Mooi, mooi 35

Die arme reine naakte waarheid

 ‘n Skildery van Jean-Léon Gérôme, (1824 – 1904) “Truth Coming Out of Her Well,” 1896 kruis my pad die afgelope vakansie.

Die skilder het met die kunswerk ten doel gehad om die “transparency of an illusion” te beskrywe. Hy was entoesiasties oor fotografie se verskyning, en hy sê so ewe in 1902: “Thanks to photography, Truth has at last left her well.”

Ag, jinne, as hy in 2019 geleef het sou so stelling nooit uit sy mond gekom het nie. So naïef oor nuwe wondere en uitvindings was die mensdom net meer as ‘n eeu gelede. Nou is ons ‘n klomp liegbekke, wegkruiperds agter sosiale media, makers van ons eie waarheid, verkondigers van verdraaide werklikhede, verspreiders van vals nuus.

Wie leef werklik outentiek, wie se waarheid loop naak deur die wêreld? Nie een van ons nie, al bely ons ons sondes by die Vader se voete en verkondig ons is Sy kinders.

Ons sit almal daai vals gesiggie op al kook dit binne jou! Komaan, hoeveel keer het jy al vir Liefie gesê alles is reg en mooi, maar binne breek jy in duisend stukke. Jou vriendin vra of sy mooi lyk, jy glimlag en sê ja, al dink jy sy lyk eintlik vreeslik na die Michelin-mannetjie. Liewe Waarheid sak elke dag dieper in ‘n bodemlose put in.

Ons keur nie die naakte waarheid goed nie – dis te ongemaklik vir woorde, ons gaan nie feite na nie, ons konfronteer nie leuenaars nie, ons vermy konflik, want dis “nie lekker nie.” Waarheid gly dieper in die donker slyk af.

Dit wat jy dink ander is, die is hulle nie – want ons kan ons werklikheid verdraai en uitsoek wat publiek is. Die dat soveel mense in winkels by mekaar verbyloop, al is hulle in daaglikse kontak op Vuisboek, Whatsapp en Twitter. Ons weet nie wie die regte persoon is nie. Gesigte word jonger, gladder, maerder getoor met toeps. Foto’s van vyf jaar gelede word gebruik sodat die gang van die tyd en seer en ouer word nie sigbaar is nie. Waarheid is nou moer diep, wegkruipend in ‘n bodemlose put. Om nimmer weer gesien te word nie.

Lees die storie, en dink bietjie na…

So lees ek oral oor Waarheid en haar dilemma en kry die interessante scenarios op Storytelling.co.za

“Setup: The naked Truth dwells in the well, ashamed at how she was seen and treated by the villagers. But 200 years is a long time to dwell in a well for anything, especially the truth. Surely the truth has a purpose? Hiding in a well isn’t really meaningful and there’s not much entertainment down here, reflected the truth. Maybe, she thought, an up-welling is necessary. Because the Lie has travelled the world so long in my garments now everyone has come to believe that it is I who am the liar.  And anyway, it’s so rude of the lie as it should know by now that it couldn’t exist without me, though the truth.

TimeLine1: Truth realises that the Lie has left it’s garments behind next to the well. The truth knows that in order not to be hated, the only way she can be accepted by the village and the world is to be covered in the garb of the Lie. And to this day, the Truth and the Lie have been indistinguishable to all except those who have seen them unclothed.

TimeLine2: The Truth stays in the well. Sometimes people come to sit by the well knowing that the Truth is in there. If they’re really sincere, the truth will out and talk with them. They’re OK with seeing her naked and she’s OK since they don’t hate her. Many seekers come looking for The Truth but she sonly sees them one at a time because The Truth is a very personal experience.

TimeLine3: Truth searches and finds the web pages, twitter and instagram accounts that plainly showed the lie had infected most everyone. There are literally hundreds of billions and billions of lies. Lies everywhere. But from time to time, truth finds allies – they Love the Truth and have created so many stories about her but none of these are trending and, in fact, many of them are being deleted and down-voted and ignored. The truth suddenly, with a great sigh realised that there is a war being conducted on her by the one who took her garments; the Lie himself.”

Hierdie stryd tussen waarheid en leuen kom van altyd af, ek reken daar by Eva en die slang. So blikslaer. Sy leuen het vir waarheid toe reeds in die put laat val. Die herkoms van waarheid in die put spoor ek op in ou ingelse geskrifte circa 1560-1580. Lees self:

1562 J. WIGAND De Neutralibus G6v The truth lyeth yet still drowned in the depe.

1578 H. WOTTON tr. J. Iver’s Courtly Controversy 90 I shall conduct you..vnto the Mansion where the truth so longhidden dothe inhabite, the which sage Democritus searched in the bottom of a well.a

So Waarheid het lank gelede haarself die duisternis in begewe, skaam vir haar naaktheid en verskrik dat die Leuen so maklik haar plek oortuigend kon inneem. Ag ja, die mensdom!

Nou is daar die deel wat my rasend bekommer: Die veldbrand verspreiding van vals nuus en dat ieder mens nou joernalis en regter en laksman is.

Kyk net wat het nou net  op Schweizer-Reneke gebeur. Flippit.

As ek Waarheid is, klim ek nou wragtig ook met daai sweep uit, vergeet van naaktheid en bliksem links en regs tot die klappe van almal se oë val en die waks uit hulle ore spring!

Die ding van vals nuus is dat dit sirkulêr is. Iemand dit iets as die waarheid op, dit word deur al wat kamtige en regte media huise, Vuisboek verbruiker en kwetsers op TwotterTwitter as evangelie versprei.

Siedaar, die bron van die vals nuus verdwyn, want vingers kan nou na ander gewys word, en so word die Leuen die waarskynlike waarheid en vure van venyn, vrees, haat, agressie en gekose narratief sirkel soos aasvoëls om onskuldige slagoffers. Kyk gerus die video van Ted-Ed onderaan hierdie blog inskrywing.

Die wat die waarheid najaag weet al dis ‘n eensame pad. Die waarheid word slegs in stilte en kalmte gevind. Dit word slegs met wysheid en omsigtigheid bekom. Dit word by God se voete gevind. Sela

“Lies are a little fortress; inside them you feel safe and powerful. Through your little fortress of lies you try to run your life and manipulate others. But the fortress needs walls, so you build some. These are justifications for your lies.” 
― William P. Young, 
The Shack

“Truth does not need publicity, lies do.” 
― Abhijit Naskar, 
Human Making is Our Mission: A Treatise on Parenting

“You have a choice,” she told the class. “The whorish emptiness of lies or the straightlaced horrors of truth.” 
― Lorrie Moore, 
Anagrams

Flannery O’Connor sê: “Julle sal die waarheid ken, en die waarheid sal julle vreemd maak.” Dis die reine waarheid, glo my!

Ter afsluiting, hou ek vas aan hierdie woorde van Hubert von Zeller: “As ons nie fyn luister nie, sal ons nie die waarheid ontdek nie. As ons nie bid nie, kom ons nie eens so ver om te luister nie.” Waar né?

With blessings from above….

Spectacular summer sunrise on an African farm. Truly blessed!

The jubilant song of the resident early bird, a groundscraper thrush, woke me just after 04h30. An overwhelming urge to be outside came over me, and within minutes I was out on the lawn..

In the dawn light Venus shimmered and sparkled like a Royal diamond. The sky tinted with pink, and on the horison the sun was playing with all shades of orange and red.

My heart skipped a beat. I could hear the guitar riff of the Call hit, ‘Let the day begin.’

Heaven was rocking. I rushed to get my camera to capture the magnificent magic. I could hear God saying to me: “Here’s to you my little loves, with blessings from above, let the day begin….”

I ended up playing air guitar, rocking to the melody in my head, with the new dawn and birds bearing witness.

I love starting the day like this!

Rock with me, and enjoy the photo’s.

Be blessed!

Mooi,mooi 34

GOING OUT

I’m going out
and I won’t be home until I’m happier

Less hungry for want of
what I do not know

I hope to find it by the river
or on some bend somewhere on my walk.

I don’t know,
but I will be looking

for the unexpected thing
looking back.

Knowing that
the treasures we collect

are seldom brought home
in sandy pockets.

A note caught in the wind
or leaf or flower bud unfolding

is best left where discovered.

But I, myself,
I can come back

a little higher and wider
for what I’ve found.

A little heart warmed,
or soul-stirred

that my want
may settle down.

Ana Lisa de Jong
Living Tree Poetry
January 2019

Auld lang syne and a sequin dress

fb_img_15461574727631244292509761049787.jpgThe morning of 31 December 1958. My very pregnant mother awakes to a cup of coffee from her adoring husband. It is their first wedding anniversary. It was a year ago when she walked down the aisle in her beautiful white dress,  hair coiffed and Vivian Leigh eyebrows perfect.

By late afternoon, she had to be rushed to hospital. It had been written in the Book of Life that I was to be born. That my dash through life would commence on the very day of their first anniversary.

So there. What followed is a short but meaningful period as first grandchild with my parents and extended family. I was doted upon. Making me a precocious and busy little person by all accounts. Four years in, I was joined by a sister and cousins followed in short succession.

My new role was neither here nor there. Often I was my grandmothers youngest youngest. My last born aunt and I differ about six years. The rest of the new generation about four years or more after me. I was stuck in the middle. Christmas and Easter holidays heralded family gatherings.

As oldest cousin I was doomed to be the childminder when the adults went off shopping.  No need to feel sorry for me. My greatest gift was that I learnt to read at a young age. So I would organise the cousins in their groups, boys to one side, girls to the other, and would nose-dive into a book.  Many wondrous journeys all over the world in grandpa’s chair, while the younger cousins played their hearts out.

From the get go, I got used to my birthday being second to anniversaries and New Year celebrations.  I got used to not having birthday cake. To this day I associate birthdays with left-over fruity Christmas cake with almond icing, and one gift to last me from Christmas to my birthday. So between Jesus and my parents and New Year, my life celebration was slotted in.

From a young age I celebrated fantasy birthdays. Lots of friends, balloons, interesting places as venues. I never let anyone know about my feelings or fantasies. Smile and wave, smile and wave. Let everyone get about their own celebrating. More time to read and escape. 

As my dash extended, those near and dear to me departed. My parents passed away in short succession, my sister married and we grew lives apart. Life happens and your road is your road. Many non-eventful birthdays followed, until my soulmate arrived.

He understood my aversion to crowds, meaningless greet the New Year parties, headaches and thirst the first day of the New Year. We now spend a quite evening with whoever is around, or not.

He will surprise me with a once a year bouquet of flowers and when times are good a piece of jewellery and lots love and care. My beautiful daughter will spend the morning with us, and then, off she goes to join friends to celebrate a chance at 365 better days. Her presence in my life an utter joy and blessing.

Like Lucy Jordan will never drive through Paris, with the warm wind in her hair, I will never wear the sequinned ballgown, walk into the arms of my lover and dance with light bouncing off my beautiful dress. No friends and dear ones standing in awe at the beauty of that moment.

The song I  always dance to “Auld lang syne.” 

No, don’t get upset or anxious. Because my song is not sad, it is filled with memories, moments and monuments. The dress is richly sequinned. The gold represents people I have loved, known, embraced, had to say goodbye to. The silver -wisdom and growth, sometimes filled with tears and sorrow and pain, often with joy and ecstasy and love. There are red ones, green ones, purple, all the colours and feelings and emotions you can imagine.

Around my wrist I wear a bracelet of charms – the gift of words, honour, righteousness, belief, love, friendship, travels, sunshine, all sorts of well lived gifts and memories. This is real – the bracelet and its meaning.

As I write this on the morning of my 60th year, I realise the end of my dash is somewhere in the future. That I must make hay. The time left precious and the length of days uncertain. Every moment will by choice, be of quality.

No commitment to resolutions of bigger, better or more. Rather commitment to gratitude, grace and hope and a great sense of humour.

I choose to celebrate the 39th anniversary of my 21st birthday today.

I have lived 6 decades, 720 months, 2 130 weeks, 21 915 days, 525 960 hours, 31557 600 minutes and counting! In dog years I am 420, in scrabble only 15 points scored! Interesting. I like the many perspectives and options surrounding my age.

I read somewhere there are 60 seconds in a minute, 60 minutes in an hour. 60 is a safe speed limit too!

So three score ago, my legend was born, and I intend to thoroughly live whatever score may be reserved for me with all that I have, and in an epic way. Making all my moments count. 

Happy New Year!

May God bless and keep us all.

PS. I did some investigating of my new rights as 60 year old. I can get discounts, free coffees, and so on at various places. I’ll think about taking it up. 

Oor poinsettias en die lieweheersbesie op my stoep

Op my stoep staan die krismis poinsettias en hou die vet rooi keramiek lieweheersbesie van LisaBsArt mekaar en geselskap hou. My dekor vir my en Rots se Oujaar oppie stoep. Hy het die inkopielys en is vort dorp toe. Bab is besig om te pak. Die huis is skoongeskrop, die verjaardagwense stroom via sosiale media in en so nou en dan bel iemand. Ek is 60 vandag. Op die oujaar. Maar ek wil nie oor die mylpaaldag vertel nie. Ek wil vertel van die poinsettia en lieweheersbesie.

Poinsettias is ook bekend as die “Christmas Star” of “Christmas Flower” en is van Meksikaanse oorsprong. Daar is ‘n legende dat ‘n kindjie, met niks om te offer vir die Baba Jesus se geboortedag nie, langs die pad onkruid gepluk het. By die kerk het hy met kinderlike opregtheid by die altaar gekniel en die bossie neer gelê. Net daar, voor die verstomde gemeente se oë, vind ‘n wonderwerk plaas. Die bossie onkruid omvorm in die mooiste groen en bloedrooi blomme. Mag ons in kinderlike geloof ons bossies onkruid, ons alles wat ons het, voor God se voete neer kom lê, om die wonder van Sy liefde en Sy Raadsplan vir ons lewens, beleef. Nou hier waar die poinsettias nog vol in die blom staan en ook elke dag vorentoe.

Die lieweheersbesie se storie is bietjie anders en ook diep. Die flukse geliefde besie waarvan daar 5000 variteite wêreldwyd is, is geliefd in landbou, omdat dit baie plant plae bestry. Al sedert die Middeleeue vertel nalees my. So die besie deel is maklik. Die Liewe Heer gedeelte, sekerlik in Afrikaans omdat ons kan dankie sê vir ons Skepper vir die helpertjie.

As jy egter na die Engelse benaming “ladybug” kyk en na die oorsprong daarvan, is daar ‘n aangrypende storie. Die “lady” na wie verwys word is niemand anders as onse Jesus se moeder, Maria nie!

Die lieweheersbesie mees algemeen in Europa en omtes, se vlerkies is rooi, en op elke vlerk is sewe swart kolletjies. Dié volgens oorlewering, verteenwoordig die sewe smarte van die Maagd Maria – van Simeon se profesie oor Jesus se lyding tot haar eie aanskou van sy kruisiging en begrafnis. So vir die middeleeuse mens was die lieweheersbesie ‘n aardse herinnering aan die heilige moeder van ons Here, Jesus.

So, my liewe leser, as jy weer ‘n lieweheersbesie sien – dink aan Maria en alle Mammas in jou lewe. Die diep rooi van ons liefde en die seer en swaar wat ons vir ons kinders sal dra. Dink aan die Kind wat alles feil het vir ons. Sy Lewe, liefde en sorg.

Nie troef geluk nie, nee, ewige geluk. Glo dit kinderlik. Alles beste vir 2019.

Eat. Pray. Love.

I posted this on Facebook, 24 December 2010:

May the wonder of the celebration of the birth of Christ take your breath away and love and peace surround you. Eat – let the wonders in this life feed your soul; Pray – get to know God; Love – care for others. (Not my own words, translated from wise words by Johan Beukes) Have a Blessed Christmas!

The wonder of Christ becoming one of us, walking in our shoes, leading by example will never cease to amaze me. So many risks taken, to prove Godly love and grace for us, fallible mortal beings. Let this feed your soul.

But God, peace does not surround us. It is something we have to work on deep inside ourselves these days. Here in South Africa, peace is enigmatic, it flutters here and there. And when night falls, we pray Lord, our souls to keep. Evil, hatred and entitlement has its torchlight shining here, there and everywhere…we do not know when evil will call. When it is our window or door broken open for a cellphone, a television set, the bank card or the car in the garage. All because someone is focused on what they do not have. All because of myths and pain and politics. Please help us that fear does not eat away at us.

As I sit and write, my daughter is baking a cake, my husband has lit a braai fire. My dogs are playing catch, the weavers are building nests, the swallows sweeping the sky like playful kites. Clouds of promise are building up – rain for Christmas Eve. Thank you for the warmth, love and belonging and promise of renewal I feel. Thank you for surrounding me with love, for feeding my soul..

On our very, made of wire, African Baobab Christmas tree, the praying angel is tinged with blue. Blue for hope and peace. Thank you God, for letting me see.

We have no gifts under our Christmas tree. We chose to spread our love and care outward. Two scholars in our midst have sponsorship for next year, our staff have a bit extra to spend. We lack nothing because of this decision. As a family, we are, with the grace of God, a fourfold garland. Strong and lasting, and our love spread to places unseen.

So, dear whoever is reading here – eat, pray love – may God bless and keep you.

Ps. I have never received a more meaningful gift than this:

My beautiful child handed me this gift just now.

Four batteries, with a message: “All the power you need for that gift you really want.” The make of battery – Daily-power.

God, was that You?

#SoCS Tin(s) past the best by date


I entered the #NaNoWriMo 2018 challenge as a plantser to write about my life thus far. See on 31 December I will be 60. There was more than enough to write about. On 30 November just over 60 000 words was my achievement.

The writing tin was filled to the brim. The tin can holding memories and thoughts all empty and hollow. So I thought.

Lier,lier pants on fire. After an epic month of writing 1600 word or more per day, something new happened.

I needed to keep on writing every day. Thoughts flowing from deep inside and my fingers flying over the QWERTY keys, liberated me from diving into the same tin of memories, hurt, pain, loss that has defined my life for a very long time.

I have come to realise there are tins that need to be emptied. They are way past their best by date. They do not serve the greater good and general well-being of my soul, my life.

Tins past their best by date causes harm, are poisoned with cloudy content, murky waters.

Writing out my story has helped me rid the pantry of the old, rusted tins. I have re-arranged and repainted the shelves with bright white of hopefulness and wholeness.

New clear bottles with names like acceptance, perspective, understanding, wisdom, love, peace,serendipity and growth have replaced rusted tins filled with loss, pain, grief, anger, loneliness, isolation, guilt and many others.

The newly arranged rows of bottles are filled to the brim. Full of life and new beginnings. A new memory pantry in my heart. What a gift from me to me! No more old tins!

Read more and participate in #SoCS. It is fun.

https://lindaghill.com/2018/12/21/the-friday-reminder-and-prompt-for-socs-dec-22-18/

Mooi, mooi 33

My eie foto, lank gelede by Lekgalameetse…min het ek geweet die paaie wat ek sou loop.

Ek sit en wonder vanmiddag oor die paaie, die ervarings, die strewe an outentiek lewe, oop lewe in jou gebrokenheid; en immer soos altyd asof daar met my gepraat word, lees ek die mooi woordesnoer van Liezel Graham raak.

ON BEING THE HOLY BROKEN
you wonder 
if it is worth 
living your life 
cracked 
wide 
open, whether

wearing your heart 
on your sleeve
and
all your 
hopes 
carried in 
unclenched 
hands, 
is ever safe, where

all the world can 
see, and 
all the world can
say 
what they feel 
about the tender courage 
that has 
taken 
root 
within you.

it will not be easy. 
no.
definitely not.
there will be pain.
it is a new birth,
after all.

but, you must not 
curl 
inward.

lift your head. 
unfurl your spirit. 
reach upward. 
live outward.

you are the holy broken.

the one holding the light.

and if you show your scars, people will come 
and sit with you, 
and they will listen.

and this 
is how we heal each other.
by living gently, 
and walking vulnerably. 
unafraid of opinion. 
ready to wipe away 
tears
and
fears
and
other darkness,
with the light
shining 
from 
the cracks
in our bones.
moved only by the spirit.

so, yes—do it. 
live your life 
a white dove 
on the battlefield.

cracked 
right 
open.

it will all be ok.

—on being the holy broken.

© Liezel Graham 2018.

Vir Towerin Frannie

…en in ons Towerinne reis as Silver...Frannie se hartedief. Nou moet ons mandjies en broodjies oppas!

Sela

As jy meer wil weet oor Sam Elliot aka Silver – lees hier meer oor ons Towerinne se reis deur Suid-Afrika. Dis net ‘n storie, maar ook nie. 

Vurig alleen

Jinne. Daar gaan die giggelgroenbus toe sans Lekkervurig vort om by die suidste suid te gaan koekeloer. Net so. Ek weet nie wat om te maak nie. Scrapy se elonmuskmasjien se sleutel kan ek nêrens kry nie. Hier is nie eers ‘n virtuele besem om mee agterna te vlieg nie. Ag, en daar trek die Harley optog agterna…..

Pfft. Die hele toer kom ek agter my lesery en inVuurvliegie ingeskrikgeit maak my onsigbaar. Uit die oog, uit die hart lyk dit my. Wonder of ek maar my tassie moet pak en die Towerinne moet groet…so snik ek in my koffie, voluit vuurvliegie gemoedsbekak. Ek het van kleins af erge verwerping gevoelens, nie eers my fokjou pilletjies werk daarvoor nie. Die sout trane gee my koffie ‘n snaakse smaak……haai, wat se lawaai is hier buite aan die gang?

Ek loer by die venster uit. O, genade. Dit brand. Dis net rook en vlamme. My hart klop in my keel en ek hardloop af portaal toe. Die mense staan almal beangs rond. Die geloei van sirenes kom nader. Brandweermanne kom vra of ons kan help. Daar is huise wat kan afbrand.

Op bakkies jaag almal toe om te help. Ek gaan saam. Immers beteken ek hier iets.  My biker bandana het ek  om my  neus en mond  gebind, soos die kroeks van die Wille Weste.

Sulke stokke met rubberplakke word ons on die hand gestop en terwyl die brandweermanne hulle waterspuit toerusting op die vlamme loslaat, het ons oral opslag vlamme met die slaangoed gesmoor.

Die roet en rook laat mens se oë traan, en die longe brand. Ons werk hard, en skielik gaan ‘n gejuig op.

Die vuur is geblus. Hoera.

Arniston is veilig.

My hart krimp ineen aan die onthou van bangmaak vure. Kleintyd in Swaziland en later op die mooi Eerstelingplaas, toe dit so amper boord en huis verwoes het. Die Knysna woude se gereeld brand, sommer nou die dag weer, George, en omtes. Ons brose wêreld en mooie natuur wat so vreeslik kan seerkry. Vuur-seisoen nou sommer heeljaar, want droog is nou oral. Rampe op rampe.

Stokalleen keer ek terug na die hotel. Nog niks nuus van die toerende Towerinne nie. Miskien het hulle ‘n breuk van my nodig. Of ek hulle. Darem het my dag nie saai verloop nie.  ‘n Traan biggel oor my wang.

In my kamer spring ek deur die stort en trek vars aan. So op pad uit gryp ek my Kindle. Ek gaan maar vir die see kyk en lees. Alleen. Ek struikel oor die oordrewe deken se hoek.

Ha, Frannie se kosbare mandjie, met al ons skatte.

Ek haal  ‘n broodjie, met kosbaarheid binne, uit en gryp na die foon. Lekker bederf middag by die spa, en dan reël vir aandete op die strand, en ‘n helikopterrit oor die see wanneer die son water trek. O, ja en ‘n ou boetiekrokkie, nuwe haredos, mooi skoene…

Nee, ek gaan nou nie so aaklig soos ‘n Kardashian raak nie. Die klomp sal sekerlik vir een van die Harleys stuur as hulle my afwesigheid soos ‘n koeistal ervaar. ‘n Ware gemis.

Ek bêre die broodjie.

Ek stap af om iewers te gaan sit waar ek vir die see kan kyk.

Skaars gesit, toe hoor ek die Harley.

Towerinne julle kan bly wees!

NS. Dit het rerig vandag om Arniston gebrand. Dankbaar dit kon gekeer word voor daar groot skade gemaak kon word. (foto’s van Toorts se mense op die Vuisboek geleen)

NS. NS. Die Towerinne se virtuele toer trek nou al in die Suidkaap,  Segogga en Toorts en Trommeltjies se geweste.  Die toer  wat al 115 blogs later beslaan kan HIER gelees word. Geniet ons reis! Ons doen!

NS.NS.NS Toorts – ek is nie kwaad oor jy my vergeet het nie! Liefde Lekkervurig. Julle het my darem kom haal, daai lang sonsak is nou wragtig lekker. Die kuier en die kos ook.

WOW!


HOW IT ENDS

We are stories within a story.
Narratives within the larger Word.
Even while we question meaning or reason,
we have comfort in knowing how it ends.

More than players on a stage
we have our own self-determination.
We are safe to make decisions and choices
within the provision of an all-encompassing plan.

Advent reminds us of the eternal story
in which life and death take turns
in entering from the wings.
And nothing in this world is ever final

while His Word has the enduring say.

We are stories within a story.
Narratives within the larger Word.
Even while we wonder at the purpose of our griefs
with relief we keep our trust in joy’s return.

For Advent teaches us the story within the story.
The larger volume and the smallest detail contained.
Held together in His great unfolding scroll
by hands that reach from beginning to end.

Advent recalls to us the gift of waiting.
The treasure held close to Mary’s breast.
The heart already leaps for what isn’t yet,
this comfort in knowing how it ends.

The hope in which we, waiting, 
place our faith.
The trust in what we know 
has been conceived.

Written by :

Ana Lisa de Jong
Living Tree Poetry
December 2018

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Hier gesels ek oor alles wat my bly maak: my taal, die natuur, kuns, die lewe.

Top40Weekly.com

The Weekly Top 40 1955-2017

No Facilities

Random thoughts, life lessons, hopes and dreams

Leeskring met een lid

Waar ons boeke saam met die seelug inasem

The Bee Writes...

oder auch "Die Bea schreibt" *** expect nothing... not even the unexpected *** erwartet nichts... noch nicht mal das unerwartete

Gedigte wat jou laat dink.

Sien die groot prentjie.

TOKELOSHE

a.k.a. I♥2CR8

Kluisenaarsklaviere

Denke oor die wêreld, sy plekke en sy mense. 'n Afrikaanse blog.

Kameel se gebabbel

Waar die hart van vol is, loop die mond van oor

Kruger Theron

Stories met Siel

Daily Manna

By Heart of Worship

Justice's Blog

The fear of the LORD is the beginning of wisdom...The contents of blog ranges from Christian knowledge to my own 'nerdy' posts.

The Depth of Now

Exploring Istanbul Through Storytelling & Photography

Discover

A daily selection of the best content published on WordPress, collected for you by humans who love to read.

Wag 'n Bietjie

Welcome! Come linger a while..

The Sanity Rules

Uncommon common sense

Tannie Frannie

My terapie vir oudword

Ouch!! My back hurts!!

Life according to one of life’s truly gifted naturally born wafflers… an open diary of a Saffer in a different land... life in the greater Dublin & Leinster area. (Since 2011) My quests fuel my dreams… my dreams fuel my quests!!

Liewe Persoon

Ons het almal iemand nodig om na ons te luister

Bondels Gedagtes

Lesse geleer, en stories uit my lewensreis

penpunt

Waar die hart van vol is …

Country Living in Southern Africa

Sharing my life in Mozambique and all things country in Southern Africa

Dream Desire Achieve

The dreams you desire can be achieved, for with God nothing is impossible.

KAITLIN B. CURTICE

Kaitlin B. Curtice

de Wets Wild

Disappearing into South Africa's wild places... Again!

heart prints

live the story you want to tell

filosopete

blessedbeyondrecognition 🇿🇦

WoordNoot

Waar ek my woorde en note kombineer om my storie te vertel

Die Bordkryt

Studentekoerant

Positief

Wat jy in jou gedagtes toelaat, dit word jou lewe

Ekmyselff

dit is wat dit is, ek is ook wat ek is

'n Skrywer se blok

Kortverhale, gedigte en die lewe.

Thulana

Almal om my is gek...

Vinke en Verse

Spraak-, taal- en gehoorterapeut. Kamma-digter. Lewenslange student. Reisiger. Liefhebber van woorde, musiek en Afrika. Deur Genade gered en deur Liefde vrygespreek.

Tapestry of Thought

Cilnette Pienaar weaves and unravels