BANDITS
We're bandits in an abandoned forest,
On a last-minute adventure at dusk.
Colours fade from trees, sky and red earth;
Tall grasses are whispering quietly to us
On this winter's evening.
BANDITS
We're bandits in an abandoned forest,
On a last-minute adventure at dusk.
Colours fade from trees, sky and red earth;
Tall grasses are whispering quietly to us
On this winter's evening.
I wrote this during the end of the COVID-19 lockdown and just found it saved in my drafts. It's not particularly well written but I think the memory of that crazy time is important.
To me lately, God, and the feeling of who he is, has expanded. I'm not sure that it fits into this rectangular setting of church anymore. It's quite a unnerving feeling to step outside of what you've grown up with; to dip your toes into the unknown. Gone are the four safe walls of the church and instead I've just been faced with questions.
What does my faith mean to me now? Where do I go from here? How do I answer all these questions in my head?
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I’m sitting at a favourite coffee shop – well, a former favourite that I’ve rediscovered – staring at the little row of shops and people walking past.
The beginning of a year always makes me feel reflective. What are my plans for 2021? What am I aiming for personally? Spiritually? In my work life? Where do I want to travel to (if Covid-19 allows this)?
But this year is different. This year I was full of hope and moments of excitement and expectations – but so far 2021 has just felt like 2020 Part Two.
I think that the pain of stillness is one that I’m wrestling
with the most. Stillness and waiting. Of pausing. I’m learning to live in this
liminal space. To see the treetops swaying in the wind. To take in the bold
blue sky. To go on mountain walks and breathe in the smell of earthy fynbos. To
learn that this life is wonderfully up and down; and that beautiful moments
occur even in the in-between.