Evocation #46 Groupinar

17 screens and pairs of eyes crying
Soul-searching, seeking midnight companions
Across the globe
Sharing
Grief...
Common human experience
Each story told is unique
Yet bonds form around fragility
Vulnerability
Reality
Rawness

Help is genuinely offered and sought
Yet - flits in allusive dances between us
As easy to pin down
as blown bubbles
on a summer day

Conversations or exchanges
Difficult to follow threads
confusion abounds, yet,
it is a form of progress
Even to be here
Or there
Or everywhere at the same tine

Every single day
The confrontation of this unbidden reality
Confounds and redefines
Who I am

I am no longer yours, but mine.
Not what I want.

Kubler-Ross can go jump.

Self-care is all very well
But let me name what is lost.

My protector, my delight,
My masseur, my advisor,
My leader, my follower,
My dinner date, my lover,
My reason to get up each day,
My reason to go to bed.

Some of me died with him.
Some of him lives on in me.

(c) A A Koh-Butler, 2020

Evocation #45 Meeting

Do I ramble when I talk about you?...
how we met,
how you filled the room,
the sacrifices you made for me,
the care I had for you.
I tell a stranger about you,
trusting in professionalism and qualifications,
knowing the tears and brokenness are at hand.
You are impossible to describe
to capture in words.
But I do smile when I talk about you...

Made a mark in waiting rooms
Courage offered for free
Questions, answers, jokes and smiles
Wrapping people in the story of encouragement
King Terry of the Land of blessing and generosity!
Coach always, striker occasionally,
Vocal, except when words escaped.
You met people in the waiting rooms of anxiety
And dished out purpose and direction not just for them,
or yourself,
but for me too.
Who knew?

I need some of that now,
So I go hunting and speaking to strangers,
Trusting that your spirit pervades my soul
Wherever and whenever I talk about you.

(c) A A Koh-Butler, 2020

Fire Season - Heat

Air scorching throat and lips
with every attempt at breath
Suffocation of mind and spirit
as black and white-grey ashen particles
stick to skin and cloths and eyelashes

Lord, have mercy!
Lord, have mercy!

Hell’s strange silent sound of heat
presses in on senses,
ears melting...
Will heat enter through my ears
to melt what is left inside my head?

Lord, have mercy!
Lord, have mercy!

Illusions of Safety in halls, on boats, at show grounds  

where volunteers make sandwiches and eternal pots of tea.

Countless plastic water bottles 

magnifying the warming rhetoric 

heating unfolding anger and anguish

Lord, have mercy!
Lord, have mercy!

Air-con, conning psyches to believe in respite 

from reality, solidarity, familiarity 

with the burning of broken pieces of heart, 

the art of which becomes 

incantations of sorrowing lamentations 

for what is lost to heat

Lord, have mercy!
Lord, have mercy!

O God - if you are in Heaven

Come here to hell to ease our burns.

...

Have mercy.

(C) A A Koh-Butler, 2020

Evocation #44 Holy Days

Holidays
Public or otherwise
Once were the opportunity
To celebrate life with you
Today
Is a day to wrap Christmases and birthdays past
into bags and place in bins
may someone enjoy the fruits of thoughtful gifts
and laughing shopping expeditions
Sometimes through markets in far-off lands
Connected to the interactions with stall holders
All with stories to share with you
How on earth did you manage to engage people
in such a direct and immediate way?
I continue to be astounded by you.
I wonder at a world continuing to spin
when your energy is now working invisibly...
The God-Spirit?
You had it in spades!
Bursting out of the twinkle
in your laser-glance and wrinkly smile.
Was every day a holy day for you?
Perhaps we should call it prayer?
For it was not in the words,
but in the abiding of your Spirit in Life itself.
You abided in Life and Life abided in you.
So, how shall I celebrate Life with you this day?
Can this become a Holy Day?
It doesn’t feel like it. Yet,
I sense you would want me to think of it as such.
So, Faith calls me to act as if we are celebrating Life, you and I,
In the hope that death is not the end.

Happy Holy Day.
Have a break and cast out
some of the signs of this world
to make space for
what?

(C) A A Koh-Butler, 2020

Evocation #43 voice

The strength of your voice rings in my soul - especially today.
You kept the list for this day...
Sing to your brother-in-law...
Grieve the land and the invasion...
Honour the servicemen and women who have given of themselves for us...
Celebrate the diversity of our community...

I spent today with friends, on good country,
Singing and sometimes dancing,
Missing you every moment
and honoring your desire
to contribute to this country.
You so loved this land.
This land gave birth to you
and to this land
the dust of your body will return.

As we make plans for the pilgrimage to come,
The daily tears beckon,
Reminders of freshness and the discovery
of what it means to learn aloneness.
It is not singleness,
for your strong voice in my soul
And your ring on this chain
do not leave me single,
but they do point to
the aloneness
that frames my days
And nights.
It is not loneliness,
but absence -
As if you had simply stepped out for a time.
Whereas, I know,
You have stepped out of time
into some other state,
no longer bound
to this sense of day or night
or week or month or year.

I sang for you today,
joining my voice
with the sisters you loved so much.
They were kind and blessed me...
And, by extension, you.

(C) A A Koh-Butler, 2020

Fire Season Resources - Homecoming Litany

So many departures,
so many homecomings...

We give thanks 
there is a home 
to come home to.

So much anxiety,
so many tears...

We give thanks 
for life itself 
and grieve 
with those who mourn.

So much displacement
and so much mess...

We ask for resources and strength 
to do the work of restoration.

We look at empty dams
and listen to the silent reminder
of the missing...

Author of Life,
We do not understand what has happened to us,
so we ask you:
Have mercy on us...
Write us into a story that gets better. 

(C) A A Koh-Butler

Evocation #42 How do I love thee?

Loving better after death? I wonder?
Until she comes to steal breath,
do we know how she will
rearrange the furniture of our souls?
Death sneaks up, sometimes with fanfare,
Often unannounced.
She makes her entrance,
performs her drama,
and leaves her calling cards
on every surface and in every corner.
Her middle name is insidious.
How do I love you in death?
For indeed, much of me has died.
You, on the other hand,
live in memory and narrative
At least for a little while.
How long will it be
until others move on
and I am left in a tomb of dessicated love,
irrigated only by salty tears?
The words echo -
I love you -
I love you -
I love you -
................ -
for where do words stop
when they remain unreceived?
They bounce against the wall
and bash themselves as waves crashing on rocks,
repeating persistently.
How do I love you
here?

(C) A A Koh-Butler, 2020

Evocation #41 Missing Gold

It sits just below my throat,
that small chunk of gold,
hanging off a chain,
invisible while on display.
Not so long ago, you had it resized,
for your fingers were thinning,
along with everything else.

It dropped off one day,
as I was changing you,
in the hospital.
We laughed - and you fixed it.
You took a trip to the Jewellers
while I was away,
To ensure I never saw it
missing from your finger.

Now - your finger is missing.
Along with the rest of you.
Your questions and answers,
your insatiable appetite for companionship,
Your playfulness and your concern for the world...
missing.

I know, because I wander
from room to room, trying to figure out
what is missing
and what I am meant to do next.
It is you - you are missing.
Your golden circle reminds me...
Covenant broken or fulfilled or...
missing.

Nothing seems to have a place anymore.
I move items around with curiosity,
seeing if anything can find a home anymore.
Not sure.
I’ll try it and see.
No-one to ask.
No-one to tell.
Making decisions was never so exhausting before.

Who am I kidding...
Everything about the last six years was exhausting,
Yet it was also exhilarating...
before you went missing.
Now the exhaustion has a different flavour...
Missing flavour...
Lack of flavour...

Gold cannot buy
what is not there.

(C) A A Koh-Butler, 2020

Evocation #40 Beyond Breath

Usually it creeps up
unannounced, yet expected,
the wracking sobs and gasps
of defiance dancing with despair.
Belly and face tighten,
the frown crosses my forehead
as the tears travel up in my body
to escape, running away
from the pain of life’s ending.

I catch a sigh-breath
reminding my body I am here.
The gasps echo those of his last days,
Breaths of body’s betrayal
and spirit’s farewell,
transitioning imaginations.

I so willed those breaths to end
even as the groans of grief escape my lungs
and I long still, not for the breaths of pain,
but for the air carrying
the whispered ‘I love you’.
He has breathed his last,
so I move to places
beyond breath.

(C) A A Koh-Butler, 2020

Evocation #39 Early hours

You wake me in the early hours
‘What do you need?’ I hear myself asking.
So many times, I woke.
So many times, you needed me.

I reach out and tap the wall.
I knew this. I knew.
Nevertheless, the conversation continues
As I rise quietly, to my business,
return to the comforting covers.
No - there is nothing i can d for you now
And nothing you can do for me.
We are apart.
We cannot call home.
We cannot make plans.
We cannot.

I lie awake
in this state of knowing
and unknowing.
No point in wondering,
 just contemplating, considering,
turning over this understanding
of not being us.

I pull the covers close,
finding coziness and warmth,
Body aching
from the constant effort of grief,
Resting in the state of struggle,
breathing calmly,
willing an ease to the stabbing feelings,
willing the tension in tired muscles to release...
But not too much...
There is still a long way to go.

(C) A A Koh-Butler, 2020

Evocation #38 Mealtime

Cutlery, used in both hands.
Revelation and memory of repasts.
No longer gearing menus to sporks.
Eating in a normality unfamiliar.

Surprise of sugar,
strange in its impact
and consequence.

Heightened consciousness of absence,
Tasteless cardboard the key ingredient,
Chew and swallow, a form of discipline.
Nourishment - for what and who and why?

Deep sadness whirls in the bowl
Added salt not required when tears stream.
Smile flits across visage as stories
of restaurants and laden dining tables
and laughter and delight and glasses clinking
with blessing and greeting and testimony of life...

I have a choice of chairs and places now...
Hard to tell what is mine and what is yours.

The knife is mine.

(C) A A Koh-Butler, 2020

Evocation #37 Authenticity

Unity + Diversity = Community

So says the morning devotion...

“I continue to dream and pray about a revival of holiness in our day that moves forth in mission and creates authentic community in which each person can be unleashed through the empowerment of the Spirit to fulfill God's creational intentions.” 

― John Wesley, How To Pray: The Best of John Wesley on Prayer

Of course, there is some dispute that the above was actually said by Wesley...

https://um-insight.net/perspectives/wesley-didn-t-say-it/

Ans so, we come to questions of truth and authenticity...

_______

The Author
Was at the complex work of creation
in writing your life...
So many plot turns,
so many characters,
so many vignettes,
so many loves,
so many challenges...

You lived into the layers,
dwelling in realities many of us avoid.
You were a Trivia King,
but not of trivialities...
for the details you were engaged in
were not trivial to you.

...Terry’s drive to be authentic. 

I loved that he was always himself 

regardless of how others reacted. 

He was a conscience for many people 

[Linz C]

My conscience has disappeared.
I imagine your voice speaking,
but you were never predictable,
so I wonder what you might say to me
if i could hear your voice.
You interpreted life for me,
challenging me with faith
in a God you communed with
differently to me.
You knew Wisdom I was unable
to access without you.

So I now face a struggle
of learning new disciplines
to encounter the God you taught me about.
Your God was not as easy to find in the institution.
Your God was present in cafes and parks, flowers and birds,
Your God was sitting on the path outside shops,
blessing you as you gave food and conversation.
Your God loved me and nurtured you to love me well.
Your God wrote much of our story
and I need that Author to write my next chapters...
For I can no longer authentically hear more than my imaginings of you.

Memories are precious,
but they cannot replace the daily surprises of your embodied love.
To live without you
makes me struggle
with my own authenticity,
for so much of who I have been
has been caught up with you.

Core to authentic identity is
child of God,
which has fitted me to be
lover, wife, mother.
The life of diversity
- a constant weaving of textured colours
into fabrics of creative fragility and strength.
You warped, didn’t you?
Took life into prophetic reality
beyond planning or preparation.
My life was warped by you!
Authentically, of course.

(C) A A Koh-Butler, 2020

__________

PS - for much more depth about Authenticity, contact Rev Dr Christy Capper at Uniting College of Leadership and Theology at Flinders University in Adelaide... she has a great PhD dissertation on this area.

Evocation #36 Hanging with Evangelicals

“The gates of hell will not prevail...”
There is something comforting about being
in an evangelical rally
and knowing there will be an altar call.

As part of recovering from the efforts of end-of-life, death and a ‘Thanksgiving’,
I chose to retreat by driving to Melbourne and going to the Wesleyan Methodist National Conference on Philip Island.
I’m hanging with evangelicals...
Here are my reflections...

______

“God took a loser and chose Him!
Amen!”

I meet people who speak a different language
Yet I recognise the family resemblance.
I have met these people before and they love God.
Is it the same God I worship?
Sometimes hard to tell.
Your God is unknown to me.
Your story is too funky, strange, unfamiliar...
Your should have seen my husband!

Can I imagine Terry in this space?
[peels of laughter]
What would they have made of the earrings and the Mohawk?
What would he have said about their expressions of worldview?
How would he have responded to the ingrained behaviours about classifying humanity?
The prophetic presence of my spiritual companion is missing.

I speak truths into a community
where I am nervous about my contribution.
I am welcomed and loved,
but how I wish the Troublemaker was here.
The Troublemaker had an aura about him.
He was terrifying and charismatic.
He spoke truth
whether it was welcome or not.
He did not care if anyone judged him
for he already knew God’s capacity to love ...
He had already learnt to love those whom God loved...
Without exception.

What I so deeply miss is
the constant guiding voice and presence
of the embodied divine conscience in my life.
I have to learn to listen differently now.
I yearn for the voice calling me back to life’s truths.
I miss the voice of my soul.

So - I’m hanging with evangelicals.
“Jesus loves every human - the ground at the foot of the cross is level”...
Challenge comes as I hear this mob struggle
with racism and sexism and a raft of other excuses for their narrow judgmentalisms.
They are humans - God loves them.
They are sinners - and God calls them to service.
They minister to me - and I am humbled.
 In my loss and distress, I am blest by the unexpected face of God.

O beloved - I miss you so.
You would have hated this rally,
And the altar call...
but they would have loved you.
O beloved - I miss you so.

(C) A A Koh-Butler, 2020

Evocation #35 Wrapped

Blues matched,
stitched together,
Diversity gathered,
bound in love.
Prayers surrounding,
Sewn into generosity.
Tears shed
and dried on patches.

Symbol speaks
of reworking past into possibilities.
Padded embrace
allows comfort to flow.
Thoughtfulness and friendship
sees through tough time.
I am wrapped in love.
It is not the love I sought
but it is the love I need.
I am filled with gratitude
knowing hands reach me
when I cannot hold on.
Even as I fall
into seeming oblivion,
losing any sense of identity,
or purpose,
I hear your calling,
wrapping me in the beauty
of comfort.

I traveled on pilgrimage
to see penguins waddle and squeak
surfacing out of cold waters
and traversing windswept sands.
There I pondered creation and Creator,
Author of Life,
Conqueror of Death,
I wept in the darkness,
knowing the light will one day bring me home.
In the meantime,
I am wrapped in companionship,
in fellowship of faith,
in mystery
of loving
and grieving.

(C) A A Koh-Butler, 2020

Evocation #34 the Sacrament of Friendship

Smoked trout salad and pink bubbles...
Gentle, inclusive conversation,
Deep respect in listening,
Careful comments of encouragement.
Friendship as ministry, seal and sign of God’s grace.

Stories, memories, opting in and out
of pain and delight, colour and creation,
Sitting with the sharp shards of my heart
and allowing me to collect the pieces,
not rushing to sweep them up or throw them away.

Divine Lamb shared among,
gentled by yoghurt,
Blood-red pomegranate enlivening and sparkling,
offering promise of surprise.
Home-made squeakiness
enhancing the produce of God’s earth,
Grown into usefulness
by sun and rain and the drizzle of olive oil.

The table of God is a pilgrimage of life and faith,
A place of energy and a balm of peace-making.
This table, investing, sacrificing, gifting,
the home of generosity.
Tart explosions of antioxidants nestled in cream and sugar,
Reminders of celebrations past
and love present.

God’s love come close.

(C) A A Koh-Butler, 2020

Evocation #33 The Silence of Grief

Like him, I cannot find the way to tell you.
Some would say,
‘There are no words’,
but that is perhaps not enough.
Better to say,
‘There is nothing that can be expressed’
for the heart cannot be expressed in words...
only in the fullness
of the held hand
or the intimate embrace.
What then are we to do in the absence
of the hand and the arms than held me?
While others offer hands and hearts,
arms and real loving-kindness,
(don’t get me wrong, these are welcome)
they are mere suggestions of
the hands and arms no longer there.

So...

(Silence)

Punkywayshone
provided hints of alternative communications,
Yet the master of punkywayshone has left the building...
At least send back Elvis!

How do we speak of death?
We do not speak of longing...
Because it is insatiable.
There is no solution to such longing.
There is no possible ending to such grief.
Where does this leave us?

The widows and widowers gather and patiently explain,
“Did you once upon a time pray for patience? First mistake!
Now you face a life of waiting, of learning patience,
of grief and longing,
“as the deer longs for the water, so my soul longs for you”...

The longing for God’s Heaven
is now given physical embodiment in my grieving.
Heaven may have an added jewell,
but now I have an added incentive.
Is that what keeps me ‘in’ this
unholy, sinful, dis-graceful institution?

Ah - the church - where we keep
silence
to hide the brokenness of our condition.

WE
CONFESS
IN
SILENCE.

We point at brokenness,
like it can be observed and not experienced.
What did we learn from the Nazarene?
Who entered into human form and was broken.
Oh - yeah - but not his spirit -
I can hear the objections now....

Wanna bet?

You ask, in your prayers...
How broken were you really?
Did you just pretend to be forsaken?
You knew broken would only be temporary
like cracks that would be mended in gold and silver...
Or did you offer everything
Everything...
Did you offer
to embody
nothing?
To enter into
nothing?
To...
Well
Nothing
Really...

The silence makes us as nothing...
No voice
No hands
No embrace
No tears
No recognition of love
...
Just mercy.

(C) A A Koh-Butler, 2020

Evocation #32 Widowing

Written at the National Wesleyan Methodist Conference, Philip Island, Victoria, this reflection followed the keynote delivered by Rev Mike Hilson.
...

The centrepiece of identity sets a sense of truth in life...
I am who I am. Am I not?
How I see myself impacts on how I see others.
My thinking impacts on what I regard to be true.
How I think will determine what I do.
My actions determine my habits.
If something I do is good and true, I call it a habit.
If something I do is bad and undermines my true identity, I call it an addiction.
What then is my truth when when I say:
I am a widow?

Such a label carries so much.
It carries a history of marriage.
It carries a history of my life and the life of another.
If history is written by the victors, who writes my story?
Him or me? Or God?
Where is the victory in widowing?
Death where is thy sting?
All very well to talk of Christus Victor!
All very well to talk of way, truth and life.
All very well to claim resurrection.
Where is it? Bring it on!

Go without me? Will you just?
Leave me alone? Deserter!

Being a widow sucks!
Can it be good?
Can it become good?

Being a widow means being defined
by what has been
and what is now missing.
Being a widow means no longer being whole.
It means being broken.
Being a widow means grief casts shadows on any laughter or joy.
Grief tugs at hope and undermines wholeness.
Widowing is the struggle to integrate grief into a life of faith.
How do I give expression to Widowing with honesty and integrity?

To widow well, I need to learn how to love in absentia.
To widow well, I need to find a new form of dignity.
To widow well, I need to trust my vulnerability into the hands of Gods healing Spirit.
To widow well, I look to others who have gone before me.
Gift me an identity as a daughter of Heaven.
Do not forsake me.
Amen

(C) A A Koh-Butler, 2020

Evocation #31 Another life, a parallel universe

Today begins another attitude.
I walk with the bearing of widow.
If black were ever to fit it would be
with flash adornments of objection integrated.

You desert me
yet continue to pester and nag,
ringing your bell and calling my attention
only to find there is nothing I can do
to settle your agitation.

I prepare and plan a day without you,
so you gather yourself to barge in without invitation.
Do you think it is your place or your right
to so disturb and possibility of peace?
Yes - it’s all about you, isn’t it?

Well, I have new for you:
Today begins another attitude.
I walk with the bearing of widow.
So take your place, but know,
Today I have another life.

(C) A A Koh-Butler, 2020

Evocation #28 Of all the gin joints

The locksmith has been and gone
as I wonder at the risks of vulnerability.
How much more damage is possible?
Who takes advantage of a tender moment?
In reality, I recall, it is in the vulnerability of humanness
we are most likely to suffer attack and theft of dignity and respect.

I ponder the hurt and vulnerable eyes -
your eyes, not your eyes,
eyes that came from you and seek you still.
I pour a G&T and we take some solace
in sharing the vulnerability you have left us with.

We prepare ourselves for the coming onslaught
of genuine grace and gifts of compassion,
yet vulnerability causes us to pause, take stock
and regard each other’s visage,
willing one another to take strength in the pause,
not to dismiss of diminish the vulnerability,
but simply to wear it well,
adorn it with the brooch of knowing..
Truth is always vulnerable and strong
and sometimes it requires a little pause
in a gin joint.

(C) A A Koh-Butler, 2020

Evocation #30 Sorrow

Waking up,
the tears stream into the already damp shawl.
I’m sorry, I whisper, I’m sorry.
I repeat the words,
forcing them to be true.
Even as you reflect them back to me,
I’m sorry... so sorry.

I know we have forgiven,
nevertheless I cannot unremember.
It was the blessing for you -
unremembering -
remembering only love.

Remembering jumble and fall onto the floor,
Like toys escaping a cupboard in a nursery.
Tidiness is only ever a pretense at temporary order,
For chaos is the more natural state
of affair.

Yes - I love you,
despite your betrayal
at not being here.
I try to hold my heart
so it doesn’t drop onto the floor too
causing my eyes leak to some more.

Ah, chaos and sorrow,
you dance a slow dance,
to soulful music of
constant beat and sighing melodies.
We hum along, whispering again
I’m sorry... I’m sorry.

(C) A A Koh-Butler, 2020

Evocation #29 Meditation for the day after

The banner told of ‘deep gratitude’. So I take some time in the quiet of the evening to remember and give thanks.

I thank God for you. 

I remember the romance of sharing Granada with you: midnight in the Alhambra, an afternoon wandering in the Caravanserai, the soothing waters of the Hamman, the exotic spices of the Arab quarter.
I remember the whimsy of Gaudi and Dali, peppering sites across Catalunya, the bright colours that seemed to reflect you..., the forested columns in La Sagrada Famiglia, the deco glass of Palau de la Musica.
I remember the explosions of flavour: the salt and rich tang of aged jamon, a sliver setting off the sofrito, held together by smokey pimenton, the bite into layers of air, somehow whipped together with pastry of lard... the inevitable laughter at the decadence of breakfast!
I remember trekking in the a downpour, wearing rain capes that did nothing but pay homage to the concept of sodden. I remember our laughter and sense of shared crazy in the flooding of Torremolinos.
I remember the Flamenco Biennale in Sevilla: sitting in the front row and the 20 minute standing ovation. We had no idea what we were going to and were transported into the rhythms of passion.
I remember wandering with you in the Alcazar, finding shade in between expanses of cultured gardens and vibrant blossoms.
I remember tiled mosaics and moorish architecture. I remember your stories of history and exploration, or war and poetry.
I remember the adventures and wonders and discoveries of mysteries. 

Today, God blessed me with churros and dark bitter chocolate, so I remembered you
And I continue to give thanks.

In honour of you, I offer this meditation.

Close your eyes and slow your breath.
Let the air come and go. 
Listen to it creep in and leak out.
Observe it make its path inside you.
Welcome it and let it travel gently wherever it will.
Allow your breath to remind you of scents and tastes of clarity and stuffiness.
Allow you mind to travel to the journeys of the past.

Where do you remember a stolen kiss in the dark?
Was there soft lighting, candles perhaps? Were voices hushed? 
Do you recall holding hands or linking fingers?

Where do you remember rain and damp skin...
When did you peel off layers only to find more wet underneath?
When did you stand in a warm shower, seeking to thaw out?

Have you ever shared desert? 
Two spoons please!
Did you feed each other? 
Who got to crack the hardened sugar on the Creme Caramel?

What energy of performance has surprised and delighted you?
Did you laugh or cry? Or both?
Did you try to copy the actors as you debriefed over supper?
Did you dream - together perhaps?

When you start to remember, 
step into the memory, 
allow it to console you, 
even for a little while.
In the remembering of past wonders, 
Be grateful for your present moments.

Eulogy for Terry

This is some of the material we shared with a fabulous community of friends and family on January 14, 2020 (a month after Terry's passing) at a Celebration of Life Service held at Western Sydney University.

[after you read each segment, click BACK to come back to this page].

The Magnet

Sport - Soccer

Family, Friends and Ministry

Travel, Culture and Markets

Writing

Blue #1

When he came home from hospital for the last time, 

he had one goal… one thing left to do.

He wanted to go to church. 

I didn’t even know if he would be able to speak.

He wanted to say thankyou… both specifically to his congregation,

 but also to them representing all of us…

 and he wanted to do it in front of God

 by way of saying

 Thanks for this life.

T’s writing

Terry’s writing happened on and off for the 28 years I knew him. He did some writing when he was at university where he took Theatre and Film studies. He invented stories for various children, eventually writing for teens and, more recently, for all of us.

Five years ago, he started radiation therapy. In order to cope with treatments, he would take his mind to another place and focus on the development of a story. It became known as Ghani’s Gift. He completed over 100,000 words and 23 chapters, leaving notes for the final chapter, which I am currently working on completing for him. David and Marg both read great chunks and assisted with editing. I took some long leave in June last year to go with him to Tyalgum, near Murwillumbah, to do some research on the setting.

Speaking and writing were becoming increasingly difficult in the final months. We developed “PUNKYWAYSHONE” - communication workarounds, not just substituting for punctuation, but also for speaking at all when words were too difficult to find.

In his final hours, I read about nine chapters of Ghani’s Gift back to him. As our wonderful daughter-nurses, Heidi and Taryn, and kids, Janai and Emryn, listened, we heard different instructions and messages in the text that he had left for us. He gave us guidance with how to live and some of the things we need to think about if we want to influence our world positively.

Excerpt...“Christmas morning was warm and humid due to some light overnight rain. …About 50 people had turned up to hear Reverend Bailey deliver a heartfelt sermon. He said that a simple carpenter’s son, born nearly 2000 years ago, had brought a message of faith, hope and love that was as relevant today as it was then. 
“The trip home began, as usual without conversation, then David spoke. “I told Rev. Bailey that I didn't think Jesus was a simple man at all. I believe he was a complicated man with a simple message. He certainly stirred things up for the Jews and the Romans. I invited him to come to dinner sometime soon as he's on his own now that his daughter has moved to Sydney”.  (Ghani’s Gift)

…

That’s how he saw Jesus – a complicated man with a simple message that required him to live a life acting in faith. 

Travel, Culture and Markets

Terry went overseas for the first time in 2000. In 20 years he took 10 international trips, visiting 15 countries. He was the most widely read person I have ever met and he was a trivia king. When the Turramurra church held a trivia night, David and Janet, Terry and I formed a table. All the other tables had about 10 people to our 4. We won pretty much every section, except for Bible Trivia!

Terry loved the adventure of new foods, exploring galleries and museums and going to produce markets. He enjoyed Cooking Schools, architecture and people watching. He liked to use as many different forms of transport as possible. He particularly liked the intersection of where different cultures met - places on trade routes - parts of Spain were particularly attractive because of the shared history of Christians, Muslims and Jews. He also appreciated immersion in Asian and Islander cultures. It was Terry who chose our membership of the Fijian Congregation at Parramatta Mission. He liked to see how cultures could encounter each other and develop new ways forward.

Family, Friends and Ministry

Terry was a carer for both older and younger generations, particularly his mum and grandma and my Nana. He extended home to include whoever needed a bed and went to be with family far afield in different times of need. He was Tanya’s godfather and uncle to her and Cindy. He also had a broad definition of family, including people he coached or mentored and those who came to live with us for different periods, like ‘the Kat’, Katerina. Terry found it easy to make friends, but he never took friendship lightly.

I have received messages from people in seven countries, many of whom he hosted when they came here as guests of the Uniting Church. He volunteered for countless Youth Camps, Conferences and Retreats, earning the title of ‘honorary Queer’ by Uniting Network. He has wooed and evangelised professors, divas, state-of-origin players, general secretaries, Bishops, Muftis, Cantors and Cardinals.  He formally Mentored 6 people taking on a “Period of Discernment” and would also teach couples to dance for their weddings. When it became too difficult for him to get out, he continued to minister, contributing to online support groups for survivors of clergy abuse, people living with cancer, and connecting with other Ministry Spouses.

Sport (soccer)

When it first became available, we decided it would be contrary to productivity to get Fox sports... Terry would explain:
‘Somewhere in the world someone is hitting, kicking, throwing, catching or heading a ball... and I’m not there to see it.” Besides, he preferred SBS, which he dubbed “Sport before Sex”.

To say Terry was a sports’ fan does not quite capture it. We annually joined comrades at 3 or 4am in the queue for the running of the Paddington Gift at the SCG. I remember his weeping inconsolably in the lounge bar of North Sydney Leagues Club where we watched the Socceroos lose against Iran 4:1 and miss entry into their first World Cup Finals, his unbridled joy when we watched Barcelona crush Valencia at the Camp Nou, and the pilgrimage to see Arsenal defeat Bolton at Emirates Stadium. That day, we walked Highbury so we could pay homage at the old pitch.

Terry played many sports:
Thommo broke his toe and he also faced Len Pascoe at cricket,
when living in Bourke, he would travel for hours to play Rugby,
he played baseball, both in younger days and when he and best friend, David, and his daughter Lisa, joined a mixed team...
Surfing saw him living at Freshwater and took him traveling up and down the coast, with a favourite break being Scotts Head.
He was one of those legendary Westie kids whose Easter would involve carrying his surfboard in on the train to Circular Quay, and jump off the ferry between the Heads to catch the wave caused by the King Tide.

Terry started playing soccer in the U6s when he was 4. He took a long break from playing only after breaking both legs in a motorbike accident, but came back to playing after we were married. Coaching Emryn at Gordon and then St Ives led to him donning boots himself and it wasn’t long before he was playing All-Age... after all, “Over 35s is only for Hackers”.

His greatest sporting joy undoubtedly came in the combination of playing and coaching. U12s became 14s, 16, Youth... then the Premier All-Age teams... As the boys grew up, Coach was always there. He taught them to pass and play the whistle, gaining a nickname of ‘walk away’. He helped them with homework, debriefed conflicts with parents and gave them stern lectures about how to treat women. He also coached some of the early St Ives Women’s teams, working hard to advocate for equity in sport. When necessary, he would also Ref. Playing with kids he had coached since they were 12 meant lots of radox baths and strapping tape. He was awarded Life Membership to St Ives Soccer Club and the President’s Award from the Kuringai District Soccer Association.

It was to be a surprise. He arrived at the dinner and was taken to the ‘special guests’ table where Craig Foster was sitting. Before they could be introduced, Craig rose and said, “Gday TEL, long time”... “Gday Fozz ... “ and they proceeded to reminisce about playing together and analyse the current state of The World Game. While he loved all sports, Terry’s passion for real football - the round-ball game - where you use your feet - was largely about teamwork, friendship and the development of personal character. He would always claim the sport gave him more than he gave it.

Evocation #27 The Magnet Effect

Known to taxi-driving colleagues as ‘Terrice the Checkout Chick”, I was told we must meet. We first met at the taxi base at Artarmon. By way of objection to the taxi dress code, Terry wore two mismatched bright fluorescent long socks. I was introduced to fashion as a statement of public protest, something that would continue for the next nearly thirty years of our shared life.

The Mohawk was chosen to disguise the scars from surgery. When he realised the impact of the blue Mohawk on complete strangers, he used the opportunity to talk about Beyond Blue. He observed that in most waiting rooms people were anxious and often depressed, and so commenced a significant ministry - to companion and bring a sense of possibility to others in the mental, spiritual and emotional struggle of facing and living with cancer.

Terry believed political and social involvement were a requirement for responsible adulthood. After all, he reasoned, how could you make a contribution in the world without being interested, informed and active? He was a type of swinging voter - mostly Labor, but at various time Democrats or Greens. He was an advocate for Refugees and we housed a number of people in Adelaide. He was an ALLY, often standing in as a parental figure when people identifying as LGBTIQ+ were suffering from an absence of non-judgmental adults in their lives.

Terry loved creation... frogs and birds, beaches and wonders, even spiders. He had a collection of frog items, made or found by friends who saw his delight in their thoughtfulness. In Adelaide, when he was beginning to find it more difficult to get out, he was able to find companionship among the many doves that would come to feed off our balcony. He loved dogs, having had several of his own, and he enjoyed visiting friends whose dogs came to look forward to seeing him.

Like moths about a flame, people and animals would come to Terry. He made them feel fuller and somehow more involved in life. He was a magnet - not the kind to hold fast and stick, but the kind that helps find you when you are lost.

(C) A A Koh-Butler, 2020

Fire Season - Water

Ever sacred droplets of water,
reminder of repentance,
of tears of grief,
of sweat-stained faces,
of hosing down the roof,
of dampening the kerchief
to ward off smoke.

Water...
Precious Life
taken for granted
in a parched society.
Machines hijack so much water,
we often hear what we cannot see.
Can you remember using an umbrella?
Or donning a raincoat?
Or wearing gum boots?

We thank God for people who lift the weight of hoses.
We thank God for people who skipper boats of refuge and rescue.
We thank God for people who poor the only possession that matters into a borrowed glass.
We thank God for the arrival of a tanker
Of water.

As the Spirit once hovered over the waters at the dawn of creation,
we ask the Spirit to come:
Come and renew the face of the earth.
Amen

Evocation #26 Lovesong

The psalmist writes, 
‘Just as a deer thirsts for water, my heart longs for you’...

I seek your presence beside me
and locate the pillows another widower suggested might help.

I seek your voice
and find it on your voicemail’s no answer response.

I seek your face
captured and frozen into hundreds of disparate hard and soft images in albums.

I seek your mind
and read your book to discover hidden wisdom.

I seek your love
and find it reflected in the longing of my own heart.

I seek your response
and confront the emptiness of home turned house.

I understand this state of grief.
It is a new existence.
Some might call it liminality - or purgatory?
It is an in-between.
I am no longer alive,
yet I am not yet dead.

I am not numb,
for there are too many tears
to claim a lack of feeling.
I disdain the morbid,
yet talk about death
to confirm and confront its reality -
to deny it the possibility of tricking me
into denial.

I have no death-wish...
But I do so long for Heaven now,
For you, my love, will be the resurrection promise.
Never have I needed faith so much...
and every day I will need more
to persevere
until the longing is satisfied.


(C) A A Koh-Butler, 2020

Evocation #25 Conventionality dismissed

Ever the rebel,
Always with a cause!
Happy to advocate and agitate.
Boldly blue, beyond interests in fashionistas,
Satisfied to challenge and discomfort.
Whatever was normal or acceptable to others
was a glove laid down before you -
an opportunity to redefine directions and frameworks,
an invitation to explore creative designs and wonder...

Always wonder.

Convention defined as passé,
you preferred to write the rules for life -
 rules made to be adjusted as new ideas came to mind.
Willing venturer and turn-to best man
for so many, who knew you stood for their aspirations.
Brides so you treat me the way they prayed to be treated,
With devotion, respect, adoration and soul-deep love,
the kind that offers the choicest morsels
to take pleasure in the ensuing pure delight.

So much for convention!

You taught me disdain
for those who hide behind protocols and procedures,
as methods for dismissing justice and humanity.
You recognised veiled greed and irresponsibility
and called it out.
Forgive me for lacking your courage.

Courage.

I would not have thought possible
the learning journey of the final years,
each step an act of determination and defiance.
Others talk of battles, but not you.
You stated clearly your decision not to be defined by the illness,
but instead you chose to lay claim to living -
to adopt each day as a project of accomplishment.

Thus, convention is dismissed
as inadequate to the task of living life
in its purest, most courageous form...
- its bluest form.

(C) A A Koh-Butler, 2020

Fire Season - Rest

For first responders who see and assess the chaos and carnage,

Working puzzles of potential progress and defence, 

checking for vagaries of wind’s direction...

As they lie down,

We pray rest.

For those who toil seconds, minutes, hours, days, weeks, months...

Longing for signs of abatement...

As they lie down,

We pray rest.

For those who have packed cars and boxes,

Grabbed albums and jewellery boxes, trinkets and treasures,

Escaping beyond reach of other worldly goods...

As they lie down,

We pray rest.

For those who have called loved ones, 

only to hear messages of inaccessibility, 

waiting and wondering, despairing and hoping...

As they lie down,

We pray rest.

For radio operators, 

keeping calm, calling the work,

All the while churning with anxiety and responsibility... 

As they lie down,

We pray rest.

For paramedics, orderlies, triage nurses, registrars,

For those who administer oxygen and carry equipment 

to those who struggle to gasp life...

As they lie down,

We pray rest.

For volunteers who never imagined the approach of Apocalypse, 

who put on an apron or picked up a bread knife, 

who passed out the tissues and wept their compassion,

As they lie down,

We pray rest.

For children whose laughter or tears break through the frustrations of adults,

who remind those around of the need for tomorrows, 

who need a bedtime story of hope and courage...

As they lie down,

We pray rest.

For the countless unnamed who have seen nightmares flickering 

into halls, shops, waiting rooms and lounge rooms, 

who have groaned in horror and contemplated the terrors...

As we all lie down,

We pray rest.

Evocation #24 To ravel

Threads of complement and contrast,
(Blue and purple, of course)
Subsumed into the task
of constructing new patterns
in a fabric made
to hold all of life’s joys and sorrows.
Such is the object of marriage -
to ravel!

We do not simply weave,
for weaving allows little room
for flexibility and charisms.
Ravelling is a more tangled bond,
yet expects to work and rework and make new,
going over habits and traditions
and layering deliciousness
- like the honey-nut-laden filo
you turned into baklava
to please the Balmain stallholders
from week to week.

I remain caught up in this ravel,
bound by the ropes of confused stories,
circling around my core,
taunting me - as if to say,
“What can you make of this life now?”

I wake from a nightmare
to find the ravel in a thousand pieces,
sitting in my heart,
waiting to be tied together
to become another jumbled mess.
I try to splice stories together
to find myself
tangled
and full of knots.

There is nothing for it but to cradle the ravel,
to gently carry it and finger the knots,
tickling them from time to time,
teasing them into submission.

(C) A A Koh-Butler, 2020

Fire Season - For bats and other creatures

For sacred habitats,
we give thanks.
For those lost,
we lament.
For creatures that cling, or hang upside down,
we marvel - and we weep.
Amid confusion and fear and screeches and squawks,
we long for silence.
When there is silence,
we long for any signs of life.
In devastation,
we search for rebirth.
In blackened stumps,
we seek new growth.

For magpies and caterpillars,
for wallabys and cockatoos,
for pythons and sugar gliders,
for frogs and bush bees,
We plead for restoration,
for restoration,
for salvation.

Save your creation, O Healing Spirit.
Redeem your creatures from our sin.
Liberate the fallen from this hellish landscape.
Offer the gentle soaking of life through rain.
Gift again your beloved with showers of mercy.
Work your wonders
so we might tell again of your glory.


(C) A A Koh-Butler, 2020

Evocation #23 Words and Phrases

As you lost words,
we developed other ways of communicating.
A return to an intimacy of earlier times?
No - a new dimension to touch and understanding?
We shared a different language - one of our own,
hard for others to follow or comprehend.
We made mistakes,
sometimes with laughter,
sometimes with groans and shouts of frustration,
often forgetting what we’d even been trying to say.
Your head cradled at my breast.
Mine held close, listening to the rhythm of your heart.
Communication is, after all,
a sharing of knowledge or secrets
or a way of being
- Way, Truth, Life?

In the first days after separation,
I found myself not-talking like you,
 to my surprise.
I stumbled and stuttered,
unable to form coherence
in the foreign language of others.
As I relearn to speak,
I now find myself in phrases,
trying to capture stories from photos.
I learn to tell myself the stories of our past,
to share with anyone who will listen,
not because I wish to share pain,
but because we would share
our joy and hope and love
of shared existence
Of community found in another soul.

Today, words and phrases are testimony
to the vows of covenant.
Yet, wordlessness took us into new games
and now the rooms are silent...
Save for your playlist.

(C) A A Koh-Butler, 2020

Fire Season - Droplets

Droplets of rain would be heaven sent
If only they would come
Soon...
We have become so accustomed to the haze of thick smoke
It becomes difficult to recognise cloud when it is there.
Are these droplets of rain
or cold ash falling?
For sure, the water seems to collect ash as it falls,
pulling downward the evidence of attack.
After what was known as ‘ember attack’ it is strange,
 perhaps,
to call the ash and rain an attack,
but that is how I perceive it.
The droplets attack our senses,
they seek to goad the patient survivor
into some form of hysterical celebration.

We pray to the One who sits behind the many names of God:
O Bringer of Destruction, bring forth life!
Send your gentle rains from Heaven upon those of us beneath.
Grant us a soaking, cleansing shower.
Allow us to wash in your tears.
For our tears already flow at the corruption of the world.
Let yours heal ours.
You are our only hope,
and we long to receive your mercy.

Amen

Fire Season - Homeless

The house is gone -
the threshold over which
we welcomed and set forth...
has disappeared into memory.

The safety of our bedroom,
where we cosy-ed up together...
is remembered in the comfort touch.
Our resting place must be each other's hearts.

The gifts given and received,
signs of stories shared from across generations and divides,
are crisped beyond recognition.

The things we saved for
or planned for
or created
are gone.

We are homeless.

yet - we pray the courage to rebuild a home...
perhaps in that place, perhaps not...
in some ways, it matter not.
Our home must be carried in our souls now.
Home is no longer fixed and secure.

We have become nomads,
but finding a core, built of survival.
We enter a new era - a time to make home
in spirit and in truth.
It is not courage that drives us forth.
It is hope for renewal,
hope that follows the shoots of green, only seen
 springing forth
 from destruction and desolation.

At any other time, new shoots would
camouflage themselves beyond our reckoning.
Not now.
Now we are exposed.
Now we are seen in all our vulnerability.

We pray for courage
to face each next step.
We pray for comfort
in the face of loss and shock.
We pray for shelter
from the memories
and the fear of an uncertain future.
We pray for provision
in abundance.
We give thanks for those who care.
We give thanks for those who defend.
We give thanks for life.

Amen

(C) A A Koh-Butler, 2020

Evocation #22 The Cure of Play

“When the angels come to take T to heaven, 
he will be happy, 
but I will be sad,
So you will need to play games with me 
to help me be happy again.”
Boys took up their task with all seriousness.
Their powers of concentration reminding me of their grandfather.

I see the fear in your eyes - so long ago now.
You knew - numbness and tingling
was more than damage from falling.
We followed the laid out, numbered, filed and scheduled
processes,
appointments,
consultations,
learning the patience of patients.
But...
Such patience can see a rapid decline,
for it saps hope and energy.
The System demands the cost of one’s essence.
Time to rebel!
Bring on a more detailed Mohawk.
Bring on Caffeine-fuelled Research.
Bring on Jokes and Prayers.
Bring on the Fitness Regime any Gooner could be proud of.
Bring on Games.

Online games keep you
occupied and distracted.
Board games enable companionship
when words have gone somewhere else to play.
Story games build elements
of a story unfolding,
allowing the capture of characters.
Imagination is both food for the brain
and product to be deployed.

The intricacies of the games in life
are limited only
by our capacity to relate
with self and others.
No problem for the social magnet
Or was it social magnate?
No - not so much social as a super nova perhaps?
Children desired to play with you
or for you...
Seeking your attention and approval.
Grownups simply wanted
your smile and your words of encouragement,
Which reeked of truth and blessing.

Any conversation could be a delight of play,
your repartee a shining light to lift the soul.
How long did I bask in that sun!
Most people settle for some exchanges to draw from such a well...
I drew from that source for twenty eight years...
And I will draw from it still.

So - pass me your city,
for I will build new layers
upon your playful foundations.
Even though it feels otherwise,
there are really no losers.

(C) A A Koh-Butler, 2020

Fire season - On beaches

People sit quietly in clutters of possessions,
Anxiously waiting for weather reports and messages...
Have mercy, O breath of God.
We ask for good news.

Children stray too far from the water’s edge
and are herded back to the safety of the sea...
Have mercy, Holy One who commands the waters.
We ask for secure children.

Sounds of storm are interrupted by piercing sirens,
yet no one turns their head.
Have mercy, Sacred Guide, on the drivers.
As exhaustion takes its toll,
we ask for their refreshment and recovery.

The sky turns from gold to red to black.
It glows of death and destruction.
Have mercy, God of Wind and Calm.
In anger and delight, in sorrow and pain,
we ask your comfort and presence.

(C) A A Koh-Butler, 2020

Evocation #21 Blessing Furniture

Days before you died you quipped,
“We finally got the furniture in the right place...”
“Wheelchairs have a way of clarifying the path” I returned.
The arrival of a dining table with its own stories
allowed us to share a final Christmas dinner with family.
These odes are blessings for furniture and equipment.

Table (for M’s grandma)
May laughter resound at this table of plenty.
May the lighting of candles spark words of grace.
May the bread recollect all who are broken.
May our shared wine flow as life-blood.
For those who have gathered at this table, we give thanks.
Among those who form the company today, we offer goodwill.
For those who are yet to come, we pray peace.

Wheelchairs 1 & 2
May the role of rolling be one of dignified accompaniment.
May mobility find us in concert halls and galleries.
May ramps be kind and carers be strong.
May bumpy paths be negotiated well.
May kindness bless when assistance is needed.
May worlds open up for joyful engagement.
May this chair offer comfort and security in an uncertain world.

[Note: T had 2 chairs. The first traveled all over the world. The second was bought only in his last 3 months, but was a comfortable upgrade and much safer for me, as it had handbrakes!]

Carry Belt

We hated you so much.

You looked so ugly, 

like a poor man’s straight jacket.

Yet - you enabled us to stay at home.

Thank you.

When it became too hard to stand 

and too difficult to hold hands,

You allowed us to embrace in new ways 

and accomplish life even for a few days.

Thank you.

Forgive me my judgment and hatred.

Go in peace.

May you offer life again for others.

Stick

Better known as ‘cattle-prod’...

Also offered as sword-fighting implement...

Stick can be both friend and foe, 

helpful some days, 

getting in the way on others.

Collapse when you must, 

get lost from time to time, 

stand strong...

Stand in place of a leg 

that kicked goals 

and accomplished tackles. 

Stand in place of the leg 

that cha cha-ed and waltzed.

Walk with one nicknamed ‘Walk Away’.

Keep mobility and independence possible. 

Bless the stick 

for walking 

and for optimism.

(C) A A Koh-Butler, 2020

Evocation #20 Chaplain’s Greetings

Dining on green curry and sharing stories,
receiving the generosity and comfort of true friends,
An interruption of smiles and greetings
- students whose beaming faces betray an innocent joy in life.
I greet them, conjuring warmth and enthusiasm
for they are lovely and genuine.

So many good and lovely people!
I am surrounded by the best of community.

How is it then to feel lost?
I know in my mind about the insidious nature of grief -
all consuming -
redirecting simple thoughts
and turning them into existential debates.
Such conversations are not helpful now.
They wage war within my soul,
yet to give them voice
prevents my ready and willing present self
from enjoying the ministrations, or even greetings, of others.

I gently tell the innocent of death
within the context of gratitude for life.
My smile is real, for I know when I leave
they will have some of the discussion
of life and death and meaning.

He liked being the Chaplain’s husband.

(C) A A Koh-Butler, 2020

Evocation #19 Silence and Prayer

There have been days without you before.
Lengthy journeys, days of busy,
time zones imposing distance of days and nights,
far greater than numbering continents or seasons.

We talked on phones,
our partnership growing with technology’s advances.
Whatever the time and place,
everything stood still
when we uttered tender phrases,
assurances of some normality
to shrink the globe to our size.

How then shall we shrink Heaven and Hell to suit?
If I ever assumed a direct line to God, it is forsaken now.
Your silence... God’s silence...
constantly wondering what you would say...

Catches of panic well up unexpectedly - unbidden.
Yet, somehow they are a comfort,
breaking through the constant numbness.
I try to exhaust my body with mundane tasks.
A clear day, without smokehaze, seems almost offensive.
Isn’t hell arrived and consuming all love and lifeforce in its path?
“Don’t go out” commands the daily advisory,
while marathon toil breaks the backs
of those who would confine the flames.

And so a prayer:

  Gathering One, teach us to pray...
  When phones are silence and batteries are flat,
  We hold before you those we love.
  We hold before you those we grieve.
  We hold before you homes and gardens and memories.
  We hold before you forgotten hope.
  In our distress, we long for your hand, your voice, your guidance.
  Lay your mercy as a coverlet over all - 
  those who name you 
  and those who are not acquainted with your grief. 
  Remember the pain of loss and weeping.
  Restore our souls to fulfil the calling of today 
  and grant eternal rest and banqueting 
  to all in time. 

     (C) A A Koh-Butler, 2019

Evocation #18 The Camel’s Hippie Cousin

Appearances can be deceptive.
One might mistake a llama for an alpaca, 
but nature granted smaller alpacas personal profitability 
while llamas have the capacity to adopt and protect 
entire communities of sheep. Llamas are sometimes known as the camel’s hippy cousin.

A tale for friends and comrades...

Llama looked out over the pitch.
The sheep habitually played together, following each other’s movements,
paying surprisingly little attention to the ground or the competition.
When they did look up, the intrusion of elements beyond themselves
almost seemed to be a distraction.

Llama cast a watchful eye over each lamb, perceiving weaknesses, doubts, fears...
As interactions ensued, leaders emerged, offering possibilities, encouragements, strengths...
Llama looked less for skills and more for spirit, knowing the power of magnification.
After all, the dispirited would flag and fail,
while the inspired would ascend to heights beyond imagining.
Fitness fed spirit... and trust.
Trust in one another was built by example. Llama showed trust and trust grew within the flock.

Llama sometimes felt like mutton - aged to imperfection,
requiring all available spiced oils to bring balance and palatability...
or at least bath salts and physi-tape supporting strained and aching muscles.
There were never too many seasons.

Llama held the attention with clear orders and sense of purpose.
The goal was to see the whole game, not simply live for the moment of glory.
See one another - call one another - work with one another!
A llama only spits when angry or frustrated.

Llamas are capable of carrying at least 30% of their body weight,
but this llama carried all the hopes and dreams of life and love.
How many came to llama for guidance and advice?
How many hours were given to confessionals and disclosures.
The ears of a llama are sometimes compared to bananas,
substantial - a feature of their profile.

Camel-like, the llama can face great hardship,
yet does so within a social framework.
No one could accuse llama of being antisocial!
Llamas can bear burdens, for self and others,
easing the pilgrimage, companioning life’s journey,
holding on to that which is good and protecting it from loss or misplacement.

The blue llama was created, bound up in prayer,
stuffed full of love and story,
working diligently to the very end,
providing the shoulder on which a tired arm could rest.

(C) A A Koh-Butler, 2019


Note: Terry played SIM city with a great Llama crew. His tag was Llama. He was also a Life Member of St Ives Soccer Club, where he played and coached. Teamwork and drawing out the best in others was a core value for Terry. Mrs Llama writes this in honour of the teams he was involved in.