sandbox

Sandbox days are gone and lost
Sandman's here to stay
Time ticks, sand drips: Yesterdays.

refiner's fire

There's been a lot of talk about the heat and stuff lately. I personally, am not a huge sun fan; I much prefer the shade of my very cosy, very pretty, very all woman gym compared to running about in the sun which I used to love a long time ago. My averseness to the sun has recently been reinforced when a close friend shared that her sister might have early stage skin cancer- and this is a girl who's fresh in her thrities and does minimal sun-exposure given she works way-too-long-hours in the bank. (I pray all goes well with her, really, she has plans to get married and all that stuff in the near future.)

But it really got me thinking. That sometimes when the light gets too bright, all becomes revealed, all that we attempt to run away from catches up with us, all our skeletons in the closets are flung open and that the ego-centric space we are so eager to fill becomes Nietzsche's abyss. That in the Sunlight, in the Sonlight, our inadequacies, our flaws, our blind spots, our human-ness is bared. So stark, so real, so honest, we cannot- dare not-deny it. That when we are refined in the fire, when we cross the Job chapter of our lives, when we are faced with Daniel's Lions; what will be revealed about us? That sometimes we need to stand in front of the bright light, before the unfliching glare of honesty, under the vehement scrutiny of the refiner's fire to truly be counted.

And when the spotlight's on- it begs us choose- what is revealed?

fishing

Its no point fishing sometimes.
The lures are bad, the water's poor.
I wonder why some people still bother.
Find a new sport.
Hot air ballooning anyone?

missing pieces

Wendy was a little girl that lived at the end of my street. She had dark brown hair and bright black eyes. Sometimes when you looked at her, she'd look a tad scary because her eyes appeared unusually dark and piercing. Andy said that that was because of the blackness of her eyes- her pupils, to be more specifically. Aunty Joe who owns the bread shop at the junction of the the cobbled street and the wide open road always said, being specific was important. Black was a colour that, according to Miss Hanes, my science teacher, that absorbed all the light. So that's why Wendy's eyes looked so weird and scary. But only sometimes.

Wendy was a rather small sized girl, she was much shorter than all the other girls in my class. Maybe its because she was so skinny; mummy always wondered out loud if her mum was starving her. But I think Wendy's skinny simply because she runs about a lot. Well, just in case you think she runs about like other kids during break, playing tag and the likes, she does not. Wendy was funny that way, she simply ran about, all by herself. Well, ok, most of the time. Sometimes the bigger kids would run about with her, just to poke fun at her. But she never minded, she simply kept on running.

I liked Wendy. Not in a lovey-dovey sort of the way, but I simply liked her. She never got in anyone's way, she did pretty good in class and she'd always be polite to me. Wendy used to sit in the seat just in front of me, and when she bobbed her head or moved about her pony tail would bounce, which I thought was really funny. One time, she had pinned a butterfly on her hair and when she moved, the wings of the butterfly flapped! It looked almost real. But it was not a really pretty butterfly, honestly, it looked alot like a moth, but I never told Wendy that.

About two months ago, Wendy came to school looking rather sullen. Her eyes were red and swollen from what must have been a huge crying stint. She looked positively morose (I like using the word 'morose", it was in my english spelling list last week). Throughout class she sat with her head down, she didn't even celebrate or feel better when Miss Hanes announced that she had topped the class in the recent class test. During break, she didn't run either. Finally, just after the last bell rang, as she turned around to pass me my latest homework (I got an A+, but mainly because I got mum to help me with it) I asked her what was wrong.

"I lost my tooth today. It must not want to be in my mouth anymore. I bet its because I went to eat so much ice-cream." Wendy said quietly. "I think my teeth don't like me much, they are starting to get shaky and they all want to move out." With that she burst into tears and turned tail and ran off, bumping into many people along the way.

Wendy stayed sad for a few days. Or maybe it was a few weeks, I can't really rememeber. I'm not very good with telling time, you see. But one day- and I remember that it was a Thursday because they were serving marcaroni and cheese that day at the canteen and I had eaten two portions- Wendy came and she was positively glowing. She beamed and grinned her little toothless smile and bounced about like that tiger in Winnie the Pooh.

"What's up?" I asked her. "How come you're so happy today?"

"Oh," she cried out. "Remember my tooth that went away? It came back!"

"It did? Where?" I asked, positively puzzled.

"Yeah!" She exclaimed, "In my baby sister's mouth!"

wearing socks

Jesse owned a pair of funny socks. Unlike most socks that were identical, his weren't! One side was blue with hot pink stripes and a tiny strip of orange just at the border of where the toes would be; and the other that was white with brilliant green flowers printed all over, and each flower had a tiny smiley face that grinned wider than the ocean. Now, Jesse loved those socks, loved how they made his toes feel nice about themselves and kept all ten of them warm from the winter cold. Sometimes, they even protected his feet from getting cuts and blisters; though there was one time, they caused him to slip on the cold, smooth surface at the bowling alley- and it was right in front of Susie, the girl he likes. Jesse loved his mismatched socks. He wore them all the time and even when people laughed at him, he kept on wearing them anyway.

Then one day, on his 5th birthday, Jesse received a parcel from his grandaunt Kelly, who lived in a town that took Jesse and his family 10 solid hours on the road to get to. Jesse remembered the trip very clearly for he had never felt so bored in his life- the only interesting thing that happened was his little sister Rebecca getting a popcorn kernel stuck in her left nostril. Mom had to use a small stick to get the kernel out. Mum didn't know it, but Rebecca secretly kept the errant kernel in her fairy lock box- for good luck, she says. Jesse thinks she's just being silly. Anyway, grandaunt Kelly had bought Jesse a new pari of socks! A matching wollen pair, more comfortable than any other socks he's ever worn! And so Jesse began to wear his new socks- the vivid yellow pokka dots stark against the orange background. And oh, how he loved them!

By and by, Jesse forgot about his older socks, the one with the stripes that protected him from the cold, and the one with the flowers that cushioned his heel against the rough shoe. And the two lay silent in Jesse's drawer. Silent as a church mouse- although its not really sure why church mice would want to stay so silent, or if there are even mice in church; one reckons the nuns and priests wouldn't be too pleased to have rodents scurrying about, really. Time passed and the two socks started to fade, started to lose their sparkle and their spirit.

Many months later, or maybe it was years, Jesse was told to clean out his drawer. And when he opened them, he saw his two old socks lying amidst the cobwebs and dirt. He gently brushed them off and tried to put them on. By that time, the threads were worn through, the elastic now static, and there were even several moth bitten holes. As Jesse was staring at that old pair of socks, remembering the fun times, Mum came in and in one fell swoop scooped the socks out of Jesse's hands and threw them out. The trash guy was just outside, rumbling along in his huge van, an old sir that had one tooth chipped off- Jesse always wondered what had happened, maybe the old sir had gotten into a bar fight, or a cat brawl. In Jesse's mind, the old sir was like a brave knight; acutally, old sir had simple woke up drunk one day and tripped and knocked himself on the side of the oven.

Now, old sir had lived in a trailed park, right next to a little girl named Linney: she had the prettiest brown hair framed with darling ringlets and a smile that could light up the galaxy. But little Linney's mum was very poor, a factory drone in the company with the big chimmneys and small pay checks. So when old sir cleared out Jesse's trash, he saw two mismatch socks, lying amongst yesterday's TV dinner and this morning's dirt rags. Gingerly her picked them up, dusted them off and looked at the pretty blue stripes and the smiling flowers.

That night, old sir went over the Linney's home and knocked on her door, in his hand a badly wrapped package with a grocery string that doubled up as a gift ribbon. Shuffling, the little girl opened the door. Old sir, with his funny chipped tooth, held out the small gift and said, "Happy Birthday." Linney took the box, opened it and fell in love with the socks that were threadbare, torn and faded through. She fingered the blue socks with the hot pink stripes, the one with the tiny orange strip of orange just where her toes would be, and the flower patterned other pair, the one with so very many smiley faces grinning silly at her.

"Thank you," she breathed, 'they are the most perfect socks in the world."

up size my fries please...

Don't ask for too much. Really.

getting my feet wet

Ooh... me of little faith.

I've been praying for stuff lately, very specific things about very specific people. And it feels right, it feels like things are moving in the right direction and it feels good. Then, there's that nagging voice at the back of my head that whispers: "But are you sure? Why don't you go do something about it?" And so I fret, I worry and start to fiddle with this and that; jumping the gun, wanting to move just a tad faster, desiring to make the contingencies and plan Bs... just in case He does not come through for me which is really silly cos I've been praying for a series of stuff (all these things come as a set as part of a greater whole) and the first few have already been answered and I'll just need to be patient. Faith, such a tough concept eh?

Oh, me of little faith...
Now that I think about it, I'm just being silly.
I'm just going to wait it out. :)

Let you know how it all goes soon enough!

Day 40:David's heart

I've known God for a long time now, pretty much all my life. I used to serve very actively in ministry, singing, writing, planning, organizing and all the other stuff that came with the turf. I've done musicals, written and help produce several more, mentored, been mentored and generally had a whale of a time with the gang. Then university came and I started to get busy with school; but still found time for the occassional bible study, weekly sunday school and quiet time daily. Then I started work and demands on my time took its toil and church going became more sporadic, praying lessened and somehow found it challenging to keep with God. I decided- more subconsciously than consciously, which I reckon is even more dangerous- that I didn't really need God that much, that I could achieve a great deal by myself, and that to some extent I could even play God. It was a dark time, I suppose you could say, but I was too darn distracted by the other pretty, flashing fancy lights to notice. It was a silent time, but I was too busy listening to my own voice, and the shoutings and chantings of the world anyway.

Loads have happened since, too much packed into a tight and tumultus preceeding four months. Its been distressing, its been humbling, its been eye-opening, its been emotional and its been a time of tough choices, painful decisions and blind faith.

40 days ago I started on the Rick Warren book, "The Purpose Driven Life". And I've done my best to not slack off and keep at it, especially when sometimes things hit far too close to home. But its also been a time of convictions and confirmations. Its not been an easy 40 days- I've had a lot of digging deep to do, a lot of peace to make with myself and to come to terms with the wrenching truth that I have a long way more to go in this race, on this road.

To you that came close that day to asking for justifications, clarifications and information: Sorry that I can't give you the answers/information that you were looking for. There are many things swirling about, some true, some close to the truth, others not even remotely close. Either ways, thanks for your concern and I know I've been perplexing- I've chosen this stance and I hope you understand. Just remember, listen and hold on to all that you hide in your heart.

To you that passed me the book: Thanks for the love, the faith and the belief in the gifts I was blessed with.

To you that I passed the book to: Its been a tough time for us, may this allow you to find peace in Him. Its time to return home into the folds of the good shepherd, and take a rest in His arms.

Day 39: Balancing act

I spent a long time trying to learn to balance properly. One legged races, hopping, swinging logs and all the other yogaesq type balancing stunts- I suck at. Addie would know, having spent over two valiant (and patient) years trying to get me to balance properly, and balance successfully. I still wobble, I still can't do a free standing head stand and I'm still shaky on one leg. I like to believe its because I have small feet (they are but a size 4) and so its disproportionate to my sized and yah-dah yah-dah and cos of the confluence of a tipped-over center of gravity and all that other jazz.. therefore I don't balance well.

I've come to the truth. I just suck at balancing. I hate juggling work and play; I dislike having to manage time for myself and time with loved ones; I abhor having to juggle what I want with what I have with what I need. I really don't like it when I'm told to "lead a balanced life" or to "manage my life" and all the other motivational/success principle-ish type notions. Yes, I know a balanced life is good, just like a balanced lifestyle, just like a balanced meal.

The fact is this, and I'm going to be woman enough to admit it. I suck at it, sometimes I flat out don't want to be balance. I don't see why sometimes I cannot want to be irresponsible, or want to over indulge, or splurge unnecessarily, or eat one extra sugar roll cos I just feel like damn eating one, thank you very much. I don't want to have to have it all together, I don't want to always have to know what to do, how to act and how to behave.

I wish I were balanced- I wish I were alot of things, but I'm not.
And you know what? I'm happier for it. :)

Ok, I'm going to go get some nutella.

Day 38: Have coffee on me

I've had the good fortune to have had coffee- considering the insane state of my schedule- with some old, good friends lately and its been a good time of sharing, catching up, gripping, encouragement and plain ole talking absolute crap. Some of them are going through a pretty good time in their lives, others not so good. Some at new beginnings, others at poignant endings. And some, facing tough, tough decisions amidst the swirl of propaganda, the miasma of fear and the pervasiveness of unknowing.

To you, you know who you are, this story is for you.

Carrots, Eggs & Coffee
A story by Mary sullivan

A young woman went to her mother and told her about her life and how things were so hard for her. She did not know how she was going to make it and wanted to give up. She was tired of fighting and struggling. It seemed as if as soon as one problem was solved a new one arose. Her mother took her to the kitchen. The mother filled three pots with water.In the first, she placed carrots; the second she placed eggs; in the thrid she placed ground coffee. She let them sit and boil without saying a word. About twenty minutes later, she turned off the burners.

She fished the carrots out and placed them in a bowl. She pulled the eggs out and placed them in a bowl. Then she ladled the coffee out and placed it in a bowl.Turning to her daughter, she said, "Tell me what you see."
"Carrots, eggs, and coffee," she replied.

Mum brought her closer and asked her to feel the carrots. She did, and noted that they felt soft. She then asked her to take an egg and break it. After pulling off the shell, she observed the hard-boiled egg inside.Finally, she asked her to sip the coffee. The daughter smiled as she tasted its rich aroma.

The daughter then asked, "So, what's the point, mother?"

Her mother explained that each of these objects had faced the same adversity - boiling water - but each reacted differently. The carrot went in strong, hard, and unrelenting. However, after being subjected to the boiling water, it softened and became weak. The egg had been fragile. Its thin outer shell had protected its liquid center. But, after sitting through the boiling water, its insides had become hardened. The ground coffee beans were unique, however. After they were in the boiling water...they had changed the water.

"Which are you?" she asked her daughter.

Day 37: Story book

Life tells many stories. It tells stories of joy, of love, of despair, of jubilation, of hurt, of pain, of suffering, of neglect, of abuse, of peace, of births and rebirths and death and even the abysmal depth of nothingness and nowhere-ness. It tells many tales, some real, others but works of fiction. It spins many yarns; some are fairy tales of mother goose proportions and others are testimonies from a lifetime of wisdom, experience and travels. Then there are those that begin as small whispers that pass on through the night, of strange hissings and expositions that begin as a fraudulant seed that soon blossoms into the wide wild vine of hear-say, of heresey.

Life tells many stories. It speaks of who we are, what we become. That when the final chapter is read, the final words are written, the final verdict is issued... it would be but that, no matter how hard we try, how well we tell the tale, how expertly crafted each sentence and how intricate the story board may be.

It will just be that. A story.

Day 36: Running blind

Those of you that have ridden horses- whether competitively or in the little pony rides round at the zoo- would know how phenomenal it is to ride. They are such gentle creatures that are so sensitive that they appear to read your minds. There's something reassuring about these horses, they are powerful creatures, unbridled by the savages of the modern demands of time, yet so very gentle, that each of their nuzzle caresses and loves. They are such ancient souls, really.

I had a horse, his name was Mac. He was a gorgeous stallion that was way too high for my tiny self; too fast for me to really stay firmly on my straddle; too powerful for me to really be able to fully keep him under control. But he knew that I was a novice rider, he seem to sense that this tiny girl, totally fearful of heights and too much wild speed needed him to know what he was doing. Half the time I didn't even know where I was headed, so needed Mac to be privy to those little details.

And he did. He reigned in his sheer power to a managable pace, he would be sure to stand absolutely still till I was nicely mounted, he would steadily push my comfort zone- picking up pace moderately, moving from walking to trotting, to cantering then a full out gallop. And because he took me into consideration I learnt to ride, to jump, to gallop...

I've been running blind for a long while, I think. And thanks to you Macs in my life, you've kept me safe and sound. I've learnt to ride, to jump and even to gallop under your patient tutlege. Thank you.

Day 35: What's in a colour?

May's a red, I'm a blue. Oh, things I do when I wanna skive off work.


BLUES are motivated by INTIMACY, seek opportunities to genuinely connect with others, and need to be appreciated. They do everything with quality and are devoted and loyal friends and employers/employees. Whatever or whomever they commit to are their sole (and soul) focus. They love to serve and will give freely of themselves in order to nurture others lives.

BLUES, however, do need to be understood. They have distinct preferences and occasionally the somewhat controlling (but always fair) personality of a confident leader. Their code of ethics is remarkably strong and they expect others to live honest, committed lives as well. They enjoy sharing meaningful moments in conversation as well as remembering special life events (i.e., birthdays and anniversaries). BLUES are dependable, thoughtful, nurturing, and can also be self-righteous, a bit worry-prone, and emotionally intense. They are like sainted pit-bulls who never let go of something once they are committed. When you deal with a BLUE, be sincere, make an effort to truly understand them, and truly appreciate them.


What Color Are You?
brought to you by Quizilla

Day 34: Starting line

I was never one for running. I know there are many of my friends that thrive on the track- they run for fun, for crying our loud- but I'm just not one of them. I do sports here and there, have been since school days (it was mainly netball then) till a triple left knee injury left me rather incapacitated sports-wise. Doctors banned me from sports for a good while, and I was forbidden to play anything competitively anymore. No more training, no more running around, no more drills (though I must admit it was nice to not have to do circuit training which I've always hated).

It worked out in the end: I joined the editorial society and realised I could write rather well; got roped into do drama by a good friend of mine and realised I could pull of a show pretty darn well; and was forced into debates which, I must say has been one cool ride.

I suppose what I'm trying to say- not that I have any real point in this entry- is that where we start is really so arbitary. Its almost random to the point that its hard to say that we'd even complete the race we thought we began. That sometimes, whilst running you find yourself having to pass the baton, pass some friends, and sometimes the race takes you onto some strange terrain, into unknown, unchartered places. Where we change paths, discover new things and keep on running anyway.

Day 33: SHAPE up and other things

Thing one:
I've been reading the Purpose Driven Life the past 33 days and it has been absolutely great. Its been a bittersweet, humbling, eye-opening journey of introspection, of faith and of new learnings and discoveries. Its brought be a great deal of peace, a huge share of hope and the quiet surety that while this road may be long its going to be worth walking. The past few days, passages have been dealing with the idea of servanthood and what it means; that we aspire to be servant-leaders when we should simply be servants. That we need to serve without question, unceasingly and without complaint. Its a tall order. I've clearly been way off mark these last so very many years. Its tough and maybe I do need to SHAPE up (those that read would appreciate the double meaning).


Thing two:
One of the things I cannot stand about some people is when they string other people along. When they make a promise, say to meet you for dinner, they set a date and time and all that jazz. So, when nearing the date, you call to confirm, to make sure the date is still on, the place is the same and the timings haven't changed- I mean, you know how fickle our hectic lives can be. And when you call, this person tells you that she is considering having the meal with someone else instead because, perhaps, this other person alledgedly dresses better or has a bigger diamond ring. And you say, ok: but to let you know by the morning before the set the appointment. And she does not. So you decide to go have a meal with your someone else- then your friend calls and...oh, no... wants you to meet her anyway, and expects you to accede to her, ditching this new friend, because, she cries,"I'm so important!".

"Sorry, go have dinner with one of your many dates." I had dinner with the other someone, and it was great.


Thing three:
To you that ask the question, here's my answer-

"What's the story, morning glory?"
Its hidden in the stars.

Day 31-32: Spilt milk

So you broke a mirror.
So you smashed some glass.
So you spilt some milk.
So you burnt some bridges.
So you don't have it all.
So you need much more.

So what?
Don't listen to what they say.
Don't heed their crap advice.
Don't buy their selfish lies.
Don't give in.
Don't give up.
Don't just be.

Chin up.
People love you still.

I do.

Day 30: When you said...

When you promised.
I believed it.
I don't anymore.

So much for honesty.
Then again, maybe you're right, I'll never understand.
So, I'll do the next best thing.
I'll pretend.

I do that often enough anyway.

Day 29: When it's time

I had a long chat with my aunty today- acutally, she's more like my cousin given she's only about three years my senior, but oh well. Anyway, we've been meanining to catch up for the longest time. But work schedules and other committments have made the two of us drag out our little get together. We tried for lunch, didn't take off. We tried for coffee, didn't happen. We even tried for meeting at each other's place, still no use. We finally had the chance to meet up tonight and I think maybe it was all in good time that we met tonight- not earlier, not later.

The last two years, the two of us have tried our best to find ways to fit into each others life. Given how similar our values are, the things we like and the stuff we like to busy ourselves with, it should have real easy for our lives to meld, mesh and makes sense with each other. Obviously, that has not happend and we've both begun taking our own paths, choosing different turnings and side roads to venture into. We meet occasionally, speak incessantly about getting together- but something always comes up.

Tonight's girly catch-up was good. Tonight our little chat confirmed a lot of things for me, it brought me a stillness and peace about several pressing issues, especially where the fusion of our lives. It has shown me that everything happens in good time, and things happen for a reason. That though sometimes I can't see why I'm walking the path I'm on, that I doubt, get totally terrified.... it will all be revealed to me in due time. And when I falter, when I question and start to worry beyond what I can handle- I only need to know that I don't always have to know what lies beyond the bend.

And its ok.

Day 28: Patience

I know we all have the same number of hours in each day. You have 24 hours, so do I. But how come, in the recent days, I've felt like I have been moving at such a strange supersonic speed that I can hardly catch my breath. There are always too many things to do, a pile of stuff that was due two days ago and my in-tray and schedule book is filled with this, that and the other. There are things to review, meetings to have, stuff to prepare and I feel like I'm drowning. It makes me just want to curl up in a ball, sit in a corner and be by myself. I don't want to chat, I don't want to go out, I don't want to have to do things that I really don't want to do. I just want to be still, be quiet and be me. I don't want to be hounded after, nagged at, pestered or bothered. I want to stick to deadlines I care about. I want to care about people I choose to care about. I want to do things that truly matter to me. So there. Hmph.

Breathe. Breathe. Breathe.

Ok, Cherie feels better already.

Ps: Happy Birthday Joan. :)

Day 27: Solitary Silence

In Mich's recent post, she quoted from Ginny Owen's "If you want me to..." Its a phenomenal song about walking a broken pathway, following signs that may not be all that clear purely on Faith. That we may not always understand why we are where we are but because He first loved, because He first braved the fire, and because He already promised we'd never walk alone- we'd walk through the valley if He wants us to. That "when the whole world turns against me/And I'm all by myself/And I can't hear (Him) answer my cries for help/I'll remember the suffering (His) love put (Him) through/And I will go through the valley, If (He) wants me to..."

One solitary Life
By Dr James Allan Francis

Here is a man who was born in an obscure village, the child of a peasant woman. He grew up in another village. He worked in a carpenter shop until He was thirty. Then for three years He was an itinerant preacher. He never owned a home. He never wrote a book. He never held an office. He never had a family. He never went to college. He never put His foot inside a big city. He never traveled two hundred miles from the place He was born. He never did one of the things that usually accompany greatness. He had no credentials but Himself...

While still a young man, the tide of popular opinion turned against him. His friends ran away. One of them denied Him. He was turned over to His enemies. He went through the mockery of a trial. He was nailed upon a cross between two thieves. While He was dying His executioners gambled for the only piece of property He had on earth – His coat. When He was dead, He was laid in a borrowed grave through the pity of a friend.

Nineteen long centuries have come and gone, and today He is a centerpiece of the human race and leader of the column of progress. I am far within the mark when I say that all the armies that ever marched, all the navies that were ever built; all the parliaments that ever sat and all the kings that ever reigned, put together, have not affected the life of man upon this earth as powerfully as has that one solitary life.

Day 26: Growing up

"We are not meant to remain as children..." (Eph 4:14a)


What a sobering thought isn't it?

Day 25: Household of Faith

In the midst of the insanity that is my life now, it was a great reprieve to put everything on hold for just a bit. For a good six odd hours, all my anxieties, my incessant worries and concerns, not to mention the absurdly long to-do list I really need to tackle were- thankfully- relegated into some strange recess of my brain and disallowed to surface. I had the chance to spend sometime with my sunday school girls at Angie's place (Angie's our former sunday school teacher) for a long overdue get together; no less greatly urged by the fact one of our number is going to leave us for the desert state for a good two years.

These are girls that have seen me grow, seen me mature and seen me through some of the most crazy stuff life has thrown me. They have kept the faith, gone the distance and loved me regardless. As friends, as sisters, as confidantes, we have weathered school pressures, work uncertainties and doubts; we have closed ranks when it was needed and given space when the situation warranted for it- lovingly praying and caring from afar. We have seen each other through relationship ups and downs; celebrated and mourned, cheered and rebuked, uplift and encourage each other; we've worried together, shared enough secrets to fill a library twice over and been the faithful refuge from life's occasional raging tempest.

Its rather sobering, I guess, to think back at the journey that we all have shared. To see how far we have each come and to realise how far we each have to go. And the scary reality that it may be a while before we get to revel in the simplicity of a gathering such as today where we cooked, baked, ate, laughed, played games and told stories, shared tender moments and totally out-of-whacked ones.

E, all the best. Have a safe flight, a great experience and we'll send you the la-lache book when the time calls for it. :) And happy birthday TC: thanks for allowing us to invade your life, your home and your birthday. Angie, thanks for all that you have been to me, to us, over the years... you have truly been a blessing. To the rest of the girls: Thanks for all that you have been to me over the years, don't know how I'd have survived it all without you all. To the three little ones, love you loads. Enough said.

Day 24: Hung up my ballet shoes

I no longer dance. No longer wear my ballet shoes.
I no longer prance, or spin, twirl or stand, balancing on tippy toes.
I no longer do my barre exercises or even own a tutu.

Now, I simply sit at the side and watch.
Watching the leaps. Watching the poise.
Watching the silent watery Grace tell life's story.

Quietly.

Day 23: Reflection

In the stillness, let me find me.
In the melee, let me find You.

Day 21/22: The old code

Am still in my clearing up my room phase and came across a bunch of old Pre-U seminar photos and saw one of this old friend of mine. He was originally a friend of a guy in my group and he sat behind me at the many seminars and lectures, trading notes about silly things. He was a huge medieval freak so he memorised all these old quotations and stuff and while I was scribbling senseless/nonsense lyrics, he wrote me a copy of the old code. Later when we became good friends, he sent me a drawing of an old castle, a dragon and some knights with the following:


The Old Code

A knight is sworn to valour.
His heart knows only virtue.
His Blade defends the helpless.
His might upholds the weak.
His word speaks only truth.
His wrath undoes the wicked.

It comes from the movie Dragonheart, which remains till today one of my all time favourite movies. It stars a gorgeous Dennis Quaid and a totally hot Sean Connery, even if he's just the dragon. Plus, it has a kick ass set and an absolutely beautific soundtrack. If you haven't already seen it, you should. If you have, see it again. I personally plan to, once I find my copy under the rubble I call my room.