The Voice I Long to Hear Your words paint the sky, All the colours from Your voice Pour out in an explosion, Vibrant and intense. Light and colour bursting forth, As creation comes to life At the sound of Your voice. The voice of truth That lights the darkness, Making a pathway Into the great unknown. Oh, the mystery of Your voice, Who can fathom its wonder? A word that creates, A word that heals, A word that restores, A word that brings life from the dust. Your voice is the one I long to hear, Words of comfort and peace Drawing me near. Words that speak of Your great love, Words that bring life. Who has the words of life? None but You. Where can I find the words That comfort the soul, That bring peace to the troubled heart, That make the broken whole? Your voice is in the small And in the great, In the roar of the wind And the silence In the eye of the storm. The voice that spoke creation into being, That painted the heavens With colours beyond imagination, Is the same voice I long to hear. And one day, The words I long to hear above all others, “Well done, My child.” Yet as I listen, The voice of the world Tries to whisper in my ears. The noise grows louder, Trying to drown out Your voice, Trying to steal the peace Your words bring. But as I meditate On Your words of truth, I begin to hear You Speaking above the noise. Your voice of truth Breaking through the confusion, Your words of life Bringing light into the darkness, Your words of love Drawing me near. And there I find comfort. There I find peace. There I find the voice My heart has been longing to hear. For the voice that paints the sky, That fills creation with colour and light, That speaks life into the dust, Is the very voice That speaks to my heart. Your voice is the one I long to hear.

Teaching Me What a Child Is Meant to Be Scripture: Matthew 18:3 “Truly I tell you, unless you change and become like little children, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven.” Recently, I’ve had the words of an old Vineyard worship song, Child of God, going around in my mind. “You are teaching me what a child is meant to be.” Those words have caused me to stop and think. Jesus tells us that we must become like little children. But I wonder, as adults, do we even remember what it means to be a child? And what about those whose childhood memories are not filled with happiness, security and love? For some, childhood was a beautiful season of innocence, wonder and discovery. A time when they felt safe, protected and loved. But for others, childhood was something they had to survive. Instead of learning to trust, they learned to be cautious. Instead of feeling protected, they learned to protect themselves. Instead of knowing unconditional love, they learned that approval had to be earned. Instead of feeling safe enough to make mistakes, they learned that getting something wrong could bring anger, rejection or punishment. Some children had to grow up long before they were ready. They learned independence because depending on others wasn’t safe. They learned to hide their feelings because expressing them came at a cost. They learned to be strong because they believed nobody else would be strong for them. And then along comes Jesus, telling us we must become like little children. How do we do that when being a child wasn’t always a safe place to be? Perhaps the answer is found in those words from the song. “You are teaching me what a child is meant to be.” Maybe God isn’t asking us to return to the childhood we remember. Maybe He is inviting us to discover what being a child was always meant to look like. Not through the imperfections of earthly relationships, but through the perfect love of our heavenly Father. He is teaching us. Teaching us that His love isn’t something we have to earn.

What Changed In Worship Lately I have been listening to worship songs from the late 90s and early 2000s. I still like a lot of today’s worship music. The words are often right. The music is beautiful. The production is excellent. But somehow, the older songs hit differently. And I have been wondering why. Maybe part of it is nostalgia. Those songs shaped so much of my early walk with God. I prayed them, cried through them, surrendered through them and learnt what intimacy with Jesus looked like through them. But I think there is something else too. So many of those older worship songs weren’t simply declaring truths about God. They were prayers. “Draw me closer.” “Change my heart.” “Refine me.” “I’m hungry for You.” “I surrender.” “I want to know You more.” They carried this sense of longing, not just celebrating who God is, but recognising that I still need Him to change something in me. A lot of modern worship is powerful and full of truth. God is faithful. God is good. He has won the victory. He is holy. He is worthy. And we absolutely need to declare those things. But there is something different about singing, “God, You are everything I need,” and praying, “Jesus, I need You. Search me. Change me. Take away whatever keeps me from You.” One declares truth. The other demands a response. Maybe that is what I have been hearing. Many of those old songs seemed less like songs written about worship and more like somebody’s private prayer that somehow became a song. They gave us language for hunger. For repentance. For surrender. For holiness. For waiting. For wanting more of Jesus. Maybe that is why they still reach somewhere so deep. They weren’t always musically complicated. Sometimes it was a keyboard, a guitar, a few chords and someone simply singing, “I just want You.” And perhaps that simplicity left room for something we can sometimes lose. Room to linger. Room to listen. Room for the song to stop being a song and become prayer.

Have We Outsourced Being the Church? I have been thinking about the early Church in Acts. They didn’t just gather together. They looked after one another. They shared what they had. They opened their homes. They carried each other’s burdens. Acts 4:34 says: “There were no needy persons among them.” That doesn’t mean nobody ever struggled. It means when someone struggled, the body noticed. And I wonder if somewhere along the way, we have outsourced something that was always meant to be part of who we are. Today, there are government programs, charities, welfare agencies and organisations designed to help people in need. Those things can be incredibly valuable. But have they also made it easier for us to think: “Someone else will take care of that.” Someone needs food? There must be a service for that. Someone is struggling financially? There must be assistance available. Someone is lonely? Surely there is a program. Someone needs practical help? Maybe an organisation can handle it. And slowly, without even realising it, we can stop noticing one another. We can sit beside someone in church every week and have no idea they are struggling. We can worship together and still live completely separate lives. We can call ourselves family without actually carrying one another like family. And perhaps one of the saddest changes is that we have become suspicious. Someone asks for help and our first thought can be: “Is this a scam?” “Are they taking advantage?” “Why can’t they sort themselves out?” Of course we need wisdom. Of course discernment matters. But wisdom should not become an excuse for withholding compassion. There is a difference between being discerning and becoming cynical. The early Church didn’t only ask: “Whose responsibility is this?” They asked: “What do I have that could help?” Maybe becoming more like the Church in Acts is not only about signs and wonders. Maybe it looks like sharing a meal. Buying someone groceries.

The Forest Whispers His Name The wind whispers over the waters, as though trying to tell us the secrets of the past. The trees stretch their branches toward the heavens, lifting them as though in praise. The leaves fall gently from the trees, as though waving goodbye to the life they once knew, releasing what has been and surrendering themselves to something new. The water meanders through the rocks, tracing paths that lead to places alive with the sounds of life. The rocks sit, placed with care and wonder, one upon another, each holding its place signs of where the water once lived. And in the silence, the sounds of the forest gently speak of life. The trees, their leaves dressed in the colours of spring, burst into life, each one displaying the majesty of His creation. Everything seems to whisper His name. The wind. The water. The trees. The rocks. The sounds of life hidden within the forest. His wonder and beauty are on display for anyone willing to stop long enough to see. And if you believe, if you listen closely, perhaps you can hear His voice too speaking words of life, of love, and of hope.