Time to change

It’s time to make a change so you will now find my blog at http://www.judithmcghie.com

I hope you will follow me there.  Thank you for your support.  Your feedback has been appreciated.
Regards

Judith

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A story for my Grandma Book

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The Headmaster’s Office

“Mr Morrison would like to speak to Judith.” In one instant my stomach churned, my heart beat faster and, if a ten year old sweats – I felt the perspiration running down my face. OK, that may be an exaggeration but I definitely remember feeling the burn in my cheeks and neck. Only the kids who were very naughty were called to the Headmaster’s office.

I had been there once before when I found myself in the middle of a physical fight with one of the James twins. He was a bully and I was defending pudgy Michael from ugly taunts. This time though I could think of nothing I had done. The reality was (and still is), I struggle to break rules. I lived in fear of being in trouble. It really was fear. Perhaps a good psychologist could help me get to discover the cause as I have no idea what incident is responsible.

The heart palpitations and handwringing continued as Mrs Kennedy gave me the nod to leave the classroom. I certainly didn’t run past Room 7, Room 6 or Room 5. I ran out of Rooms to pass and stood outside Mr Morrison’s office. In true headmaster style, he left me waiting and I wracked my brains as to why I could be here. I felt the nausea deep in my stomach and there he stood in the doorway – smiling!

That confused me. Am I in trouble? Why else would he want to see me. By the time I took the few steps into the inner sanctum of his office, he was at his desk picking up papers. Horrified I saw my scrawling handwriting and realized he was holding my story. Sadly I don’t remember what it was about but I do remember sitting and writing page after page, lost in a dream as I wrote.

And now, here was Mr Morrison holding my work toward me. It seemed his smile had disappeared and he was looking very stern. He was also still standing. I looked up to his bald head a long way above me wishing I could be elsewhere, anywhere – even at the Murder House (only a New Zealander from my age group will understand the total terror of that place also known as the Dental Clinic). He was speaking to me.

“Judith, is this your own work?” I was caught off guard, not old enough to understand fully the concept of cheating and certainly not plagiarism.

“Yes.” I only knew to tell the truth.

“Are you certain?”

“Yes.”

“Well then, this is a very wonderful story and you should be proud of your work,” and with that I was sent back to my classroom.

On hindsight, it’s a random incident and I have no idea how or why. It just happened. I don’t recall ever seeing the pages again but what I do know, this is when I first started secretly harbouring a desire to write. Unfortunately it took me over forty years to believe I could.

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Wings

 

Hope lies torn
Harsh sands its resting place
Broken by relentless wind
Rendered lifeless by unsurpassed pain
unknown by the observer
who whispers their judgement
understanding lost through veiled eyes.
But God…
And Emmanuel whispers
“I see, I know
I too felt the pain
and know life torn from me.
For you, it was for you
For this time
To breathe into your broken beauty
health to the irreparable
and life contrary to reason”
And His breath of grace
lifts hope
so battered wings may soar again.

                                     © J McGhie 2015

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An unfinished tale

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Covered from his fur hat to the solid snowboots on his feet, the dark figure contrasted starkly with the white snow.  He walked briskly, the icy pavement no impediment to his progress. At the corner he paused, uncertain of which direction to take. His frustration became evident as he pulled the scarf from his face with one hand and reached into his pocket with the other. His mittened hands made it impossible and the phone fell. He surrendered a hand to the elements, picked up the phone and dialled. As he held it to his ear, his freezing breath created ice on his eyelashes and brows. He was not used to this cold. An unfamiliar voice spoke to him in an unfamiliar language and his curse echoed in the Arctic stillness.

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Yesterday and Tomorrow

  
That moment when the gauge says empty and you stumble on fuel

That moment when the road disappears and you turn the corner to a new vista

That moment when the rain comes down drenching and you look up to see the sun shining through the clouds

That moment when you whisper “I don’t know how this is going to work” and you turn around to see the promise of God

And you know. And you are assured because He is sure

Who He was yesterday is who He is today

Yesterday He provided food in a farm field where there was none

Yesterday He filled your arms with babes when it seemed that was not to be 

Yesterday He saw your need and there was shelter and transport

Yesterday He breathed life into lungs that swam in blood

Yesterday He surrounded you with friends when yours had all gone

Yesterday He wrapped his arms around you with care when no one else did

And you know He will provide because He said he would

So tomorrow is set because who He is today is who He will be tomorrow.
                                                                                         © J McGhie 2015

“…but GOD…”

“Jesus Christ the same yesterday, today and forever”

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Whispers

I whispered Your name.
The silence roared its response
to the desire of my heart.

I whispered Your name,
my gaze held by a bush
on chance You flared.

I whispered Your name
and scanned the ocean –
perhaps You were walking there.

I whispered Your name
The wind muffles
And Your voice was not there.

I whispered Your name
and listened in silence,
You whisper reverberated back.

                                             © J McGhie 2015

“Be still and know…”
“…there was the sound of a gentle whisper”

“…You have not forsaken those who seek You”

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You

  
You

You are

You are love

You love

Love

Love me

Love me eternally

Love eternally

Eternally

Eternally seek

Eternally seek You

Eternally You

You

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