There is an easy way to tell that you have reached your old age. When holding
an ice-cream that’s nesting on top of a cone wafer, what is the first thing you
do? If you sink your teeth in, leaving a moon-shape dent where it was once
rounded and smooth, you’re officially old.

As a child, I could never understand why adults did that. How could someone prefer
to shove a large dollop into their mouth instead of gliding their tongue slowly around the icy dome?

How could they gulp it down instead of letting the creamy delight drift
like a stream, past the lips onto eager tastebuds? Why would anyone not want to
take the time to enjoy the cold sweetness as it trickled down their parched throat?
The latter method forces the eyes to close for two seconds while one silently thanks God for creating cows.

My curiosity over this apparent grown-up gluttony would turn to anger when my
own personal ice-cream was the target. An adult would demand, “Let me have a
lick.” And I would have to oblige, so not to appear selfish. But I knew all along that
they were lying. Adults never, ever lick. They bite. Deep chunks would be snatched
from my prize possession like a hungry shark when it’s spotted a limb that has
travelled out too far.

The offender would then add insult to injury by taunting me with unnecessary jibes
pertaining to their dissatisfaction that: the nuts are stuck in their teeth, the
chocolate chips are soapy, the mint flavour isn’t strong enough, the strawberry
pieces are soggy, the toffee is too sweet, it’s not Cream of Cornish.

I would stare forlornly at my wounded dessert knowing that enjoyment of it would
never be the same since being butchered by a fully-grown person who lied about
their intentions towards my treat.

Patches of red lipstick would sometimes be seen dotted around the rim of the cone.
On days I dared to give it further scrutiny, I would occasionally spot a tiny blob of
clear elasticated fluid sitting on the top of my chocolate flake, reminiscent of what’s
commonly known as saliva.

I thought the ‘ice-cream felony’ was the worst misdemeanour that could ever happen to my reluctantly shared titbits – that was until one day, an adult asked me for a lick of my ice-lolly. I knew that by the time I would receive it back, it would look like a deformed lump on a stick, but nothing prepared me for the horror that was to come. Yes, they did indeed take a chunk out of it with their teeth, but it had also been sucked! Like Dracula himself, this wicked person had sucked my lolly so hard, that the top 2 inches had turned white. Having been drained of all its colour, I was left with a tasteless piece of pitted ice. Lollies were supposed to be coloured, and in my case, red! Anger prevailed and my juvenile brain decided there and then that nobody was ever going to share any type of food of mine again.

When we finally become adults ourselves, there is a nasty shock. People are still deceiving us and taking great big chunks out of the things we treasure; only now the gaping holes are in our dignity, our hopes, our finances, our self-esteem, our time, our happiness. They are also trying to suck us dry with negativity, mistruths about life, false stories, inappropriate entertainment and unfounded fears.

This book is dedicated to all those who are wanting to reconnect with the reason we are alive. Jesus did not promise a life without pain, but he did promise to walk closely with us through all the disappointments that come our way.

I have put together some short, true stories and rhyming reflections (I dislike the word ‘poems’) to help remind you that he is beckoning you to come and see all the good he is doing right now. He wants to be part of your life and to make you into the person he created you to be.

If you like fluffy-puffy poetry about trees, birds and cascading waterfalls, this book is not for you. If you are easily offended about topics such as sins, death and Hell, this book is for you, but you will hotly disagree with me about that. I would suggest in these cases, that you either use the pages to make origami shapes or demand a refund from Amazon. If, however, this book was a gift and the giver is at some stage going to ask you if you’ve read it…tough. I’m not helping you with that one.

I’m one of those old-fashioned people who puts a full-stop (period) at the end of a sentence when writing a text message or email. Most of my friends do not. For you who are shocked by this, no, they’re not illiterate, just caught-up in the impatience and laziness of these modern times.

It usually takes me at least three attempts to decipher the correct meaning of their messages and I’m often left confused:

“Hi Sharon I went to the dentist today got a tooth that hurts he looked at it and said nerve is dead man in waiting room was in pain so I let him go in before me a Labrador was in there also playing with a stick because his owner couldn’t see what have you done with that powder I need it back because I found a load of ants in my pants found that money I thought I’d lost another bout of rain coming I think.”

So, I sympathise with you if you’re one of those people who hate capitalised poetry, for similar reasons.

In order to help things flow, I tried taking away the capital from the first word in each line, but alas, it just didn’t look right to me. Therefore, apart from ‘Torture’ and ‘I’ll Believe in Anything’, I have reverted to the traditional way of penning prose with each line beginning with a large letter.

Hopefully, you will have a happy read and not be visually confused by me having used the original style.

LPW: Grab yourself a coffee

I struggle with patience. Patience goes hand in hand with self-control and therefore, when I am impatient, I cannot keep still and my mind wanders to a far-away land on the other side of the moon.  If somebody is giving a testimony or I have an article to read, I expect it to be brief and succinct. In most cases, they aren’t. I begin to fidget and in my mind I am thinking, “Please get to the point!”

If you are a non-believer who considers all Christians to be hypocrites, I shall let you score a point on that one with me, because I simply cannot keep some poems short. Despite editing like crazy, if I’m trying to tell a story, sometimes it takes a good while before I get there, and thus, I thought it kind to warn you when you are about to encounter a rather lengthy piece of prose.

I originally placed the abbreviation, LPW (Long Poem Warning) after a poem title to indicate that it was lengthy, but then I realised that most of them are. Not all the chapters are succeeded by poetry, but when you see one at the bottom, this means that you may want to go grab a coffee and half a packet of cookies before you begin.

Alternatively, you could be shrewd and find someone to read it out aloud for you. In this case, I suggest you first bless them with a full glass of water and a cough sweet.

I struggle with patience. Patience goes hand in hand with self-control and therefore, when I am impatient, I cannot keep still and my mind wanders to a far-away land on the other side of the moon.  If somebody is giving a testimony or I have an article to read, I expect it to be brief and succinct. In most cases, they aren’t. I begin to fidget and in my mind I am thinking, “Please get to the point!”

If you are a non-believer who considers all Christians to be hypocrites, I shall let you score a point on that one with me, because I simply cannot keep some poems short. Despite editing like crazy, if I’m trying to tell a story, sometimes it takes a good while before I get there, and thus, I thought it kind to warn you when you are about to encounter a rather lengthy piece of prose.

I originally placed the abbreviation, LPW (Long Poem Warning) after a poem title to indicate that it was lengthy, but then I realised that most of them are. Not all the chapters are succeeded by poetry, but when you see one at the bottom, this means that you may want to go grab a coffee and half a packet of cookies before you begin.

Alternatively, you could be shrewd and find someone to read it out aloud for you. In this case, I suggest you first bless them with a full glass of water and a cough sweet.

None of us are perfect. As hard as it may be to believe, we all annoy somebody. I would like to suggest that the world divorce rate isn’t high just because people find it hard to be loyal. It isn’t high just because people find it hard to forgive. It is high because nobody marries themselves. Everybody lives with another human being whose reasons for thinking the way they do seems right to them and whose reasons for doing what they do seem justified in their eyes. Thankfully, our God in heaven knows us intricately yet still loves us. Not only that, he still hangs around when everyone else has given up on us – isn’t that great?

There’s coffee in the sugar,
There’s mould on the ham,
Toast crumbs in the margarine,
And butter in the jam.

She is so imperfect.
He’s defective and perverse.
They are all quite tainted,
But God knows you are worse.

Yes, we are more horrible
Than our conscience would believe.
We’re nastier and more evil
Than our minds perceive.

We’re deficient of true love,
Lazy and malicious,
With a tendency to think
Our sin is fictitious.

But we’re gossips and we’re proud,
We watch too much telly,
We eat too much chocolate
For the size of our belly.

We sulk when things go wrong,
We boast when there’s success,
We want to be admired
For the funky way we dress.

We crave recognition,
We long for much respect,
We want our opinions
To always be correct.

We want sympathy when sad,
And there’s anger and tears,
When it seems God is silent
And not answering our prayers.

But did you see God smile?
Did you see him wink?
He knows you are more vile
Than you actually think.

Yet he still loves you greatly,
You are his delight.
Despite your sinful nature,
He wants to hold you tight.

He wants to protect you
From your degeneration.
Because all of your iniquities
Are an abomination.

Our actions and our thoughts
Are corruption in his eyes,
And because he is a holy God,
He needs to chastise

So, he sent his precious son.
The only one he had,
And said to him quite sadly,
“Creation’s turned out bad.

Will you take their punishment
By dying in their place?
Will you let them beat you up
And mar your gorgeous face?

Will you take their sins
As if they were your own?
Will you die in agony
Rejected and alone?

For when you are penalised
For their heinous behaviour
And they gladly accept you
For becoming their Saviour…

I will look upon them
And see your sacrifice,
And be pleased with the blood
That paid the purchase-price.”

So, you see my dear friends,
Jesus was attacked,
To pay the precious ransom
That your goodness lacked.

No matter what your faults are,
Your soul was deemed worth saving.
God has affection for you,
Even though you’re misbehaving.

By now, you are thinking,
When will this poem end?
But I want to let you know
God’s thrilled to be your friend.

To him you are sensational.
For you, he has affection.
Stop trying to earn his love.
He cares not for perfection.

You make God smile because
He knows your potential.
But accepting his free gift
Is the thing that is essential.

So, open your hard heart
And let him come inside.
He wants to forgive you.
That’s why Jesus died.

What? It’s not religious? Well, what do you call harping on about the state of my soul and God and Hell? You trying to convert me or something? A bit too heavy for me I’m afraid.

So, you say this Jesus was with God when he created the world. I thought he was just a good man who had an exceptional tolerance for pain. Like a butch vicar. Anyway, I don’t care what he was. I’m not offended like them over there who say he was a prophet, not a deity. What bugs me is that you’re trying to say I’m a bad person just because I don’t think like you or do the wacky, churchy stuff you do. And I assume you think if I don’t become one of your lot, I’m going to frazzle in Hell. That’s what I find offensive!

Why can’t you just leave me to believe what I believe? You’re never gonna convince me about all this, so you’re wasting your time.

I hope you’re not going to start stalking me or spamming me with stuff like this. Are you?

I’ve not done anything wrong. Okay, no-one’s perfect are they? But I’ve cared for sick children, rescued abandoned animals and given much money to the poor. You can’t go around telling people like me that we’re serving the Devil just because we’re not hot on your hero, Jesus.

Man, that is so arrogant!

Why would I want to become one of your lot anyway? Do you expect me to give up my well-earned Sunday morning lie-ins to go to a silly church? They are either full of boring, old-fogey hymn singers or happy-clappy oddballs.

To be honest, I think you Christians are all imposters – out of touch with the real world and trying to put your craziness onto others.

In fact, who do you think you are?

I bet this book is just another example of bible-bashing literature that should be tossed into the trash.

I’m happy the way I am so please keep your opinions to yourself. No, of course I don’t know when I’m going to die. Why should I dwell on it? I’m sure I’ve got lots of years left to live. I haven’t got time to think about such morbid stuff and neither should you, Weirdo.

What do you mean by saying I may not see tomorrow? Planning to murder me because I don’t share your faith? I’m not the type of person who gets seriously ill or has accidents and I don’t want to ponder about bad things, alright?

And what if I did die? No more pain for me. What? A soul? I have one of those? It lives on forever in one of two places? Oh no, here we go. Ruin my day by predicting I’m going to be tormented day and night in the home of a cackling man with horns and a red leather jumpsuit. Such fairy tales! Why do you believe these stories? You’re an adult remember.

Look, do me a favour – leave me alone and go bug someone else.

And I’m warning you, you loony, if you send me anything else like this, it’s going straight into the fire. A really hot one. I like furnaces.

One day when you’re struggling for that last breath, I hope it won’t be too late for you to remember that while Jesus was asphyxiating, he had you on his mind. He hopes you will have the privilege of getting to know him long before that time, so you can live the life he has for you and be the person he created
you to be.

Torture

Pieces of metal and bone
flew into the air,
then came down with a great speed.
Then an agonising moan
was all they could hear,
as his back began to bleed.

The jagged edges got stuck
right inside the skin,
as dust on the ground turned red.
Then they gave a hard tug
on the bits inside him,
that were weighed down with lead.

Large clumps of flesh ripped away
and fell to the ground.
The torture made him shiver.
As the blue sky turned grey,
there was an awful sound
of blood pouring like a river.

With hatred, envy and scorn,
the voices all screamed,
“Yes, crucify him right now!”
Watching his dear mother mourn,
he had failed it now seemed.
He was the one to save them, but how?

Thorns on his head went in deep
as they pushed them hard,
and each one burst a vein.
He watched his friends weep
as more thorns pierced his skin,
and blood poured down his face like rain.

With his whole beard plucked out –
an unrecognisable face.
This seemed more than he could bear.
He cried out in anguish,
but the soldiers just laughed
and the scoffers just didn’t care.

With his back torn to shreds,
They made him carry his cross,
but nobody understood,
how they expected
his broken body to carry
a heavy, splintered block of wood.

His muscles dangled like string,
as they laid him down…
causing a flow of ribbon-like trails.
Then they grabbed hands and feet,
stretching them tight,
as they hammered in rusty, long nails.

So, when we become angry
and emotionally charged –
we’re shocked and want to exclaim,
it is not okay
to open our mouths,
and blaspheme his holy name.

Christ is not a swear-word
to declare when we’re cross,
and at times when things don’t go well.
Jesus suffered because
he loves us so much.
He did it to save us from Hell.

Jesus had self-control enough to finish what he came on earth to do – die for the guilty. It takes supernatural humility to be accused of being a weakling when you have the power to annihilate every person in the world in one millisecond. And it takes indescribable love to suffer such humiliation and brutality for people you formed cell-by-cell in their mother’s womb. The soldiers who nailed his hands to
rough pieces of wood, were unaware that Jesus created the trees his cross was made from. While they spewed insults at him, they hadn’t a clue that he was the one who made the tongue they were using to curse him.

Pathetic soldiers, standing there with weapons he could melt with one gaze. People shouting obscenities from lungs he could deflate with one thought. Yet he looked past that to what his father wanted. To reconcile us to him.

I thirst.
My throat is so dry.
The sun is beating down on me
As vultures hover in the sky.
I thirst,
And it makes me think,
This thirst is much stronger
Than just wanting a drink.
It’s for the souls of those men,
Cursing my name.
They are the reason I’m dying.
They are the reason I came.
Oh, Father, these I pray for
As I’m hung up on this cross.
It hurts so much to die on here,
But I know it’s worth the cost.
They don’t know why they do these things
Or who they are doing it to.
I would gladly suffer,
So that they might know you.
The hatred in their eyes,
Makes me love them all the more.
I thirst for their souls.
It’s them I’m dying for.
Forgive them Father.
I love them –
I thirst.

The ghost of Tottering Towers had no manners. His behaviour was that of a teenager who had grown up having never been scolded by his parents. Afterall, who goes around scaring innocent 3-year-olds?

I was terrified. Marmaduke would stand silently at the top of the stairs and remove his head. He tucked it under his arm and just stood there. I never knew why he was dressed in a full suit of armour, nor why he chose to act in such an impolite fashion. People with etiquette don’t take their heads off in public.

I am assuming by his weird conduct, that old Marm’ was the spirit that once lived in the house. Tottering Towers was a large, dark mansion where a few people dwelled, but it was never made clear to me why the silent knight in this 1970’s T.V. programme was allowed to continue this delinquent behaviour.

It certainly made me scared to go upstairs to bed. How my knees shook! As a toddler, I was certain that while ascending to the pinnacle of the stairs, he was going to suddenly show up on the landing, with just a neck visible at the top of his metal torso.

After Jesus died, more than 500 people reported to have seen him, walking around Israel, and this was on 12 separate occasions. On top of that, many of the eyewitnesses had been non-believers who had a dramatic change of heart when they realised that dead people do not come back to life. Certainly not ones who had been abused so viciously, bled out all their blood and been stabbed in the gut.

He was traditionally bound in white linen and laid inside a heavily-guarded tomb. Not even the muscly soldiers who were stationed outside to protect it could have shifted the massive stone that was placed at the opening to make sure he didn’t escape. Well, they knew he was dead. Most people wouldn’t have survived the pre-cross violence, let alone the rest of it. But they had heard Jesus stating that in 3 days he would rise again and so assumed a few disciples would try to steal his body at night and then proclaim, ‘He is risen!”

Well, what a sight that must have been! Never mind Marmaduke strolling around on the first floor – this was a real man walking around the country, speaking to people and telling them, “All is well.”

All was not well for the Devil though. He was one of them whom Jesus decided to pay a visit.

He Took the Keys

He went deep into the prison,
The core of Satan’s lair.
Standing in the stinking Hell,
With all the demons there.
Each demonic creature
Looked to their master for a cue,
But Satan stood there petrified,
Not knowing what to do.
Jesus was alive,
And they all could feel his power.
After three days of laughter,
The atmosphere, now sour.
Jesus passed away,
So how could he be here…
Standing tall in victory,
Filling them all with fear?

He said, “I have won the battle,
And I’ve come to crush your head.
You thought you’d got rid of me,
But I’m no longer dead.
I’ve risen to life for evermore,
There’s power in my breath.
I’ve conquered sin forever,
And suffering, pain and death.”

He then snatched the keys from Satan’s hand,
As he cowered on the ground.
This evil one defeated,
Dared not make a sound.
Seventy two hours of mocking,
With boasting and so much pride.
But now seeing the Holy Son of God,
Made him tremble and want to hide.
He had revelled at the volume
Of blood that Jesus shed,
But the power in that same blood,
Rose his body from the dead.

Jesus said, “The keys to sin and death,
Are now held in my hand.
You have no hold upon the world,
You no longer stand.
The blood that poured out of me,
Now has power to set souls free.
The cross I was nailed to,
Now a symbol of victory.
The lonely can now smile,
Their heartache’s at an end.
For now they have a Saviour,
A dependable best friend.
A secret place to go,
To receive joy and peace,
Comfort in the hard times,
Love that will never cease.

The hopeless who close their eyes,
Wishing the day to be their last,
Will find strength to face tomorrow,
And forgiveness from the past.
The sad will have much joy,
And there’s courage for the fearful.
All the wounded in spirit,
Will be no longer tearful.

But tears of joy will flow
From sinners who look to me,
Believing I’m the Son of God
Who died to set them free.

As the ground shook beneath them,
Jesus left with the keys.
It went darker than the darkest night,
As they all fell to their knees.
Their master was defeated,
Jesus was the King.
And while the demons wailed in agony,
You could hear the angels sing.

I was trapped with a mind
That was tormented day and night.
When I looked in the mirror,
It gave me quite a fright.
My eyes were so lifeless,
Like those lying in the grave.
My mouth spoke obscenities.
I just could not behave.
It seemed something was forcing me
To say and do bad things.
I felt out of control.
My behaviour made me cringe.
Then a man came into my life,
And I was instantly set free!
He addressed my demons,
And told them all to flee.
He became my best friend,
My father and my guide.
Whenever I was with him,
I felt so warm inside.
We sat up all night talking;
He was the brother I adored.
He was my perfect Saviour,
I was glad to call him Lord.

So, where have you put him?
He meant so much to me.
Tell me where you’ve laid him,
So I can go and see.
It was bad enough watching,
His flesh get ripped apart,
If I could just anoint his body,
That would begin to heal my heart.
Sir, please do not waste time,
My grief has made me weary,
Just tell me where…what did you say?
Sir you just called me Mary!

Oh, Jesus it is you!
I had just presumed,
You were the local gardener,
Here to clean around the tomb.
Jesus it is you!
Not here to prune a flower,
But risen to tell the world,
You’re alive and full of power.
Jesus it is you!
Not here to trim the weeds,
Or cut away the grass,
Or plant some tiny seeds.
But to plant within the heart of man,
Hope and joy and praise.
For you truly broke the curse of sin,
By rising in three days!