The road less travelled

Lost again. Where am I?

Father God, I am always asking you for directions.

I keep asking you where I'm going and when will I get there? 

I'm asking you to show me the next step, which path to take, to show me which door should I push.

Which way should I go? What route would you like me to take?

Where will you lead me if only I am willing to be led?

I should stop asking, and just wait for you to show me. Maybe in the waiting there's more to see than there is in this chase,  where I am concentrating only on the road in front of me, pounding footsteps, breath coming in gasps.

Maybe I could sit here for a while, by this crossroads, and feel the sun on my back, and the breeze in my hair, listening to the birds and noticing the small things. The ladybird that lands on my arm, the wild flowers that grow at the roadside. The way the leaves on the trees look so breathtakingly beautiful against the bluest of skies.

Stop. Is that alright?

Maybe that's better than tearing down the road without glancing left and right, backtracking when I realise I'm lost, only to set off at a gallop in another direction. Running, running, not stopping to drink in the view or notice that you're there, waiting for me to sit down next to you. Waiting to show me something.

Enough.

I want to take the road less travelled. 

The road that is hardly noticed because the entrance is narrow; the one that's just for me, not for anyone else; the one that you're waiting patiently to take me down. My path.

You know this road so well - you know every bump and camber, every hill and valley. You know that there are place where the road leads perilously close to a sheer drop, where I'll need your arm to steady me, and you know secret places where there are still waters and lush meadows to rest in. You know when to stop to admire the view from the best angle and you know when how to guide me through the steep and treacherous parts where I'm scared to go alone and it's easy to lose my footing.

You want to walk this road with me, not just wave me off on my own. You want to point out the spectacular sights and you want to be there when I stumble.

You just want me to put down my maps and SatNav gadgetry and stop trying to do it myself.

To stop peering off down roads I'm not supposed to investigate. Those roads might lead someone else exactly where they're supposed to be going, but they're not for me. Those other roads often look easier than mine - prettier, more exciting; but you're waiting for me to stop looking longingly at the signposts or at other people's receding backs and look into your eyes. 

I'm going to sit here for a bit because I'm tired. Lord, I'm so, so tired.

I'm going to lean against this tree and watch the insects on the flowers and the sunlight filtering through green leaves and dappling the ground. I'm going to feel how soft the grass and the moss and I'm going to breathe in and breathe out slowly and deeply. Clean, cool, unpolluted air. I'm going to wait until the muscles of my shoulders relax and stop aching with tension and the noise in my head grows quieter and quieter. Until the peace that emanates from you washes over me, calming, soothing, comforting.

And I'll rest, leaning on you. I'll wait. 

And, Lord, when you're ready; when you think I'm ready, and not before, I'm going to take the hand that you offer me and let you pull me to my feet. And then you'll show me where to go, and I'll match my stride with yours.

We'll go somewhere, me and you.

Not one wet foot

Morning, God.

This morning's turned into a bit of a mess.  Realised that I should have paid my credit card and yet couldn't locate my online password; was on a small piece of paper stuck to the fridge with a magnet that Katy likes to play with and isn't any more. Realised that I need a new tax disc for the car imminently and then while making an online application for that realised that the MOT is out of date. One of the children has written on the dining room table, Katy's room is such a mess that I trod on something precious when I went in there in the dark this morning to wake her, and I have a headache.  

And it's raining.  

And my coffee went cold while I was taking my car to the garage and locating the small slip of paper that contained the magic numbers to pay my overdue bill. 

Sigh. 

I know, I've been reading the daily devotional that emphasises the need for Christians to be efficient and methodical with their finances. I know. Stop reminding me. Usually it all trundles along, sort of, but just occasionally it gets derailed. Deep down I'm an organised person. Deep down under layers of confusion and apathy, that is.

Karen Carpenter sang:

'Talking to myself and feeling old

Sometimes I'd like to quit

Nothing ever seems to fit

Rainy days and Mondays always get me down.'

I never knew Karen, but she was on my wavelength. 

I'm off for a new coffee, a paracetamol and a scrub at the dining room table.

*

(Did you know that a combination of toothpaste and hairspray removes marker pen from laminate surfaces? I suppose you did. The wonder of the internet, and the wonder of twenty-first century chemicals. Our dining table is restored to its former glory. And the bookshelf.)

Right. I'm going to start this day again. If I could I would do so by returning to bed and trying again in a few hours but in the absence of that option I am going to flick a switch in my head and pretend that the last hour hasn't happened and I am gliding along like a swan, with poise and elegance. Never mind if my legs are going like the clappers under the water.

I'm going to focus on something positive. 

Yesterday was a strange day, Father. I was so depressed to begin with. The gloom had descended again and I was feeling very low. If I hadn't been doing the intercession prayers at church there's no way I'd have gone; I trudged in feeling very negative and all it took was a friendly face to ask me how I was for my eyes to fill with tears. Completely inappropriate with minutes to go before the start of a service in which I'm taking part, but you helped me pull myself together and hold myself there. The prayers went ok, I think, but what really woke me up was the sermon. 

You spoke to me. I wasn't expecting it, or particularly in the mood for it, but you caught my attention. 

Joshua 3 and 4. The Israelites are crossing the River Jordan to take possession of the promised land.

Now, I've never really given much thought to crossing rivers. It's dead easy. There are bridges. Big bridges to drive over, railways, viaducts, footbridges, ferries... sometimes I don't even need to get out of my car. But the Israelites didn't have these luxuries and an immense rushing torrent of water maybe a mile across might well have looked like an insurmountable barrier. So that puts a different complexion on it.

Still, Joshua knew that you wanted them all on the other side of the river. And he told them what to do.

The priests carrying the Ark of the Covenant set their feet in the water of the river, which has overflowed its banks because it's in flood. It's a big, wide, fast river. Joshua has prophesied that you will stop the water from flowing so that they can cross. So they step into the water. I wonder if there was a

'You first.'
'No, after you.'
'No, I insist.'

sort of moment. But, Joshua said that you would take care of it. So they step in...

And you did. But you didn't stop the water right there, like the parting of the Red Sea - you stopped the water nineteen miles upstream. So, they stepped in, carrying this precious, heavy load, and they wouldn't have known immediately that they weren't going to be swept off their feet. They went in anyway. Surely the waters would have taken a while to subside as there must have been quite a lot of water in nineteen miles of Jordan, but they stood in the river and waited.

You didn't let them down. The waters subsided until there was dry ground. The priests holding the Ark of the Covenant stood there until every last one of the Israelites had passed by onto the other bank. That would have taken some time as there were getting on for three-quarters of a million of them, I'm told. They stood there, presumably in the mud, heavy burden on their shoulders, but standing firm.

So this was the basis of what Matt had to say.

1.  I have to trust that you will do what you've said you'll do.  The priests had to step into the water before the flood waters stopped. They had to commit themselves. Joshua said that you would hold back the flow and they trusted in you. They wouldn't have known that you'd honoured your side of the bargain for quite some time, but you had. You said you would.

So - all those times when I think, 'Where are you in this? I asked for your help and you're not helping me', it could be that you have built a dam nineteen miles upstream and I just haven't felt the effects of it yet. You may have done the work, but I am just not yet in a position to know.

2.  I have to stand firm. If I feel as if I'm standing in mud with the tide against me trying to carry a heavy burden, then I have to just keep upright and be strong because relief is coming. Perhaps you have given me a job to do and I'm wavering and uncertain that I can carry on doing it - I should stand firm. Maybe the priests were tired and aching and needing a rest but there were still a few thousand Israelites still to cross. They stood firm.

3.  Maybe I'm still on the river bank and I'm scared to put my toe in the water. Time to climb in. Time to step out in faith.

So here I am contemplating where I am in this scenario.  Maybe all three? I definitely feel as if I should be taking a step somewhere but I've long been asking you which direction.  Are you telling me that I should just step off the edge in some way? I've had so many questions about what you want me to do with my life and I've had ideas, some of which have just evaporated, some of which seem to be coming to nothing, and some of which (the most precious and fragile dreams I have) I have not even explored yet for fear of failing. In case they don't work. In case I make a fool of myself. In case I have to discard hopes that I've had for a long long time.

So maybe now's the time to put my foot in the water. And not in a dangly-what's-the-temperature-like-shall-I-shan't-I sort of way, but a wholehearted step-off-the-edge-into-the-torrent sort of way.

Whoa. Scary.

But you've said that whatever my own personal promised land, you'll get me there if I follow your lead. You've planned something for me and if I can only hear your voice, you'll guide me. So if you are with me, who can be against? If I hold onto you, you'll keep me upright until the waters abate. After all, you've made a dam upstream, if only I can wait for relief. If only I can trust that you'll do what you said you'll do.

Like they did.

And then at the same time as hesitating on the bank, I am stuck in the mud. At times lately I've felt as if the burden I'm carrying is far too heavy and I shouldn't have to carry it on my own. I've felt misunderstood, resentful, frustrated and angry at things that have happened and I've felt isolated and hurt. I've felt that the anxieties building up around me have grown to monstrous proportions and I'm no better equipped to cope than I've ever been. You told me on Sunday that I should stand firm. Sometimes movement is not required; I only need to stand firm and hold onto my precious burden, and fix my eyes on you rather than down at the mud. I'm playing to an audience of one. Stand firm until the job is done and then I can lift my feet out of the mud with a satisfying squelch and climb onto the bank. (Where, presumably, the priests had a bit of a break from carrying the Ark of the Covenant. Surely they sat down and put their feet up and had a snack while someone else took over then? The Bible is strangely quiet on these details.)

So here's the thing. I know that I'm vacillating a bit at the moment. I know that I've got some things wrong recently. I know that I'm filling my time with so many things that there is so little left for you. I know that I have so many unanswered questions and I'm constantly complaining that you don't speak to me when it's quite likely that you're there, just where you've always been but I just can't hear you over the background noise of my life.

I need to stop and listen.  And then I need to get on with it.

Give me strength, Lord, and courage. Help me to believe more than I do now that I can step into the current and not be swept off my feet. Help me to believe that upstream you have made a dam and even if it doesn't feel like it straight away, you have honoured the step I've taken. I just need to find the courage to climb down off the safety of this riverbank.

Even though this bank is the wrong side of the river, and I can see where I want to be, and you've promised to see me safely across, I am hesitating. I'm not sure. I keep making excuses. I'm scared of committing myself. What if it goes wrong? What if I can't do it? What will people think? What if...

'And there they stood; those priests carrying the Chest of the Covenant stood firmly planted on dry ground in the middle of the Jordan while all Israel crossed on dry ground. Finally the whole nation was across the Jordan, and not one wet foot.'

Joshua 3:17 The Message

I'd love to have seen that.

I wonder how this translates into what you want from me in my life. I wonder what my River Jordan is. I wonder what you want me to carry across. I wonder what you are doing upriver. Show me, Father, because I want to know. I want to climb in.

Holding your hand

I think I've been asking all the wrong questions.  I don't suppose there's any reason to expect that I would understand why things are happening as they are, really, is there? From experience you don't announce something, then wait for questions and explain yourself before proceeding. If understanding comes, which it often doesn't, then it evolves over time and doesn't dawn on me like a light going on.

So I should stop wasting your time and mine in trying to work it all out. Katy has a lump on her neck and surgery seems likely. I have a lump in my breast and I don't know what it is or if anything needs doing about it. So today, as I wait for Katy's appointment time to arrive, and mine in a few hours, I am going to concentrate on not dwelling on the 'why?' and just focus on putting one foot in front of the other.  I don't think you want me to do anything more than that. 

I spent yesterday evening with two of the loveliest friends a person could have. Another wise and kind and perceptive person came round to drop off a meal for tonight because she thought that when I got in from the two hour breast clinic appointment I probably wouldn't fancy cooking.  Bryan arrived home late last night having caught a train from London to be with me and Katy today. Mum has been quietly helping out and doing what needs to be done to keep things running smoothly. This morning already I have had a host of text messages from friends who are remembering what today holds for me. I feel blessed indeed to be surrounded by such wonderful warm, kind people. Thankyou Lord. Your family is an amazing thing. I feel as if I have loving people all round me and if my legs go wobbly they'll help to hold me up. 

I'm holding your hand today. I'm holding it tight and letting you lead me just as I hold onto Katy and steer her across a road. I'm not going to let go because I don't want to lose you, and I know that you have no intention of letting go of me. I won't slip out of your grasp. I know that sometimes just like Katy, I lean back and dig my heels in and you can feel me resist as you pull me along, complaining and whining. Even at those times I don't want to let go. 

I don't feel like a grown up today. I know that when I have Katy on my knee and the doctor is telling me what needs to be done to make her better I will be in parent mode, and I know I will look after her and be calm and reassuring and everything she needs me to be, but today, underneath, I feel as if I want to sit on your lap and just be held and have you stroke my hair and whisper that it's alright, there's no need to be afraid, because you will look after me. You'll make it alright.

My feelings are all over the place. One minute I am resolute and strong, the next crumbling with fear of the unknown. To be honest it's not fear of the unknown at all, it's fear of what I perceive to be the worst case scenario this afternoon or whenever I get the results of whatever tests they do. Fear that I'm going to have to learn to live with the shadow of something hanging over me, forever wondering if some day soon it's all going to be over for me in a few months of misery and illness.

That was a little wallow, wasn't it? I'm sorry. I'm sitting here looking out of the window at the sun on newly cut grass, and sparrows and blackbirds on the bird table, some beautiful poppies just opening out. From here I can't quite see all the weeding that needs doing or the annoying bird poo on the new bench. In a bowl in front of me are the pebbles I brought home from our exquisite weekend at the beach, including all the smiley ones.  We found so many, and I didn't have the heart to discard any. I've got a cup of coffee; another couple of encouraging texts have arrived since I have been writing this.  I have so much to be thankful for. 

I have you. I have a God who loves me. I have a God who has defeated the worst that this world can do to me, so that no matter what, I will not be crushed. I am afraid, but you are not, and a tiny part of me hears you when you tell me that I don't need to be afraid either. I can hold onto you and shelter behind you and you will take care of me. I don't know what form that will take, and though I keep trying to persuade you to do it my way, I know in my heart that you know best, and I have chosen your way.  In my small, weak, faulty way, I know that it is the only true way.

Here's today, Lord. Thankyou that I'm not alone. 

Always more strength

Hello, God.


Sunday night and the music was amazing at church.  The sung worship felt great and it was obvious that the Holy Spirit was moving in a powerful way. I was only there as the result of a last minute decision. It might have been my last minute decision, Lord, but you knew I'd be there.  At least, that's what it felt like.


The songs were special to me.


'...When trials come, how you so easily forget
Cast all your burdens upon the Lord
Jesus cares, he cares for you'
Robert Critchley, 2001 Kingsway/Thankyou Music


I've had a horrible time recently and the last week knocked me for six. I've been aware of you, Lord; I don't think I've ever made such an effort to try to stay close to you - I've been struggling that much.  If I'm trying for a deeper relationship with you, so that I can be of some use to you, then it's bound to get messy, isn't it? 


But have I cast my burdens on the you?  Nowhere near as much as I could have, I guess. I've moaned about them, felt how heavy they were, told anyone who'd listen what a bad time I'm having; poked and prodded them and limped on, but I never actually handed them over. 


That song moved into another.


'Strength will rise as we wait upon the Lord
We will wait upon the Lord
We will wait upon the Lord'

Brenton Brown/Ken Riley 2006 Survivor Records


I was singing with all my heart and I heard your voice speaking so clearly.  You said three words to me three or more times.  


You said, 'Always more strength'.  


I've been so tired.  I've been physically tired as Katy is going through a phase where she needs attention several times a night; I've been tired as I've been unwell (have I mentioned that, Lord?) and I've been emotionally and spiritually tired too.  It's as if all the rubbish happening recently has taken it out of me; all the wondering I've been doing about why all the bad things, the mistakes, the inconveniences and the accidents; why are they all happening?.  


I've been so determined that I'm going to be faithful despite all these attempts to derail me, but best intentions aside, I've felt defeated.  Nothing much left; so the next thing to knock me off my perch might just have seen me lie there without getting up for the next punch.  


But...

'You are the everlasting God
The everlasting God
You do not faint You won't grow weary'


But you don't grow faint or weary. I do. You aren't worn down by the odd misfortune like I am.  And you'll never leave me.  You'll never be defeated.  And there you were on Sunday night gently telling me that I just need to stick with you because neither will I.  You have enough strength for me too.  


Always more strength. 

'You're the defender of the weak
You comfort those in need
You lift us up on wings like eagles'


I am weak and I can stand defended by you.  If I wait upon you, you will lift me up and give me a new strength. 


'...but those who hope in the LORD
will renew their strength.
They will soar on wings like eagles;
they will run and not grow weary,
they will walk and not be faint.'  
Isaiah 40:31


If I hope in you, you'll keep on recharging me. I will never run out of strength.  On my own I'll tire so quickly. But if I wait upon you; if I listen, watch, talk to you, stay close to you, listen some more, learn from you, then you will renew my strength until I am as gravity defying as an eagle.  


I can soar, not trudge.  
I can fly high, not fall flat.  
I can do great things, because I am powered by you.


What a promise is that?!  I sang my heart out as if I were in front of your very throne, and you spoke to me.  You smiled and said, 'Always more strength'. 


At times like that, I feel as if I'm overflowing with love for you; with awe and praise. I feel that I want eternity to start right now because there is going to be nothing better than to sit in front of you and worship for ever.  My God, who created the universe, who died and rose again, who understands everything, for whom nothing is impossible - the Lord - you touched me on an ordinary Sunday night in our church just to assure me that you are there, you have always been there, and you are enough for me. 


I am not defeated as there is always more strength available.  


"Always more strength." 

Another fine mess

God, I'm cross. And nervous, and anxious, and frustrated, and scared.

'What is it this time?' I hear you ask...well I've got myself into another mess. I'm guessing that you've been waiting for me to flap about this. Amazing that I've left it so late in the day to start worrying, really - not like me.  It sort of crept up on me. Stealthily.

As you are no doubt aware, I'm going to be one of the governors of our local infant school. It took me ages to decide whether or not to be a governor, as the idea scares me more than a bit, and when I was asked my instinctive response was 'Whoa, no no no no, absolutely not'.  Actually, I think that's exactly what I said.

Remember, this is the school where I went as a small child, and when I was there the current headteacher was one of the teachers.  In her first year Elizabeth had problems which have taken some sorting out, and although things are just fine now, scars have been left which make this governor thing, hobnobbing with the big cheeses, just a little bit more tricky. 

I'm not a happy camper.

Why did I say I'd do it? I have no idea.  I was persuaded by an old friend who has a child in Lizzie's class, who is also a governor, and maybe she appealed to my pride?  Vanity? I don't know. I do know that she said she'd be happy to have another Christian on board, so maybe that was it?  Anyway, I'm flapping and I wish I hadn't said I'd do it, and now I realise that it clashes with a meeting at Church that I wanted to go to and I'm feeling even more narked about it.

So here it is. At Church I feel comfortable and confident (a bit, anyway); it's familiar, non-threatening and interesting. I am with like minded people and usually my blood pressure isn't particularly raised at any point. I don't feel as if I'm being assessed and I don't usually feel out of my depth. I feel as if I might even contribute, help. Be useful. 

And then there's this meeting. First time, lots of strangers, a place with some duff memories (new and old), a lot of paperwork that I don't understand, jargon, acronyms, politics, previous history and a couple of people that intimidate the pants off me. (Excuse my turn of phrase). What am I doing?

I needn't have put myself through this, did I, Lord?  I did pray about it and I felt it was the right thing at the time, but that conviction has left me, I must admit. I thought about standing for governor, then heard that the position had been filled, so I said to you, 'If you want me to be a governor, then it'll come up again soon, won't it?'  Two weeks later I was approached about a new vacancy.  It was easy to say yes when it seemed way off, a long time, not immediate.  Not now.

I should have said no. Life's too short for feeling scared and intimidated. What if I look like a fool? What if I don't follow what's going on?  What if they all wonder why I'm there? What if nobody likes me?

Ever since I said I would there's been one hold up after another with processing me - paperwork problems, people who need to make it happen being off sick, signatures needed, complications of this nature and that.  Then all of a sudden the first meeting is upon me and it's scheduled to clash with something I look forward to. Grr. 

Do you want me to do this?  Is there a reason you want me to be there?  Please would you mind making it blatantly clear to me just so I know that all this angst is worthwhile? 

Well, sometimes you do and sometimes you don't, Lord.  Maybe I'll never know what I'm doing there. Sigh. I feel as if I'll be OK if I know you're beside me, Lord God. And then I feel as if you'll only be beside me if you wanted me there for something specific; if I agreed to do this job just because I was flattered to be asked, then you might say that I got myself into this mess, so I can just manage it by myself. 

That doesn't sound like you, does it, Lord?  When you said you'd never leave me I know that you didn't mean it with conditions. You said you'd never leave me, full stop.  So you'll be with me at this governors' meeting tomorrow and maybe you'll show me why you wanted me there.  

Or not. 

At least, even if why I'm there remains a mystery, it will be alright if you'll just go with me.  Maybe hold my hand?  I don't like being out of my comfort zone. Keep it going through my head that I am just as worthwhile as everyone else there, and maybe I'll have something to say. Or alternatively not have anything to say, just listen and appear sage and wise.  Yeah, right.  Just don't let me make a fool of myself.  Or sign up for anything too scary.  Just be in my head.  If I listen to you before I open my mouth then I guess I won't go far wrong. 

Hey, look what I've found!

Deuteronomy 31:6
'Be strong and courageous. Do not be afraid or terrified because of them (this clearly means the headteacher and the rest of the governors), for the Lord your God goes with you; he will never leave you or forsake you.'

That's good then.  

Psalm 139 part 2: Fearfully and wonderfully made. Hmm.

God, this is a good one.

'For you created my inmost being;    you knit me together in my mother’s womb. I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made;    your works are wonderful,    I know that full well. My frame was not hidden from you    when I was made in the secret place,    when I was woven together in the depths of the earth. Your eyes saw my unformed body;    all the days ordained for me were written in your book    before one of them came to be.'

Oh yes, this is a good one, God. Psalm 139 again. I don't want to think about this bit. 


I have struggled with this since I was eleven and someone mean told me that I was fatter than Alice Bennet* (*not her real name)  and no-one would ever fall for a fat girl. And now I'm forty, so that's twenty nine years of struggling. 


'Fearfully and wonderfully made'?  Me? 


'Your works are wonderful, I know that full well'.  


Indeed I do.  I look round and see the things you have made and I do indeed know that you don't make mistakes. Everything is made just how you wanted it. You planned it. Things are not random, not accidental, and not just anyhow.  'Oh, it'll do' isn't a phrase that you use very often, I'm thinking. 


So how do I reconcile what I know of you, what Psalm 139 tells me, with how I feel about myself?  I've tried every diet in the book and then some for twenty nine years, and it's only really in the last couple of years that I've started to come to terms with the fact that I'll never be what I'm supposed to be if you believe the magazines; that I'll never take off my glasses and shake my hair and reveal a surprisingly beautiful Hollywood woman... and so on and so on.  It's not likely that what you really meant in Psalm 139 is that everyone else is fearfully and wonderfully made except me. 


I know that I need to take care of myself, and I'm trying hard to get a bit thinner and look after my heart, but I've realised in the last couple of years that we are all different, we are all wonderful, because we are your creations and you don't tend to mess things up.  


I feel less apologetic and more worthwhile. Funny that I've got to 40 to start to feel comfortable being me. I've a way to go, but the last couple of years things have happened, and that's all down to you, Lord. There's so much more to each one of us than appearance and there's more than one way to be beautiful. 


I know that you have a plan for me:

'...all the days ordained for me were written in your book    before one of them came to be.' 

I know that if only I trust you, then my life will be as you want it to be; worthwhile.  Even if I don't have a high flying career, even if the rest of the world doesn't rate me, you do.  Because you made me to be me, not pretending to be someone else that I perceive to be more interesting, not envying someone else their dress size, the muscle tone of their upper arms, or their hair, or their talents. You don't want me to go through life fearful of rejection or without the confidence to have a go at things, because you made me to be me, and I am uniquely placed to do the job that you have down for me. 


Your works are wonderful.  So that means that I am wonderful. Am I listening? 


I need reminding of this on a regular basis. I should start each day with Psalm 139, maybe. I don't often feel wonderful.  


I love the way you get messages across, Lord.  Last Friday I was given a bit of paper, randomly, with one of your promises on.  There were about a dozen bits of paper, but mine was part of Psalm 139. I sneakily picked up a second one from those left over and this one was another bit of Psalm 139.


All week I've had that song going round in my head - it's an old old one and it's based on Psalm 139.


'Before I formed you in the womb, I knew you through and through, I chose you to be mine...' dee dah dee dee dee dah...

A couple of days ago I was planning prayers for the 11am service on Sunday and I found out the reading was Psalm 139. 


I can't wait to find out what message there is on Sunday. I love how you can read something a million times and be so familiar with it, and then one day you look at it again and it leaps out at you in a new way.  

'How precious to me are your thoughts, God!
   How vast is the sum of them!' 

  Amen, Lord God. You are endlessly surprising.

I won't let you fall: Psalm 139 part 1

Morning, God.


I've been reading Psalm 139. Wonderful words.

'You have searched me, LORD, 

   and you know me. 

 You know when I sit and when I rise; 

  you perceive my thoughts from afar. 

You discern my going out and my lying down; 

   you are familiar with all my ways. 

Before a word is on my tongue 

   you, LORD, know it completely.' 

There are times when I don't have any words, strange as that may seem for someone who is always wittering on. It has been observed in the past that I'm not a person to use three words when a hundred and fifty might do - but sometimes I find that there's so much I want to say but I have no idea how to start. And that's why Psalm 139 is so wonderful.  One of the reasons. 


You have searched me and you know me. So you'll know right now that I have a headache, I'm looking out of the window at the back garden where the wind has blown over the bird table and our Christmas Tree (Bruce the Spruce) who is still in his pot as he hasn't the advantage of roots, is lying on his side because of the wind. You'll know what sort of week I've had - confusing, frustrating, strange, tiring, disappointing. There were some good points in it, but at this exact moment I don't feel like dwelling on them because I'm feeling a bit pathetic, but you know that too.  And you'll know that I've forgotten the sugar in my coffee, so excuse me for one minute.


That's better. 


So you know everything about me. I can't hide from you, can I?  Even when I shut you out in the mistaken impression that it might make life simpler, you're still there.  It reminds me of when my little girls put their heads behind a cushion and then imagine that because they can't see me, I can't see them. Sometimes you make me uncomfortable and I like to pretend that you're not there. That's what I do; I shut my eyes really tight and shout 'lalalala' so that I can't hear you - but you're still there. Smiling at me, because you love me even when I'm a bit of a prat.


I was reading the other day that watching me gives you pleasure, Lord.  Really? Just as I go to see Lizzie and Katy on my way to bed and I watch them sleep, you watch me. Just as I fill up with love as I look at their beautiful little faces fast asleep, all the rubbish of the day disappears.  All the little bits of disobedience, the squabbles, the cross voices, the conflicts, the wasted food, the spilled drinks, the pulled faces, the refusals to co-operate and the daily bathtime armageddon all evaporate as I gaze at them, looking so tiny and vulnerable and young. 


Do you look at me like that? Does it make it all worthwhile?


That's an idea that blows my mind. All the debris that I accumulate; the hundreds of times each day that I offend you, the vast majority of which I don't ever say sorry for, and yet you look down on me with love. 

'Where can I go from your Spirit?

   Where can I flee from your presence?

If I go up to the heavens, you are there;

if I make my bed in the depths, you are there. 

If I rise on the wings of the dawn,    

if I settle on the far side of the sea,  

even there your hand will guide me,

   your right hand will hold me fast.'

 

So you'll never leave me, either.  Not even when I run to the ends of the earth to avoid you - no problem because the ends of the earth are nothing for the one who made it.  


The last two lines make me think of me limping along, hurt or injured, and you're beside me with your arm round me, helping me, showing me the way. You won't let go. Like that bit in Titanic, 'Never let go!' only I'm not a sinking ship, (even though I do occasionally feel that I'm clinging to the wreckage).


I won't go under, because you're there, with your right hand holding me fast.


Katy learned to climb a climbing frame the other day, and for a while she was very nervous about striking out on her own. She needed me to hold her while she climbed, and then after a while she needed me to just be there.  I heard myself saying to her, 'I won't let you fall'.  That's me, human, mother to a sweet little unco-ordinated thing that was shinnying up a ladder to a slide, assuring her that she was safe because I was there. Brave words.  I would have done everything possible not to let her fall, and she had faith in me. I find myself watching my children on these playframes feeling a bit anxious as I know that I can't be everywhere and accidents lurk around every corner.  I won't always be there to catch her, if she falls off to the left, or the right, or slips out of reach, or does something unpredictable, as small children are wont to do.


But you will be there for me.  When you say, 'I won't let you fall', I can be absolutely sure that you won't.  


Because you said in Psalm 139 that you know what I'm going to do before I do it. You are never too far away to hold onto me.  You will never leave me.  And you keep your promises. You don't just do your best - there's no doubt about it. Your best is a definite.


Today's little devotional reading on my iPhone was from the writings of Charles Spurgeon:

'Ah! What mercy it is that it is not your hold of Christ that saves you, but his hold of you!  What a sweet fact, that it is not how you grasp his hand, but his grasp of yours, that saves you.  The Lord's promise, once given, is never recalled'.

Charles Spurgeon, Daily Help


So no matter how tricky the climbing frame is that I'm clambering up, you'll hang onto me. Maybe I should try out a few more climbing frames instead of worrying about plummeting to the ground and breaking my neck. Because the One who made me and the universe loves me because I am his child, and he won't let me fall.


Maybe your face will light up with delight like mine did when Katy turned round at the top and said with pride, 'I did it!'


I like that idea.

Just the cover and the title page

Here I go again, Lord. 


The other day two things happened that made me worry about something I've never thought to worry about before (and that's saying something; at some time or other I reckon I've seen the potential for anxiety lurking round practically every corner).

So I heard that someone I was at school with is doing well in her career; she's flying high and likely to get a promotion sometime soon.  Also, on the radio women were talking about how they had babies late in their thirties so that they could get their career to a stage where they could ‘take a break’ and then pick up where they left off.  The idea was that by concentrating solely on their career and postponing motherhood, by the time they did have children they were materially better off, with success and status in their career.

Hmm. My girls were born when I was in my late thirties, but I don't have a fabulous career that I spent years nurturing and developing with the intention of picking up the reins again at some point.  It didn’t cross my mind.  In fact by the time I had my girls, my job was pretty specialized – probably to the degree that with five or more years away I’d find it very difficult to get back to where I was.  I’d have to start pretty much from the bottom again.

There we go. Instant anxiety.

What have I done with my life?  I didn't have children late because I was building up a wonderful career.   I just…sort of had children late.  I did other stuff. I had a few changes of direction. I didn’t start my ‘career’ till I was 28 and so by the time my beautiful babies came along I hadn’t had time to climb to the top of the tree. I did love my job, but I didn’t think twice about leaving it behind to be a Mum.

I’m sure you remember Lord that there was a point when we didn’t know if we were going to be able to have a family, and that was a bleak time. I looked at my life then and I remember being appalled at the idea that my career might be the focal point of my life. That’s not because I was unambitious, just that in the work/life balance, work seemed sort of insignificant in comparison. 

But I had never thought to question what I was doing with my life.

What am I for? 

I am so much more comfortable in my skin right now, being who I am, who you have made me, than I think I’ve ever been in my life before, and yet everything I know to be true was rocked in one morning, by a bit of gossip and a radio programme. That’s not good, is it?

All of a sudden I felt as if I should have more to show from my life. I’ve always liked that I took a circuitous route to get where I am, and that I did things and went places, while I had chance. I never worried about the fact that while I was trying things out, or travelling, or working for a church for next to nothing, or being a student, other more focused folks were laying the foundations of a supercareer that would make them rich and admired and give them status that I would never have.

So I spent much of that morning with a furrowed brow and it spoilt my lunch, actually. Hmmph. 


But then it came to me. Or you did.

It doesn’t matter. Just that.


It doesn't matter.


" 'For I know the plans I have for you,' declares the Lord. 'Plans to prosper you and not to harm you; plans to give you hope and a future.' " 
Jeremiah 29:11

I was looking in the wrong direction.   Just because everyone in this world rates things like status and title and rank and achievement and money doesn’t mean that you do. Quite the opposite – you’re always telling us that these things don’t matter at all.  My worth comes from you, from being your child, from being who you want me to be.

My self esteem shouldn’t be linked to what other people think of me, but what you think of me.  There’s going to come a day when I stand in front of you and give an account of how I lived my life, and you won’t care if I was a high flyer or never had a decent job or a pay rise. It’s the other stuff that you’ll be interested in.

I have no idea why on that day, I suddenly became insecure about my life, when in the last couple of years you’ve been building me up so much that I am so much more secure in your love for me than I have ever been. You have done wonderful wonderful things for me these last two years and yet suddenly I wanted other people to tell me I’d done well, other people to recognise that I had worth. I wanted approval from a world that rates success and achievement in a completely different way. I am amazed that this thing that I know so well, accept so completely and have over the years been so comforted by was for a time so easily derailed.

At the end of ‘The Last Battle’, the final book in CS Lewis’ ‘Narnia’ series, the narrator says:

“But for them it was only the beginning of the real story. All their life in this world and all their adventures in Narnia had only been the cover and the title page: now at last they were beginning Chapter One of the Great Story, which no one on earth has read: which goes on for ever: in which every chapter is better than the one before.”

I love this.  I love the idea that this life is just a beginning of what there is for us, and it’s going to get better and better. Why would anyone want to fill up on the starter when there’s a spectacular banquet ahead?

So, knowing this, why was I all worked up about not being seen to be a success in the world’s eyes?  I would rather crash and burn here on earth and then stand in front of my God and have you say,

‘I’m proud of you’.

I’d rather make you smile than than write a Booker Prize winning novel that makes me rich and famous. (Though, of course, if that’s what you have down for me, I’m sure I’d cope…)

The truth is, I have no idea what the rest of my life holds.  My two girls are small and need me a lot at the moment. They’ll leave home when they’re grown up (and at this rate that’ll happen in the blink of an eye, I reckon) and then what for me?  What do you have in store?

Do I go back to the profession I was in?  Something else?  Will I even be here? Whoa. There’s a thought. What do you have in mind?  I really don’t know. And for someone who likes things clear and mapped out it’s a bit scary at times, this not knowing.  I guess that you’ll let me in on the secret when you’re ready, Lord.

What I do know is that whether it’s easy or hard, familiar or new, I will only be happy if I’m walking alongside you, and I will only make you happy if I trust that you will walk with me.

I want to be who you want me to be. 

Heavy is the opposite of light

Oh Lord.

Sometimes I wish we were nearly there. I wish the end was in sight and the answers to all the problems and the worry and anxiety and uncertainty and unease and difficulty and fear were all just a formality away. I wish it didn't matter any more or I couldn't remember, or all the anxiety had evaporated, or whatever the state will be when it's finally all over.

Nothing bad gets into Heaven, does it? Nothing that is not of You. So all those things - that feeling that I sometimes get when I wake up that there's something wrong but for a second or two I don't know what it is - those things won't be with us in Heaven. 

I know that You don't want us to be weighed down with them here, either, do you Lord? I know that every time I lay in front of you this enormous pile of worries, you smile and assure me that it's OK, it's all taken care of, if only I would trust you.  It's what you do, isn't it?  You cast out darkness and bring Light. You take away heavy burdens and make them light.

And I smile and thank you and say the right things and then just before I leave I pick them up again and take them off with me.  Sometimes I even leave them with you for a while before I sneak in under cover of darkness and grab them back. 

I just can't do it. 

I just don't know how to be the free person you want me to be. I know that I would be so much more use to you if I could stop all the fretting, I know that I would be a happier, more lighthearted soul; I know that I'm not doing as you tell me to do. I know what a witness I would be if I were the sort of person who didn't worry about things and I could say that there's nothing to worry about because I have a God who takes care of me. 

I know how arrogant it sounds to be unable to leave my worries with you as it implies that I don't trust you to take care of them. And if I can't trust you, who can I trust? I know how selfish and spoiled it sounds to have so much and yet still be complaining. There are people out there with Real Problems after all.

But all these things that I know don't seem to make the jump from my head to my heart and so although I know them, they don't change the way I feel.

I worry. 

Some days I feel relatively OK, and I can hold it all at a distance and concentrate on something else, and be happy, content, lighthearted; but without fail the things I'm anxious about catch up and climb back on board and half the time they bring friends too. Some days I feel so heavy. I've lost weight recently but on days like today I feel that I've just replaced it with 'stuff' that I carry round. 

Help me, will You? I'd love to get this sorted while there's still some life left to enjoy. I'd love to get a glimpse of the life you have planned for me without all the rubbish that I lug around in my head. Why can't I get it cracked? I know people who seem to have it sorted; what are they doing that I'm not?

Hmm.

Why do I feel vaguely uneasy at the possibility of an answer to that question? Do I really want to know? Do they spend so much more time with You than I do? How much time do we really spend together? Is that it?

Would more of You brush off on me if I spent more time in your presence? 

That sounds like a no brainer, doesn't it? That was a rhetorical question, by the way. No need for wise nodding with a wry expression, Lord. 

***

There's been a long pause here. I've been sitting here uncomfortably contemplating that I spend so little time listening to You that you could be waiting to tell me all the answers to my problems and I haven't been around to hear. Is this what it's all about, Lord? 

I do trust you, I do. I suppose I'm just going to have to keep trying.

I'm needing some help, here, please.

He was lost but now is found...

Lord, you knew that Scruffy Barney was hiding underneath the little step that the children use to reach the washbowl in the downstairs cloakroom, didn't you?  You knew all along because you are All Knowing. I'm just wondering, after an hour and a half of turning the house upside down, whether there might have been a tiny chance that you might just have let me know before Katy was beside herself with grief, devastated at the prospect of a night without her favourite cuddly.

Can't say I was that excited at the idea that Kate would wake up repeatedly in the night wanting him either, and it would be my job to remind her that the search would resume with dogs at first light, but nothing could be done in the hours of darkness... I could do with some sleep tonight after a couple of nights of other miscellaneous nocturnal palaver.  

Scruffy Barney. King of the soft toys

So could you not have tipped me the wink an hour earlier?

Hmm?

How often do we lift that stupid step up?  Why would anyone think that there was anything nestling underneath?  We just sort of skate it around with a foot. Barney would have skated imperceptibly with it. Why would anyone put anything under there, except a three year old?

Grant me, O Lord, just a minute inside her beautiful, complex, infuriating, endlessly fascinating little head.  Less than that. I'm sure that just a glimpse would help me understand a bit more what it's like to be three.  Why on earth you'd put your favourite thing in all the world underneath a plastic Ikea step in the downstairs loo and then forget about him.

So, was it character-building, then?  An exercise in self control? Persistence?

Seek and ye shall find? 

Katy was so happy to see the scruffy little object back that she hugged him tight and wouldn't stop kissing him, tears still wet on her cheeks from the previous hour and a half which had been peppered with Mummy and Daddy's dire pronouncements, such as, 'We can't think of anywhere else to look, Katy', and 'You'll have to manage tonight with Posh Barney, Scruffy has a really good hiding place this time'. 

Sigh.

(A note for the uninitiated: Barney is Katy's favourite toy and constant companion. He came from a nearly new sale and had already been, shall we say, loved. He was once lost (you won't be surprised to hear) for about five months, during which time he was replaced, by another, identical Barney shipped in from the States specially. Then he was found (this occasion behind Grandma's chest of drawers) and he looked so bedraggled next to Pristine Barney that they were christened 'Posh Barney' and 'Scruffy Barney'.  Since then Scruffy has got scruffier, and Posh is pretty much as he was then, because he just gets to lounge around on Katy's bed all day.)

Other places Scruffy Barney has been lost:

Chatsworth Garden Centre (overnight)

Morrisons supermarket (so many times they know me on Customer Services)

Sainsbury's supermarket (finally located in frozen foods)
On top of a very high display of rolled carpets in a flooring shop. (Required a ladder and game shop assistant to retrieve him)

In the library (retrieved eventually from the outsize section)

Marks and Spencer cafe (for about half an hour, by which time we'd walked back to the car park)

In the garden (found in the playhouse, in a bucket of sand, in the greenhouse underneath a tomato plant, in a welly, in a forsythia bush, in the gutter on the back of the house...need I go on?)

I love the idea that each time he was lost, you knew where he was. I do know that for many of the crises listed above, brief but heartfelt arrow prayers have been offered your way, and the fact that Scruffy is around to be lost again is testament to those answered prayers.

Do you love him too?

So, I'm reaching for a spiritual parallel here. I'm wondering if there's some Life Application that leaves me able to go to bed having learned something profound from the lost hour and a half of my life that I spent scouring the place for Scruffy.  I'm going to have a moment's silence right now so that you could gently suggest one, if you feel so moved, Lord...

***

Nope. Aside from the obvious, which is that I love my daughters so much that I would turn over the house to get back their best thing for them so that they could sleep - self interest aside. Poor little Katy thought she'd lost her Scruffy. That must have been awful from her perspective. My little love. Maybe that's it.  And she went so quiet so quickly I think she must have worn herself out. 

I know I did.

Have a good sleep, my little Kate.

Scruffy Barney is back.  Hallelujah.

*********************************************************************************

So, it's the following day, and I have the following insights:

1.  Allegory:  Barney is The Pearl of Great Price, and the fact that an exhausted Mummy and Daddy turned the house upside down to find him demonstrates how precious he is (to Kate). Hmm.

2.  Parallel: Barney is the Lost Sheep -  we love Katy so much that we didn't rest until we had found Barney so that she wouldn't be bereft at bedtime.  I love Katy (and Lizzie) so much that at times it feels as if my heart will explode, so to reflect that you love me so much more than that is something so enormous that I can't get my head round it.

3.  Conviction:  Gentle reminder that I need to work more on my stores of patience, calm, perseverance, self control, etc etc.

4.  There is no particular Message From Above:  Barney got lost, Barney got found. Barney is a stuffed toy beloved by a small girl. I am a parent.  These things happen. Quite often, actually.

Whichever it is, or isn't, thankyou Lord that Katy and Scruffy have been reunited. For now.

Here's to next time.