it’s written, that where the will of God cuts through the will of man, something must die and I guess that was us. i didn't know what else to do with the kind of Love that replaces itself with silence. you left me speechless. but shaken from our grave with nothing left in me but some deathly hush i whispered a prayer so silent, only God, and you, could have heard it. would I ever see that picture of me dancing again? or run my fingers over the ink from your pen (now a Time Machine) back to where your heart scribbled itself into immortality and poetry for me? and the answer thank God was yes.
The Answered Prayer: Yes.
Of all the poems, and written on poetry day, only one was found and returned to me. It’s all i’ve got to hold of you and me Dad, and it’s everything to me now. You must have written it to me, tucked away in our old haunt on Mitchell Street in Glasgow. It was called Yes and it was our favourite place to meet. I was 18 then. And now at 41, i’m sitting here shocked into a new kind of silence with you, holding in my hands all the hallmarks that Heaven heard me.
And in the witness and evidence of these Graces, I’m reminded of something I was told a long time ago - that every single word is a prayer, and that God’s answer is always… Yes.
don't know really, you said, blue-grey I think: and I closed my eyes, Clare, and saw you there. and If God does exist then what a prayer he must have heard me breathe, when - on the brink as ever of leaving you and your words on the phone - I turned from River Island and walked away... No man is an island entire of itself I heard my lips word to the air as an ocean flooded in grey-blue between us... so much, love we've lost (that mainland we once shared) and at what cost these doubts, fears that daily come crashing in. but this I know - and really know - as true: the grace, Clare - be it blue or grey - that's you. Martin Kennedy (Dad) 1954-2024
Song of the week
A folk-infused singer/songwriter newly in my orbit, I give you Josh Garrels. Not inclined to call himself a Christian or Worship musician with his roots in punk and hip-hop but nonetheless singing out his Faithful heart across genres in a way that both delights and inspires me! This song caught me in just the right way, at just the right time, as all songs do.
Josh’s easy soulfulness spills over into a kind of husky holiness that rises and falls into a raspy, declaration of his devotion. His lyrics, are his testimony and his work feels truly Divine.
Watchman by Josh Garrels
If I'm fully honest
I'm waiting on your promise
Even through the trauma that swept my friends away
The darkness is upon us
The Death of saints and psalmists
But I will sing my song for You anyway
Cos You're all I have, Lord
You are the Way
And I'll always love You
And I will wait
Like a Watchman at the gate
Wait for morning to break
I can feel the winds are changing
Getting further down the range and
Truth is looking stranger than the lies
Cos it's simple and it's holy
It's better than they told me
Jesus, You're my only guiding light
And You're all I have, Lord
You are the Way
And I'll always love You
And I will wait
Like a Watchman at the gate
I'm waiting for morning to break
Waiting to hear You say
Come on, enter into my rest
And lay your head upon my chest
For I have called you friend
Because you kept your lamp burning through the night
And you made your garments pure and white through my good sacrifice
Yeah, singing "Now my Kingdom is with man
So come up to my table and raise up this glass with me"
oh oh oh
Singing "No more tears and no more pain
I'm making all things new again
Just like I promised you"
Sing Hallelujah all the way
And I'll always love You
And I will wait
Like a Watchman at the gate
Lord, I'm a Watchman at the gate
I'm waiting for morning to break
I'm waiting for morning to break
Keep my lamp burning, stay awake
Wild Child
When I begin working with a counselling client I invite them to look out a picture of themselves from childhood that they feel an instant and intense connection to. It has to be emotive enough to open their heart. It must stand out from all the rest. They need to feel an affection and sweetness and a protectiveness toward the little person they are looking back at. It must engender a kind of disbelief… “how can that be me?!” I invite them to keep searching until they find the photograph that brings them to tears… of sadness or of happiness or of anything in between, but to tears. For tears are the language of our preverbal love patterns.
In our first search and rescue mission together we locate the tender spot they have forgotten or can’t bear to feel, and together we turn back toward the innocence and vulnerability that makes us simultaneously more human and more divine at the same time.
For the remainder of our journey the photograph serves as the Watchman over every temptation to condemn, judge, criticism, reject or abandon themselves to distraction, numbing or fear.
Do you have a childhood picture that stirs you? If so, keep it to hand or take a picture of it on your phone and spend a few minutes sitting with him/her in silent listening every morning. What do they need to hear from you today?
These pictures of me with my big brother feel extra special in the midst of so much brokenness. Evidence of when we were both still laughing and dancing and making music together… All of the inner-child work I’ve done over the years I had to do holding these images in my mind without the physical photographs and now I finally have them in my hands, as an answered prayer… “Singing "No more tears and no more pain I'm making all things new again”. *Watchman, Josh Garrels.
*Meet wild child Clare, the menacing little music maker and dancer in full swing! And… my beautiful big brother.
You Better Start Kissing Me by Hafiz
Throw away All your begging bowls at God’s door, For I have heard that the Beloved prefers sweet threatening shouts, Something of the order of: Hey beloved, My heart is a raging volcano of Love for you! You better start kissing me Or Else!
This poem by Hafiz popped up in a book I’m currently reading as part of my 40 days of Lent. I love, love, love that it presents the Beloved as an unreasonable and unruly activist that is hungry for kisses! As a mother of three wild children I very much relate to their “sweet threatening shouts” for love. Who doesn’t know that feeling well, even if we’ve silenced it?! Yes, we try to discipline and temper it out of ourselves, as if it were a problem to respond to this ardent call in our hearts. It strikes me that inner-wild-child, is very closely aligned to the lover and the creative in us too… beautifully childlike and filled with wonder, each make healthy and necessary protests to be heard and thrive best with passion and play - that won’t settle for scraps or mere pleasure. They all have the capacity to endure in silence but when they are left overlong without stimulation, deep presence and the inpouring of a full blown Yes, that small voice gets to be a shout, a declaration, a demand, a dare, a raging volcano, a consequence, a song, a poem… or else!
Until the next love song, Clare x