Men don't wait in line for root vegetables

What if I'm not where I'm meant to be?
What if I've veered off course?
What if I did the wrong thing
and am moving away from the Source?
How could I be so stupid?
What on earth am I going to do next?
I can't make sense of my feelings;
I'm stressed, at a loss, and I'm vexed.

So I stand up
and I sit down
and I stand up
and I pace round,
and then I catch sight of my reflection
and my thoughts are consumed by a barrage of questions:-

What if my skin is melting off my body?
(Bizarre, who's ever thought that before?)
What if my body is carrot shaped?
(Okay, seriously, will you think less weird thoughts, I implore?)
Why do my arms have those bumps on them?
(Everyone knows
that they're just your elbows!)
Why am I asking all these questions?
(It's where your mind goes
when it's left on its own.)

So I sit down
and I stand up
and I pace a little bit.
My mind is everywhere
all at once
and won't put a sock in it!

Impatient for answers,
I'd dance, but my back hurts,
but why does my back hurt?
I'm only 31, not 41,
but hang on,
where's the time gone?
It doesn't seem that long ago
that I was 2-0
and now it's 2-0-1-9
and it doesn't feel fine
and I remember the time
my mum promised a line
of men at my door,
eager to snap up
the opportunity
to be with me
but, wait a sec, I don't see how that could add up
because no-one wants to date you when you look like a carrot!

So I sit down again -
why's this now about men?
Who cares about them?
'What if-' this,
'What if-' that,
you can do so much better than that!
Didn't a wise person once say,
"Any question that starts with 'what if' is a stupid one."?
- wasn't that you just the other day?

Your mind's like a ship
that's gone adrift
and if I may quote Taylor Swift,
"You need to calm down"
breathe in, and breathe out.
Whenever in doubt;
when you don't know,
remember you know
the One who knows.
He won't leave you behind
or stuck in your mind,
drop your burden at His feet
and know you are complete,
strengthened in His presence,
even when feeling weak,
(even when you spent all night laying awake
worrying that you might be carrot shaped!)

Just don't ever give up
because God is your compass,
lighting your way
so you won't go astray,
and never live in fear of making a mistake,
because if God is for you, then what can come against?

So, whether you really did miss your cue,
or anxiety is just tormenting you,
you can breathe a sigh of relief - phew! -
because God will never leave you, nor forsake you.





PS If you really are carrot shaped then God made you like that, so don't worry about it! :)

Who am I?

I’ve lost 5% battery refreshing this blank page,

I waited and waited, what seemed like an age,

hoping for some inspiration to appear,

but nope, it looks like nothing’s here.

But I have to write something

because that’s my thing! 

And if I don’t have that...what do I have?

I stayed committed to my role the night through,

because I guess that’s what I feel I must do;

music and disco lights call me to the floor,

I’m pulling shapes I never knew I had before!

But I have to dance continuously, no break in my swing,

because that’s who I am, and that’s my whole thing!

And if I don’t have that...what do I have?

I couldn’t change one thing about me physically,

because this is exactly the height l ought to be -

even if I wanted to know how it felt to be tall,

to never need an alteration for my dress to the ball

(I’ll be honest, I’m still waiting for my invite)

I know a growth spurt just wouldn’t feel right!

Because I’m small and that’s my thing,

and if I don’t have that, do I have anything?

I thought I had this whole thing worked out,

I knew what my thing was without one shred of doubt,

but then I kept adding,

and then I kept changing,

and did you know that you can’t stop this ageing?

And so before I knew where I was

I had more ‘things’ than I thought anyone could.

I make up sayings like “barrel of confusion”

or spend my whole life misusing them,

so “more money than you can shake a stick at”

becomes “that’s a lot of pennies I wouldn’t shake a stick at”.

Or apparently my other thing is making friends,

or being the one who just can’t shut up on the train.

I’m the one who made a musical,

the one who’s always singing,

the one with a project,

the one who lives for living,

the one who signs off her messages with ten thousand kisses,

the one who doesn’t know what the problem with this is.

The one who loves Prince,

the one who loves Troye,

the one who loves a mike,

and I don’t mean a boy!

The one who’s too comfortable in front of a camera,

the one dreaming of a podcast where she is the anchor.

So I guess those are my things,

but if I don’t have all those, do I have anything?

Well, I’m pretty sure that list will get longer,

as time passes and as I get older,

I’m also completely convinced things will fall off,

and others will move so they’re right at the top.

But none of these things are really my thing,

because none of them really mean anything;

they don’t claim my identity

because that’s centred in Christ,

and He started changing me when He saved my life!

Whatever I think I am is fluid and free

because God’s making me who He created me to be.

He’s making me wise enough to know it’s a mistake

to spend all night on the dance floor without a pee break

(and yes, I can guess what you’re thinking, “That wasn’t obvious before?” - just let that sink in).

He’s making me wise enough to know a blank page

isn’t the end of all my writing days,

directing my projects,

leading me by the hand,

as I move and groove my way towards

being exactly who I am.

And so I can live not knowing what my thing is

because I know who I am, if I know who He is!

Uncensored

I still remember the moment I forgot to censor myself,

on autopilot,

in a café with a friend,
replying to you, without thinking,

hitting that x key a million times,

pressing send before I engaged my thought process...

then hand over mouth as my friend and I both giggled, wondering what you would think.

We didn’t know each other that well then -

now I do it on purpose, on autopilot or fully in the moment.

And how often is censoring as automatic as the thousand and one xs I put on the end of my messages?

Zipped lips are not my forte;

but I rephrase,

dance around

the issue,

go vague,

go airy fairy,

sometimes anyway.

And it makes me wonder how people lead private lives

because when pressed, I’m just out with it.

How can I skirt or avoid it now?

I’ll just tell you the truth.

I’m a book

completely open,

but still more guarded than anyone would suspect

with a mouth as big as mine.

Because I don’t dare tell you that I love you, you know, platonically of course,

and that would normally trip out of my mouth before I could stop it!

And I don’t want to risk telling him that I don’t like it when he makes out like it never happened,

because I feel rubbed out, like a mistake in pencil.

So I’m censored.

And sometimes,

it’s okay 

to not say

these things outloud.

I wish I’d be that way more often,

like when I got offered a soft mint

And I replied, “I love you.”

Or when the barista in Starbucks asked me how my day was

and I told him exactly how it was;

ignored the yawns in his response
(you’d think someone with access to so much coffee could keep those at bay!)

Maybe it’s just time to admit it all?

After all,

I’m usually all or nothing anyway.

That sometimes I’m confident.

Yet other times I hide in the tinned food aisle of the supermarket when I spot someone I know.

Sometimes I speak twenty words per second, and no-one can keep up.

Sometimes I have nothing to say, so speak twenty words per second to fill the silence.

Sometimes I’d just rather hide away and not be noticed,

but then on my birthday
I want that parade,

that serenade,

all through the day.

So there it is,

today I’m uncensored.

We’ll see about tomorrow...