Why the title?

2002 and our local Pentecostal church held a special open air event at our local showfield. Nothing special but I took my kids and some of their friends along. The preacher spoke about Jesus walking on the water and Peter taking the plunge.
I'm not sure what it was in particular that inspired me but I felt my creative juices flowing and came up with this song.
I eventually managed to share it with him in Canada of all places, some 5 years later!

Walking on the water.

Walking on the water is impossible to do
unless I look up from the waves
and fix my eyes on You.
Lord Jesus you are calling me
to come and walk Your way
to leave the safety of my boat
and follow You today.
But I don’t know if I can take
a single step towards You.
The water is so very deep
and the waves so very high.
And all You do is beckon me
with eyes that burn like fire.
Reaching me with deeper love,
and grace that’s even higher
than the waves,
than the waves,
than the waves of fear
that break against my soul.

Walking on the water is impossible to do
unless I look up from the waves
and fix my eyes on You.
So Jesus may I always look
straight into Your eyes
and know the truth that saves my soul
from drowning in this world’s lies.
And every step I take towards
Your blood-stained outstretched hands
reminds me that I am a part
of Your eternal plan,
that calls me to step out in faith –
and take Your Holy Fire –
reaching out with deeper love,
and grace that’s even higher
than the waves, than the waves,
than the waves that wreck
the life and soul of man.

Walking on the water is impossible to do
unless I look up from the waves
and fix my eyes on You.
So when the raging storms rush in,
threatening to flood,
support me with Your Spirit
and the power of Your Blood.
So walking on the water
will not seem so very new
when I’m walking with You, step by step,
and doing the things You do.
Reaching out with grace and love
to everyone in need.
To be Your hands, and share Your life
wherever You may lead
through the waves,
through the waves,
through the waves ...

Some years earlier I wrote the poem reproduced below during a church weekend away in Bournemouth. I often hope I'll remember it when I'm facing the storm. After sharing it with another friend and on visiting their home I discovered that it has been given pride of place in their downstairs cloakroom - and learned that they had passed on a copy to one of their friends and guess where they keep it ... in their cloakroom.

Well, I suppose that's some kind of exposure!!!

Lord,

when all is calm,

and the sun is warm and soothing,

help me to trust in You …

for some day the storms will come,

dark clouds will rise over the hill,

and cold waters will overwhelm me …

remind me that You are here,

with me.

Here,

in the same boat;

as much Lord of the darkness as of the light,

as much Lord of the wind as of the calm,

as much Lord of the storm as of the stillness,

to which You bid us come,

and know,

that You are God.

Well, no comments or responses to my latest posts so far although a couple of friends have owned up to dropping in since I included a reference to it in my e-mail signature. I'll just have to send more e-mails!!!!

This song is based on the idea that our relationship with God is that of a Child and Father, a fact so deceptively profound - but one that really does sum up everything we need to know about how God sees us and how we are meant to relate to him and each other.

I want to be a child again

(Ps 8, Is 40³¹, Mt 18 ^1-4)

I want to be a child again and wonder at your love.

I want to see your Father heart drawn in the stars above.

I want to make you laugh out loud, and shake the mountains tall.

I want to be a child again and know how great it is to be small.

I want to be a child again and know you’re watching me.

I want to hold you by the hand and climb up on your knee.

I want to know you’re by my side while letting me explore

all of the treasures in your house as I keep finding more and more.

I want to be a child again (I know you want that too).

No more the self-made miracle with little time for you.

I want to fly on eagle’s wings, to run and not get tired.

Learning to trust you, come what may, and by your Spirit be inspired.

I want to be a child again and hear the people say,

“Isn’t he just like his Dad?” and be proud to walk your way.

I want to be a child again, in my spirit O let this be:

as I grow older every day I get younger in eternity.

More Canada Musings

Well, now I've started I can't finish ... thinking about Canada and the wonderful time we had there I thought I'd share some more of my writings inspired as much by the anticipation of the journey as the place itself.

We landed in Edmonton, Alberta and stayed a couple of nights at an out of the way place called Hidden Springs, a Christian retreat run by a couple called Neil & Barbara White. Just arranging our stay there from Wales was an adventure but also a joy as, through e-mail, we gained a sense of each other's testimony and the miracle of fellowship in the Holy Spirit despite never having met.

On our way there I had already started to write something about my longing to see the Rockies, (which we did towards the end of our 3 week stay) after travelling in completely the opposite direction towards the prairie lands of Saskatchewan.

I finished the Rocky Mountain Hymn at Hidden Springs after a very distant glimpse of the Rockies. It compares the unobtainable (for me) heights of those spectacular mountains with the glory of God which he has made accessible to me!

ROCKY MOUNTAIN HYMN:

I dream of lofty mountains and crystal clear blue skies;

of lakes that hold the heavens where mighty eagles fly.

And there beyond the tree line high peaks are capped with snow;

their rushing, living waters to pine-filled valleys flow.

I stand in awe before you beneath bright stars at night.

I wonder at your glory, your power and your might.

My heart beats hard and faster as from this world I soar

to see your Kingdom's glory, a never-ending shore.

Before you I am nothing: beyond my furthest view

I have no hope of climbing the steepest slopes to you.

But from your throne you saw me, stepped down and took my place.

You sacrificed your glory and saved me by pure grace.

You love me and you free me to taste your sweetest wine,

to speak out for your Kingdom and in the darkness shine.

My hands are raised in worship to you my soul must sing:

"Majestic King-Creator, High Lord of everything!"

It can be sung as a hymn and has a 76.76.D metre (such as Aurelia, although I prefer it to a tune called Ewing).


So, Hidden Springs: a real haven and a perfect place to unwind and unload as we took our first tentative steps in a new country. 2 nights to prepare for the long journey from Edmonton to Saskatoon - but it was so much more with late evening chats with Neil and the ever present and hopeful Meg waiting for us to play ball.
I may well return to what we learned and enjoyed about Hidden Springs in future posts - hey, that's what a blog is for isn't it?
For now I'll just leave my tribute to the haven we found at the beginning and end of our Canadian trip ...

See link for the Hidden Springs website.

HIDDEN SPRINGS

Time to leave life's highway, and stop the rush to gain.

Forget the overtaking, and join the slower lane.

Time to stop and ponder what life really means,

time to see new visions and dream some different dreams.

Time to hear creation sing its ceaseless song;

time to ask the question, "Where do we belong?"

Time to be reminded of most important things;

time for soul-refreshing right here at 'Hidden Springs'!

Time to spend reflecting on all we've seen and done.

Time to pray a blessing on what God has begun.

Time to leave the shelter of this safe and happy place.

Time to step on homeward in His enduring grace.

Time and space a plenty in God's scheme of things -

and so we carry with us the hope of 'Hidden Springs' ...

© Graham Oakes: 2007

Bye for now, don't be afraid to feedback ...

Oradour and Shuswap

OK ... 2 pieces which hopefully are more representative of what I write although I'm not sure I have any one particular style despite my use of the word 'definitive' in my last post.


We don't travel much but last year we went to Canada for our Wedding Anniversary and Gail's 50th birthday. I have a few pieces that I wrote over there but the one below celebrates our stay at Salmon Arm and reflects on Shuswap Lake in British Columbia - a different world to the other side of the Rockies from which we had travelled and were returning to so soon.


Shuswap: © Graham Oakes: 2007




Light lingers lazily on Shuswap Lake.
Sunset settles silently and
shadows scamper swiftly away
as the evening lets go of the day ....

What brings us here?

Drawn, not by our own desires,
though they were many,
but by a deeper, higher call.
Deeper than this glacial lake but
warmer to our hearts.
Higher than the mountain peaks
but closer to our souls.

Your presence is everywhere.
In time and in space;
in the minute and the magnificent;
there is no insignificance to you.

You go before us and have counted our steps.
You soar above us watching our way.
You walk beside us and speak peace.
You open our eyes to your truth.

When we think that we are alone
you remind us that your body is real;
tangible, living and breathing.
Each part made for the other,
all made one throughout the earth,
to which we, by grace, belong.

What stupendous grace!

And, just as you have
provided for our journey
you welcome us home
with overwhelming joy.

ORADUR

A few years ago we went with some friends to France and stayed a reasonable car's journey from the Martyr Village of Oradour sur Glane which we visited. It was a powerful reminder of the retributive horrors of the 2nd World War and I had to record my impression and experience of waking around a real ghost town.

“ALL THAT REMAINS”

Dedicated to all those who perished
at Oradour-sur-glane
June 10th 1944.

© Graham Oakes 2004

The rubble pokes up from this sacred ground like a half-finished, fully-forgotten building site. The bricks bare and thirsty, the girders rusted in the bright sunshine. Naked girders echoing the rusty remains of sewing machines and bedsprings, ovens and automobiles which lie within these broken shells which once were homes and workplaces.

The absence of familiar adornments of a living village the open doors and shutters; the simple but homely furniture; the twitching curtains, makes our continued approach uncomfortable.
And through the vacant windows we gaze at emptiness – the distressing emptiness of a broken heart.

The vacuum is not complete. Into this silent village intrude the irreverent noise of people. Hundreds of people. Walking, talking people. But there are no real people in this village – only transients. Tourists, sightseers, passers-by, foreigners. Their only reason to be here is to see for themselves, to be able to say that they have been here. Taking and posing for photographs they record the streets, the barns, the garages, the church. The clicking of cameras a faint echo of the stutter of distant machine guns …

And I was one of them. I walked along the streets and saw the burnt out cars – strangely inverse images (like photographic negatives) of what once was ... I walked the streets that naively welcomed the SS troops. I passed by the barns and garages that held frightened men captive for the slaughter. I stopped at the plaques that asked for prayerful recollection.
I entered the church … and then, only then did I hear the screams as I stopped trying to see the past - and permitted my mind to hear it.

If ever history was palpable it is here. Here, beneath the blue summer sky standing on the old, scarred flagstones of the church at Oradour-sur-glâne.

What happened here should never have happened.

But it did.

And here, beneath my feet, all around me in this confined and holy space the souls of hundreds of women and their children cried out for help, for mercy, for deliverance.
But these walls were unable to save them and their cries fell on hearts too hard to care.

What right did I have to be here, except to be touched by the cries, and to make my own peace with them and all who cry out for mercy, help and deliverance?

Come to this village, but not for the ruins.
Come to this village, but not for the dead.
Come to this village for yourself –

and leave
more determined to build than to destroy,
more committed to heal than to hurt.



Reassess your life and your possessions
and be ready to leave them all.

What will you leave that will last?




What story will be told of you?

Annual Update

Oh dear, I'm managing one post a year which seems a bit slow to me. However, at least I'm consistent.
I'd like to publish a few more of my writings here as the only one I've offered so far is not really definitive and a bit tongue in cheek. So, what do you think wide world? I'll post some of my favourites with some words of explanation and see what happens. OK! Let's do it and hope for the best ....

Please, please I value feedback which is honest and constructive. Thank you world.