The kiwi bird, you might have heard Has wings so small, about a third The size of normal wings for most Of other birds with wings to boast He hides himself within the dark So shy of all, his life so stark Avoiding scorn that sunlight brings With song of soaring birds that sings The little kiwi stays earthbound To fossick on the forest ground For food to eat and flight to mourn Between the evening hours and dawn Nocturnal flightless little being He shuffles round just barely seeing Life beyond his long thin beak Misfortune caused by his physique But was it always this way round That he was formed and therefore bound? Or did he waste what he was given And so his Life from him was driven? A message here I think exists From evolution’s fateful twists If our own destiny we foil Life for us will turn to spoil And who we are and what was meant For us as well will be misspent Thus Nature tells a perfect tale For those who listen, hark and hail. Did this Kiwi play a game In writing partly on her name? She is a kiwi, there is no doubt But not the bird who harkened nowt. © Judah, 2003

After many years of wandering in an agnostic wilderness, about six years ago I wrote a shy confession concerning my return to the Christian faith. It was not so specific that it lept off the page, but those who knew me well enough realized something had changed. My confession was written in verse, the subject a shy little NZ kiwi. Yes, that is it there to the left. Following that event came a quest for Biblical knowledge and I read voraciously, asking questions of my Christian friends, and with grateful thanks to a couple of them in particular, received some amazing answers coupled with mature guidance and counsel. In the first year I registered on a friend’s Christian forum to learn more of the faith, and was the 13th person to do so. Was thirteen lucky or unlucky? Those superstitions do not really bother me, but I was very selfconscious concerning my newfound faith. Some more verse speaks of that… Lab Rat Number Thirteen please Off you go and seek the cheese Clarify your personal haze By navigating through the maze All the other lab rats wait To see if Thirteen takes the bait Someone has to be the first And Thirteen seems to be well versed She’s the one who bares her soul Striving for her knowledge goal While other lab rats get to read As Thirteen struggles with her creed Number Thirteen wants to know When the other rats will show She’s led the way to seek the cheese But wants to share it if you please © Judah, 2004 It’s not always easy to bare one’s soul concerning matters that are profoundly meaningful to oneself and may engender criticism and scorn from others. Writing this journal does not always come easily to me for that reason, even when I am known to many only as Judah. Even Judah comes up for evaluation, and by a largely faceless audience who will go away without leaving any response although that doesn’t deny there are reactions. As I once wrote elsewhere, I have pondered the wisdom of sharing (blogging) such things… Our audience is faceless It may read but never speak But what about the one inside Yourself whose life you leak And taking honour for a ride Destroy all integrity you seek? The wise will keep their counsel When actions testify to guilt And not be blogging to the world Of their sins and shames thus spilt For boomeranging knives self-hurled Backstab oneself right to the hilt © Judah (2005)

So often the wisdom of this world is folly to God (1 Corinthians 3:19) and worldly folly is wise indeed, and sharing one’s spiritual journey may help encourage others “out there” whom I have never met. With that in mind, I will continue to tell of my journey…

My time spent in England included visits to numerous ancient cathedrals. We arrived at one of them just as a Holy Communion service was beginning. Troubled by all the difficulties in the Anglican communion, plus some other less worthy reasons, I had resisted attending any church and the Lord’s Supper. However, as a matter of obedience, this was already weighing quite heavily on me. Our Lord had said “Do this…” and I was not. So in Salisbury Cathedral, for the first time in 34 years, I did. The presence of God in those moments was overwhelming - a huge holy presence that filled the whole space around me, myself right there in the midst where even the walls seemed to have soaked in all the prayers of the ages and were too sacred to touch. Years of resistance had fallen away and I was “back in the fold” once again.

There was no staying away after that. Back home again, and feeling very new to it all, I attended a midweek Communion service at my local Anglican parish church. Had I known what was going to happen, my courage might well have left me long before I got there. The congregation was few in number, the presiding priest spoke a short and prophetic sermon, and those words were my utter undoing. At the mention of those old English cathedrals, such God-filled holy places that even the walls seemed to have soaked up the prayers… I was suddenly awash with tears. This was embarrassing. I wanted desperately to become invisible, to disappear into the back wall, to be anywhere else instead. It wasn’t to be. What a homecoming!

I have been very fortunate the past couple or so years, while not attending church at all, to have an “online vicar” - Vic, my friend, Anglican priest, pastor, and Christian brother. While in England we met in person too. During my teenage years I had a charismatic experience which I “shelved” when I walked away from my faith, and which I left untouched until very recently. Since returning home, I knew all of my life needed to be brought into the light which meant revisiting that experience from way back. Talking with Vic (so easy to do so on Skype!) whose own spiritual gifting, discernment and counsel, plus some wonderful prayers, finally made spiritual sense of that early experience for me. The gifts I received back then have been restored and now have a proper place in my life. They are certainly real, and I am experiencing a deep-seated joy, and peace, and making of peace with people where there has been lack of love in the past. As Vic prayed there was a further experience for me of prophetic words, ones deeply comforting and transforming. These are very rich experiences of the Holy Spirit. They leave me feeling very much humbled, thoughtful, prayerful, and incredibly touched by how profound is such an experience of Him. God is so good, and His grace is astounding. Once having tasted the reality of the living God, there truly is no other way to live.

I have a new vicar as well, the one where I have found a place to worship, that being my local Anglican church. Archdeacon Peter, thank you for being so welcoming, encouraging and accepting of me, a stray sheep who wandered in from being outside for far too long. I don’t know exactly where this earthly life is heading for me, but I am certain of something… a heartfelt gratitude for all my Christian friends. You are the church, the body of Christ. I don’t know where I’d be if it was not for you all.

Email Judah

Early in the morning, on New Zealand’s eastern shore, the sun was barely halfway up and barely dressed before the people came with rods and bait, willing up their breakfast feast from Neptune’s salty store.

I will make you fishers of men, I heard His words once said, and remembered how He told them then that life was more than bread.

The light was shining in the east and spread across the bay, gilding touches to sea and sky with all their shades of grey. No ball of fire, no solar disc, no heat to scorch the air but just a glimpse of glory hidden out beyond the sphere.

I am the light of the world, I heard His words again, and remembered how He told them all to follow Him and then no more would darkness reign.

The people stood and faced the light, but watched their rods and lines, or clambered up the driftwood beach not looking at the signs.

If you love me, my commands obey, I heard my Master say, and watched the people pack their things and blindly drift away.

They left me standing on the beach gazing at the light, seeing only He who beckons me, a captive to His might. My line is cast, the sea is wide, the people need a prayer. And if some enigmatic breath rustles in the air then know that I am fishing… and that He is very near.

There’s a corner of my garden where I love to sit and be. It’s peaceful there and pretty; it tastes of sanctuary. The jasmine scented quiet, the little chapel roof, the paving stones, the timber… it all adds up to make this a rather special place for me.

You may join me for a coffee, or perhaps a cup of tea. Or if the afternoon is creeping on, a glass of pinot gris. We can watch the Fantails catching insects on the wing, and listen to the Tuis as they chirp and chat and sing.

Above the sky is azure blue and the sun is beating down, but here my garden bower is cooler with a hint of breeze around.

You’ll often find me sitting here when household tasks are done, and daily burdens weigh too heavy ruining my fun. I come here for the peacefulness, the loveliness I find, and breathe in the quiet beauty that soothes my anxious mind.

For around me is His glory, I can sense Him here with me. It makes this corner sacred, a very special place to be. There is nothing else so blessed than being here with He who is so holy, righteous, powerful, tender, loving, and to my humble awe is also very willing… to share this place with me.

You will keep in perfect peace all who trust in you,
all whose thoughts are fixed on you!

(Isaiah 26:3. NLT)

Greetings to all visitors to Judah’s Journal. May the Year 2008 be full of blessings, a fresh start, and the fruition of past efforts. It is summer down the bottom of the planet this time of year. Blue skies, sunshine, fine warm weather and long daylight hours. My Northern Hemisphere friends are all wishing they were here, yet in a little while that will change and I will be wishing I am where they are. But not right at the moment… Where I live we have a sizeable back yard of native bush, some of the trees being very large indeed, with paths and timber board walks taking us down under the canopy to an idyllic escape from the rest of the world. There it is cool and still, except for whatever breeze is around. The petite Waxeyes and friendly Fantails dart in and out among the branches, catching insects on the wing. The Tuis sing out their melodious songs. A small stream emerges from underground and trickles down over rocks into a valley of more trees and ferns beyond. To this refuge I sneak away when in need of respite from the world. The canopy overhead creates a cathedral, with choir of birdsong and crickets; soft organ notes the breath of the breeze, the rustle of ferns high above. Down here no telephone rings, no clock strikes the hour. There is no doorbell, no computer, no chores to do. No liberal theology questions my faith, offering disbelief in my Creator whose hand is clearly seen where I look about me. The sounds of the city are distant, belonging to the valley below. The sense of peace in this enclave sooths and settles my soul. During a storm three winters ago, a huge pine tree some distance down the road from us was uprooted and crashed down the hillside, blocking the road to our home. That evening, just on dusk, we walked to the scene of the disaster and stood in awe of that tree. I was moved to write the following about it… — — — — — — — — — — — — — We walked to the tree that was blocking our way, The winds having died with death in their sway; Death from Thor’s wrath, with mighty thunderous fall The tree had come down in the wet wintry squall. Others stood gazing, bewildered as well, That seventy years had succumbed and then fell; From Earth’s endometrium a placenta left swinging, A mass of roots matted, to cliff face left clinging. We stood there in mourning, in silence and sorrow, Surveying the tree that would see no tomorrow; Broken and battered, branches bent strangely angled, With torrents of dirt that had tumbled entangled. The woodmen had cut with their chainsaws so crudely Huge slabs of the trunk, naked growth rings so rudely Exposed to the skies, with their sacrifice weeping Sticky wet sap of life’s remnants still seeping. We walked away softly having murmured a prayer, For the scene was quite awesome, one hard to bear; And the night sky descended, draping all with a shroud Of darkness and grieving, gentle tears from a cloud. © Judah (2005) — — — — — — — — — — — — — I remember the occasion I stood before mighty Tane Mahuta, the world’s largest living Kauri tree, said to be almost 1300 years old. There was a general hush all around, an air of reverence, and an American tourist whispered to me “It’s like being in church, isn’t it?” Yes, it was indeed. There was a presence, a sense of Emmanuel - God being with us. And in the words of that great hymn… To God be the glory, great things He has done!

I re-worked an old poem I wrote some time ago and “just for fun” thought I would post it to Judah’s Journal. If there is a moral to be found in it (not that there has to be a moral, of course) then I guess it would go along the lines of “be careful what you wish for!” This genie was too smart, but not quite smart enough. Grandma’s Magic Lamp Grandma’s ancient magic lamp Produced a genie who had cramp From being stuck inside too long Then came out wailing “Something's wrong!” While hopping, leaping, all about Too compressed to straighten out. Startled by this odd event, (Although she’d rubbed the ornament) Grandma gasped and said “Oh Lord! Grant me help, your shield and sword! Protect us from such evil jokes, Oh bless us please and save us folks!” The genie swore and said he'd never Stay stuck inside another, ever; His turn had been and now was done But one last wish he'd grant someone Before resigning from this role Pursuant of some other goal. The wish he'd grant would be his own; His turn for once and his alone. The genie rose to his full height By puffing up with all his might, Then wished he wasn’t vapourware (Ignoring Grandma’s fervent prayer). And poof! The genie was no more, An error he could not restore. But such is magic, never best Since it backfires when manifest. A prayer to God is no mistake; He blesses us for His Son’s sake. © Judah (2004)

Unless holding a mirror in place and looking at the reflected image, it is not expected that we can look full on at one side of something and simultaneously see the opposite side of it. We can gaze at the full moon and see one half of the sphere, but while we do not see the other side of it, we do know logically that it must exist.

Today we are living in an age where naturalism is in ascendancy, and the belief of earlier ages in supernaturalism has declined. But to those of us holding a coherent Biblical Christian worldview, there are both these two elements - just like the front that is seen and the back that is unseen - that exist together. The visible and the invisible are present together, intimately connected to each other. Our physical senses can bring us objective knowledge of what exists, but they do not readily verify what appears not to exist - or what does exist but is outside perception by our physical senses.

Does this mean that the unseen world does not exist? Of course it doesn’t. You may not agree with me, but take one simple example where our common sense tells us that there is a back of the moon, an unseen half of the sphere. Or just as we know that, whereas our eye cannot see viruses, they can be detected by an electron microscope. Should we be able to travel back in time and tell first century man about radio waves, microwaves, x-rays, and all the rest of these invisible phenomena, he would be calling us the supernaturalists - and were he a naturalist, to him we would be the crazy believers and out of our heads.

The naturalist believes strongly in the existence of the physical world to the exclusion of a supernatural one, considering unprovable the existence of a spiritual world where spiritual beings and activity exists. So be it. However, the Christian worldview presupposes existence of this spiritual world, one where much is unseen and is outside of our normal awareness. It is revealed to us by spiritual means, by prayer, by fellowship with God, by His teachings from Scripture. It is the new horizon that we have acquired in accepting that we are more than mere mortals, that we have souls that persist into eternity long after our physical beings have perished. To the secular and unbelieving naturalist this is just silly nonsense. Because he cannot see the unseen, he readily declares it doesn’t exist and scoffs at the Christian whose horizon has thus extended well beyond his own.

This invisible world features persistently in the New Testament. God is spirit and dwells in the spiritual realm, but has a wide-reaching involvement in our physical realm, even to the extent of the incarnation of Christ, His miracles, the Transfiguration, the Resurrection, the post-resurrection appearances of Jesus, the event of Pentecost, the meeting of Paul with Jesus on the road to Damascus… to name but a few.
The Apostle Paul tells us…

For our struggle is not against flesh and blood, but against the rulers, against the authorities, against the powers of this dark world and against the spiritual forces of evil in the heavenly realms. (Ephesians 6:12)

There is the recognition of an invisible world that exists beyond that of our physical one, and the battle for our souls rages there as much as it does in this physical world in which we live. It might well be unnerving to realize this, but all that happens - all that we think and do - is not quite as private as supposed by the naturalist. With the coexistence of the invisible spiritual world, consider this:

Therefore, since we are surrounded by such a great cloud of witnesses, let us throw off everything that hinders and the sin that so easily entangles, and let us run with perseverance the race marked out for us.
(Hebrews 12:1)

The emphasis throughout Scripture is not that this spiritual or supernatural realm is far away, but that it is right here, very close indeed, and present with us now.

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As a teenager I was intrigued by the idea of another world that co-existed with the one I already knew. Perhaps that would explain the phenomena of ghosts? Perhaps I enter that world in my sleep, and when I dream dreams? And well before I came to know what was written in the Bible, I put those quandaries into verse…

Reality

Have you ever thought perchance
That life is just a life-long trance;
You’re sleeping in some crazy dream
And not awake as it may seem?

Perhaps the world you know as real,
And everything you think and feel,
Is mythopaeic, nothing more?
Of what you know, can you be sure?

If doubts arise then question this
That answers may not go amiss,
And consider then what sleep might be
When dreams of other worlds tease thee.

© Judah, 2007

We knew we were going to be s-t-r-e-t-c-h-e-d in our definition of “music” before we even got there, but the programme’s first 12 minutes was just awful. Our ears hurt. A Kiwi composer, now resident in Edinburgh, had come up with something for the trumpet player and orchestra. While not wishing to discount the trumpet player’s skill, all we could see was the naked emperor, the one whose new clothes had been made of nothing. Call that music? Not for us.

Apparently Sergei Prokofiev (1891-1953) had half his audience respond much the same way when he sat down at the piano and gave vent to his anger and grief through his second piano concerto back in August 1913. His startled audience found it all far too modern - schizophrenic, unbalanced, enraged, terrifying. The score was later destroyed in the upheaval of the Bolshevik revolution, used as fuel for a cooking stove. But Prokofiev re-composed the concerto and peformed the new version, no less dramatic albeit a little less alarming than the original, in Paris in 1924. Prokofiev's friend Vyacheslav Karatïgin described its première as “leaving [us] frozen with fright, hair standing on end.”

But that was 83 years ago now, and we have had a little time to get used to it. Known to be a staggeringly difficult piano piece to play, and probably the most challenging anyone has ever written, 29-year-old Freddy Kempf managed it brilliantly. The applause was tremendous. Standing apart in its almost entirely pervasive, red-eyed rage, Prokofiev’s second piano concerto incorporates not just grief over, but also anger at the wasteful loss of his great friend, Maximilian Schmidthof. And knowing something about Max helped us to appreciate the raw unbridled passion and cut some slack for the composer as well. I can even say that I liked it.

So, what happened to Max? Max was a fellow student from the St Petersburg Conservatoire and talented, highly intelligent, and equally keen to shock colleagues and tutors. But in April 1913 Prokofiev received a letter from Max, and it said: “I’m writing to tell you the latest news - I have shot myself. Don’t get too upset … the reasons are unimportant. Farewell. Max.”

Oh boy! What a terrible letter to get! And so the second piano concerto is full of the horrendous raw emotion of terrible grief and rage, attempts to comes to terms with, then further relapse into more of the same. To suffer the loss through suicide of someone close, this composition says it all.

The content of Judah’s Journal is copyright.
If you are NOT reading this on Judah’s Journal, then it has been
copied from there and is re-published illegally - in other words, stolen.

Suicide… such a bad-tempered response. Some will say that it must take courage, others that it takes terrible despair, but what it really comes down to is murder. One murders oneself. It takes all the worst of suffering and throws it straight at those closest around. No, I have not lost anyone close through suicide, but two friends, a colleague, another I knew of, and the 9-year-old child next door all wasted their lives in that way. The child’s death was the worst and left a burden of guilt, both rational and largely irrational, throughout the neighbourhood. It is such a hard thing to reconcile.

A Friend’s Suicide
(I believe he was wrong to do it)

When my position has me here
The stretch is far to over where
The other side does beckon too
Compassion’s ask is also due

I must not judge a friend’s despair
His motives question when unclear
Being human can be tough
Especially when it cuts up rough

Please forgive my limitations
I’m not the One behind creation’s
Plans, designs, or greater view
A friend I am but human too

© Judah (June, 2003)
Judah’s Journal

So when it comes to Prokofiev, I did understand a little of where he was coming from, and his composition makes great sense when one knows about Max. I was not alive 83 years ago to react as the audience did then, but can say that today’s modernism does nothing much for me… except to hurt my ears and produce visions of naked emperors!

In Memory

I planted freesias on her grave;
her favourite flower, the last I gave
her on that final Mother’s Day
before she quietly just slipped away.

The perfect scent and perfect flower
speaks softly of that final hour
when shadows fell as night time came
and nothing more would be the same.

She is not there in that cold earth;
my loving mother who gave me birth
and nurtured me ’til torn apart
by death ~ she now is living in my heart.

© Judah (May 2007)

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The Pixie Quilt (shown here) was made by me for two friends of mine. It was given to them on the occasion that I, with my family, were able to visit and enjoy their generous hospitality back in January 2004. The quilt illustrates a poem I had written (dare I admit to that?) about a little pixie who contemplates something of both a worldly and spiritual nature, and comes to the realization of an important spiritual truth.

In his book “True Spirituality” (1971) Dr Francis Schaeffer (1912-1984) discusses this same spiritual truth, pointing out significant connections between covetness and the lack of thankfulness that underlies this sin, and how it interfers with substantial healing in one’s relationship with God (and others). In simple terms, it works like this…

We are by nature selfish creatures, prone to putting ourselves first, putting ourselves in the centre, and wanting for ourselves those things we do not have. The Tenth Commandment tells us we are not to covet. To covet means to want that which is not ours, that to which we have no claim and no entitlement. God is our Creator, the Creator of the universe and it is He, sovereign over all, who has sole authority to decide all matters concerning us. Covetness arises from a dissatisfaction with what we have already, and the envying of others accordingly. It arises from a lack of gratitude for what we have already. That does not mean we are to ignore our needs and not ask for them to be met, nor ask for good things on behalf of others. The Lord’s Prayer includes such asking, and we are told to ask in faith and as God ordains, so it will be given. Covetness is sinful desire, something quite different again.

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The Bible tells us in many places that we are to be thankful, to give thanks, and even to give thanks for all things. While it may not be too difficult to give thanks for those things that we want, like having, and happen to enjoy, we are actually instructed to do more than that.

Sing and make music in your heart to the Lord, always giving thanks to God the Father for everything, in the name of our Lord Jesus Christ.
(Ephesians 5:19,20)

Be joyful always; pray continually; give thanks in all circumstances, for this is God’s will for you in Christ Jesus.
(1 Thessalonians 5:16-18)

We are to give thanks for everything, and to give thanks in all circumstances. This is the crunch. How inclusive should we consider those words? Dr Schaeffer points out another verse which also mentions “all things” and we cannot accept the comfort of the following verse without keeping the same meaning in the ones above.

And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him, who have been called according to his purpose.
(Romans 8:28)

But surely we should not be thankful for those things that have gone wrong, that have hurt and upset us, that are causing problems for ourselves and those whom we love?

Well… that’s not what it says in the Bible. And if you are going to take any notice of those verses (and many more like them) just quoted, then how can you reconcile this disturbing thing?

Reconciliation occurs when you consider the role of trust in your relationship with God. Dr Schaeffer explains it this way…

Two things are immediately involved here, if we are to see this in the Christian framework rather than a non-Christian one. The first is that as Christians we say we live in a personal universe, in the sense that it was created by a personal God. Now that we have accepted Christ as our Savior, God the Father is our Father. When we say we live in a personal universe and God the Father is our Father, to the extent that we have less than a trusting attitude we are denying what we say we believe. We say that, as Christians, we have by choice taken the place of creatures before the Creator, but as we show a lack of trust, we are exhibiting at that moment, in practice, we have not really so chosen.

The second thing we must comprehend in order to understand a contented heart in the Christian framework, rather than a non-Christian one, is illustrated by Camus’s dilemma in “The Plague“. As Christians we say we live in a supernatural universe and that there is a battle, since the fall of man, and that this battle is in both the seen world and the unseen world. This is what we say we believe; we insist on this against the naturalists and against the anti-supernaturalists. If we really believe this, first, we can be contented and yet fight evil, and second, surely it is God’s right to put us as Christians where he judges best in the battle.

In a Christian understanding of contentment, we must see contentment in relation to these things. To summarize, there is a personal God. He is my Father since I have accepted Christ as my Savior. Then surely when I lack trust, I am denying what I say I believe. At the same time, I say there is a battle in the universe, and God is God. Then, if I lack trust, what I am really doing is denying in practice that he has a right, as my God, to use me where he wants in the spiritual battle that exists in the seen and the unseen world. The trust and contentment must be in the Christian framework, but in the proper framework the contentment is deeply important.

If the contentment goes and the giving of thanks goes, we are not loving God as we should, and proper desire has become coveting against God [wanting to grant for ourselves what He alone has authority to decide to grant].

True Spirituality, pp 10,11 (Tyndale, 1971)

For although they knew God, they neither glorified him as God nor gave thanks to him, but their thinking became futile and their foolish hearts were darkened.
(Romans 1:21)

And so we also come to know life without the joy of a substantially healed relationship with God when we forget to give thanks in all things, even those things that throw our plans awry and cause us heartbreak and grief.

Pixie knew that he had found the answer to his quest;
How he was always certain, at peace and richly blest.
He trusted God beyond all doubt, gave thanks in everything
With praise and humble gratitude, his joy was never ceasing.

Mother Teresa was born Agnes Gonxha Bojaxhiu in Skopje, Macedonia, on August 27, 1910. Her family was of Albanian descent. At the age of twelve, she felt strongly the call of God. She knew she had to be a missionary to spread the love of Christ. At the age of eighteen she left her parental home in Skopje and joined the Sisters of Loreto, an Irish community of nuns with missions in India. From 1931 to 1948 Mother Teresa taught at St. Mary’s High School in Calcutta, but the suffering and poverty she glimpsed outside the convent walls made such a deep impression on her that in 1948 she received permission from her superiors to leave the convent school and devote herself to working among the poorest of the poor in the slums of Calcutta. Although she had no funds, she depended on Divine Providence, and started an open-air school for slum children. Soon she was joined by voluntary helpers, and financial support was also forthcoming. This made it possible for her to extend the scope of her work. On October 7, 1950, Mother Teresa received permission from the Holy See to start her own order, “The Missionaries of Charity”, whose primary task was to love and care for those persons nobody was prepared to look after.

Mother Teresa was an inspiration to many, and her memory continues to be so. One of the most beautiful pieces of simple spiritual encouragement is her poem that is engraved on the wall of her home for children in Calcutta. Given that Christianity is less about a concept and all about a relationship, it is her last two lines that puts all the rest into their real, full and proper perspective. People are often unreasonable, illogical, and self-centered; Forgive them anyway. If you are kind, People may accuse you of selfish, ulterior motives; Be kind anyway. If you are successful, you will win some false friends and some true enemies; Succeed anyway. If you are honest and frank, people may cheat you; Be honest and frank anyway. What you spend years building, someone could destroy overnight; Build anyway. If you find serenity and happiness, they may be jealous; Be happy anyway. The good you do today, People will often forget tomorrow; Do good anyway. Give the world the best you have, and it may never be enough Give the world the best you’ve got anyway. You see, in the final analysis, it is between you and God; It was never between you and them anyway.

Well peoples, I would like to draw everyone’s attention to the comments posted to the previous Journal entry. If those who wish would like to take a peek, that will save me from bringing any of them to the “front page” here.

After the serious stuff that has gone before, it is possibly time for a bit of light-hearted liplabour or my reputation will be getting one-sided… and also distorted since many of my online friends know me quite differently again, finding they need to watch where they put their legs or one will be found longer than the other.

Oh, Nooningscaup? Just an old word referring to the labourer’s resting time after dinner.

Playing with AltaVista’s Babel Fish automated translation service the other day reminded me of all the good laughs you can have playing with words. Babel Fish might know a lot of languages, but it takes a very technical approach that can provide for hilarious reading. If you need cheering up, try writing a little paragraph in the textarea box then choose a language into which you would like your paragraph translated. Don’t worry that the result means nothing to you - unless you already know that language - and then click again to have it translated into yet another language you don’t know. And now for the fun part. Ask Babel Fish to convert what it came up with back into English. Was that really what you said in the beginning? What on earth could you have been thinking?

As a kid we used to play a game with a storybook (Alice in Wonderland was always a good choice) and a box of little cards each with one noun written upon them. One person was the designated reader and would start reading, stopping each time when coming to a noun, and we would take it in turns to supply a substitute noun from the box. The reader would continue as though nothing was amiss, and often the more fluent the process, the more bizarre the story, and it would often become so funny that the “round” ended when we all rolled around on the floor cracked up with laughter. For some reason the vision of a Duchess sitting on a guinea pug and nursing a knitting needle once had me in stitches. I don’t know if kids ever play these games anymore, unless there is a digitalized version of it online somewhere around. No doubt Google knows where they are.

Cleaning out my computer files I came across a couple of attempts I once made at rewriting Wordsworth. Being rather a fan of his, I can’t think why I was rewriting him, but it was probably a bit of verbal doodling while waiting in between interruptions, my life being full of those and giving rise sometimes to a mindset of distractions.

Sorry Wordsworth
©Judah

I wandered lonely as a shroud
Looking for a ghost to wear
When all at once a shriek so loud
Sounded in my startled ear
My weakened knees and fluttering heart
Had me feeling none too smart

And then an echo echoed long
Followed by an eerie wail
That stretched into a hideous song
Of spooks and wraiths beyond the pale
My stomach heaved and I was sick
And ran away almighty quick

(er, try again…)

Sorry again, Wordsworth
©Judah

I wandered lonely as a shroud
Looking for a ghost to clothe
When suddenly an echo loud
Of shrieks and moans around behove
That I had stumbled on a wake
A party of the dead forsake

These night time wanderings I must stop
They do my wits not one bit good
If sleep would not escape to drop
My mind into this haunted wood
I might have more that’s sense to make
Some rhyming words of worth to spake

Oh Wordsworth I have let you down
This fan of yours in pensive mood
Is vacant when the words don’t crown
Inspiring thoughts in solitude
And all she hears are eerie cries
Of creatures that volatilize

(end)

Yes, well. I don’t think Wordsworth is easily improved upon.
But enough of this nonsense.
Would you prefer some more serious stuff next time? OK, I’ll see what I can do.

Father Christmas
and the Customs Department

© Judah
(er, not sure I should
confess my authorship)

Father Christmas came last night
On an Airbus three-eighty flight.
Customs grabbed his bag real tight
Which put him in an awful plight.
In that bag were sweets and toys
For all us good wee girls and boys,
But Customs did not like his ploys
And all their staff forgot their poise.
Import duties must be paid
In case these items are for trade.
Gifts are also taxed to aid
Christmas party plans now made.
Father Christmas blew a fuse
Thinking “what have I to lose?”
But on the flight he’d had some booze
And oh my goodness, wet his trews.
They took him out around the back
While scanning what was in his sack.
Then scared their boss would give them flak
They said they’d cut him extra slack.
His trousers cleaned and dried as well
Father Christmas felt just swell.
Deciding he would not rebel
He handed out some caramel.
Everything had turned out right,
The Customs folk had seen the light.
Father Christmas said Goodnight
And boarded his ongoing flight.
Into the air with sleighbells ringing,
Father Christmas started singing.
Rudolph’s nose soon had them winging
This way and that, their journey bringing
Lots of little girls and boys,
Heaps of sweets and many toys.

This transient life of mortal things
see-saws, slides, and tandem swings
provides the playground as time tears
the length and breadth of all my years
leaving bruises, well skinned knees
and hiccoughs too, excuse me please

The slips and falls, the ups and downs
my cycled life on merry-go-rounds
will have me giddy, short of breath
sore and aching, and until death
be the teaching learning tool
of this behaviour changing school

All mortal things will die one day
the playground here will pass away
and I will too, but not my soul
which is eternal, heav’n its goal
and what I learnt from what was taught
will be recorded on my report

I cannot make the grade alone
the course is tough, too tough I groan
and my behaviour’s not the best
I’m tired too and need a rest
but thanks to One I can unbrace
since this diploma comes by grace

(© Judah, 19-11-2005)

"If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue…"
(Rudyard Kipling, 1865-1936)

A Message to Bloggers

The writer in me presses hard
To publish what I think
I've blogged a bit to try it out
And swallowed long this drink
To know intoxication's clout
Can bring folly to the brink

Our audience is faceless
It may read but never speak
But what about the one inside
Yourself whose life you leak
And taking honour for a ride
Destroy all integrity you seek?

The wise will keep their counsel
When actions testify to guilt
And not be blogging to the world
Of their sins and shames thus spilt
For boomeranging knives self-hurled
Backstab oneself right to the hilt

The poet in me writes this verse
To pause for thought and care
That what you blog is testament
Quite worthy of defence and fair
Account or suited sentiment
Of self well-clothed while rendered bare

© Judah (2005)