About this Christian Poet:
My name is Jenneth Suzanne Lindsay and I live in Cape Town, South Africa where I have spent most of my life. I lived for a few years in British Columbia, Canada when my family emigrated in my early years and have also lived more recently in Toronto, where I completed a School of the Heart at the Toronto Airport Christian Fellowship. I have a degree in librarianship, but am currently working as a secretary for a Christian counselor. My heart lies in the area of ministry and I have a passion for literature, seeing God restore the creative arts back to the church and experiencing different cultures of the world.
"Water Fall" takes place near North Bay, Ontario. This poem speaks of the deepening loneliness of a dysfunctional relationship I was in, contrasted with the powerful experience I had of God at the waterfall. I felt so completely out of the picture as we were visiting his relation/s and there was little effort to draw me in. Our relationship at this stage was coming towards a painful end. So when we arrived at the waterfall, I found God there purging me with his grace in the strength of the river. It was more powerful to me than Niagara Falls. God became much greater at that moment than what was happening, and I felt his promise encompass me with unfailing grace.
We rent a car, make for the highway
Yes, you can bring her with you.
I mask reality behind the wheel, smile
Unnatural to me as moose-clipped roads
I navigate the home of your vague relative
Silence broods space like a vacuum
Inhaling the conversations we planned.
I hear stifled voices drift the staircase
And your mother? Remember…?
Family blood, thick as glacial ice
Carrying conversation in Morse code
Your aunt or second cousin, no matter
Tea cups, whisky glasses offered
While I crash through the mosquito door.
We drive a map-work of reluctant roads
This is cousin Phil’s place.
I, a lone audience of back seat leather
Passing obstacle family homes, the dogs
Camera anticipation stumbles the side-door
We together are in throes of continental drift
My brain, a vibration of seismic activity.
Your face bends my picture sideways
Come, let’s take your photo.
We stumble down the rock-torn path
Down to the miner’s bridge, down again
Below the bridge on moss clung boulders
I yield my hands to the water-falling air
Trembling spread-eagled legs to wing fingertips.
The water speaks many secrets of many years
(Calling, they are calling)
I can no longer hear any other.
But a deeper voice clings about my rifting edges
A whispering under the bridge which takes my soul
Down this swollen river with a grace washed kiss
Carried on the rain-surge of a thousand winters.
Torrents climb my senses to the Richter scale.
Copyright©2003 by Jenneth Lindsay