative.

Some might say I’m a mix of them all, and they might be right.

Some might say none of the above describes me quite adequately,

And not in a complimentary way at all.

Some might say, “You! An Ostrich!  Don’t be daft!”

But, sadly, I have to put them right, because I know that I do hide my head

When the going gets tougher than tough.

Sometimes I’m a Lemming,

Ready to throw myself off the nearest cliff

Because the pain is too much, too deep, too hurtful.

There are still days like these.

Days when I can’t put my finger on exactly how I’m feeling,

Or, if I can, wanting it to go away, leave me alone,

Stop playing inside my mind,

Stop using my head as a playground,

Running, causing havoc, spinning the roundabout too fast, the swings too high,

Which makes me feel sick, dizzy, screaming to stop them,

And they just leave me, laughing, thinking it’s funny.

Well, it isn’t, so bog off (I could say it differently, but I’m trying to be oh so ever polite…)

And so I ask the Lioness to prowl, around my mind, keeping it safe,

To stop the Lemmings from coming in,

To make sure that the Ostrich is somewhere else that day.

And I ask the Deer to give me strength, to make me courageous.

Lioness and Deer, walking together,

Keeping me safe.


Posted in Life line



Neurons darting, pulsing, resonating

Colliding inside my head,

Like a pinball machine on full tilt.

Lights flash, numbers whirl and mount

Bells and whistles,

Weeds and thistles

Growing, without permission.

Where’s the sense, the understanding?

The hows, the whys, the whens?

Logic is replaced by searching for truth beyond reason

A love for all seasons that does not fade away.

The fragility of every day weighs heavily,

For we know that this day is full of unexpected moments.

Yet, in that weight, there is a lightness,

Undefined by it’s very being.

Love, given, without measure, in all its fullness,

Brings an ease to the clamour, an ease to the burdens,

An ease to the soul.