Pieces, Pieces.

The clouds roll across, they’re pulled back, folded, crumpled. The movement is smooth. There must have been a build up, an angry festering causing these clumps to come.

Oh no! 
The paper she scrunched is above

The clouds
Watch them move

On the mount she perched
Limbs stretched

Her hair her fortress
Her eyes a disguise

The window of worth
A reflection
A mirror

Of the gaping earth

Look across the empty plains

What plains, you say?
Well, it depends how we frame

Do you frame the seen, or follow belief?
Do you dream, or need a specific scene?

Here, see.

Some plains for you, some plains for me.
The scrawling hills of your hope, the canvas of creativity.
Make your mark at the tip, then start the voyage to the valley.
No uphill motion here, no, only a downward spiral to your death.

Oh wait.

Unless you want your life to be kept?
Do you care for your bones, your flesh?

A person who holds onto
their life can never be free.

You can have wealth, materials, experience, a family; but
if you forget your identity…
if you centre your life on temporal fidelity…
then you will never see the freedom that is outside this reality.

If you have good dreams then maybe, just maybe will that save your life from the despair of a fallen identity? If your curiosity and wandering tells you anything, then maybe the condition of your life has more to do with the inner voice, closed inside, than the outer life you show and tell for ‘likes’.

But even then, deep inside, there is a duality to your desires. You are conflicting and contradicting your very own self. So don’t look to self to secure your identity. Deny yourself, deny your dreams. Follow the one who knows you intimately – all your needs. Centre your life on Christ. Your hope. Your identity. 

A life held at arms reach.


Sitting on the mountain, feel the wind brush the sides of the vessel you call you.

You move, you shake.
You’re helpless.
Always on the verge of break.
Pieces, pieces.
Thats who you are.

No piece is a masterpiece without the Master. The Master pulls the pieces together, mends the breaks, heals the aches. The Master can mould these fragments into a frame of a new plain.

Ah, the plains, yes the plains.
Remember them?
Gaping, escaping.
Your hope.
A new plain.


HE who is Mighty to Save

The Saviour’s feet
All we need

You cannot save yourself.
You cannot create your own destiny.
You cannot shape your own identity.

Your identity is HE
HE who endures
HE who remains
HE who sustains
Regardless of age, fashion, cultural terrain.
HE is the way
HE is the truth
HE is the life
this HE?
Jesus Christ
his blood
paid the price
for you
for me
to be free

believe this HE
you will receive
true life



There is a whisper
Of a louder symphony

Respond from the Heart