Between the lychgate and narthex lay
a limbo approaching communion,
where one can linger at the border, sitting in the margin
with enough of a toe hold on tentative worship,
while insulated from the assembled fervour.

And Arthur prayed alone:
conversant with his God,
but wary of the draw of the warmth within
and the risks associated with human contact.

When you stand,
stand on solid ground

When you run,
place your feet with care.

But when you dance,
step out on the sprung floor
and tread the air.

I bear joy rooted in trust
In the trustworthy.

I draw strength from depths
That never run dry.

We seek to pass the time as if
to rid ourselves of trapped
discomfort, somehow brought on
by the excess of it, rather
than cherishing the little we have,
blissful in its scarce passage.

We speak of passing time as if
it were a leisurely pursuit,
but in truth, it passes us
too fast to slow and lounge with us.
In truth, we must rise and ride,
lest we chance falling behind.

Today, I'm taking a day of rest
The first in a long time

Life on aeroplane mode
Picnic in a park
Walking with my Maker
No agenda
Just pleasure

Or at least, that was the intention.

Life on city mode
Festival in a park
Walking through fiestas
Constant clamour
Pierced pleasure

I'm not just "included" here, I belong.
I don't just benefit here, I'm belov-ed.
I'm not tolerated, I'm celebrated.
My mates don't bear with me
for I bear the full image of my Maker
and my Maker is a perfectionist,
making holy vessels fit to carry his presence
and each week His presence walks
and wheels through the front doors here at Cafe Church.

If I must boast, I will boast
of the things that show my weakness.
I will flaunt my gammy knee
and its ability to forecast a heavy early mist.

I will brag of my swollen ankles
as examples of my tendency to slow and amble,
perhaps presenting this as a sign of maturity,
rather than my inability to hurry as I used to.

I will showcase my leg brace
as perhaps a sign of my Maker's kindness,
gifting me a thorn, lest I boast
in one of the great many talents
entrusted to me against His return.

I will display (with no little pride)
a profile characterised by a receding hair line
and a stoop suggesting the weight of decades,
letting the eye of the beholder perhaps assume
wisdom commensurate with my years.

If I must boast, and I surely should,
I will boast of the things acquired by age
and glory in these weaknesses
that cast me more fully on God’s good graces.

If I must boast, I will boast
in my God’s long faithfulness.