Light to the Darkness

Faith, Poetry, Uncategorized

Sowing seeds in the desert may seem insane

When the drought hits, some may say

“what’s the point of working the land”

In your seasons of dryness, don’t stay silent

These are the seasons to declare God’s promises

When your carpet is worn and your knees dented from labouring into what feels like deadness

Raise your voice, plant your prayers

God hears every word uttered in the name of Jesus

And there will be a crop, there will be a harvest

Turn from your disappointments and look to the gardener

He can make water flow from solid rock

Bring life to dry bones, bring joy where there’s none

His love brings abundance, even from emptiness

Holy Spirit come and bring light to the darkness

Which Voice

Faith, Poetry

The devil shouts

Even his whispers are loud

The taunting sounds of all our fears.

But quieten, still now

Listen for the gentle voice

The unforced voice

The outstretched arms voice

Perfect love making a way.

The devil tempts you

Into smaller and smaller spaces

But God’s gentle guidance 

Leads you into wide open places


Faith, Poetry

It’s in that place, an utterance, a mumbled mutter, a barely audible whisper, a scream, a gasping, ranting, silent, loud off loading, begging, standing firm, requesting, yearning, writing his promises on my heart and then pouring them out and hoping, hoping, always hoping that the barriers between angels and men, the barriers between waiting and receiving, the barriers between winning and losing, barriers between my understanding and the reality diminish and my eyes see the glory of God revealed, His kingdom come, His will done on earth as in heaven.



I left church today feeling really down. A mixture of exhaustion and hormones, threatening to push tears over the brink of my tired eyes. My baby girl snuggled close asleep in a sling – and needing some head space, I opted to get the train home to let her sleep, whilst my hubby drove home with Grace. I picked up a mocha from Costa, sat on the cold, rigid seats on platform 2 at Guildford station, trying to hold back the threatening sobs and my rising sense of panic at being caught so vulnerable in public. 

I look up postnatal depression on my phone. Deciding to text a dear friend to ask for prayer, my battery dies. Internally screaming, I shout to God, “Okay, what now? I need you.”

To my left, I notice a lady 30+ years my senior who makes friendly conversation about my sleeping babe. She has a pair of binoculars around her neck and I venture to ask her what she’s on the look out for. She’s on her way to a guided archeological walk – apparently they’re good for bird spotting. I tell her I’m currently obsessed with a programme called Time Team, turns out she is too. We unashamedly admit to each other that we frequently watch the same episode more than once. We lament about lead archaeologist Mick’s sad passing a few years ago. We get on the train, we chat some more. We get onto the topic of Alpha and church.

I get off the train, having momentarily forgotten my dilemma and start wondering if I’d missed saying something that God might have wanted to say to this lovely lady. Gently, the Holy Spirit dropped a sparkling thought into my stilled heart, God wasn’t looking for me to do anything, He just wanted to be my comforter. To provide the answer to my silent panicked heavenward shouts. 

Of all the people that could sit next to me, at that moment, it’s a lovely lady called Gwyneth who shares my random love of an obscure programme about archeology. My God, who knows me and sees me and loves me, orchestrated a very specific conversation just to cheer me up. My Father God cares for me. I just wish I could tell her how God used her to calm the heart of a daughter that He dearly loves.