Lady Waiting
Published by:
Hope International Ministries, Mt Morgan, Queensland 4714.
Distributed in Australia by:
Hope International Ministries
www.him.org.au
diane@him.org.au
All rights reserved. No portion of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form by any means – electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or any other – except for brief quotations in printed reviews, without the prior written permission of the author.
Lady Waiting
A poignant journey that began with a search for inner peace
and lead to betrothal to the King of Kings
C L Secretan
Forward by Ken Legg
Lady Waiting is a treasure chest of precious poems, reminiscences and meditations from the pen, or more precisely the heart, of Christine Secretan.
You will find no camouflaged messages, carefully concealed and hidden away in this volume of writings. On the contrary, in Lady Waiting Christine bares her soul and brings us into her personal, private world in a most intimate fashion. Through her journal-like recollections she shares not only her joys and victories, but also her struggles, disappointments, fears and forebodings.
And it is this utter transparency which endears this book to us, for as we join the author on her own personal journey of life we make two discoveries ourselves. First, we are brought into an intimate knowledge of the writer herself. (Though I have never personally met Christine, I feel totally acquainted with her through the self-disclosure Lady Waiting renders.) Secondly, we can’t help but find bits and pieces of our own lives. Maybe experiences we can identify with or thoughts we have had but pushed aside because of our unwillingness to acknowledge or deal with.
Christine has discovered the healing balm known as honesty and it is this precious gift she passes on to her readers. But she doesn’t stop there. Christine is no pessimistic poet leaving us in depression and despair. Throughout her writings there is woven the wonderful theme of hope, that is the product of faith.
It is a tremendous privilege, and gives me great pleasure, to be able to commend to you Lady Waiting.
Ken Legg
Author & Pastor, Gold Coast, Australia
Contents:
Forward
Introduction
Chapters:
1No signs on the road
So many roads
Many a pot of tea
Diaspora
On the edge
A trophy if I win
My melancholy mood
Two-way street
Played for kicks
Pendulum
An audience with him
History
Resolution Street
The traveller’s prayer
Sight for the blind
Bridging the realms
Trust in the Lord
The Servant’s creed
Just the preacher
2Vagabonds
Facing face
Wild thing
Joined at the wrist
Time to heal
Broken spirits
Volcanic
Impervious
Tests of time
No need
A stitch saves nine
Moved by the pool
Accountability
On my pillow weeping
Purpose
Just because he asked
Lamp high (Sweet memory)
Devotion
3Mud on our hands
Life from the dirt
Destiny
The judged
A trail of footprints behind
Memories of a Girl
Hitchhikers beware
Divorce
Effort
Balancing the scales
Stature
You cannot measure happiness
If my mirror was Thee
Remember me
Holy Oil
Deep (Water from above)
Darkness
Light within the light
He is the victor, let’s praise him
4In the dark
Walls
One step from the sunshine
Idle fingers
Feline
Master of disguise
Virtual reality
Unmarked graves
Willing to bleed
Ageing soldiers
The faces of war
Double vision
Each to the Lord
Nothing so tragic
The beauty within
What price a smile
5Flutters of the heart
Wretched
No song to sing
How brightly she sparkles
Childlike still
On air
Heart’s desire
The sculpture in the garden
Waves
Whispers of your name
Waiting on the moon
Missing you
Such a duet
Encore for my heart
The lady and her knight
6Love’s touch
The depth of heart
Thin ice
Pilgrimage of promise
Unspeakable joy
Magic moments
A jonquil and five pennies
For love
To make you happy
Enigma of one
In your hands I dance
The singer and his song
Betrothal
The music that is you
7Love in the flesh
The difference is you
Cockroaches for memories
The five star kiss
Captured
A taste of heaven
Chocolate
Lifted
His machine and me
No defence
Woman
Passion
Sunrise, Honey with you
Ecstasy
Your heart
8The promise of harvest
Perfect pair
Full seasons
Psychology of flowers
A song to the father of my baby
For always (a child’s eyes)
To be a mum
Rebecca’s farewell
Mother hen wings
Plenty
The mould is love
Her father’s daughter
The Father’s love
Salvation today
The great I AM
9Making sense of the picture
Behind the veil
Windows in skin
The gem cutter’s window
Life without love
Treasure-trove of love
All his glory
Female of the species
Carousel gone wild
Towers
Language of the heart
Facets
Portrait of a fool
Invitation to dine
Don’t knock the manna
Living water
Signed, sealed, to be delivered
Called to heart
10It was in the fine print
Born abroad
Face to face with you
Unsettled
The searcher’s trail
Links
Clarity of vision
Just a thought
A mountain of time
Empty hands
The lighthouse
Red apples
Our choice
Armageddon
Under Jesus’ love
More than a name
11Listen…God’s calling
Signpost “Lucifer’s Way” “
Seal of the prophets
The Craftsman’s stones
Peace
On my knees (Shalom)
Perfect me with your love
Worthy
Scarred, not broken
Eternity is forever
Year of jubilee
Sheep
12The Bridegroom is coming
Promise (at your feet)
The Promised Land
Heart song – A Messianic people
The Father’s love (reprise)
Yeshua Ha Mashiach
Sanctified
Come what may (a song of joy)
Overflowing
Hunger for your love
Every prayer
My heart lifted high
A new beginning
Ready
Introduction
From a chicken came courage for God had spoken.
The chicken (a four month old leghorn-cross pullet) had been missing for over a week; marauding dogs meant hope seemed foolish. Then, there it was, pacing the old picket fence that formed one wall of the run. When I opened the gate it ran straight to the feed troughs. It appeared perfectly well. I thanked God. A voice, the voice of all knowing urged me to inspect my young charge. Panic replaced my jubilation. The water it was drinking was streaming from tubes that protruded from its body. Turning the fowl over I discovered a scant covering of feathers concealed a ghastly sight...Gangrenous flesh alive with maggots.
I prayed. I prayed for the nerve to carry out the job I knew had to be done. Again I was spoken to. What right was mine? Its life had been preserved thus far - through wandering, against assault, and now my condemnation. Penitent I saw myself in that chicken and remembered how for me too God had intervened. I treated its wound as best as I could, placed it in a wooden box and prayed. Not so much for its healing (this I felt had already been proven) but a prayer of thanks for the lesson I had learned.
The pullet’s recovery and restoration to a life productive and valued closed the parable; one that spoke of the heart and wisdom of God. God had spoken. With urging I had listened. When years later his voice called me to speak I determined not only would God open my mouth; there would be ears to listen.
1No signs on the road
So many roads
By the side of the road I stop;
A traveller in need of a rest I relax;
A soul desiring companionship
I strike up a chat…
Urged on by the clock
I reluctantly return to the track,
But which way should I go?
There are so many forks, so many roads.
At the end of my road
Is my destination; this much I know.
But will I arrive there tomorrow
Or get lost en route?
Shall I go directly as planned?
Or detour and look around?
Will I have fine weather,
Or find myself flood bound?
Shall I listen to advice,
Or leave their opinion their own?
Shall I walk with the familiar,
Or be challenged by the unknown?
Shall I travel with company
Or go it alone?
If every question is a junction
Where are all the signs?
Many a pot of tea
The cackles,
The groans,
The feelings outpoured
As we sit chatting
Over another pot of tea.
My grandparents,
My mum,
Dad joins on a break from work,
And I sit listening intently
As an elixir of heart-warming yarns is poured for me.
Memories...
Of fun
As through seasons they’ve walked:
Stories of autumn leaves, snow, spring flowers
And berry picking; all ended with a tale of a funfair by the sea.
History...
When Vikings crossed;
Family talks complete with ghosts of course;
Neighbours, friends, the houses lived in, And genetic strands that like arms hold me to each scene.
Tragedy...
What was lost
When the country was at war.
The bonding. The terror. The sirens and bombings.
Duty, pride and fear recalled - Granddad served in the Navy.
Reflecting
They make a fresh pot.
Talk swings to a new shore -
Australia. The land of my birth.
What struggles, what laughs they’ve had since landing here.
While sipping
They chat. I think a lot,
Wondering if I’ll ever get to answer the call -
To return to this land of ancestors and beginnings,
To return to these origins that beckon me still.
Diaspora
Diaspora,
Historians’ delight;
Banishment,
Beginning of night.
Ostracism,
The hunted in flight;
Exile,
The bearers of light.
Seclusion,
All buried like gems;
Separation,
Now trophies of men.
Expatriation,
Surviving in blends;
Diaspora, In reconciliation it ends.
On the edge
Perched high on the precipice,
This rock face,
This ledge
I abandon all reason and sit facing the edge.
Looking out
I see nothing, not even clouds.
No burdens.
No crowds.
No pressures.
No persons who are loud.
Nothing - and I have no desire
To be returned to reality’s ground.
Here the air is fresh
And breathing deep
Its purity purges me of all that once set me on edge.
This fortress is my rock;
I come here to sit, to take stock.
But when the book is read
The statement declares a shortfall of strength.
Bound to this life I must accept
That often, I will be found here,
Sitting on the edge.
A trophy if I win
In the beginning
My desire is to win.
In the beginning
There is something worth believing in.
I endure the training,
It is worth the pain.
I see in the training
The vision of what will be gained.
Beginning with eagerness, self-confidence,
Expectation and smiles;
Enduring the failure, disappointment,
Frustration and cries.
Beginning
Initiates the training.
Training
Arrives at the start of the race.
In the beginning
I run hard with the pack.
I think at the beginning:
“My training earned me a place on this track.”
In agony I keep
running,
I won’t be shamed;
Only those who keep running
Are remembered at the end of the day.
The race over,
What has been gained?
The finish is a beginning:
Of reflections,
Of training,
Of a new goal to be prized.
My melancholy mood
‘One day’ – words glibly tossed around.
Words that mean never when the world has let you down.
“One day!” is how the mockers taunt you
When all you need is someone to extend a hand.
‘One day’, like that soulful sound of bass
Holds the power to sink me, to bond me to its tone.
But ‘One day’ is the rainbow’s promised gold,
Yes, ‘One day’ is the song I sing while walking in the rain.
Two-way street
“He goes his way. I go mine.”
“She’s into music; I like to cast a line.”
He. She. Her. Him. Accusations abound.
He. She. Her. Him. On the roundabout again.
“I’ve done my bit. I’m not trying anymore.
“It’s a two-way street this marriage scene.”
Is the catchword of the war.
A pedestrian am I, a witness to the flow,
To all the horns and honking with misery their tone.
A driver am I, caught up in the flow All the horns and honking play the song we moan:
“Two-way streets it is known have not unity in mind.
“The purpose of the two way street
“Ensures no two vehicles ever meet.”
“They’re good at keeping traffic flowing,
“Keeping each one in their lane;
“Paths may cross, yes that is fine but never ever must they be
“Allowed to travel side by side.
Paths may cross, but should they meet…
“It’s a two-way street this marriage scene.”