Some of us wrote pieces of poetry and prose with an emphasis on ‘lament over Wellington’, asking God to revive our town and to stir us to action. Here are the first couple:
Green empty space, cold stone steps, and quiet, gently rotting space filled with whispers and echoes of time. Ruts and grooves carving out maps from days gone by. Long by. Forgotten. No, mourned. But the bell rings to remind hearts that time still speeds forward. In come the yellow giants breaking ground and destroying lost memories. Days ahead wait like gleaming white pages of an empty journal. A faint song of hope rises from retired walls and peeling paint. Seeds stirred in their cold resting places begin to wake unbeknownst to most. God is not gone but busy with pen to paper, with fingertips to strings. A strumming to be heard. A new song to write and the heartbeat of the past giving rhythm to the coming stories
By S
By D
This market town, once thriving
Bubbling, burgeoning with hope
Now slow, empty, weary
Shops empty, boarded up, sold up
Given up
Come
Come to our town
Wake the sleepers, meet the seekers, captivate the drifters
The jaded, the hopeless
Fill empty spaces with your presence
Spirit of God, flow out into these streets
Breathe life into these dry bones
Heal the ache, disappointment, pain
Restore this town, this land
Bring hope again