Pickle-osophy

Purple

2009-07-19T17:59:00.001+10:00

Just to answer the question, how does my favourite colour make me feel?

Here into mystery, without finality
Dim rich uncertainty, where I find rest.
Not in false confidence, arrogant impudence
Trusting truth’s immanence, waiting is best.

Fast through the dark’ning storm, keeping cold courage warm
‘Gainst the devouring swarm, here I shall stand;
Not knowing everything, under the shelt’ring wing
Where even sorrows sing, held by His hand.

Beauty is promise rare, silencing old despair,
His touch is everywhere, taking death’s sting.
For all eternity, freed from iniquity
In my entirety loved by my king.

Morning light

2009-07-17T16:21:00.001+10:00

And every atom dances in the light
And every leaf is beautiful and whole
And every naked branch is waiting grace
And all breathes wonder in the morning’s dole.

Was yesterday so dull, so grey, so drear?
Today is benison enough for me,
Enough to know that freshness ever springs,
Enough to marvel at transparency.

Enough to know that light beyond all worlds
Shall one day shine, transfiguring all things
And while I wait, beneath this world’s cold rain,
My heart, with wild anticipation, sings.

Sunset on a bleak day

2009-07-16T17:23:00.001+10:00

Because today grew grey and cold, and then became transfigured ..

God, send such glory at the end of days!

So long bleak greyness, cold and unfulfilled
Lurched with unloveliness across our skies
And damped the spirit as it dulled the day.

So much I longed to find a brighter way!

Here, winter’s nadir breathed its misery
Season of shortened days and leafless tree
Night seemed to settle on the daytime skies

Then, at the dearth of dusk, a bright surprise!

Light, pink and golden, glorious and rare,
Shone underneath the clouds, transformed the air!
Beauty for ashes, joy when hope was dead,

May this be true for greater things instead!

May this poor life, so battered small and cold,
Not find the darkness deepen, growing old,
To stumble to such beauty, worth all praise

God, send such glory at the end of days!

Poem for Michael Jackson

2009-06-27T16:33:00.002+10:00

No, I was never a fan (probably because I'm the wrong age group)but, as an icon of a broken world, he touched us all with his sad distorted life ..

Through the ice and bitter fire
Strangling heat of sad desire
Lay your heart upon the wire.

Yours the music that could soar
Snagged by the internal war:
While the vultures heaved and tore.

Torture self to seek relief
All unmade by misbelief.
Joy was stolen – who’s the thief?

All that knife and drug could do
Broken being to renew
Could not give love back to you.

Beauty with corruption dwells
Mirrored through a thousand hells
Thirsting deep for poisoned wells.

Only mercy, sharp and bright
Washes black and makes it white
Names the wrong and claims the right.

Now the pilgrimage is o’er,
Truth beyond the furthest door
Sifts the burdens that you bore.

You were tragedy writ strong
Truthlessness builds wrong on wrong
Bitter discord breaks the song.

worship!

2009-06-15T12:15:00.000+10:00

The Moon Speaks

2009-05-19T09:35:00.002+10:00

This is my response to the latest Random Acts of Poetry at High Callings Blog
http://highcallingblogs.com/blog/rap-coming-home-to-voice/2255/
It's an exercise in taking on another voice, so I am speaking as the Moon.

THE MOON SPEAKS

Moved by the rhythms of my bondage
I twist my face away
Lest you see my frozen tears
Forbidden in waterless wilderness.

Can I sulk across the sky?

The stars do not speak to me
In alien cold glory,
For I lie too close to earth:
The glorious seductress
In dazzling shades of life.

First I look, then turn away.

Yet while I dance my great ambivalence,
There is one from whom my face can never turn,
Glory bright and constant
Whose wonder holds me fast;
Beauty that enthrals me through the singing years.

This I must worship,
Offering my humble rock to light.

They tell me that I shine.

Loving on ..

2009-05-18T12:29:00.001+10:00

Because, in this world, it sometimes hurts to love ..

I have loved you without hope in my mouth
While the cold winds tears the last remaining leaves
And the skies grow drearer;
While the small things scuttle from me
And misery, flat on a stretcher,
Rides in to take the town –
I have loved you.

I have loved you when reason metamorphosed
And played strange tricks on my heart;
When the shape of things was changed,
And I learned new words for sorrow;
When Night kissed my lips and I had no aching answer.
When blackbirds perched on skeleton trees
Commanding the songs of Zion
In a death-mask jester’s voice –
I have loved you.

I have loved you when the crowds spun bitter laughter
In a noose to ambush you, and I could not, could not reach ..
Beating my fists against perspex impossibilities:
The dull, transparent wall flavoured with damnation,
And nowhere left to go.
When the stinging rain beat down,
And my beauty was bedraggled
To a sodden lump of ugly truth –
I have loved you.

I have loved you when poetry reverts to prose
And our prayers are a litany of scrubbing,
Kneeling on cold stone, ridiculously tender of the dandelions.
Mercy in mourners’ weeds goes by,
And barbarians beat at the gates.
There is no laughter then,
But a small bird singing
Its elevated anthems
In the shade of the last curled leaf –
Still I have loved you.

I have loved you in the land of unpossession
Where our empty hands are scarred,
Where the leaving is the holding, and the trust stays unbetrayed.
Here, where there are no rainbows,
And the garbage must be swept;
Where the temples are all empty,
And the idols overturned..
There I have loved you.

In the beloved country,
Where tears become our balm
And beauty is unassailable,
Heart never hid from heart –
I shall love you still.

Learning to say no

2009-05-15T13:54:00.000+10:00

I have left the borders unguarded
Till my heart became a wasteland
Pitiful, pathetic,
The harvest of my hope.

Long the marauders played ,,

I had bound my own hands
In desperate obedience.
Silenced my screams,
While anger turned to guilt:
It was sin to own a dragon.

And the streams flow caustic tears ..

Now I hunger no indulgence
Limp-sitting in the shade,
Ears tight against cajolement.
Like Ulysses at the mast
Seeking another country
Where my bones can grow to stone.

I shall invite the dragon ..

Learning a different wisdom
Not the mother-tongue of shame.
The terrible risk of strength
Armed with adulthood.
I shall refuse the pirates
With their petty tales.
I am no spoiled garden.

I am guarded place.

Resurrection

2009-04-16T19:03:00.000+10:00

I shall no longer shadow-lurk
In the dim, grim darkness,
In my manifold mortality:
He has rolled away the stone.

Here, eager-footed forwards,
Into laughter-chiming light
While the waves call alleluia
And the world is glory-glad.

Not looking back, tomb-tethered,
When His wonder stretches forth
Fluid as love Himself,
Deep as desire.

Someday, star-dancing,
All is finally finished,
Now, in this liminal loveliness
Learning faith’s footing.

Embrace awaits, at the end of the sand journey,
Plunging into Him,
Knowing Life lives, grace-cadenced,
In my Lord.

Easter

2009-04-15T22:02:00.000+10:00

Oh that my bones could sing,
That my entrails could dance in extravagant worship
That I could tear the shrouding skies apart!

How, in the light of This Light,
Do I forget so quickly,
And get fooled by death again?

Here there is no mundane, no dull negation.
Entropy is reversed, and the stars remember,
The moment that glory broke through.

The hamsters’ wheel was broken,
The puppets’ strings removed
And the angels couldn’t keep away.

In flesh like mine He did it
Turning history inside out
Giving faith its solemn reason.

The day death died.

Home

2009-04-07T21:04:00.002+10:00

My friend was tired. He needed to go home. What does 'home' mean to us at such moments? One day, each one of us, in Christ, will be able to truly come home.

Here the day’s load unbuttons. We slough off
Our formal faces and our rigid smiles
To curl ourselves in kindness like a snail.

Here, with ears shut to Hades’ hectoring,
We hear, instead, a softer, meeker tune
The rhythm of love kneeling down to serve.

Here we retreat from this world’s battering
Here we can laugh in honest, open fun
Eyes meeting eyes that smile and understand.

Here, so at rest we need no fancy dress,
Hands reach for hands across the gulf of self
And clasp, content to simply wait a while.

If words were arrows

2009-04-05T16:57:00.002+10:00

this isn't about anything, not directly anyway. (indirectly it always is, I suppose, since it came from somewhere. Just a writing exercise, following a "poetry prompt" -- if words were ...

If words were arrows,
I would lodge them in your heart,
Seeking to pierce the layers of confusion
That make our tongues so brittle.

If words were water,
I would let them trickle over you
Bringing sweet refreshment,
Wearing holes in stone.

If words were fire,
I would burn away indifference;
Melt your icy coldness,
And fuse our understandings.

If words were seeds,
I would plant them in your arid places
And let their roots run deep,
To dislodge solid stone.

But my words are only vapours,
The helpless shapes of breath
Dispersing into nothingness
With the breeze of your small shrug.

To one who hurts

2009-03-19T21:56:00.002+11:00

Not sure how to explain this. I have had several friends suffering this week, one in particular very close to my heart. Sometimes I don't even know how to pray for them, simply hurt for them. But I believe that I can join my inadequate, broken love to the perfect love of God for them, until my longing for their healing, given back to Him, becomes a prayer for them (I'm struggling for words here)..

This my love
Reaches blindly
To enclose you in my soul
To shelter you from the sun by day
And the moon by night.
To stretch beyond my limitations
And hold your heart secure.

This I cannot do.
In my human smallness
In my broken wisdom
How can I contain your mystery?

I would carry pain for you
Heartbeat by heartbeat
Measuring your pace
Breath for breath enduring
In this tense and aching silence ..
Would you even know?

Pain cannot be divided
For my power is as zero.

But I will take this longing
And become a prayer
Seeing Perfect Love once more
Nailed to our agony.
I will nail my soul to Him
To His dereliction binding;
Letting grace flow through
The tatters of my straining
As He holds the world,
And you;
Healing in His wounds.

You are my inheritance ..

2009-03-16T12:35:00.000+11:00

And You are my inheritance.

Not in the musty attic
Of a tired imagination
Where we keep forgotten playthings:
Our old, outgrown gods.

Nor in the best room, on display,
Inside grandma’s glass cabinets
Or stacked on modern shelves
The challenging conversation piece
To which friends must respond.

Nor in the family room:
Knocked about and battered,
Sat on by the children,
Worn and torn.
Misused for years, then broken carelessly,
And tossed out and replaced.

Nor in the kitchen
Hoarded and not shared,
Greedily devoured
In a moment’s desperate hunger,
And souring inside.

But in the intimate rooms
Where I hold you close
And you hold me, promising,
That oneday, someday
I can come to Your house
And stay forever ..

… lodged in living light.

No monsters here

2009-03-13T11:37:00.001+11:00

Things are not always what they seem, and people who live by denial will end up, so sadly, paying a heavy price ..

There are no monsters here – the day burns bright
The peerless sun glides through the matchless sky
And all is clear, drenched in revealing light,
And nothing hides, no lingering shadows lie.

Here, crystal tea parties upon the lawns
And ladies in pale dresses sit at ease
And crystal conversation, soft, adorns,
The social sweetness everybody sees.

Here smiles come ready made and laughter clinks
Like silver spoons in teacups going round
In dervish motion, and the sugar sinks
In liquid silence, crystalline and drowned.

Keep your nails short, lest talons should rip through
This painted canvas, beautifully displayed
Make sure, make sure, in everything you do,
That all your anguished efforts are repaid.

Intact! Intact! Here let no rudeness thrust
Through these defences, brittle and so dear.
You hold it all together, for you must
How else can you believe it is sincere?

How else? How else? The monsters stay below
In careful crafted caves beneath the ground.
We only see the things we choose to know:
Nothing distasteful, darkened or unsound.

And who, in this bright landscape so desired,
Knows what those banished monsters darkly do.
Or where they lurk in corners old and tired,
To wait the hour when they devour you?

Let down ..

2009-03-09T15:35:00.000+11:00

because we have all had those moments when we felt betrayed or devalued ..

The eyes that turn away
The words that dodge and weave
I know I am betrayed,
I falter, shrink and grieve.

Like flowers thrown aside
Before their scent is done
My offering is despised
My moment overrun.

I shape my public face
The while my heart descends
Into a bitter place –
And the bright world pretends.

I learned long, long ago,
To hide my strickenness
To cover up the shame
Of vulnerable distress.

Yet in the hidden depths
I wrestle with the pain
Of wearing once again
Rejection’s burning stain:

Is everything I am
And everything I do
Uselessly offered up?
They’ve turned to something new!

Yet, oh my Lord and God
Here in this breaking place
I garner shards of me
And lift them up to grace

Lift them up to the One
Who was despised and torn.
From Whom their faces turned,
Whose crown was pressing thorn.

Here I will yield my pain
Here will let go my load
Out of this lonely hurt
Into the hands of God.

Here where the Crucified
Bore even worse for me
I will lean in on Him
Sharing this agony.

Here I will know Him more
Than in the sunlit hour
Learning His perfect love
Held by His hidden power.

And as the waves of pain
Crash on my breathless shore
He will hold fast to me
And I will know Him more.

education and learning

2009-03-04T15:17:00.000+11:00

Learning and education

Well, I’m 1 ½ weeks into my masters course, and, not surprising, feeling slightly overwhelmed. I expected this, I knew that I was breaking into a whole new subject area, since my previous degree was in theology, the half-a-degree I dropped out of in 1975 was in Social Work (covering a little sociology, anthropology, psychology, and, thrown into the mix, a year of Italian, which I did as a general arts subject because someone told me that no one ever failed it). At school, back in the dark ages, I did high level maths and physics because I had to (that was my father) but my joy was in English. And here I am studying Adult Education .. (No wonder I keep asking God what he’s up to in my life – I can’t see the pattern).

But you see, I expected most of the overwhelm to be purely intellectual – learning the jargon and thinking and methodology of an entire new discipline. And, of course, dealing with that little voice inside me that now has to acknowledge that I got through my undergrad degree, but seriously questions whether I’m capable of doing a Masters. Mostly I try to ignore it! What I was not prepared for was the personal impact of some of this stuff – already! I think back over myriad bible studies etc and question the relative agency of “teacher” and “learner” – who sets the agenda? I immediately see that this is why my husband and I have never been able to co-lead – our natural styles fall at very different points along the continuum.

I read about a guy called Freire and his educational philosophy, kind of the educational equivalent of liberation theology, and realise that this process (labelled by some as “insurrectionary”) was exactly the process of self-education I was unconsciously using as a child to distance myself from the “dominant culture” of a dysfunctional family. I’m still processing that one. Then I find myself reading about the next guy’s approach and find myself saying, “Ah! An admixture of Skinner and Piaget!” I haven’t studied either of those guys since 1975 – what vault of memory was that locked away in?

And of course, since one of my conscious goals in doing this course was to work out better teaching methods in the church, I already find myself critiquing the approaches of various people and institutions that I know (since a little knowledge is a dangerous thing). I don’t think we’ve done very well (and I’m thinking denominationally here) in working out how to teach absolute truth in a way that empowers the learner, instead of leaving them with a sheep-ish undiscriminating dependence on the “experts”? How do Jesus’ teaching methods compare in this respect? When did we lose that incredible balance?

Hmm .. I’d better go read some more ..

Ordinary saints

2009-02-17T10:06:00.002+11:00

Please do not misunderstand me, I am not for one moment putting down theology, or wrestling intellectually with the hard questions. These things are good and necessary, in a world of wolves the shepherds must be wise to protect the sheep. But let us never mistake theory for practice, or learning for living.

I am in awe of ordinary saints,
Those who do not construe or exegete
But walk in faith and walk in faithfulness,
And love their Lord.

These are the ones who pray because they must
Because they have no life outside of Him
Because they know their weakness is His strength
And love their Lord.

They do not blaze with end-time arguments
They have enough to do to live each day
Still yielding to the long obedience
To love their Lord.

They do not argue on inerrancy
They simply treat His Word as their command
And yield their hearts in all simplicity
And love their Lord.

They are the ones who serve, the ones who give,
The ones who worship, naming Him as God,
Who rest in faith upon His promises
And love their Lord.

They are the ones for whom their King shall come
They shall be raised in wonder, love and awe
They shall rejoice to see Him as He is
And love their Lord.

Shredded by the Stars

2009-02-04T17:12:00.002+11:00

Stars have always been a powerful symbol to me of beauty and perfection. When I was in my early teens, the beauty of the stars was one of the things that helped me believe in the reality of God. I was (and am) incapable of believing that such glory is happenstance. But beauty is dangerous too -- it shows us up, revealing sin and death and finitude. ..

I am shredded by the stars;
The sharpness of their glory
Lacerates my questing soul.

See their cold perfection
Utterly destroy me,
Revealing hidden darkness
And unravelling conceit.

Must all beauty be my death?

Take me apart then,
Let me be refashioned.
Let the frozen tears start flowing
To acknowledge all the pain.
Let me look beyond the stars ..

Beyond this beauty .. Beauty Himself ..
Descending into darkness ..
And returning.

Let me be unafraid
Of the small deaths, the unmaking;
Tear the terrible wound wide open
Let all beauty sear and sheer
Until I know that Death is dead
And I walk in killing gladness
… meeting Love.

Prayer from an Old Diary

2009-01-23T19:00:00.002+11:00

Cleaning out some old papers I came across a prayer diary I kept for a while in 1991, when I was dealing with some pretty heavy stuff in my life. Skimming through it I came across this (edited slightly for context):

Quicken Your Spirit within me, my Father, that Your transforming power might be at work in me, even in this impossible situation.

In the midst of turmoil, saturate me with Your peace
In the midst of my pain, be a wellspring of joy within me
In the midst of rejection, let me rest upon Your love
In the midst of injustice, make me steadfast in longsuffering
In the midst of provocation, keep me gentle
In the midst of change and confusion, hold me in Your faithfulness
In the midst of evil, let me be a channel of Your goodness
In the midst of persecution, help me be glad in meekness
In the midst of passion and self-indulgence, temper me with the Spirit’s fruit of self-control.

I am not these things, but You are, and there is my sufficiency.
To look for fulfilment in any other place is frustration and futility.

Trying On Old Jewellery

2009-01-19T16:34:00.002+11:00

The other day I was going somewhere, and trying to work out what would make that particular outfit "look right", I tried on some old jewellery I had at the back of the cupboard. i was shocked at how "yuck" it was -- some years ago I used to wear those things regularly! Part of it is fashion of course, but part of it goes much deeper ..

I am no more the girl who wore these things,
This coloured plastic: dated, dull and plain,
The sum of all I ever dared aspire.

I dreamed small dreams, that me of way back when,
Scared of the risk of pride I huddled close
Hiding both hope and fear behind a mask
Of littleness, and drab and careful thoughts.

I am no more that girl, the one afraid
To be the thing she is, the thing I am,
To be myself in all my brokenness,
To learn to sing my hidden, secret song,
To let both tears and laughter freely flow.

Yes, she is me but not me. I still wear
Her wounds, carry her fears, name the old pain,
Taste the old shame that kept her caged so long.
But not me. By some precious, precious grace,
I have escaped, have found my flimsy wings
And dare await the Spirit wind to lift.

I stand entire within that timeless place
Which I have not yet reached.
I can aspire
Towards that beauty which shall one day be
And even now I trust that grace for me.

Not my way ..

2009-01-16T12:58:00.000+11:00

Lead me through darkness, for my way is known to You.
You have counted the hairs on my head and the sands of time,
Seen the end from the beginning, and adorned each brittle flower.

My ways are not Your ways, but I how would they were,
That love, like the alchemist’s stone, would touch my leaden heart,
Transmuting it to malleable gold.

My ways lead to futility, I cannot what I would.
In me dwells no good thing, except You dwell in me,
Then am I satisfied, for I shall wake up in Your likeness.

I am a child, Your child, still small in incompleteness
I must lean on You and learn, for You are my only wisdom,
My way, my Truth, my Life, Yourself my whole fulfilment.

So, not my way, but Yours; there is my hope, my freedom,
In the centre of Your will, where mystery turns to meaning,
In my heart’s most hidden place, continue Your redeeming.

32 years ago -- some recollections

2009-01-14T15:08:00.000+11:00

January 14, 1977. It was a hot muggy night, with small thunderstorms hovering around. I had not had much to do all day, since the wedding wasn’t till 6:30 that evening. In those days, unless you were rich, you did your own hair, makeup etc. So there weren’t all those trips to hairdressers etc which seem to keep modern brides so busy. I was a young, sheltered 22 year old who had a lot of growing up to do.

My bridesmaids were my 2 sisters, then aged 17 and 12. My mother had run up their dresses – simple floral dresses as suited their age. Again, we did things much more cheaply then. I was impatient, I just wanted to get the whole thing over and done with. I wasn’t the sort of girl who had spent her life dreaming of her wedding day, to me a wedding was just what you had to go through in order to get married. I was a virginal bride, innocent enough to assume most brides were, I wanted to marry this man, and a wedding was the process you went through to do that. So, while I wanted it to be “nice”, and I was certainly girl enough to want to look good for my bridegroom, to me the whole ceremony was a means to an end, not the end itself. The important part wasn’t the walking down the aisle, or the posing for photographs, the important part was the part that said, “till death us do part”.

I honestly don’t remember many details of the ceremony (come on, it WAS 32 years ago!!). At that time the Anglican church was in the process of discarding the 1662 prayerbook and bringing in more modern forms of service, but had not yet produced a definitive new prayerbook. So the form of service was the one the minister chose, one of the forms of service floating round at the time. We had no say in any of that, our choice was restricted to the Bible reading (Ephesians 3:14-19), and the hymns ( Praise my soul the King of heaven, and Take my life and let it be) OK, I didn’t have the popular choices of the time (! Corinthians 13 and O Perfect Love), not because I didn’t like them, but because everybody else had them, and I wanted this to be our wedding, not a carbon copy. My uncle gave me away (silly expression, he’d never owned me!) because my father had died suddenly 8 months previously. I don’t even know the wording of the vows we used (except that they didn’t say “obey” – something which was immaterial to me then, but important now.) what I do remember is the wedding vow I made in my heart, that I would do him good and not evil all the days of my life (Proverbs 31:12) That is the one I have tried to keep.

The reception was a blur – it wasn’t my choice it was my mother’s. I would have been happy with a few sandwiches in the church hall, just to say “Hi, thanks for coming”, but my mother insisted we had to have a proper “reception place”, so we could, but, considering my mother’s widowhood and our fairly penniless state, we chose the cheapest one in the area. ‘Nuff said.

I married a penniless full-time med student. We didn’t want to wait the extra 10 months till he graduated, so we ended up arranging the whole wedding in 11 weeks. Easy. I just don’t get what bridezillas fuss about.  I had dropped out of uni the year before and got a basic clerical job (which I never enjoyed) because one of us had to be earning to pay for the roof over our heads. I quit the moment he became an intern and started earning, and have not been back in the paid workforce since. So, remarkably in this day and age, we have always been a one income family.

So where are we now? 32 years older (self-evidently) and living about 10 minutes drive from where we started. The med student has become a successful gastroenterologist, with a thriving practice and a young partner. The bride has weathered the mothering years, storms of abuse issues, the ordinary griefs of life, and finds herself, at 54, looking around with some astonishment. When did it all happen? I now have 2 wonderful kids, older than I was when I got married, plus a lovely daughter in law. The dropout finds herself with a theology degree, the painfully shy girl finds herself a preacher, the dreamer finds herself with new dreams. The one with zero domestic skills is a proficient and rather original cook (my husband tries to tell me he’s never had the same meal twice – that’s not true, but hey, there are always subtle variations. ) I have taught him to appreciate the theatre and art galleries, he has taught me to appreciate cricket, and given up trying to convince me that there is anything to appreciate in football. I’m just temperamentally allergic to it! I can sing in tune, he can’t; he is good with his hands and I have 10 thumbs. I’m an indoor girl who loves poetry, books and long conversations, he loves getting outdoors and is the master of the two minute phone call. We both love birdwatching. He is a doctor, I’m the one who’s had health issues (not sure this last one is exactly complementarity!) His spiritual gift (according to a thingy we did at church once) is hospitality, but I’m the one who has to do the cooking. His background is firmly Presbyterian, I am an Anglican, sacramental and at least semi-charismatic. In Myers-Briggs terms, he is ESTJ, I am INFP. In other words not a single trait in common. But M-B don’t measure things like I make jokes and he laughs at them, or that he is steady and predictable, and I constantly catch him by surprise. He never knows where my next thought is coming from (neither do I). He is very into family and tradition, I am into friends and embracing new ideas. He is SUCH a morning person, I am a creature of evenings. More than one friend has commented to me the fact that such extreme opposites are still married is substantial proof of the grace of God. I say that after all the hard yards we’ve earned ourselves a nice dinner out!

And I’m so thankful that all our days are in God’s hands and not entrusted to ours – we would have dropped and broken everything!!

Something you didn't need to know ..

2009-01-13T17:00:00.001+11:00

35 seconds

actually I'm not even sure I know exactly what a velociraptor is ... something like a tyrannosaurus?

five question quiz

2009-01-12T17:20:00.000+11:00

Your Word is "Peace"

You see life as precious, and you wish everyone was safe, happy, and taken care of.

Social justice, human rights, and peace for all nations are all important to you.

While you can't stop war, you try to be as calm and compassionate as possible in your everyday life.

You promote harmony and cooperation. You're always willing to meet someone a little more than halfway.

What's Your Word?