My Siblings

I have three siblings. Their names are Lindsey Berry, Derralyn Martin, and James Short. I never call them by these names, I call them Berry, Dez and Jamie. They rock my world. You see, I have many friends - and they are all near and dear to me (I don't believe in superficial friendships), but I also have siblings and the relationship we share goes a little deeper. This type of relationship is characterised by bickering, burps, knowledge of how 3 ladies take their hot chocolate/tea/coffee, knowledge of annoying character traits, knowledge of how to use the previous knowledge to further irritate said other siblings, etc... This post about my siblings is long overdue. Dez probably hates this picture. But I think it's cute. Maybe I should state that it was taken at about 5:30 in the morning.


This is my Berry. You are my inside-out-heart sister, meaning that you know my heart inside out, upside down and all-around. When there are some who think that I am more of a laugh than anything else you know better: you know that I am capable of depth. You know who I am, know what I am capable of and what my potential is - mostly better than myself. Berry, you are my pillar of strength - my first port of call when the storm hits. In the words of a picture you are an exquisite and delicately bejewelled strand of string. This string has no end, it endures all things, and it has many branches of slender stringlets which show immense growth. My beloved fruit you show me how to live out dignity and you are the person who knows the processes that have to take place in my heart. Such as those that have to take place in order for me to get to the point where I can say sorry for something. I know you know that whenever this process has to take place, and I have to apologise, it is amusing to bear in mind that it's my fault in the first place. Berry, this post should be better and you deserve so much more!!


This is my Dez. Dezbean, Dezling, Derriere La Pouf... Many names for the lady that entered my life in Eden Grove when we were registering our subjects in first year. You needed someone to vent at, and I wasn't opposed to listening. We discovered that we were meant to be. From that point on you lived in my room and shared my food. Of course as time moved on we became less attached at the hip, but closer in heart. You are one of the only people I know that understands my sense of humour fully and completely - I don't have to say anything, just a look in the eyes or a wave of the hand and you know! Dead puppies will not mean the same thing to others as it does to you and I. Neither will skinned kittens or popped goldfish. You have understood my heart and mind from the beginning and as the most outspoken person in my trip, I know you always will. My Dez you are the wind to me. Strong, supple, fresh and new. You sweep people away in your happiness, you blow away sickness and dust away depression. Sometimes you're strong and victorious by nature, sometimes you're soft and gentle, and sometimes you're funky - lifting hats off and ruffling hair. I love this about you. You too deserve better than my words can express!! I'm not to sure that you will like this picture either. Well all I can say is that you flipping well want to talk/move/pull a face everytime I click!


This is Jamie. You are my only non-biological brother. I'm sure that I have other brothers in the church, but I think that you are the only one that has taken the time and effort to try and work your way into my heart. You have earned your place there and it is well-deserved. Time, effort and many many slabs of chocolate... Jamie, upon hearing that we (Berry, Dez and myself) were sick, you immediately visited each of us so you could give each of us a grapefruit ("for the health") and a slab of our favourite chocolate (we each have different favourites, and it was "for the heart"). This is not the first instance of a time when you have spoiled us but it is the most recent. I love you for all the strength that you show me, for the kind words that have sometimes been sorely needed... And for hundreds of hours we have all spent languishing in chocolate euphoria in your room - mostly til the wee hours of the morn! I regret nothing in our friendship, I love you and you will always be my brother. Jamie Jearey (my actual biological brother) I love you lots as well and you have not been replaced, although you and Jamie Short are extremely similar in that you both know exactly where my irritable buttons are... Jamie, you will always be in my life and I am grateful to Dad for knowing that I needed to learn to love men and that you would be irresistible. Jamie, you are freshness in each day, the spice and spark in life. You are the sunlight that caresses the early morning and gorgeous contrasts between the rich greens and intense greys on a stormy day. Never let the words of others cause you to take away anything negative from you experiences, least of all from our friendship.

The Wounded Woman

I was listening to an extremely wise woman named Romona and we were discussing offense and, ta da, Brennan Manning's Abba's Child. Briefly she mentioned the wounded self and then went on to other points. However the mind of a disciple can wander, especially when the wisdom offered is so profound! A picture started to form in my mind about a Wounded Woman - I just couldn't conceive of how I could represent this woman - of how I could make her real in the tangible sense. And so I started to write, constructing with words a painting of how this woman would look. This is how I see her...

A broken, scarred, bloody woman sits cross-legged in the dust, with arms out-stretched and hands grasping like a babe's for her mother's fingers. This is the type of relationship that exists between the Wounded Woman and those things which she desires. It is characterised by longing, false trust, and relentless seeking. The Wounded Woman grabs greedily at insecurity, offense, self-pity, anger, bitterness, unforgiveness, etc... She seizes anger and offense. She snatches at offense and self-pity. Insecurity and bitterness slips into her hands and sidles into her heart. The Wounded Woman is vulnerable in her unyielding and insistent pursuit of what she regards as sweet, succulent morsels. But these do not full the gap. The gaping, irrepressible gap...

Running to the rescue is the False Woman. She flitters and flutters in an annoying fashion, a real super-woman whose only desire is to gratify the Wounded Woman. She applies false personality-types and characteristics like a soothing balm. But this balm is merely a thick layer of greasy cream that pockets all the wounds in a self-containing manner. Jesus knows both women. He sees them, but loves only one. He can only love one, because there is only one. He did not die for or create the False Woman. He nurtured the Wounded Woman, He saw her in all her fragility and knows about how she used the False Woman to self-medicate. He whispers softly, asking for an introduction to this self-created imposter and then an invitation to her funeral. He longs for the Wounded Woman, He desires her. He wants her to come to Him, to wrap herself in His arms and allow Him to lavish His love upon her brokenness.

This is my picture. I am that Wounded Woman, and of course she exists in us all - not only for women, but for men as well (Wounded Men I suppose)...

Don't worry Romonz! I was paying attention to everything you said, and I hope that I grasped the concept of the wounded self adequately!