I’ve walked through a few second hand shops this week. Today I went to a vintage market with rows upon rows of stuff. It struck me that once upon a time all of these things meant something to someone. At the very least it belonged to a person.
I observed the trinkets and T-shirts. The glass and porcelain decorative bits and bobs. The dusty books and worn furniture. The now revived popular vinyl records that once were outdated. We’ve filled the world with our stuff.
It struck me how easily something can loose value. Sentimental value is lost the moment the owner passes away. There might be a child or grandchild who holds on to that item for a while but eventually the memory fades and the sentiment dies too. Now it is just a thing. Who loved that glass owl or walked with that wooden cane?
We try so hard to cement ourselves to this world by surrounding ourselves with things that mean something to us. From the shell you picked up on some beach on some holiday to the card a friend you no longer speak to wrote you years ago. We buy things to fill our lives with meaning.
Do things give meaning to our lives or do we give meaning to things?
Sometimes if we were taught that way we take great care of our things. We fix it when it breaks. We dust and polish and clean. So many hours of our lives go into the upkeep of all the things that fill our lives. We are good stewards of all that belongs temporarily to us. But nothing is ours forever. We don’t take our trinkets with us when we die.
There was one shelf full of old photos in the shop today. Glimpses of strangers who smiled a long time ago as they played with their child or simply sat for the camera. There are no names, no way to ever know who they were. I glimpsed the love and delight on their faces as they interacted with each other or to smile at the person taking the picture.
It just made me wonder.. we spend our lives to earn money which we then spend on a lot of stuff which we then take care of. Does our stuff really leave an imprint behind of who we were? Or is the real legacy of a person found in who they loved rather than what they loved.
The real legacy of a person is not found in what they loved but who they loved.
Sitting here with half a glass of deep red Malbec I’m reflecting on today and what strikes me most is that I felt happy.
Yesterday evening I planned out today on a handy app called Structured. Today as these reminders popped up I found myself enjoying having a plan. By nine o’clock this morning I’d cooked dinner and done admin that was overdue.
I played music and danced around in my pyjamas first thing today. When last did I do that? I can’t even remember. I sang along to a new singer I discovered. Connecting to my Yah through song. What happened to that girl who used to sing all day long.
I had a sudden call to fetch my daughter from college because she felt ill – a Wisdoms Echo podcast filled the fifteen minutes there. The message was a reminder to choose where I dwell – in my head or in my heart where truth presides over facts.
Where do I dwell? In my head or in my heart where truth presides over facts.
Clara Berge
There was a joy in me today that sparked love for everyone around me. I smiled at everyone I saw. I felt love towards them all. The desire to encourage and love prompted me to write texts and share songs. I’ve felt this way before – glimpsed the heart of God for us.
Knowing His love makes us happy.
I drank coffee in the garden in the sun. Admired all the tulips growing in my beds. All those hard, round little bulbs now transformed into green and purple beauty. I embraced gratefulness, let it fill me for every little thing.
We went to the gym and it was hard, sweaty and rewarding. I took a bath with my youngest who played with his colour changing cars and I marvelled at the wonder of his existence. This fifth child of mine that the Father whispered into my heart eight years ago in France. “I have someone for you.”
I haven’t felt this light in a long time. Maybe happiness isn’t a goal but a daily choice. We can be happy by focusing on what we are grateful for. By doing the little things that give us joy. By turning from our heads to our hearts. It was a gift to me today to be able to stay in the moment instead of being distracted. To feel my emotions.
I know one thing – God is happy.
It stands to reason then that if He is in me and I am in Him that happiness should be my state of being. Fullness of joy the Bible calls it. The joy of the Lord is your strength. I felt strong today. Capable. All things are possible for those who believe.
I’ll leave you with these words. Thank you for reading. Blessing you with a happy week. 🤩❤️
I love words, especially written words. Since that very first time when I read a book it ignited passion in me. That love has never diminished. Words can transfix me, excite me, sadden me, inspire me, change me…the list is long.
Writing words is a whole different story. To be the giver instead of the receiver. To create instead of experience. To be the one that touch others through words. I love that too. It is harder but rewarding. Better to give than to receive.
I’ve always expressed my thoughts and emotions through writing. The pile of diaries and notebooks testify to that. I’ve written countless blog posts. A few years ago in a dark time I started my first novel and within 5 years I wrote 4 books.
The past few years I have barely touched a pen or a keyboard. My words just haven’t been there. There is no explanation. On the surface it doesn’t look like much has happened in my life. I have read hundreds of books. I’ve build, decorated and moved into a new home.
A few days ago I heard Yahweh’s voice…”I want you to write again.” I’m startled. “Me?” I feel so empty. Do I have any words? Can I still write? So, I write a poem about Nothing. You have to start where you are. Then I write a little something for Mother’s Day and here I am writing my first blog.
There is uncertainty as I venture back into this domain. I’m here out of obedience not desire. I’m writing because I cannot live just for myself. To those around me who struggle to see the light I want to shine. So here is the one thought that impacted me today:
“God is the life force in everything like the paper to the picture. You cannot separate the two. I do not exist apart from Him. I choose whether I create my truth on separation or oneness. If I choose oneness then I am in God and He is in me. Nothing that I am can be other than what God is.”
Thank you for reading my writing. It is an honour to share these words with you. Join me on a journey of mystery and discovery as I begin to write anew.
I try to think My thoughts scatter like windblown clouds I try to feel My emotions are in lockdown too far down I try to pray My words are an anguished cry I try to reach out My self protecting walls are too high
Nothing.
I’m caught in a vortex Going nowhere No growth No goals No achievements Little hope
Am I in a desert? A valley?
This inner state has no visible cause. There is no crisis or trouble No sickness or death No lack or brokenness
I don’t know how I got here I don’t know how to leave
Nothing.
All I want to be lies scattered on the floor My dreams and expectations Mocking me relentlessly All the things I thought I’d overcome Are back with a vengeance
I keep trying to hide I don’t want to face this nothingness I don’t want to acknowledge The state I’m in
Like a wilting flower I strain to survive While refusing the water Refusing forgiveness Grasping guilt as my earned covering
Am I a shell filled with nothing Or am I a river blocked off What about those who need my life Will I abandon them?
There is love that can fill my nothing What is there to loose?
Dimly I realise that something is happening There is a painful scrape Oh, the pain! Oh, the relief. A layer of heavy toxin lifts of me
I always knew this wasn’t who I am My true self buried under the layers that others applied to me You should act like this You should look like this You should love like this You should…
Unable to breathe, stifled, suppressed Another scrape I want to run off the table My exposed ugliness is lying naked for all to see But I know there is more to me Underneath it all is something real Someone worth fighting for
This process isn’t glamorous Some days I lie in self pity when I see the state I’m in. I miss the days when a nice coat of paint could hide it all But I won’t give up on me Hope does not despair
One day my pure, beautiful self will be fully revealed.
The sky is a glorious blue and the sun is shining on this day in September. The day of my birth a mere forty four years ago. My family is around me and blessing me with their smiles, kisses, words and gifts.
My mother and father phones me and we connect over a video call from the middle of South Africa to England. For a moment we are almost together as we see each other’s smiles and wrinkles on our faces.
My phone gets filled with messages of blessings and congratulations. People near and far, people I haven’t seen in years, people who take the time to say happy birthday to me abound in cyber space.
I share pictures of my children giving me gifts and cards. I open my husband’s surprise gift to find a foot massage machine. I laugh at his very personalised extra large card. I’m touched at his effort to get something for me that I’d love. And grateful that he went and got the coat hook I especially wanted in conspiracy with my mum.
There is tea and breakfast in bed. There is cuddles. My mother and father in law phone me and tell me anew how much they love me. My eyes fill with tears. I’m feeling fulfilled. It’s my birthday and joy is my portion.
Dressing up and going out to listen to music bands playing and just to hang out with my man is a splendid ending to the day.
It’s 23:44 pm and I’m cuddling under a soft fleece in the dark. Outside ferocious wind and rain is battering Britain. Our home has mysteriously started howling lately when the wind blows. Where it comes in or through what it blows I don’t know but it cries out like a haunted house.
I can hear the trees at the back as they withstand the storm. How many of these have they felt shaking them to the core. Fearlessly they remain anchored in the same spot. Their foundations firm. They know this isn’t the first or the last storm of their lives. Storms are part of life just like sunny days.
This year of 2022 feels to me like a storm after the quiet of 2021. After a period of waiting, preparing and transitioning, the time for doing is here. Everywhere I look there is things to do. (I’m not just talking about the laundry and the dishes) There is a buzz in the air. An expectation of things happening.
A storm…
Why are there storms? A flurry of energy that shakes and quakes and sometimes breaks? It’s almost like a test to see if what you’ve been building in your life can stand. Are your foundations ready for the next level? Are you ready for more responsibility? Mature enough to handle the storm.
I love how King David often referred to Yahweh as his shelter in the storm. Just as I’m sitting here all warm and cosy while the storm whistles around me. I’m safe in Him. Sometimes David said that he runs and finds refuge in God. I know that when I start to feel things getting to me that this is what I need to do.
If you feel like this year is like a storm and everything in your life is being shaken know this: You have a shelter that can keep you safe. It doesn’t matter what happens outside of you. Inside you can find peace within the arms of love. Like Elsa in the movie Frozen when she embraces the storm – “Let it snow!”
Let it do what it needs to do. Stand firm in Him. Don’t panic or fear. He’ll provide what you need to get through it. (Says the woman who is building a house this year😂)
I’m standing with you like the trees together out there. We are going to make it to enjoy another sunshine day together soon.
In one hour and ten minutes the year 2021 will be no more. I find the way we try to organise time interesting. No matter what date, hour or minute time remains unaffected. It marches in rhythm to a silent beat capturing our lives in moments.
We build our lives around our concept of time. Special days to remember. Special times to do certain things. Calendars and dates to remember. Birthdays and anniversaries.
But if we stand outside of time life takes on a whole different dimension. There isn’t old or young. There isn’t past or future. There is only now. The race against time that drives us through our days is absent. Is time a slave driver? Is time a supply that can run out at any time? How much of what we believe is true?
This year has been hard in the sense that I paused my writing. We were going to build a house but the planning didn’t come through in time. So while waiting I kept busy with various things. Sorted through the house and threw out as much as I could. Sat and read books from regency romances to modern day who dunnits. Started exercising.
Pondered the fact that I kept seeing 11 every time I looked at a clock…11 means transitioning by the way. Transitioning. What a word…like Positioning…Maturing…
I struggled and worried and failed. I lived.
I made good choices and bad choices.
The difference this year is that I learned to love myself no matter what.
So I’m grateful for 2021. Grateful for more things than I can mention. Grateful for the people and books (in that order) that impacted me. Grateful for the abundance flowing into and through our lives. Grateful that I get to take it all into 2022 like treasure in my treasure chest.
And grateful for the new novel brewing in me 🤩 too. Happy New Year Everyone!
Trojan woke with a start. Silence filled the condo they were sleeping in. A quick glance at the alarm clock showed it to be three in the morning. What woke him? Camille was sleeping unaware next to him and he was tempted to ignore whatever it was and drift back off to sleep, but the niggling sensation in his gut forced him to get up and make sure everything was in order. It had been three days since they met Nafisa and nothing had changed. It felt like their hands were tied. If she didn’t contact them and ask for help, they couldn’t barge in and intervene in any way. Every day they’d gone to have dinner in the area and made sure they stopped at her stall and chatted for a moment. Camille had brought her little boy a small toy that afternoon and found out his name was Sami; the Algerian version of Samuel.
Trojan paused near the front door as he recalled the boy’s eyes lighting up at the toy. It burdened him to think what future lay ahead for Sami and Nafisa. The front door was still locked but something was sticking through underneath. Trojan bent down and pulled the smudged envelope fully through underneath the door. There was nothing written on it but it felt thick like there was more than one sheet of paper inside. Trojan went to the kitchen and turned on the downlights before opening the mysterious letter. His eyes widened as he unfolded what looked like official papers in Catalan. The only thing he recognised was Sami’s name written into one of the sections and Nafisa’s in another.
There was another separate handwritten letter in broken French which he could partially decipher. He needed to wake Camille up, he knew she’d want to see this.
Half an hour later they were both wide awake sitting at the dining table with the papers between them. Camille was shaking her head.
“I don’t understand. Why is she giving Sami to us?”
Trojan studied her with troubled eyes, “Maybe she realized that she would never be free and wants her son to have a chance at a better life.”
“But she barely knows us!” Camille bit her lip in consternation.
“I know, I know…” Trojan exhaled, “I just wish we could save them both, isn’t that why I had the dream?”
Camille kept quiet reading through the letter again. “Her story is so sad, isn’t it?”
Trojan nodded, “I know.”
“So, this is what we know.” Camille had her no-nonsense voice on, “She is an illegal refugee from Algeria. She got pregnant with a young man she loved that lived in her house but they were not allowed to marry since she had been promised to a much older man in another village. In disgrace the young man was sent away but Nafisa was thrown out to the street. She made her way to the coast where she found a man willing to take her across the channel in return for her promise to work for him—or actually his boss—for three years.”
Trojan banged the table, “And she’s been working for him for two years, but he keeps on adding to her debt with expenses like rent and food which means she has another three years to try and make up for that.”
“But that will never end since he does not pay her for the work, and it keeps on adding up.” Camille’s eyes teared up. “It’s so unfair. Modern slavery.”
Her husband reached across the table and laid his hand over hers. “Do you think we could buy her from him?”
“It might put her life in danger…if he realizes she told anyone about his slave trade.” The words left a bitter taste in her mouth.
“We could pretend that we are looking for a slave ourselves?”
Camille shrugged, “It is worth a try, but first we need to get Sami to safety.”
“She doesn’t say how we are to pick him up.” The creases in Trojan’s forehead deepened.
A yawn escaped Camille’s lips, “Maybe we should just go and see her tomorrow.”
Trojan smiled at her, “First some beauty sleep, right?”
She smirked, “Yip, you definitely need it, mister.”
Even so, long after Camille was sound asleep Trojan found himself unable to follow suit. Prayers flowed out of his spirit as he interceded for Nafisa and Sami. Eventually he fell into a peaceful slumber where he dreamed of them free and happy.
The morning came too soon but they had an appointment with the man managing their yacht at nine. Coffee in hand, they strolled down to the jetty, which was mostly deserted. A tanned guy in his twenties with slicked-back dark hair approached them with a wide grin. He was sporting typical Island wear – flip flops, board shorts and a T-shirt.
“Hello! You must be Liberty’s owners!” He shook their hands vigorously. “Let me show her to you. Everything is in tip top state.” He led them down the wooden planks and paused in front of a majestic yacht with Liberty written in bright red curly letters on the glistening white hull. A gangway had been lowered onto the jetty and they easily climbed onboard.
Trojan cast his eyes appreciatively around the deck noticing that everything was indeed polished and tidy. He gave a nod of approval and the man’s grin spread wider.
“I, Seb, have been taking care of her by myself alone for five years now.” He touched the mast with an affectionate pat. A noise down in the cabin made them all look towards the stairs. Seb moved first, hurriedly climbing down while muttering to himself. He opened the door and gave a startled exclamation. A few seconds later he appeared holding a small boy in his arms.
Camille’s eyes widened, she stared at the toddler, “It’s Sami!”
“You know this boy?” Seb climbed up the stairs and stood helplessly while Sami sucked his thumb, his eyes looking teary.
“Where’s your mummy, Sami? Come here, you know Auntie Camille?” Camille took him from Seb and hugged him to her. He clutched her hair with one fist, the other staying in his mouth. It looked like he relaxed a fraction in her arms. Trojan climbed down the stairs, bending low to avoid hitting his head. He inspected the lock, finding scrape marks showing forced entry.
Seb was nibbling a nail watching him, “I swear, I don’t know how that boy got there. I checked everything half an hour ago before I went to wait for you on the jetty.”
Trojan climbed back onto the deck, “And no one suspicious passed you? A young woman maybe?”
Seb was shaking his head. “No one, I swear.”
“Do you think Nafisa is in danger? She must have left him here. Maybe she hid him in a wardrobe and he fell asleep only waking up now?”
“She must have known we had an appointment here today to inspect the boat.”
“Aha!” Seb perked up, “I remember, last night I was in the bar and I talked to a young woman for a few minutes. She asked me about my plans for today.”
Camille hugged Sami to her, “But why? Where is she?”
Trojan walked around the perimeter of the deck. Something sparkled near the lifeboat and he picked it up. It was an earring. His heart rate increased as he searched for more clues. Getting off the boat he walked a short distance down the jetty. He was about to turn around when he spotted a discolouration on the side of one of the wooden poles. It was dark, sticky and stood out. His eyes strayed into the deep water of the ocean, lapping gently against the poles and he swallowed. He hoped against hope that he was wrong. Turning back towards their boat he sought out Camille, whom he found sitting inside the cabin holding the boy. The sight of them snuggling together tore at his heart. Trojan sought her eyes and gently said, “Would you mind staying here with Sami and let me go and look for Nafisa by the stall. Something tells me she hid him for a reason. Camille wordlessly nodded.
Seb’s head swivelled between them. “Madame can wait here in the cabin. I stocked it with snacks and drinks in case you want to go out for a trip.”
“Thank you Seb.” Camille gave him a grateful smile.
Trojan indicated to Seb to follow him to the deck. Once outside he gave Seb a hard stare, “I need you to keep watch, we might be dealing with bad people here. Don’t leave them alone.”
Seb’s eyes widened and he saluted, “Yes, Captain. You can count on me.” He patted his pocket, “I have a knife. They won’t come by me.” He took a stance in front of the stairs as if he meant to stand there till Trojan came back.
It took Trojan half an hour to go back to the condo, get the car and drive to the town with the stalls Nafisa worked in. Finally parked and paid, he tried to slow his steps as he approached them. Trying to look like a disinterested tourist was hard. Starting on the stall at the end, he pretended to browse till he came to her usual stall. His eyes found a young woman who looked like Nafisa at the stall. She smiled broadly when he glanced her way and approached him.
“Can I help you? Special price for you.”
Trojan kept quiet but pushed past her deeper into the stall. She followed behind him, puzzled when he whirled around and whispered, “Where is Nafisa?”
Her face fell and she glanced over her shoulder, before taking a dress hanging near her and holding it up as if they were inspecting it. “I don’t know, Sir. They told me this is my stall from now on. Nafisa is gone.”
“Did she take her stuff?”
The girl hesitated before giving a small negative shake. Louder she said, “Please sir, would you like this dress for your wife? It would suit her.”
Trojan peered over her shoulder trying to identify who could be spying on them. The girl was clearly rattled. He looked around the small table with the till and the changing room. His eye fell on a small piece of white sticking out underneath the till. He turned his back on the girl and tugged it free, revealing a small, folded note, which he enclosed in his hand.
Nodding to the girl he left hurriedly. Around the corner he opened the note and felt himself tear up, before he raced back to the car.
Trojan found Seb still in the same position when he came back. Camille and Sami were in the cabin playing a game of peek-a-boo. He sank down on the bench opposite them, his stomach rock hard.
What’s wrong? Camille stared at him.
I think they killed her.
“What!” Camille covered her mouth with her hand. Trojan handed her the note, which she read in silence, tears rolling down her cheeks.
“Oh, Trojan, what should we do?”
He stared at Sami, feeling love for the boy expand in his chest with warmth.
“She left him to us. He’s our son now.”
“Our son.” Camille sat still letting the words wash over her.
“We should leave, straight away. If they know we have him they might try to steal him back.”
Camille shivered, “I can’t believe they were going to sell him.” She gently stroked his head, and he rewarded her with a grin. “She gave her life to save him.”
Trojan moved so he sat next to Camille and pulled her under his shoulder. Sami watched them with his dark eyes before clambering onto their laps, cuddling in between them.
After a brief consultation with each other, Trojan and Camille sent Seb to buy them provisions for a few weeks at sea and set sail that same day for mainland Spain. It was the easiest way to get Sami as far away from danger as possible. Once in Spain with the help of a friend at the French embassy they got him a passport and arrived at their main home in the South of France.
Sami had become attached to Camille and Trojan during the voyage and a lot more active too. He quickly learned to stay away from the dangerous sides of the boat, but explored every other inch of it, relishing in his newfound freedom. They vowed never to use a pushchair for him again.
Walking into their home he toddled in, steadily on his feet, his eyes wide as he observed the grand chandelier in the massive foyer. Turning in a circle he looked up at them, “La maison?”
Camille smiled broadly and nodded, “Ouais.”
She wasted no time converting the bedroom closest to theirs into a little boy’s room; blue and yellow with sailboats and bears.
They were sitting outside under an oak tree enjoying a picnic lunch later the week after they returned with Sami. He was happily playing on the grass between them when Trojan looked at Camille with sudden tears in his eyes. She took his hand and felt her own eyes tear up.
It’s not what I thought the outcome would be from my dream. Trojan thought.
I know. Camille sighed.
His ways are higher than our ways… Trojan squeezed her hand.
He gave us a son. I never saw that coming. She wiped a tear off her cheek.
And Nafisa is free even though she isn’t in this realm anymore. Trojan attempted to smile.
We must try and do more for those in slavery in this modern times. Camille’s forehead wrinkled.
I have an idea how we can do just that… Trojan’s smile was broad.
Camille felt butterflies in her stomach for she knew it was their life calling: to set the prisoners free and bring hope to those in darkness. Their adventure was just beginning.
Thank you for reading this short story. If you missed Part One, just look for it under my blog posts. If you don’t know Trojan and Camille’s story you can read it in The Seer.
Clara Berge 