memories of unlove make me cringe. 1.

Transforming into a person of Christ is hard work. It is difficult and painful but it is worth it. I am forever reflecting on who I used to be, often cringing at times where I have shown little humility, tact, wisdom, patience, contentment with money or relationships, self-regulation, which I can sum up all in one word:

Unlove.

Take my hand - I want to share with you the times in my life I would pay any amount of money to erase and re-do...


1.

I was a youth group leader at my home church for about a year. On my second or third week, they interviewed me to properly introduce me to the youths:
B - What do you do when you're not leading YG on Friday nights?
J - I study filmmaking at Mac Uni and I'm an aspiring musician who is doing gigs around Sydney... (some kids laugh)
J - .. excuse me, are you finished? I'm talking here.

Why I cringe: Does it have to be said that I'm an "aspiring muso"? And how I handled the talking youths! Terrible!

the unromance...

of Music

Recording is hard work.
Perfect practise makes perfect, and you need to be practising the right thing or else your final product will turn pear shaped.
Doing takes over and over again strips away the magic. I hate it.
But listening to a beautiful, self-composed, well produced song at the end of it is all worth it somehow.


of Waiting

Being in limbo.
Knowing emotional connection exists, and the potential for spiritual growth together but also,
knowing it's time to grow alone instead.
Missing them incessantly.
Throwing self in "meaningless toil" to occupy mind.


of Prayer

When it's not you in tears, or you in heightened euphoria, but you in ok, fairly familiar, comfortable territory. And there is nothing important enough to really pray about, you feel.


of Wisdom

It's terrible. It's like the annoying parent who always seems to be right.
Waiting.

tonight of last

meet you in time when I arrive
from abroad, and hear the five
claims of what happened between us.
I closed my eyes and hushed

an anxious soul to sleep.
You were the motivator, who would keep
prayer alive and fervent.
Out of we two, you the servant

I just love, I adore.
Outer worship is core
For the sustaining of this tree to grow
and thrive. No,

we shall silence it's voice now.
Ownership is not ours
And I want you to take me and lead
me into your forest of delights. Where you will feed

me the firstfruits of your labour.
I expect nothing less than your
fragmented, broken, piecemeal, best restoredheart for
the God who changed our lives. Or,

a fruity conviction. Yes!
I just really want to know this.
I wish, our hands enclasped
and reassurance of enough time passed

to declare, that we are ready.
Finally.
No more games.
No more rhymes,

and thus we wait.

failed flesh

I'll remember the words
to Your love song
for Your daughter marrying Your son
If to vacuum my mind
with Your breaths

If the street should oblige me,
We'll work on confession
as a daily exercise
And inhale the incense
of the new

I am short of memory verses
I should apologise
But I am the long winded guilt
With eyes forever wide

So I'll try to worship You in my sleep
instead.
Worship You in my sleep...

Here is a conscience that betrays
I promised each time
That I would try with her

Here is emotion that disobeys
She is hard to coax
So we repress
In the hope that she will change one day

Vacuum my mind with
Each breath You take
So to clear the conscience
That is a whore

If we see no chance of change
Maybe an unconscious self
Will succeed instead
The failed flesh-

Will worship You in her sleep
Worship You in her sleep
I will worship You in my sleep
Worship You in my sleep.