Meet the Author's Author

Meet the Author's Author
Live for Jesus! That's what matters! That you see the light in me and come along! :)

Friday, July 26, 2013

The Ending of the Half-written Poem

...And the guests were all gathered
Staring at the door.
The footsteps tripped lightly onwards
A hand on the lock,
And it opened.

She stood there, gazing around
In mild surprise
Her hair put up, make-up correct,
A long beautiful dress
She smiled;
"Hello! How do you do?
Would anyone like a drink? Something to eat?"

They responded, normally,
Her cordiality breaking them from
Their time-locked silence.
She moved into the kitchen;
They looked at each other,
Unable to believe
That the screams and wild tears
Wrenching though they knew not the cause
Had come from this
Self composed woman.

They began to believe
That they had imagined, hallucinated,
Laughed at each other,
Compared stories and found the fallacies -
I heard two wails,
I heard one scream.

She heard them as she boiled the kettle,
That smile, soft, fleeting
Edged with bitterness and cynicism
Flew over her mouth
And then she sighed
For what were they but human,
And so was she, she who knew them
Well enough to know
That appearances always matter to the masses
And no one wants to believe in nightmares.

She went out with the tray
And offered them drinks,
Laughed with them.
"Is anyone else upstairs?"
"Of course not! Only my mother and I."
She smiled at her mother,
Who also knew the trick
Of covering tear tracks with mascara
And turning up a quivering lip
Into a smile.
The lesson learned.

The life to be lived.

Saturday, July 20, 2013

Being A Lady

Lady.

As a little girl, the word conjured up images of aristocratic society women with high piled hair, dainty hats and pretty Victorian-y dresses, complete with parasols and fans with refined accents.

I was a very girlish girl, and deep inside had a longing to be like that.

At the same time, strangely, there arose the wild me, the one with the crazy urges to do daring things, but that sat on them and hid behind long hair and long skirts.

Then I joined cadets. I realised that the world of wild and daring antics didn't just belong to boys. And the tomboy in me jumped up and down on the girlishness as I backslid, sneering it for weakness.

With backsliding and hardening as I hit the world full pelt came jeering at womanly things. I didn't need to be some man's meek little wife and everlasting baby factory. I was _me_. Individual. Strong. Able to face the world on her own.

I was a woman. No lady. My actions degraded me from the Queen of Purity and Virtue to a tag-along of the world of sluts. Half of me rejoiced at what I'd gained - my toughness - and half of me mourned what was lost.

But there came along one man. Who stayed with me from my final days as Queen of the Order of Purity and Virtue, through my backsliding, through my worst behaviour, through the worst things in my life.

And he looked at me with Jesus's eyes. He hugged me when I needed it. He was there when I cried. He stopped me hurting myself on more than one occasion - by his words, and by the thought of the look in his eyes if he knew.

I didn't think I was lovable. He told me I was.
I didn't think I was beautiful. He tells me I am.
I don't think I'm pure. He reminds me who I am in Christ.
I don't think I'm a lady. He calls me and treats me as such.

If there's one thing that will call out the lady in a woman, it's a man who treats her that way. Not in the holding of doors and the bowing to a curtsy, but the man who looks on her with quiet and unpolluted gaze and says, "This is God's and I will love her into knowing it." It's not in the actions, it's in the living.

And he did. I know you'll read this. Thank you.

I read an article the other day, promoted by a friend of mine, aimed to try and destroy sexual objectification (yay) and beauty culture myths (also yay).

I agreed with a lot of it.

But this part disturbed me:
2) Do at least one “embarrassing” action a day. Another healthy daily ritual that reinforces the idea that we don’t exist to only please others is to purposefully do at least one action that violates “ladylike” social norms. Discuss your period in public. Swing your arms a little too much when you walk. Open doors for everyone. Offer to help men carry things. Skip a lot. Galloping also works. Get comfortable with making others uncomfortable.


Sure, embarrassing is great. Particularly if you're a crazy OYANer. I'll walk around barefoot, meow at strangers, tacklehug a random person, tell someone I don't know that they look great or are amazing.
I often swing my arms when I'm walking - particularly if I'm dancing in public.
I open doors for people.
I offer to help men carry things.
I like skipping...sometimes. My body build doesn't make me very comfortable in doing so.

But.

Discussing your period in public is, I consider, inappropriate as a general thing. It's private. Not your body as such.
I hold doors for people UNTIL a man offers (if he does) to take it off me, then ask if he's sure, and then say thank you. It's a matter of respect.
I offer to help men carry things - and I more often than not accept if he offers to take something off me when his hands are empty.

Because I believe in equality, but I also believe in respecting men and giving them their place in society if they're willing to take it. No, it's not about the actions. But sometimes, the actions can trigger the living. If I act in a way to respect a man, he will (hopefully) be more likely to want to be worthy of respect.


Granted, few do. But for the sake of the few...
My best friend treated me as a lady. And I was loved back to Christ.

What is a lady?

Because I don't think it's the other vision either - a kerchiefed woman in plain attire and long skirt, answering "yes dear" and "no dear", being very gentle and quiet.

I hated that vision as much as I hated the oft-thrown "meek and quiet spirit" because it was told me so that _I_ would be "meek and quiet". I'm not a quiet person. :P And I didn't think it right that I should change so much of myself, because otherwise God wouldn't have created the variety.

I roam now in jeans and t-shirts, makeupless, one day and lace dresses, piled hair and makeup the next.

And I don't bother with trying to restrict my behaviour to ultra-conservative Christian ideas or expand it to loose liberals. I wear what I'm comfortable in until told it's inappropriate.

God wants a spirit that is submissive to Him - to His will in our lives. Not in a crushed-to-the-earth attitude.

Yes, God created us all different for a reason.

I don't think being a lady can be defined. I think God defined it by giving us our characters, and so do we.

Being a lady = a woman to be loved.

God makes the lady He wants. Just surrender and seek for and live for Him.


In Christ,
Mademoiselle Siân

Sunday, July 07, 2013

Never Too Many

But as I post that and mean it from the bottom of my heart, that one can never have too many true friends, and one can never have too many messages from them, sometimes physical limitations get in the way. :P

I have posted this on my G+ Wall and my blog, and am emailing it out to all my contacts as well.

I've just taken on a secretary to deal with my rather large amount of messages/chat notifs/emails.
I'd like to introduce you to my dear friend and adoptive sister Emma Alabaster, who will be answering some of the messages that come in to me.

I will still be attempting to respond personally as much as possible, but sometimes I can't complete it on the weekend before the working week begins, and if this lapses too long, well. Some of you are waiting for a response after 2 years.
Em will be operating on my FB and Gmail (and occasionally to perhaps answer blog comments) ONLY WHEN I HAVE SENT HER a private message stating that I need her to clear something for me.

THIS WILL NOT BE CONSTANT - I will still be around the majority of the time, Lord willing.

I WILL PUT A NOTICE OUT on the network she will be working on, letting you know that she is online, in case you're about to chat me privately.

Em's main role is to read through the messages/chats/emails, respond to them if possible and note them if she can't, which latter she will then forward me a list of.

If you NEED to chat to me personally, put something at the beginning of the mail/chat saying FOR SIAN/JANE'S EYES ONLY, or some such, and it will be noted for me straightaway without any reading.

Em will be signing her posts/responses with "On behalf of Sian, Her Beloved Secretary" or something amusing and equally funny but true, so that you know if I personally haven't responded to you.

I THINK that's all...if you've any concerns, feel free to shoot me a message/drop a comment. I'm still responding for now.

Oh, and to respond to one previously expressed concern, if you send me a message to see how I'm doing, that will be noted and forwarded onto me.

If you need to contact her, everyone, her email is sianssecretary@gmail.com.
I'm expecting all my friends to be mature people and use this only the way it's intended, for any queries, concerns, etc.
No spam. I'd hate to lose someone I need very much because of some of you guys showing your immature sides. Thanks! ;)

This will be interesting...I've never had a secretary before. ^_^

In Christ,
Mademoiselle Siân

Monday, July 01, 2013

Pain in the Night

People have posted and I meant to the night after OYAN ended, but stuff happened.

Y'know, like stuff does.

And now I'm curled up for half an hour, trying to think exactly how to say the stuff in my heart.


Friday night, June 21st, ended OYAN Summer Workshop 2013. I'd gone back to my dorm to put some stuff down before coming back, and missed the prayer over Mr S.

As I wandered back around the outskirts of the group praying and singing, eyes closed and tears streaming, Jonny came over to me, pulled me close and wrapped his arms around me. I crumbled against him and started crying.

When I finally looked up as the crush of bodies increased, the OYAN people were three deep around me. I was nose to nose with Marybeth, also weeping, with Kristin's expressive chocolate eyes fixed on me with a sad, trembly smile on her lips.


This place isn't just any place. This place is our home because we are all there. No, not even that. We could all be there and have no bond or unity of spirit. This place isn't even home. These people are home. Because God is there.

I watched God descend that night.
I saw girls with long hair, ankle length skirts and loose t-shirts linking arms with girls in tighter, modern tops and shorts with cut, dyed hair, eyes closed and singing praise, praying together.

Guys (and I'm naming Gunnar, Jonny and Reuben here - I have so much respect for you three, sorry to anyone else I missed) gripped girls' hands in prayer and held them while they cried - and were unafraid to cry themselves.

I watched barriers crumble and denominations collapse the walls that night, and the fruition of our prayer group's and individual, broken hearted pleas come true.

I've grown in the past two years to dislike churches more and more, because of the cliques, because of the lack of acceptance if you don't become a member, because of the feeling of being a constant stranger, because of weak teaching (in some), because of denominational splits and how people find that more important than worshipping God in Christ, in Love. I had more in union of spirit with that group of young people before God than I've had in church in months.

God broke the barriers and united us in praise, in grief, in love and in worship.



It was a miracle. You know why? Because I'd been praying with the prayer group all that week, and still felt...something...was lacking. When I held my weeping daughter in my arms late into the night, and broke down myself at yet another gathering - we knew God was there, hearing us pray and cry and worship.

Friday morning, I skipped a session and went outside, curled up on the grass and broke down in tears like I haven't been able to for months, eyes and nose streaming. I'm so glad God makes our cries coherent.
I prayed for OYAN, for the guys with the broken hearts and souls I knew I couldn't fix, for those rivalries and factions, for the unity we have. I prayed for relationships, for personal stuff. For direction for the young leaders. And I prayed for God to come down.

And that night, I watched Him do it. That wasn't the first miracle in two weeks either.

As I was about to board the aeroplane for France, I wrapped up talking with my Mom. As you may know, our financial situation is not the best, and she hadn't got enough money for petrol. She asked me to pray that God would supply her with £50 by the end of the day, and I prayed with her on the phone. Then I suddenly remembered a £20 note I'd left her in the bedroom, which she went to get as we ended the call.
She rang me back as I was walking towards the entrance to the plane; "SIAN! I just want you to know that there's £40 there!"
...wow.

I'm kinda lost for words at this point. I just want you to know that God hears you. Hears every cry you make whether you think He does or not. He may not answer the way you want but oh yeah, He hears.
Part of my tears that night were healing. Because I prayed until I had run out of words that morning, and wasn't really expecting the answer. And then I watched Him answer out of Heaven and felt His presence amongst us that night.

Want to know something?
Home isn't where your heart is. Home is where God is. And that's the safest place to put your heart.

In Christ,
Mademoiselle Siân