Archive | July 2011

Pen poised over hearts

Pen poised…Why do I teach?

Why, Do I teach?

Why? Do I? Teach?…

I found myself rolling the thought around my doodle pad– my mind, my heart, my soul.

Reflective, I contemplated the years I have taught.

I felt challenged afresh to examine the reasons and I realized that the teaching journey started in a shallow stagnant, dry, limited pool. Now, years later, I find myself in a deep ink-well of diverse, creative rich purpose.

At sixteen I had no purpose. I faced a vague future with no sense of what to write on the pages of my life. The journey began with filling in a form with a ball point pen; the chance of a bursary. It seemed like an option .It was available. The ink spluttered, stopped and started. At 21 I had completed my degree with little clue of what would soon become my passion; my ‘Life’s Work’.

Years later-by God’s grace, in hindsight, I now know that: Anne planned in her heart (sort-of) but the Lord determined Her steps.

I now have to acknowledge that God must have intervened on my life choices even without my consent. He knew the days ordained for me- the days written in His book- ‘My God Purposed Life’s Work’!

That is why I teach.

Out of that revelation and insight I determine to write HOPE daily, through a smile, a fun lesson, a gentle word, a firm correction, a dynamic, creative, relevant lesson and a keen sense of humour. I have begun to recognize that if I can bring a sense of purpose through ‘ Life Word’s’ to someone, then I have brought meaning to those walking on a bumbling, directionless path to nowhere.

Like the often told ‘star fish’ story-I teach because it makes a difference to that one’s life story!

I teach because those children become my letters known and read by everyone!

They are “My life’s Work” .They in turn, will write on the hearts of others…and they too can become hope bringers. I determine to write well so they too can ‘write’ well.

My dad penned these words for me once: ‘A pen can write many things but not of itself –The one who holds the writer determined directs its course across the page-and whether for good or ill the ink will flow.’

I as a teacher, I recognise that I am a pen in the hand of God. I try to use “Spirit led” [sic] It is infinitely better than anything I can produce. I am called to inscribe His wisdom on hearts, with patient and deep understanding. I am called to write truth on the hearts of the young-not with the letter but with the life of the Spirit!

This sense of ‘writing purpose’ on the tablets of human hearts, is about understanding that the World View we as teachers write, will determine what future pen writers will do when they sit with their pens poised above the blank page of another’s life.

I want my ink to flow for God’s: “You wrote well!”

There is no better motivation and that is why I teach.

[Teacher: 1985-2011 and beyond]

Some poems…

Can my black heart yet praise you?

How can my black heart praise You?
-reflected against your glory
it turns to powder-ash…
Consumed by pure refining fire.

Only your Spirit in me can cry out
-to you the Living God.
Your purity expresses life
through death.

All I have within me is pure dust;

ashed by your infinite Glory.

(26 july 2009)

For Carryn:

(picture of you)

The Master-

Painter,

paused-

distracted

thoughtful…

(mind full of you)

The colour pallette’s

paints,

slid slowly-

mingling oils:

grace

mercy

loving kindness

patience

promises…

onto

discarded canvas.

Your heart

Arrayed with Love’s

Masterstrokes…

Ingenious.

(Anne Bloem 27 July 2009)

Psalm 8 v 4

Reflections-Revelation-release!

TWO EAGLES

On eagle’s wings

You lift me-

The thermals

intervene-

bouy me

intercept my

d

ow

l) nw

a a

r r

D (pi

S

Where can I go?”

Your SPIRIT

even there…

YOUR hand will Guide me:

d O

r N

a W

w A

p R

U D

FORWARD.

Into-

More of YOU.

The land now viewed from Eagle’s wings.

(Anne Bloem 12 October 2008)

MERCY REMEMBERS (Jan 28, 2009)

Mercy remembers

…we are dust

flourish like a flower

MAGNIFICENT

…the wind blows

g

o

n

e .

not remembered

by the place in which it bloomed.

mercy”

Remember :

…eternal LOVE

UNENDING

p

o

u

r

s

OUT

L-I-F-E…

those who drink

willingly

flourish: a

C

E

D

A

R

planted in the

courts of the KING

ESTABLISHED!

 

 

Sowing precedes reaping…

I give you everything.”

YET , my fingers grip the notes

I think will meet my needs…

forgetting :

YOU have given all.

YOU seem to have to prize everything

from my selfish, childlike finger’s grip;

A reluctant child with too much candy:

Sick and needy;

unable to let go-

to recognise

YOU.

YOUR warm , firm ,loving grip-

WISDOM that speaks reason to a soul

-Resolute on selfish control of nothing-

Does not rip it from me;

Gently you coax it

from my sad hand

with promise of

better-more-REAL

I wrestle senselessly

with all that I am

then

surrender

To all that YOU are and have.

(Anne Bloem 10 May 2008)

 …children leaving home.

Dedicated to Shae

Letting go-”

It’s 18 minutes ago,almost-give or take an hour or so-

A rainy day-with the leaves all soggy,

Not a touch line in sight-just an old guitar- which you used to play

Your first unsure notes on , then, like a gifted rock star you were

wrenched from the home stage, the notes drifting away

Behind a car window smudged with rain and my tears,

I saw you wave-distracted by the journey on;

Your mind flustered : your hate to go- how is my mom-

the work load! Screams…into a wilderness of quiet;

Simple echoes from the past…a hesitant figure, driving away

Like a reluctant player onto a stage performing where: “all the world are players

You don’t like center stage and yet, you find yourself there

Striving to be the best—you give and others take… the scorching

Ordeals which fire your irresolute clay.

I have had worse partings, but none gnaws at my mind still.

I know it is roughly saying what God alone

has shown me now, so perfectly, in the letting go…

It’s not so much “Walking Away” as Grace – “Letting go-”

I love you!

(apologies to C.Day Lewis…and other great poets!)

Anne Bloem 13 April 2009)

Vision [Boxed]

Anyway so there I was bumbling along and wam it hit me-right between the eyes. I had no vision.

  • Everything had gone blank-the screen was no longer playing a ‘movie’-not even faintly and definitely not in 3D. No wonder I feel distressed. It was as if I had switched the off switch. I didn’t want to not like the way it ended.You know how sometimes you get unsettled by a movie and leave. I didn’t want to have to think about the sub plots. It was easier to walk away from the confusion of untied up loose ends and unresolved complex plots.Afraid.
  • So instead I am sitting staring at a wall. Wondering. When did the picture fade out? When did the focus become fuzzy? When did I forget the energising intricacies that had always kept me excited inspired expectant.

What worries me most, more is I am not sure where it died. Just know it died.

  • Without vision the people perish-or fall about all over the place. If people can’t see what God is doing, they stumble all over themselves; But when they attend to what he reveals, they are most blessed.

Clearly I need to attend to what you God are revealing!

I remember the daffodil days where the picture was sunny, yellow-clear. Sadness overwhelmes me.

Yesterday I painted the wall with iridescent colours and happy characters sprang to life…i remembered and wept for lost dreams-forgotten hopes-discarded letters that I had meant to write-felt called to write-never did write on the hearts of many.

I mourn for all the dreams that died-or faded to grey- mushy piles of faded often handled photographes.

[Boxed]

  • The ‘mother on the rock in the shelter of a cave’-the stream a cool trickle-the children scattered all around clambering on my lap.
  •  The sprinkler…sending a fresh burst of life across the lives of those who came my way…
  • The ‘mushrooms’…little children little schools equiping loving caring …
  • The training of the uneducated…the unconditional giving…
  • The touching of the broken…
  • The hand measuring…the voice speaking a ‘Word’ in season…
  • The Statue of liberty…arm raised pointing to God just by the way I am…
  • The golden oil pourer…
  • The letter writer…

Without vision the heart is dulled. It no longer beats inside with passion. Hope. [sits boxed]

‘Restore our fortunes, oh, God for this is a desolate place.’ .