Mrs. Rawcliffe’s Cre-Wri 12 Blog

Trees lose their crowns every year,
But they do not lose their hope,
And bare bone branches are as innately beautiful,
As those wreathed in green smoke.

I chose to write with the hope of taking some of the fear out of change. Change can be a scary thing, and for nostalgic souls like me, moving into a new season of life involves a great measure of grieving the season I am leaving behind. I chose poetic diction (I believe that the words flow into one another smoothly and softly), because I find that there is comfort in the flow, and I am hoping to bring a tone of comfort and care. This is also why it is all one flowing sentence. I feel that a seamless flow with this diction and sentence structure imitates the flow of changing seasons in a way where the audience won't get stuck on any choppy words, anxiously hanging onto the prior line, but they will be pushed easily through the whole poem, and the vocabulary should make this a pleasant, not a scary experience. I find words like, "innately" (3), and "wreathed" (4) to be gentle words that inspire a sense of wonder. 

–Mrs. Rawcliffe

Gorgeous Gravity

Gorgeous Gravity

There’s something reassuring about falling.

Not at first maybe, I mean at first you’re looking for hand holds and finding none, panic ensues, your heart beats like hummingbird wings but watching this beating is not nearly so peaceful as watching hummingbirds. Beginning to fall, beginning to lose one’s grip, that is not the most reassuring feeling.

But hear me out, because there is something reassuring in the fall. There is a feeling when you’re looking for handholds and finding none, that you simply have to trust, and keep worshiping, and that is all. It feels complicated because we’re suddenly trying to invent handholds and create a formula for fighting gravity and those are not simple things. What’s simple is this; I am falling, I can only fall, and I know that God is with me in the plummet.

I don’t say, ‘I know that he will catch me’, only because I have this idea that perhaps I am not meant to be caught. Sometimes he catches us in our falling and it’s beautiful too. But sometimes I think the falling is directional, that he means for us to be falling because we’re meant to dive deep into the river that is at the bottom of our uncontrollable flailing. The river may be wondrous.

Control and I do not communicate well. I should learn how to dialogue with it better. As it has stood, I have not liked control. I do all that I can to avoid it. It seems however that at the moments people or situations seem to be trying to take this burden of control away from me, I become a little more defensive of my bent relationship with it. The truth is, it scares me to death that people have power. More so, it scares me to death that I have power. That I can make decisions and those decisions have a real life influence on the way this real life goes.

Jesus, who do you think I am that you just trust me with this? With power? With decisions? It’s like you think I know what I’m doing. Spoiler alert, I don’t.

I am good at responding to life, to what comes my way, I have learned to respond well. I am less fond of being the other part of that equation. I have been equipped with beautiful friends who have great wisdom and walk with me. That’s really good for decisions. Sometimes the Holy Spirit and the reasonable advice from people though, are different things. The Holy Spirit is far more reasonable than I am. The trusting comes in where the Holy Spirit is also a whole lot smarter and is much more familiar with all the power of God than I am, and so what the Holy Spirit deems reasonable by heavenly standards and knowing all that God can do, can feel intrinsically insane to the humans who are seeing human reason and only a little further. The Holy Spirit says ,“fall”.

“Brittany, fall.”

Wow. Whatttttttt a greeeaaaat word. Thanks Jesus. That’s um. That’s. No I don’t like it please explain.

I felt myself losing control. I looked around at all the little decisions I had to make and I did not know how to make any of them and the truth is I was not supposed to worry about them but the truth is also that I was worrying very much.

Something about me: I love details.

Something about me: I hate practical details.

I am. Not. A details person. I like the BIG PICTURE. In fact I’m pretty well crazy about it. I will give my all for it. Absolutely.

Unfortunately details make up the big picture. When I say I love details, I love…I don’t know, the emotional details. The character details. The important (to me) details. The big picture details. I love the flecks in people’s eyes and the way they hesitate when they’re trying to understand something. I love the feel of cold tile under pink toes. I love weird sounds people make when they think or hold back a laugh. The important details.

But life involves many more sorely boring details. I love the detail of life that some people are so good at the little details. I love the passion in their expressions as they talk about the little details (they are not actually always so little, to some politics is big and to me it is little- to some stories are little and to me they are big). I admire that so much. I don’t like that I am not good at them. I don’t like that I have to think about them in order to do things like stay alive and function as a human and help people. These little decisions and details help make the big picture I am so very fond of.

Usually I don’t think about the littles in as much as I can. Usually I am okay with that. But things started falling in my life- the family I was going to nanny got different working hours so they no longer needed a nanny, farewell job security it was nice while it lasted- and CBC my beautiful CBC was finished, and in short- there was a whole lot of uncertainty. A whole lot of falling.

I try to remember what CBC taught me about failing, because when I’m falling I feel like I’m failing even if that’s not the case. “Fail forward.” Says CBC. Failure isn’t always a bad thing.

Fail forward, and I will add my own- “Fall faithfully”.

Sometimes God takes the ground out from under us and we falllll, but falling is okay. It really really truthfully is. We get to fall faithfully. We get to deepen our trust as deep as the pit we’re falling down. We get to see all of our strengths and vulnerabilities– what is more tempting when we’re falling? What lies are our ears more susceptible to? At LifeSpring we’ve been talking about Daniel, and how if we are not firmly standing in faith in the easy times, it’s going to be a lot harder to stand in faith when it’s hard- when we’re falling.  Falling shows us what areas of life we need to strengthen. What habits could we take up so that next time we’re falling, we can do so confidently. “If you’re going to fall, do so fabulously”– to quote some meme from sometime.

God asked me to surrender control and fall. I kept asking him about the little details, and you know the crazy thing (crazy because I always thought I needed to focus on getting better at the details)? He kept telling me, focus on your strength. You’re a big picture person, use that. He said, other people are designed to love the little details, work with them, but focus on the big picture. That’s your strength.

I did not like this answer. Right away- I like it now just to be clear. But in the moment it felt utterly unhelpful. Hi. Jesus. That doesn’t tell me what to do with these details…I still have to make decisions here. He said, you’re asking the wrong questions. BIG PICTURE BIG PICTURE BIG PICTURE. You LOVE this big picture- you love that I hold everything and that all will be made right, you love to stop and WORSHIP through whatever fuss the world is in, whatever shambles your life is in- so focus on THAT.

“Fine. Then I’m just not going to worry about the little things.” I finally said. I just felt God laugh, “FINALLY YES THERE WE GO”.

The next day came a Word at church about how Paul and Silas didn’t get out of prison by looking for a key (little details, practical), but they WORSHIPPED and the prison was busted open! Worship through it. Fall worshipping. Stop looking to fight gravity and praise the God who invented it. He Will. He is faithful as we fall. We can be too.

So here we are- exhausted, discouragement flying at me from the enemy saying I need to get control of the little things or things are going to fall apart– and yet miraculously, over it all, feeling the grace of the Spirit just pouring over me and giving me this joy. Like a lot of it. Like laughter bubbling up and overflowing. Joy. My heart is so full, the Spirit within me is so happy, seeing that God is working in ways I have yet to understand. His ways are not my ways, His thoughts are higher.

And I just feel this relief. Today the last thing I felt slipping from my grasp finally slipped. And this should make me afraid. But it was so out of my control- and now I know for sure that it was out of my control all along. God opens doors. God closes doors. I am falling. I am happy to be falling. For God has taken away what he has for a purpose, and I am so thankful. The relieving thing about falling is that is proves we are not in control, and though we have power we are also under a heavenly reign; God guides us in how to use it. Falling is as much Jesus’ domain as solid rock. Falling is a place where trust grows.

I would be grateful for your prayers in this time! Thanks guys!

 

Fabric of Us

I want to rushhhhhh
But what have I learned from the beloved disciple’s writings,

That something can be good and you can fully intend to fulfill it,
Until it’s overflowing, overflowing, soaking through the fabric of us,

Fabric that is stretched and stretched in trust,
Fabric we like to wrinkle and make small, in case like dust,

We are blown about in one wind’s big gulping gust,
But even the wind trusts, in your deep voice,

And even the wind seeks to skim across this fabric and smooth it out,
So that by you, my Love, I can be blown about,

And so I say here I am, send me like your wind!
My heart leaps to what I think you have offered,

I want to leap with my heart toward what I see as good,
But in my excitement I forget to listen, your voice to my ears is thinned,

I am afraid what you’ve said is good,
Is something you could rescind like the wind on a dry paralyzing day,

Yet who am I?
Even the wind knows to trust you!

You can see it through,
It is all up to and it is all for you,

And yet hallelujah- when rushed you say, no, no, this is not my way,
I will do it, but it shall be I,

For only
I AM,

And only I know the hour,
Only I see how fast that sun sinks down,

And only I will expect it to rise, though how oft,
I try to assure you in the comfort of my presence,

That the light will be with you,
So the light will be with me,

The light will be with me,
You will be here,

You know who it is you have created,
You know the fabric of us,

And you will soak through us as we soak in you,
You will, you will,

I will fix my ways to trusting,
To blessing what you are doing,

Rather than rushing what I am attempting,
For you know the fabric of us and you love us,

And you will fill to overflowing what you intend for us,
So you will have my trust,

And if it’s as I hope I will praise you,
And if its ‘wait’ I will worship,
And if it’s not the fate you’re working for me,
I will believe in you,

No one shall snatch me away,
This is my assurance,

You are a good father who gives all for his children,
This is my hope,

I will trust you,
I will trust you

With all the fabric of me,

I will trust you, like the wind does, so send me wildly about,

I will trust you

Battle sound

Is it wound
Throughout tree trunks
In a ground
Made of praise,

Is it found
High in the branches,
Spinning around,
Its leafy maze,

Does it dance, and come to still,
Does the wind whistle at his will,
Does it send your hair flying,
Or tickle your smile with a chill,

What helps you hear the thrill of your soul?
What pinks your cheeks &reminds you you’re whole?
What delights your inhales and fills your exhales with celestial
Magic, who are you,
And what is your battle sound?

Everbright

But it’s heavy in its quietly,

Infinite weights of dodged sight,

I’m scared to let it go, but when I do it’s everbright,

What was evernight within me…

Well when sunlight hits even depths of dark,

It becomes day, like so evernight comes to spark,

And flicker and sputter,

Clumsy and excited,

Kept safe so long, kept hidden and unrequited,

Vulnerability, you know, is not so unless it’s lighted.

 

Beautiful greenery,

Leaves full and resting,

A warm golden glow,

Where the wind shoves through, sudden and in entirety,

Stilled leaves pick up,

Isn’t it funny how their dance makes a song?

Suddenly the throng

Of the world is at movement,

Excitement- a coolness giving leave to the warmth,

A freedom giving life to the still,

You could lean into the wind, arms up like one about to take flight,

And shout into it,

Turn on your heel and run headstrong with it,

The deep emerald adventure that pulses in my heart,

How beautiful, how precious to me is this greenery,

Kept safe within me,

Kept silent but to my ears,

Silent because of my fears,

Ever graceful,

Makes a clumsy exit from my heart alone into the clearing,

Into the open,

Vulnerability has awoken,

But alas, it is still beautiful- certainly to me,

Certainly this greenery, is happier when free

For when it hits light, it is emerald in entirety

 

Waiting

So I am here waiting.

And I’m going to be okay.

Cause you use waiting to make us ready.

And usually I try uselessly to push through the delay,

 

I push and, like air, the waiting rushes away from my fingertips,

My hands soar through it and contact nothing,

And I flail my limbs and I try to run and fall,

And I get mad that either I’m failing or you’re not working.

 

I’m doing okay. And you’re working.

But while I’m looking around for you to change things,

You’re trying to work in me,

And I’ve known that forever, but it’s finally hitting me,

 

You’ve been trying to get me this message and like air,

I move around your fingertips so you never make contact.

Ooh,

You’ve made contact.

I was finally standing still for long enough.

 

And I’m going to pray for you to hurry things along,

I’m going to pray for opportunities and guidance,

And the courage to follow you, and the push, of grace,

But I’m going to change my waiting stance,

 

I’m going to have joy in the days nothing happens,

Because I know something is happening,

I’m going to love waiting because it’s happening weather I fight it,

I can’t flight it,

So I’m going to love it,

I’m going to love the character building journey,

If nothing’s changing I will,

And maybe my situation will be influenced,

By seeing Yahweh work in me,

I’m going to have smiles and love for life,

Even when it doesn’t feel productive,

It’s called patience,

I’ve been very bad at enjoying life when it doesn’t seem to be moving,

But this standstill, maybe this treadmill,

All this running and seeing no difference,

Has made my legs a whole lot stronger,

And soon I’ll be ready to run the distance.

 

 

 

 

A Sending

Be safe,

My dear one, on an adventure,

Be still, and let the waves wash over,

Your anxieties, and fears with peace,

Be safe,

Dear one, and let things go,

But keep the memories, hold them tightly so

That you’ve evidence of your warm heart beating and

Confidence of it boldly proceeding,

Be wild,

Wonderful one, and find what’s holy,

Do not let fear stop you from reaching in,

Let a wise hope lead you to what’s therein,

Be you,

Let anger’s only way be to reconciliation,

And let hurts and defeats,

Be carried out to their completion,

For all is worked out for good my friend,

Yes all is worked for good,

Be you and work for good my friend,

As I’m confident you would,

The Kingdom in your soul,

And out your fingertips,

Hear the veil as it rips,

Beside each other we’ve lived forever,

But if the Lord is calling,

Step surely in His love for you,

And know my love goes with you too~

~A blessing to friends

Breathing underwater is easy, and with the thought she grinned, Part 2

There’s this feeling when I worship-

Not a feeling so much as a truth,

Like I can do anything anything,

Like underwater breathing,

Anything at all and ever,

As long as to Wind my heart can keep singing,

And so I’m sinking unafraid,

 

I think I need to be kinder to this puddle-

It’s only muddled and swampy because I’ve seen it wrong,

But it’s more like a lake- it’s bigger and clearer than I let on-

I was a little blind, you see…

The water has been so agitated, flipping and barreling over itself,

A lake in the confines of a puddle, waves begging to expand past its little wild huddle,

And what sends the waves into action but my very friend, the wind,

Thought of as a distraction when it’s source was Wind,

I’d be agitated too, if someone tried to rescind,

Such a power, such a goodness,

So I apologize as I swim,

 

And as I speak to this lake,

Her waves calm,

And as I explore,

She stills,

 

Brought to a peace of being forgiven and known,

Brought to a contentment as her boarders vanish-

For this could never be mistaken for a lake when it is such a great ocean,

At peace and begun to heal,

Waves are no longer panicked and sealed,

For their purpose is revealed,

And they are free to charge wild~

Breathing underwater is easy, and with the Thought she grinned

I just need to pick somewhere to start

How about a bridge?

A wooden one, in a forest with the feeling of enchantment,

 

Is this creative enough a space to get out my thoughts?

A safe enough one?

 

Okay so this forest is free and light and curious,

One could race as fast as her wild heart in this wilderness,

I could start,

 

I could hear my breath as it picks up pace, and feel my legs push through this space,

Taking forward bounds,

Moving fast but without haste,

Absorbing the constant grounds,

 

What sounds?

The wind is gushing, nothing subtle,

Blowing, barrelling, nothing shy,

But sure and strong, nothing like a muddle,

 

Wild playful and howling

Unrationed,

Playful and impassioned~

 

This is where the poem changes tune, but I don’t know if I’m ready,

To leave the forest,

Box it in with a period,

Maybe with a squiggly I’ll feel more at rest~

 

Anyway, okay,

So I’m running and I’m barrelling and so is the wind,

And together we’re pounding, adding to each other,

My soul is loving this, untrimmed,

 

But I raced into a puddle,

Muddle, muddle, muddle,

Or I was in one the whole time,

And this puddle unweaves my rhyme,

 

This bounding and unrestrained soul a blundering,

Is held in by all this wondering,

Meant to be thundering,

It’s stuck in a puddle

 

Or not stuck, because I make my limbs keep going,

But they’re slow, and they’re tired, and they stumble,

Drudged down by the weight of the bog soaked shoes,

There was s’posed to be a rhyme there,

Muddle muddle muddle,

And shoes don’t make sense,

I’m barefoot through this forest, atop this soil,

Even through this puddle

this puddle has muddled,

~~~~~~~~~~~Everything up,

 

So where was I? Moving slowly,

Oh, no, no,

Can I forget it,

Can I retreat into the clear parts of myself,

Un-bogged, like I haven’t met it,

This puddle?

No no, I must mend it,

 

So can I ask a question here?

I know that’s not how it goes, these poems,

But I have to ask, do you know,

How to mend a puddle?

 

I’ve got this needle, and I have some thread,

But the water won’t be touched by it,

The puddle will not mend,

My needle uselessly moves through it,

So, sir, to what end?

 

Can’t I just pretend?

Pretend I’m running,

My mind can be flying,

But no- we must stay, must mend,

 

Okay. So how do I mend a puddle?

Do I take in the sides of soil around it,

Bring them together and stitch-stitch-stitch?

The soil crumbles in my fingers, oh forest, the soil crumbles and dusts the ground once more,

So how do I mend a puddle?

 

Befuddled and curious,

A little bit upset,

This puddle has soaked too much of my forest,

This puddle will not let-

 

Me go, let me breathe, let me have some space un-bogged, some space of running with ease,

How my heart likes the dream of running,

Even if it trips,

I have capable hands to catch me,

But bog water drip drip drips,

 

I’d grab the sun and force it out, to evaporate the puddle,

If it were possible to do so without dehydrating the whole

Coup of leaves that rustle,

Around this singing dancing soul, in its soaking puddle,

 

I cannot pull the soil around and simply cover it up,

I can’t dehydrate, and can’t ignore it,

I think I have to sort through it, so,

I think I have to swim in it,

 

Give her run a pause, stop forcing un-energized limbs to move,

Take a second to feel a now gentle wind,

A second to breathe and remind herself,

That breathing underwater is easy, and with the thought she grinned.

Kites

I’ll watch the northern lights

And tuck them in my dreams,

So when I speak light of the Lord,

They’ll add glory to the beams,

“My good and faithful servant”

Will fly and dance and gleam,

So when shadows come around.

Lost will be their schemes

 

Can light be put into words?

Or sounds or songs of flight?

Or perhaps a small stow of light

Flies within each air-born kite,

So if in settles the deep dark knight,

Sound kites and song kites and word kites will fight

 

Frighten away the knight of night!

Light the shadow soldier,

Light the growls of thunder,

With lightening brightening might!

See the sun shine ore the clouds,

See the Son shine ore the cross,

See the love which light gives life,

In life flees strife,

With fire comes faith,

Faith forthes peace and purity and saith

The Lord, “Well done,

Good and faithful servant”

Into life of light of lovely kite