Here on the sinking soft sand, place the pebbles of your problems, the stones that mark your failures, your inadequacies. Are they so very many? Let them sit a while in the golden grains, in preparation for what is to come. Lean back and watch the gentle wave ripple in and over these confessions, washing them clean.
What was dry and rough is now smooth and sparkling in a new dawning sunlight. There is nothing to be ashamed of here, only transformation, an offering given up in honest examen and left for me to tend to. Freshness abides. Stones sing Amazing Grace in the ebb and flow of living water.
© Keren Dibbens-Wyatt 2015
Here is a forest, our forest. Dreaming beneath green pine spires and rusting oaks, the coolness of shade-bathed feet as they stand on the leaf-spattered, needle carpet ground; bare toes sheltered under tiny toadstool parasols. Leaf siblings, higher up, haloed in sunshine as it winds and bends through arboreal barriers. Here we open and close our eyes with each breathed breeze, and find our calm delight.
Words and art © Keren Dibbens-Wyatt 2015
I see a meadow, our meadow is coming. A place where the butterflies of grace flit to and fro by unearthly rhythms, and the grasses are clothed in splendour. Where cornflowers explode like blue star fireworks and the poppies sing in zinging red robes. Sky and blood and gold move in the Spirit’s breath; the dandelion roars God’s praise, and the humble daisy sways, eyes closed in pink-edged prayer.
© Keren Dibbens-Wyatt