Holding my breath

I have been swimming for almost a year, now. Well, I've been swimming since I was about eight, off and on, after a fashion, but my latest adventure in the pool has been going for round about twelve months.

About a year ago I watched my eldest daughter train with her swimming squad and, chin on my hand, I thought to myself, 'I'd have loved to do this when I was Lizzie's age.' And a small but brightly shining bullet of an idea was born.

I knew that there was a swimming squad for grown-ups, and that this squad split in two; they're called  Competitive Masters and Fitness Masters. In typical me-style it took me a week or two to ask the coach for advice - I sidled up to him as Lizzie was clambering out of the pool one day and asked nonchalantly exactly how fit did one have to be to come to the Fitness Masters?  He was encouraging, and so it took me a week or two more to find a swimsuit and turn up.

That first session was the hardest thing I have ever done in my life, I think, and I'm just talking about the long walk from the changing rooms to the far end of the pool. No matter how you dress it up, I was a fat, unfit middle-aged woman and most of the other swimmers were lithe and fit; even the ones older than me were the kind of lifelong athletes who've never let their bodies get as wildly out of shape as I have.

If it hadn't been for one lady I saw in the changing rooms who walked with me and told me I'd be fine, I might have sat in a cubicle pretending I wasn't there and gone home again. Ironically, that lady doesn't come any more.

It was that hard, and it didn't get easier for a long, long time.

There were days when I lay awake worrying about the next session, days when I just couldn't face it and cried off, feeling a failure. There were days when the swimming was so hard that I thought I'd either faint or be sick, and there were days when I was hopelessly out of my depth and had to sit one or two lengths out. There were also days when I came away feeling an immense sense of achievement, when I drove home exhilarated and triumphant, when I thought that despite everything, I am going to do this.

Highs and lows. A monumental low when Lizzie's squad changed times and my session was straight after theirs; I had no choice but to come out to the Swim Club Mums that I climb into my own cossie and have a go twice a week. I had so dreaded anyone knowing about me; it had been my secret. The night before that first session at the new time I couldn't sleep for worry. I dreamed that God would take care of it, and He did. Not by changing the fabric of the building so that nobody could see me, sadly, because see me they did.

They saw me and they were amazed. Some of them were impressed and encouraging, and a couple of them weren't. Reactions ranged from mild hostility to a little snigger at my expense. I felt exposed and vulnerable; the worst had happened and yet.... I was still alive. I turned up the next time, and the next, and the world, strangely, didn't end.

These days I refer to swimming occasionally in conversation with these same Swim Club Mums - even those who were a little scathing. I've even started going for an occasional gentle swim with another Mum who wants to be more in shape and a number of them have asked me about it, saying that they wish they could do something like it too. I wave to them from the poolside these days, instead of hugging the wall like Spiderman in the hope I might get there unnoticed, and although I still drape my towel round me, I feel less desperate about dropping it and diving in than I used to. I don't care if they see me in a swim cap and goggles, and if I look like a raccoon afterwards, then so what? Everyone does.

Just before Christmas I went out for a meal with some of the other Masters Swimmers. My husband came too, and we had a lovely night. They are a really nice bunch of people. Former competitive athletes, open water swimmers, a cross-channel swimmer, people like me who wanted to get in shape, people who come for the companionship and the laughs as well as the cardiovascular workout.

They are very special people who have not the remotest idea of the huge and important part they have played in my life. If you've never been consumed by self-loathing, if you've never been crippled by body image and acute self-consciousness I don't think you can begin to imagine the feeling when you start to find a way out from under those things; a glimpse that things might one day be different.

It's still a bit hard to motivate myself to get to swimming; especially on these dark, cold nights when bed beckons instead of a cold pool, but more often than not I go twice a week and I am seeing changes in myself.

Physically, I've lost a little weight, but not as much as I need to. It's a slow process, and I'm sure that I need to make more changes in my diet as well. I am changing shape, however, and I feel happier in my clothes, even though they're pretty much the same size.

My muscles are more developed, and my heart and lungs are much healthier, even though once again, there's a long way to go. I don't get as out of breath, I can swim for longer without a rest, and the rests are shorter. This is huge progress.

I am swimming better. I can swim 200m backstroke with a cup of water balanced on my forehead and it doesn't fall off (yes, really, we do that). My technique for front crawl is sleeker and faster than before, and I can swim 25m in eighteen and a half seconds. This is not particularly fast, (my nine-year old daughter can do it in less than that) but for me it's warp speed. I can swim a length under water and 50m on four breaths. My breaststroke has been taken apart and put back together again and it's loads better than it was, but the piece de resistance is that I can now, finally, swim a slow, clunky, unwieldy sort of butterfly after a year of looking as if I needed someone to throw me a lifebelt.

The fact that I can be forty-four years old, and still learn these things from someone who is willing to teach me with patience and good humour, among people who are warm, welcoming and encouraging amazes me. Who knew that such things happened?

However, I think the biggest change hasn't been physical at all. It's been emotional on the deepest level - I'd go so far as to say that it has changed my life. I'm not over-dramatising. People who know me well have said that I've changed enormously.

Take this for an example:

The last session before Christmas, I walked onto the poolside to find the coach waiting for us with a camera. The Competitive Masters squad had met with considerable success at a recent meet (medals, British and European records!) and the club had asked for a photo for the website, or possibly for a local paper. I hung back, since I was not among those competing, but he was adamant that he wanted the whole squad in the picture. Can you imagine how I might have reacted a year ago to the idea that anyone would try to take a photograph of me in my swimsuit, alongside these people with firm thighs, sporty bodies and medals hanging round their necks? Seriously?!

I can; I remember it well. All I can say is that I made sure I was on the back row (people in front of me) and I grinned broadly, swimsuit, no make up, hair that needed washing, eyes slightly out of focus as I'd taken out my contact lenses.  Say cheese.... click. I even forgot to hold my breath.

So that's why I have an affection for 2014. Things about me are only subtly different at a glance, but inside everything has changed. Early last year I was worrying aloud to a friend about the idea of joining the swimming and saying how hard it was, how awful it was, and she asked me why I was contemplating doing it at all. I said that it seemed right; it seemed as if God was in it.

Oh, how He has was; He has been. He is. He's been in the water right alongside me, and he didn't let me sink.

I am so grateful.

On my own with Him

And finally...

I'm walking in a meadow, on a cliff top, on a beautiful summer day. 

There are flowers everywhere. Blues, reds, yellows, grasses as high as my waist in places, swaying in a breeze with a gentle shushing sound. It's restful, like a lullaby. 

The sun is warm and the sky blue with wispy summer clouds high above. I can't see the sea because I'm a few hundred yards inland from the edge of the cliff, but if I listen carefully I can hear the sound of the waves and now and again as the wind blows I feel refreshing misty spray against my face. I breathe it in, remembering that was how the clouds felt when I flew with God.

I knew it was the Holy Spirit in my lungs then, and it is now.

I am walking, slowly, shoulders relaxed, swinging my arms, a smile on my face. I am wearing a dress, which is unheard of, for me. I never wear dresses. It's a pretty floral print with short sleeves and a full skirt and I am comfortable in it. I'm not pulling at it self-consciously. It's not too tight or scratchy or clinging; it's cool and pretty. Bare legs, sandals, hair blowing back as I walk into the breeze and inhale the sweet, fresh air.

I am transformed. I am beautiful and confident and carefree. I am light and peaceful. 

I know that God is with me, even though I am alone. He is with me in the meadow just as he was with me in the sky and with me as I tried to climb the mast on the tall building. He is right here, and I smile to myself, knowing that I am walking with my Lord, that He will never leave me.

I am happy, on my own with Him.

I walk and I breathe deeply, I take in the beauty of all that is around me. I am completely content. Surrounded by the breathtakingly intricate beauty of His creation, accompanied by the Creator, who points out His wonders to me as we stroll along; breathing in the fine sea-spray mist of the Holy Spirit.

I can walk alone, and still be with Him. I can have my feet on the ground, and still breathe in the spirit. I don't know where I'm going, but it doesn't matter. He is with me and I am just enjoying the walk. There is no better company.

I am home. I am safe. I am alive.

There is freedom and space. All is well.

I am His daughter. 

The door marked 'Fear'

I was in a room. A square room like a line drawing, painted beige. Like an illustration from a corporate manual for fire drills or something. A square room with no windows and no furniture. But there was a door. 

The door was the door to Fear, and it stood wide open. Not inviting but threatening. From where I was standing, I could see that out there was nothing. Well, I could see sky, wispy, high clouds, but nothing else. A void. Empty space. It was so frightening that I backed away as far as I could until my back was pressed against the opposite wall. I desperately didn't want to go anywhere near the doorway. 

Then I realised that God was in the room with me. He was a man, but I can't describe his face. He was tall, and strong, wearing a cable-knit sweater. He smiled at me, and walked over to the door. He looked out, and I called him to come back away from the edge. It's dangerous, I said. He half turned to me and smiled. He leaned against the door frame, and held out his hand to me. 

Shall we go? He said.

He wanted me to walk through the doorway with him. I refused, shaking my head vigorously, eyes wide. I pressed myself harder against the wall. He held out his hand again and leaned towards me. 

I won't let you fall. We won't fall, we'll fly. 

Really? I asked, doubtful.

We won't fall, we'll fly. 

Moments went by. The room was still. Me, pressed tight against the wall full of fear and anxiety; God, relaxed and patient, encouraging, his hand outstretched. I wanted so badly to trust him. My heart was pounding and my head ached. 

I walked towards him a few small steps and he met me in the middle of the room. I took his left hand and it closed around mine, big and warm and rough. I held on tightly. We stood on the threshold of the door for a second and then simultaneously we stepped out.

My eyes were tightly closed.

I fell forwards as if I'd tripped over something, until I was in a lying position, my left hand held out in front of me as if to break my fall. God held onto my right hand. We didn't fall. 

We were flying. 

I opened my eyes. I could see the world far, far down beneath us. I could see fields and forests, towns and lakes. The sunlight glinted on the rivers and we flew over hills and cities and over the edge of land and over the sea. I could see everything. It was very beautiful. 

I was still tense and anxious. I was afraid that God would let go of me. I was afraid that he'd pull his hand away and leave me to try to fly on my own, or to fall. He understood, and he pulled me towards him until he could reach over me, arm around my shoulders, and hold both hands, one in each of his. 

Is that better? he asked.

Yes, I replied. I could feel the warmth and strength of his body alongside mine. I was close to him - under his arm. I felt safe. 

God looked at me and laughed at the relief and wonder he saw on my face. He was delighted that I was enjoying myself. He squeezed my hands and I squeezed back, nestled close. 

The air was cool and clear, refreshing. When we flew through wisps of cloud they were made of sparkling droplets. I felt exhilarated, thoroughly alive. Free. Gliding, soaring, somehow flying. It was effortless. I was so relaxed that I could take in the earth-scene below, I could look around - look into the laughing eyes of God, full of love and kindness; I could look up into the patterns that the clouds made far above as the sky became a darker shade of blue. 

I could breathe. I was filling my lungs with clean, pure air. The wind was in my hair but it was silent, gentle, invigorating. I was laughing with the sheer joy of freedom. 

With God beside me, I could fly. 

I looked behind me to see if the door was still there; it was. There was a box hanging in the sky some distance away. The door was now closed - there was no way back even if I'd wanted to go back into the square room. I didn't want to go back there. How could I ever have thought that I was safer in there? A small box, hanging in space thousands of feet above the earth? 

I realised how small and claustrophobic that room had been. How stifling, suffocating; hot and oppressive. And out here, holding onto the hand of the living God, soaring and gliding in the open air among the clouds, cool and fresh and free. 

I would never go back there. I glanced back once more to see the sealed door, but it had disappeared. 

I looked at God, and he smiled and held me closer. 

We laughed, and we flew. 

Having a really bad day

Lord God, this is the first time since I started this blog that I can't really find anything to say. I suppose this is to be expected considering the state of my prayer life in general at the moment, but I have to admit that I've surprised myself by finding that I can't string some words together. I'm not usually lost for words.

I've had lots of interesting daily readings recently, but today I'm finding that inspiration isn't striking even by reading them back. Recounting the day's events wouldn't help as it's been a day completely devoid of positivity, on my part at least. It's the first day of the summer holidays, the children have played nicely (mostly) and Bryan is home, it's Friday night, but it's not helping today. 

I feel I've let you down, Father. I feel as if today I should be on top of the world because some wonderful things have happened to me in the last couple of days, and I have some great friends who have been so kind and generous with their love and their acceptance and their time; and above all I know that you are my loving, forgiving heavenly Father and I am your child. But I don't feel free and I don't feel as if I can get rid of the weight of stuff I'm carrying round. 

Today I've been short tempered and miserable. I had a cry earlier and thought that I might not stop but I had to pull myself together as I was in danger of frightening the kids.  I've forgotten to pick up Katy's new medicine today from the chemist despite my reminder system that has worked ok so far. What a terrible mother. Katy's tantrums haven't been anything out of the ordinary but today I've struggled to cope. I had to go outside earlier on because I thought my head would explode as she was shrieking so loudly and for so long. I got some gardening done this morning and Elizabeth has been lovely helping me shop this afternoon but my capacity for delight today is zero. I should be feeling happy and unburdened and light as a feather but I'm not; that familiar little voice in my head is telling me that I can't even get that right. Is there any wonder that I'm still a mile away from you? 

What is it, Lord? I believe the right things, I say the right things. I have renounced and I have declared and I have confessed and I have cried and I have prayed. I know that you are who you say you are and I want to be more like you. I don't want to struggle to keep up all the time. I don't want to feel destined to fail all my life. I just don't know how to give you all the rubbish in my life and leave it with you. I'm starting to think I'm going mad. 

I know that the negative voices in my head aren't real; or alternatively that they are real but they are not to be listened to.  They're lies. Some months ago I was feeling invincible and I asserted that there was nothing in the world or beyond it that could stop me from being who you want me to be, or stop me from winning the battle that is all around us, since I fight in your name. The following day I found a breast lump that the doctor thought was serious. It turned out not to be, but not until it'd shaken me profoundly. After that Katy had her operation that didn't work and one problem has followed another.  I haven't felt invincible since then, and it feels as if the day I asserted those things I was writing cheques I can't cash. I should feel invincible, because we have the victory in you, I haven't felt that confidence since that day. I've just been slowly sinking with the weight of  things on top of me. 

People have shown me how to overcome all this and it still isn't helping. I feel pathetic. I feel as if I can't even be honest about how I feel because it's getting silly.  There comes a point when people feel that they've helped all they can and there's something wrong with you if all their help hasn't helped, and I feel today as if that's where I am.  It's embarrassing to admit that people have talked and prayed and yet I can't seem to do my bit. Maybe there really is something wrong with me.

So, give me a hint, Lord. Is this hormonal, or am I just tired? The Holy Grail of the good night's sleep has eluded me recently, it's true, and since I've had the children I am all too aware of how a lack of sufficient sleep can distort things and make everything much darker. Maybe an early night and all will be well.

Is this the devil? All the thoughts that I have that bring tears to my eyes afresh each time; things like, 'You can't do this' and 'You can't get anything right' and 'why do you think this will be any different?' - they are not good thoughts. They are not your voice. How do you do that 'Take every thought captive' thing? I'm sorry - I can't seem to get the hang of it. 

I don't know how to. I want it to stop, because I can't seem to learn how to beat it myself.  I can't get control of it. I can't replace something that is obviously untrue with something true in time to stop the untrue thing from hurting me. I hear 'You can't get anything right' and although I can rationalise this and tell myself that it absolutely isn't true, in my life I have got lots of things right, there's a part of me that soaks it up and winces anyway.  It hurts me. If I don't believe it, why does it hurt? This is sounding increasingly bizarre, isn't it?  I need to get a grip. I'm going to stop.

Father God, I know that you can do anything, and I need you to do something here because I can't do it. I feel weighed down and I don't know how to shrug it off and leave it with you. I don't know how to put on the armour you've given me and I don't know how to use it in a fight. I know that you have the victory but I'm struggling to believe I have any chance of winning in this particular skirmish. Do I settle for just plodding along and being me? Just getting by? Meeting you in heaven and hearing, 'You could have done so much more?' 

Am I over-thinking this whole thing?  It's not beyond the realms of possibility that this whole thing is much simpler than I'm making it, but you know that from inside my head things don't look simple. I don't have to tell you how I'm feeling in order for you to understand and for that I'm so grateful because I don't feel as if I can explain properly. Just help me, will you? Tell me.

Well, I said I didn't have any words today. Turns out I found some after all.  Pity that none of them were particularly positive. 

I'm sorry about that too.

Free indeed

I've just had a thought that has stopped me in my tracks. Not literally, as I was on the way to the bin with a large bag of smelly rubbish and was motivated in an olfactory kind of way to keep going, but in terms of my thought processes, I stopped in my tracks.

Sometimes I have a thought that I've had lots before and yet this time it seems special. This thought was one of those. This time it seemed to mean something more; have a new dimension. A glimpse.

I'm free.

I'm free in so many ways. I'm free in terms of not being in captivity. Nobody turns a key and prevents me from leaving. I can go to the supermarket, and I have a wealth of different food to eat. I can stay at home; I have a home to stay in. I can travel; I have a car and can buy a plane ticket to the other side of the world if I choose. I can sit in the garden and I can see the beauty of nature whenever I look out of the window. I can go for a walk; my legs and my heart and lungs work and on my doorstep is the magnificent Peak District. I can use the telephone and choose who to talk to.  I can sing and I can shout without anyone telling me to be quiet. I can choose what to do with my time, what to read without someone censoring me. I am free to say what I like without fear of someone coming to arrest me for my opinions. I can vote, I can abstain from voting. I can worship my God in public, in a comfortable church with a crowd of fellow believers. I can wear a symbol of the Christ who died for me round my neck without being persecuted or killed for it.

But tonight's revelation was more than those things, infinitely precious though they are.

I am free because nothing can confine me again. I could lose all the above and still be free. I am free. 

Nothing can separate me from your love. Nope, nothing.

'For I am convinced that neither death nor life, neither angels nor demons, neither the present nor the future, nor any powers, neither height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation will be able to separate us from the love of God which is ours in Christ Jesus our Lord.'

Romans 8:38-39

So all those years ago when I saw you for the first time and really saw you in your glory, when you tapped me on the shoulder and said, 'Helen, there's something you need to know...' from then on I was free. For so long in my life I've ignored you and just done my own thing, and I've had happy times and duff times, but underneath it all I have known where I'm going when I die. Nothing can take that away from me.

It doesn't matter what's going on in my life. St Paul called the nightmares he lived through '...light and momentary troubles' and he was beaten and stoned, shipwrecked, kept prisoner, starved, homeless, robbed and persecuted. In the context of eternity, of what was to come, he saw that the rubbish all around him was nothing.

'We do not lose heart. Though outwardly we are wasting away, yet inwardly we are being renewed day by day. For our light and momentary troubles are achieving for us an eternal glory that far outweighs them all.' 

2 Corinthians 4:16-17

I am not going through what Paul went through, and yet I am going through it with so much less grace, less faith. I do not think that the things on my plate are 'light and momentary troubles' because they weigh me down and worry me. They seem pretty big to me. I can't grasp the 'eternal glory' thing; maybe it takes a holier sort of person than me, like Paul. But the wonderful, amazing, breathtaking, stopping-in-my-tracks thing is that this doesn't matter because I know where I'm going when I die.

Bill Hybels said:

'If you knew that in fifteen minutes you would have to stand in judgment before the Holy God and learn your eternal destiny, what would your reaction be? Would you pace nervously? Would you say to yourself, I don't know what God's going to say - will it be "Welcome home, child," or will it be "Depart from me; I never knew you"?

Or would you drop to your knees and worship Jesus Christ?'

Behold, He comes, riding on a cloud...

I know what I would do. I would fall to my knees and I would worship you. There are days when I look up at the clouds and imagine you arriving back in glory and triumph; the whole earth would stand still and stare and then fall to it's collective knees and I would fall on my face in awe - but I would be smiling because I know that you would call my name because you know me. Everything I have done and not done has been forgiven and that will never change. I am your child and you will not forget me. 

So I am free. All the things that limit me here and confine me and stop me from feeling free; they are all a mirage. They don't matter in the eternal scheme of things. I have moments where I understand this; like today where I got a glimpse of what's important. Mostly I am so caught up in the world and my troubles and worries that I forget. I am holding my anxieties so close to my face that I can't see past them. I can't pretend that I am St Paul who rejoices in his hardships because of the payoff in the life to come. I'm far from being that saintly. 

But deep down I know that I am free. A friend said to me recently that even though life is hard and there are many things going wrong, she could not imagine going through these things without you. I can never hit the bottom because you will catch me. Your arms are waiting to stop my fall. I have no understanding of why life is difficult or why a specific prayer appears unanswered but I know that you have it under control. I suppose in that small way I'm with St Paul. I can't imagine going through all this without you. I'm glad you are there. 

John 8: 36

'So if the Son sets you free, you will be free indeed.'

Amen and Hallelujah! I am free indeed.

On the days when I feel free and the days when I don't, I am free indeed. Just because my mood or circumstances change, that fact doesn't.  There are times I feel free - like when I can escape from the children for a couple of hours and go to Curbar and stand on top of the world, or when I  play music very loud in the car and sing along, or when I am so wrapped up in you in worship that I feel as if the angels could appear around me and all I would do is sing - but there are many many more times when I feel weighted down by my worry. Far, far from free. 

But I am. Whether I recognise it or not, I am free. 

Help me to grasp that freedom and take my eyes off my troubles now and again so that I can see your gift more often. Help me to feel that freedom so that I can lose the fear and anxiety. The Son has set me free, and I am free indeed.

Thankyou for setting me free.