cliché rant to end the silence

Many times before,
between my last post and now,
I've picked up a pen and stared at a blank sheet of paper
(Read picked up my phone and stared at a blank screen)
And willed my creativity to express in words the deep thoughts within me.

But as the lack of posts suggests, it didn't happen.

It is somewhat sad then that my silence is to be broken by a cliché rant, but some expression is better than none?

I'm beginning to dislike... no... hate, facebook.

My reasoning is simple. You see, providing your friends and family (and the occasional attractive stranger?) With a platform from which they can view at least the highlights of your life comes a certain degree of expectation.

Particularly in my case where your audience is "back home" and eager to keep in touch with the loved one "abroad".

Meeting this expectation is beginning to drain me.

I felt obliged, for example to post a status on my recent completion of my MSc (shameless plug).

I can hear the protest of the skeptic reader who thinks that no one or nothing can oblige you to post on Facebook.

But I must defend myself,  for this is a case whereby silence (the lack of a post) leads to speculation which, for any person who is honest enough to admit that what people think about you sometimes does matter, is a dangerous thing.

Did she not pass? Imagine,  her parents spent all that money! No wonder she hasn't come back yet...

I thought you had a new boyfriend,  no pictures of you two? Maybe she made him up. Is there something wrong with him? 

What do you mean you're deleting your account?  What are you hiding?

You see, a Facebook account comes with the expectation that you will bare to your loved ones at least some part of you.

Not so much as to be "airing your dirty laundry in public", but just enough to quell any misguided assumptions based on your silence.

And that is why I'm starting to dislike... no... hate Facebook.

Something, Anything...

I want to write something, anything..

Even if only to prove to myself that I can, to demonstrate that the words that appear in the other posts on this page were in fact written by me...

I want to write something, anything...

Even if only to uproot the confusion growing in the crevices of my mind, to evict the memories threatening to evoke squatters' rights and take up permanent residence...

I want to write something, anything...

Even if only to shake this feeling of regret, of decisions mulled over but never made, to provide a plank on which my deepest, darkest thoughts can walk and meet their end in a watery grave of publicity...

I want to write something, anything...

Even if only to appease the itch of my fingers to tap black letters onto a white sheet to form words that strewn together make sentences that may or may not make sense...

I want to write something, anything...

Even if only to end the silence.

The Appeal of the Duel

I suddenly wondered if I was born with an inherent appeal to being fought for.
Perhaps my fascination with Disney movies extended to include the knight in shining armor wielding his sword to conquer the heart of a princess.
Maybe God Himself created me with a congenital aspiration to give my heart to he who has fought the good fight and battled all odds to claim me as the prize.

Whatever the source of this desire, the undeniable fact remains it exists;
The Appeal Of The Duel.

The appeal is so strong that in the absence of a human opponent, I create one.
Flick through the chronicles of my life and witness the great battles between man and
timing
distance
circumstance
age
ambition
Each opponent subconsciously conjured up by me for the knight at hand to battle to the death for me.

Alas, with every victory comes the introduction of a new opponent, until, having made it to the final round,
having outlasted my imagination and sub-conscience, he faces
The most dire of the adversaries. The most deadly of the contenders. The most terrifying of all foes.

Should all other obstacles be overcome, should each battle be won, the war is not over until you have fought

ME for me.

Self Pep Talk

It is an amazingly liberating feeling to finally grasp the concept of being free in Christ.
Being free not to sin.

It sounds like such a strange idea; sin equating bondage. 
But how many times have you done something you regret, 
and then sat there thinking about it, 
dwelling on it,
rolling it over and over in your mind, 
imagining how you ought to be punished, 
wondering how you will make up for it. 

You are forgiven, and you know it, but you somehow feel that there must be more to it than that. 

That's when you are most in danger of being gradually drawn into habitual sin; 
a vicious cycle of sin, guilt, and self-inflicted retribution. 
You've messed up, fallen down, but instead of getting up, dusting yourself off and carrying on, 
You convince yourself that you need to somehow make up for what you've done before returning to the cross. 

But that's just it, that's what the cross was, is, and ever will be for!
HE paid the price. No retribution (self inflicted or otherwise) will compare to that payment paid on the cross. 
Stop belittling HIS suffering! 
Nothing you could do could save you. And nothing you can do now can pay the price for your sin.
Nothing but the blood!

Sin has consequences, indeed, some harsher than others, but don't sit around waiting for them. Do not allow the rift in your relationship with God caused by your sin to widen due to lack of an ability to understand that even the sin yet to be committed has been paid for. 

Go to your Father in humble repentance, then go and sin no more. 

Be free!

The Man I'm Waiting For

The man I'm waiting for is looking for a woman.

The man I'm waiting for is looking for a woman who understands that submission is not weakness, and true strength is portrayed in a willingness, even eagerness, to humbly obey and serve. That submission is in fact a natural response to the receipt of the sacrificial, Christ to church type love. 

The man I'm waiting for is looking for a woman who is secure in her identity in Christ, so much so that she doesn't waste time arguing about roles, chores, and status. She does all that she does as unto the Lord knowing that Christ's opinion of how her labour is valued is the only one that matters, and her reward will come one day when it truly counts. 

The man I'm waiting for is looking for a woman whose high hopes and expectations are staked on the only one who will never let her down. A woman who knows who will supply all her needs, and from whence cometh her help. 

The man I'm waiting for is looking for a woman who does everything without murmuring and complaining. Who never uses hormones as an excuse to disobey the commandments to be kind, tender hearted and forgiving. 

The man I'm waiting for is looking for a woman who is clothed with good deeds, suitable for a woman who professes to serve Christ. Her modesty is what first caught his eye, and her character is what keeps it. 

The man I'm waiting for is looking for a woman who sees beyond the cliche interpretations of Proverbs 31, to the heart and root of the chapter, realising that only virtuous women make virtuous wives. 

The man I'm waiting for is looking for a woman who's waiting for him. A woman who knows that as she waits for the man of her dreams she should busy herself preparing to be the woman that would complement such a man; redeeming her time in the season that she is in. 

The man I'm waiting for is looking for a woman who prays without ceasing; having experienced the truth that the prayers of the righteous avails much. 

Lord, help me be the woman that the man I'm waiting for is looking for! 

A Lesson in Trust

You stand there on unstable footing, head tilted back in defiance of doubt, eyes locked onto the intended target, and arms outstretched in abandon of reason. 

You stand there staking all on the assumption that your request, will not go unanswered. Your collateral is the times before that you were not left wanting. Already you seem to have forgotten the times you cried in frustration and confusion as to why your outstretched arms did not yield immediate escape from your unpleasant, uncomfortable circumstance. Or perhaps you can somehow sense that when your call to be lifted goes unnoticed, it is for your own good. 

You stand there; your default assumption that your cries do not go unheard and will result in the fulfillment of all your needs. To assume anything else is to imply failure of your supplier, and for you, that is not an option, that is unfathomable. Yet the one in whom you trust so totally is I.  I who suffered no pain in your creation, I who go home at the end of the day and miss the midnight pangs and tears. 

Still I think of how my heart leaps with joy when I see your little arms reaching up to me, needing me. I think of how privileged I feel that you call out to me, knowing that I will not ignore you, that I in fact can not turn a blind eye nor a deaf ear. I think of how much I love you... then, then I think of a much deeper love. A love greater than which is not to be found among man. A love that is only imperfectly mirrored in my constant answer to your cries and your unwavering belief that they will be answered. 

You stand there in innocence teaching me through your wise example the relationship of trust that I ought to have with my Father. Reminding me of He who more than me can supply all needs. He who promises to keep in perfect peace the child who keeps a steadfast mind and trusts in Him. You unknowingly live out a perfect example of the trust I should adopt. A trust strengthened by memories of the times before when He met my outstretched arms with His warm embrace. A trust nurtured by the realisation that the times when I was left to cry for some time, resulted in a stronger, more patient me. 

My dear child, you teach me the true meaning of The Stand; to stand arms high and heart abandoned in awe of the One who gave it all. To stand my soul surrendered to the One in whom I find my identity. 

Father, All I am is Yours. 

Why I Can't Complain

So, I'm sitting in my garden outside my locked house for which I don't have the key, and I'm thinking, there are just so many reasons that I can't complain about this unfortunate situation. 

The most obvious reason is of course that it's my own fault for leaving the keys inside... but there are far more reasons that require further analysis and some insight into the details of the situation.

I've got time, so allow me to spend it counting my blessings...

First of all, this whole mess occurred due to the fact that I failed to transfer my keys (along with everything else I needed) from one handbag to the next. This sheds light on the fact that I own more than one handbag... I have quite a few actually, to match the large collection of shoes I've amassed, not to mention that I actually have a house to be locked out of. 

But yes, let's move on from the more basic blessings that we all allow ourselves to take for granted in such situations. 

I wouldn't dare complain about the fact that my keys were the only necessary item that remained locked inside the house. Had I also left my wallet, my phone or the documents I needed for the appointment that I managed to make, I would have been in a far worse situation. 

I could complain, however, that God didn't answer my pleading prayers that the door would miraculously open, that the keys would mysteriously surface in my bag or even that I would have absentmindedly forgotten to lock the back door before I absentmindedly locked the front door with my keys still inside. I even mentioned to Him that, being the considerate pray-er that I am, I was willing to settle for an unlocked window... I did everything short of promising to fast and pray for a few weeks afterwards in thanksgiving (although I thought about it so maybe that counts as a prayer?)... 

But He did answer my prayers, just not how I'd specified... He chose to answer my prayer differently, simultaneously answering an earlier request that He provide me with some fresh blogging material, and the time to devote to it.

How'd he answer my prayer you ask? Finally, something to complain about, in about 2 hours, I have to walk a mile to collect a spare key from my landlord, walk back home to unlock the door and collect my key, walk back to return the key and finally return home for the evening... (yea He chose to also answer my prayer for motivation and opportunity to increase my exercise, talk about killing 3 birds with 1 stone). Of course that complaint is synonymous with complaining that I serve a wise, hearing God with a sense of humour, have a kind landlord, and have 2 well functioning legs.... So basically, I guess I can't complain.