In at the deep end

Hello, God of school holidays.

God of small children who hope for excitement and trips out and treats and all manner of wonders.

God of weary and uninspired Mums who try to provide excitement and trips out and treats with enthusiasm and tolerance all the while longing for a coffee and a sit down, perhaps a nap.

God of endlessly kind and patient Grandmas who look after and indulge grand-daughters and daughters alike, finding awe-inspiring reserves of energy to allow children to be children and Mums to find precious moments of peace.

What a trio we made this morning. I took my daughters swimming at the local leisure centre and they were very excited. They love swimming. The trouble is that now that Lizzie is so much more proficient at it she no longer wants to go in the learner pool (smaller, shallower, warmer) and wants to go in the big pool (much bigger, deeper, colder). Katy is still most definitely at a stage where she needs to feel the bottom of the pool under her feet and so I can't cater for them both at the same time. We came to an arrangement where we would all go in the big pool together, in the shallow end, and then after a while, Katy would be delivered to Grandma in the changing rooms and proceed to the viewing gallery when dressed, and Elizabeth and I would investigate the deep end. 

Katy was nervous about being in the big pool.

Lizzie was nervous about going to the deep end.

I was nervous about appearing in public in my new swimming costume. 

We did pretty well.  The water was none too warm and so there was much jumping about and playing in the shallow end and Katy overcame her fear to do some wonderful jumps from the side and didn't hesitate about going under the water. Lizzie swam 100m without stopping and did a couple of jumps from the springboard into the deepest part of the pool. She was so nervous that her knees were wobbling and she got down from the board twice but she did it. And when they made to close the diving boards she hurried to do it again.  I was very proud. 

So much to learn from my children. The way that Elizabeth wouldn't be defeated; she had set herself the challenge of jumping in off the board and she was going to do it. We found out that the criteria for being allowed to use the diving boards was the ability to swim two lengths and so she swam three. She knew she'd be out of her depth but she jumped in anyway. 

Katy too. She couldn't go in the little, warm pool and so she came in the big pool and shivered but smiled and danced and jumped. She put her arms round my neck and let me spin her round and she threw back her head and laughed. She was determined to enjoy herself. She tried out some goggles but they weren't on right and they filled up with water but she didn't complain. She held my hand and jumped in from the side even though the water is much further down from the side than it is in the baby pool. 

I know there's a parable to be had about being out of one's depth but trusting nonetheless but I'm a bit too bleary-eyed to see it right now.  Likewise thoughts to be had about making a splash, or not being able to feel the bottom, or going in headfirst, or waving and drowning, or sinking and swimming....I will ponder all this and get back to you. Is that OK?

My two little girls. Growing up, but still little. Quickly out of their depth in a big, grown up swimming pool but loving the excitement of it. 

Me? I did my best to stay up to my neck in water so nobody would see me.

I reckon there's probably a lesson there too. Hmm.

I like taking my girls swimming. I like the hugs that I get when they hang onto me and I like that they enjoy it so much. The coffee afterwards is good too. 

I like school holidays because the mornings are so much more relaxed. There's no desperate rush to be up, teeth-cleaned, dressed, breakfasted and ready to go before a certain time. On the other hand there's no peaceful solitary walk home from the school gates and no quiet in the house when I get home. I find that my patience runs out by mid afternoon. I love my girls very very much but they have so much energy. They're so loud. They never stop moving. I feel as if I have very little energy, love peace and quiet and long to be still. 

But today was a good day. We had fun. Tomorrow I have another outing planned and craft activities for later in the day. I am in bed nice and early so get a run at the day and with your help I might make it through without running out of all the things I need. Energy, patience, self control, sense of humour, love, love love.

Lord, I'm not sure why I'm telling you all this; you know it anyway. You were with us when I was anxiously treading water and waiting for Lizzie to surface at the pool and you were there when I mopped up Katy's spilled drink. You were there when I snapped at them at bedtime and you were there when I went in to their bedrooms a few moments ago and stroked the hair out of their eyes and kissed them with a promise that I would do better tomorrow. 

Help me do better tomorrow.

Thankyou for all that you gave us today. For laughter and swimming pools and bodies that work, even if, in my case, there is a disconcertingly large number on the swimsuit label where the size should be. Thankyou for keeping my girls safe when they both tried something new. Thankyou for challenges and courage and achievement and joy. 

Thankyou for Grandma and moral support and cups of tea and invaluable reassurance and babysitting. 

I am blessed indeed. 

Accepting the good gifts

Hello God.

You know what?  I've been thinking about the fact that you did something amazing for me, knowing full well that there is no way that I could repay you.

You died for me. You love me so much that you died to save me, and there's nothing that I can do ever in my life that will be nearly enough to say thankyou.

As the cliche goes, I am forever in your debt.

You knew that, and you did it anyway. Billions of times over, because you did it for each one of us.  Whether we turn to you or not, whether we love you or not, whether we say thankyou or not. You knew how every last one of us would respond and you died for us anyway.

It's a strange thing to understand, really, because it's not the way it works down here in this world, is it?  I mean, we do do things for each other, it's just that we don't do them for nothing in return. Not for long, anyway. The odd occasion that I've found a friendship is all one way it sort of petered out after a while. I had a friend in school; we sat next to each other in a couple of lessons. It was always me who phoned her, me who arranged to meet, me who sent postcards from holiday and then from university. I did it less and less often and after a while we lost touch. Even as a Christian on those all too rare occasions that I keep on giving because I know that its the right thing to do, it isn't really a proper friendship. It becomes something that I do, usually with bad grace, I'm afraid.

It's easier to keep on giving to people that you have no relationship with. Charities where you can be faceless and uninvolved, distant. How hard it is to have a sustained relationship with a person from whom I can expect nothing in return. Yet you keep on loving us - even those among us who never at any point realise what's real and true and come back to say thankyou.

It's their loss, and what a loss. But instead of withdrawing your affection as I did with my schoolfriend when it becomes clear that there's nothing coming in return, you love and you love and then you grieve that they never understood.

I have friends and we look after each other. I have a down day and my friend is there for me. She has a problem and I try to help. We both struggle at the same time and we support each other. It's an even sort of thing. That's mainly how we work; we give and we get.  We need balance, because it's what we understand. With work colleagues, in business and everyday life we call in favours. You owe me, I owe you. I'll make it up to you. We'll straighten things out. It's my turn next. We hate imbalance.

Even on a more fundamental level, in our world you don't get something for nothing; I want a loaf of bread, I buy one. If I don't have any money, I can't have one. If someone offers us something that we need that they don't use any more we say 'Can I give you something for it?' because we don't expect to receive for nothing. It's not easy just to take it, to accept it. We hate to feel beholden. We like it all to be even. We hate to be at a disadvantage.

So you come along and you say forget about that - this is for nothing. There is nothing you could give me in exchange for this. The biggest gift we could ever imagine is ours and we cannot deserve it.  There is no human achievement so great that we can say that what you have done for us is our due. We can't ever hope to break even.

So what do you want in return?  Well, I suppose you want everything. Nothing and everything. You want our lives, nothing less, and yet you leave us free to carry on living them. You won't force it - you won't manipulate us. We can hold all that we are and all that we have tight in our hot little fists all our lives if we want to and never surrender a minute of our attention or a tiny bit of our love or a single effort but still you go on loving us. You don't revoke our privileges because you don't get back a fraction of what you put in.

Wow. How do I get my head around that? I find it hard to receive at the best of times.

It's hard. It's hard for me to accept something from someone else even in everyday terms, to be honest. Whether it's a compliment:

'You look nice today.'
'Really? You must be joking. I'm having a fat day.'

'You're good at that.'
'No, not really. I don't think so.'

Or perhaps it's a good turn. Someone did something wonderful for me a few months back; something really thoughtful which required time and effort and really touched me. It was out of the blue and unexpected. In a conversation a few days later I wanted to redress the balance but there's no real way that I can. At least not in the foreseeable future because we're not close enough for me to offer anything that an equal would offer.  It's uncomfortable for me to be on the receiving end like that. All I can say is 'Thankyou' and mean it.

I need to learn to say 'Thankyou' instead of deflecting compliments. Sometimes people just want to do something nice and that's that. What is it that always makes me think I'm unworthy of random acts of niceness? Why do I always tell people, 'You shouldn't have.'? Why shouldn't they? Why do I find it so awkward to be a recipient?

Maybe it's easier to give than to receive. I think perhaps for me it's a control thing, like so many things in my life. I know where I am when I'm giving, when I'm deciding. It's nice to make someone happy, to step into the breach when there's a problem. It makes me feel good. I get a warm fuzzy feeling when I do something nice for someone. Is that just me?  Whereas there's an element of vulnerability in accepting from others that maybe makes me uncomfortable. I don't like to feel at a loss. Needy. Perhaps I see neediness in myself and that's why I hate to draw attention to it. Maybe I need to just step back, smile, say thankyou and appreciate that other people can get the warm fuzziness too.

Or maybe as always I'm over-thinking. Sometimes I need the grace to say, 'Thankyou' and take something in the spirit in which it's meant. I don't do something for someone with the intention of recouping my loss at a later date so probably neither do other people. They don't have some sort of tally of who owes who what in terms of time, gifts, kind words or thoughtful actions. And in accepting graciously I am honouring the person who gave. In attempting to deflect them with 'Oh, you shouldn't have,' I'm rejecting their kindness because they clearly thought that they should, and that's why they did. It's a rebuff to tell them that they shouldn't have.

And then there's you. You did the biggest thing for me. Nothing I could ever do could pay you back and I will never be worthy of what you did for me. I can't earn it. Not with a lifetime of sinlessness (yeah, right) and a lifetime of good deeds and holy thoughts and scripture read and neighbours converted. So much less so with part of a lifetime grudgingly meted out to you for your purposes and measured against my own plans and ideas.

'If you then, who are evil, know how to give good gifts to your children, how much more will your Father in Heaven give good gifts to those who ask him!'

Matthew 7:11

I would give my two daughters the world if I could. I love to make them happy. I can't do it all the time because their idea of what will make them happy is somewhat different from mine. I don't give Katy as many sweets as she'd like, or Lizzie a new stuffed toy every time we walk past a toy shop but I am guilty of wanting to please them. I am quite sure that I get it wrong sometimes and make bad decisions. I love them and I love seeing their faces light up when I have a surprise for them or when I am able to give them what they want. Their joy is all I need. It makes my day.

How much more then....

I think that much of the time you are longing to give me good gifts but for some reason I'm reluctant to let you. I don't know why; maybe I'm just focused on the sweets and the toys and the things that are bad for me and instead you have something better, but to me I don't recognise it as a gift and I turn away.  Maybe I'm afraid that you're going to ask me to step out of my comfort zone, or maybe I just feel comfy as I am, familiar with my own insecurities and difficulties but confident that I know what I can and can't do, so there's no use you asking me. If I actually allowed you to equip me for a new job, then a new job would need doing.

Maybe it's safe and comfortable here on the mountain after all. Maybe that river looks too deep and too fast and too wide. It looks nice over there on the other side but this side is alright after all. Familiar. Safe.

I don't know if this is true. I just have a suspicion that you have so much more for me. Are my hands full of the trivia of my life and so you can't give me something else, something better? Am I too used to the familiarity and comparative safety of my imperfect and damaged little life to accept the upgrades that you want to install?  Or are you just trying to meet my eye and I'm looking anywhere but you?

As I write the children are squabbling and dinner will soon be ready so my thoughts are starting to scatter. Time to go.

Show me, Lord. I do want to grow. I want to be useful to you. I want to be all I can be. The last few months have bruised me a bit and made me take steps backwards instead of forwards. Deep down in the middle of this mess there's a light that never went out and I want you to help me make it shine brighter.

Love, hard work and squidgy bananas

Why are people such hard work?


I bet you ask yourself that every few minutes, don't you?


Hmm.  Now I've thought that, it's sort of taken the wind out of my sails. 


Am I hard work? I suppose I am.  There's a good chance that somewhere in the locality someone at some point has thought that I am hard work. Perhaps  indeed several people; certainly including my husband, daughters, mother, brother and extended family, friends, neighbours, church family, milkman, hairdresser etc. That's certainly put the brakes on what was about to be an extended whinge about the difficulty of caring about other people, especially people who are different from me.


But I'll push on. You knew I would, didn't you?


Some people are easy to be with, and some aren't. Some people seem to fit my shape, and some seem to chafe. Some people offend my idea about how a person should behave, or appear, or talk, or smell.  My instinct is to turn towards the comfortable people and avoid the ones I find harder to deal with but that's not how it should be, I know. I read a Bible reading/devotional thingy a while ago that was based on this idea - that you are not giving enough unless you are giving sacrificially. If it's easy, then you're not working hard enough. 


Hmm.  Don't like the sound of that.

It was about loving being more closely related to work than to play. I am having this experience. Some people are easier to love than others, and I mean people you meet for the first time and instantly form ideas about; and I mean family and friends and church family too. Some people we're quickly drawn to and loving is easy, and others we're not and the feeling never gets any better. Sometimes we get back as much or more than we give and the transaction is a lovely one, and other times it's so hard. It's hard because you don't want to do it, it's not comfortable to do it, and you can think of a million reasons why it would be completely reasonable that you don't do it at all. Keep walking. Someone else will do it. 


It costs; time, or energy, or something else that you'd rather do, but can't do because you're doing this thing. It costs in terms of weight on your mind - the 'I ought to' thing. As a Mum of young children there are so many ways in which my day has to be modified in order to meet someone else's needs before my own that quite often I am reluctant to look outside the basic day-to-day running of this family and expend energy elsewhere so things end up being prioritised. Sometimes I am just so tired that I feel there's nothing left to give. Sometimes it's the church things that I do that get in the way - I have meetings, I need to prepare things, I need to be somewhere else so the time I do have I need to devote to things closer to home. None of that is wrong, I'm sure; but I am uneasy about how I can sometimes brandish those things as a defence against the creeping feeling that I am not doing enough.

Banana cake in the raw

Some people work full or part time and find time for other people in a way I fear I don't. Some people manage to do an extra batch of delicious cakes and give them away while I struggle just to knock up a banana cake for the girls to use up my squidgy bananas. Some people don't seem to have any family quirks or politics that means that inviting people into your home on spec requires careful planning rather than blissful spontaneity. Or maybe this is all obfuscation and my selfishness is the real reason.


There's always a reason, isn't there?


This little devotional challenged me to ask you to show me where in my life I could show sacrificial love, and then pray for the courage to do it. I am reluctant to pray such a prayer.  You might answer it. As the author said, 'Tell me how to show love without spending time, energy or money and I will gladly sign up. Tell me that love means sacrifice, however, and I become reluctant to commit myself.'


How can I fit anything more in, Lord? Should I? Excuses, excuses... OK, then, what should go to make room?  It reminds me again that although I don't doubt that you want what's best for me, I worry about how much it's going to hurt. Why am I always so sure that you'll ask me to do something way out of my comfort zone? 


It's all a bit much at the moment, Lord God.  I'm feeling a bit pathetic. As if I'm busy licking my wounds and need to be left alone for a bit. I feel a bit as if a fortnight on holiday on my own somewhere warm and remote is more in order than energy spent looking around for other people to care for. 


So don't ask. I don't want to say no. 


Or if you really feel you must ask, give me a bit of a break and then do it gently, will you? 


Start me on something easy.