Standing still

Oh Lord. And so it continues.  Yesterday I decided I wasn't going to church this weekend and I was encouraged to go, so I did. If I'd known the passages that were going to be explored in the sermon there's no way I would have gone, so I suppose it's good that I went. I'm sure that there were things I was supposed to hear. 

I arrived at church feeling emotionally fragile (I seem to have felt that way for ages now, but the last few days have been like nothing I've ever had before in my life). The band was playing and I realised that the hearing in my right ear had gone completely and been replaced by a distorting noise a bit like static on a radio. (This happens to me sometimes - if you could see your way clear to healing this it would perk me up no end, but that's by the way). I was chatting when someone came to ask me if I was still ok to do a reading; I hadn't realised that I was supposed to be doing a reading. That's never happened to me before. I nearly didn't go at all; and how awful would that have been, just not to turn up on the day I'm down to read. I continue to amaze myself at how far removed I am at the moment from the control freak who has every day timetabled - I'm missing so many things. I'm becoming so unreliable and I hate it. Where is my rota?

So it turns out that the reading is the bit in John's Gospel about Jesus and Lazarus. 'If you had been here my brother would not have died...' and 'Jesus wept.' and then the resurrection of Lazarus. The sermon was about pain and loss and suffering and referred to the part in Revelation where God wipes away every tear.  Eric Clapton's 'Tears in Heaven' was played, which is the sad, sad song full of grief and loss that he wrote just after his four year old son had fallen to his death from a high story window. My goodness, it was an emotional service. The atmosphere was definitely subdued. People carry around such pain, don't they?

Lord, if you needed to break me down a bit more, I didn't need any of that; I started to cry during the opening song, 'Here I am to Worship' and could hardly stop for long enough to scrounge a tissue or four from my friend next to me (to have come to church without any was uncharacteristically shortsighted as well; usually I can be counted on in times like this to have a bagful of hankies). 

The presence of the Holy Spirit moves me at the best of times and this certainly isn't the best of times. How much greater was the likelihood that today of all days I would start to cry?  I managed to do the reading but I don't think I sounded like me. It was very hard to keep it going and try to limit the voice wobbling. 

I know that you are in your heaven and all is right with the world. I know that you are in control, so the way I'm feeling has some reason behind it. I know (or at least, I hope - I believe) that there is light at the end of this tunnel. There is light at the end of this tunnel, isn't there,  Lord? 

I know that you are working on me and I know that there is a battle to be won. I don't flatter myself that I am so important that the fight is on an apocalyptic sort of scale, but I am aware that whatever my immature and skewed interpretation of the battle between good and evil, I am caught in the middle because this year for some reason I have felt that my relationship with you has been developing. 

Maybe it's because my smallest daughter is starting school in September and I am 'waking up' from the preschool years where time is at a premium and headspace is reserved for children and family matters only. I might have some time coming up and I might have the chance to rediscover something about me - make some choices for me...and I decided this year that I want those choices to involve you. I wanted you to show me what I could do for you. I guess that even though I am an amateur in these matters, this doesn't go down well with the opposition. Maybe that's why this year has been a year of climbing ladders and falling down snakes. Maybe that's it. 

Understanding doesn't actually help that much, to be honest.  Knowing that your leg hurts because it's broken and it'll one day mend doesn't stop you reaching for painkillers. I just wish there were painkillers at the moment. 

The reading last night on my little iPhone version of the works of Charles H Spurgeon was just for me, wasn't it?  He quoted Exodus 14:13:

I looked all over for a picture of
Mr Spurgeon smiling. This is
the closest I could find.

'Stand still, and see the salvation of the Lord.'

To paraphrase, he says that this is what God says to his follower (me) when they (me) are in 'extraordinary difficulties'. When I can't go back, and I can't go forward; when I turn about looking for the answer but no answer is to be found, then God says 'Stand still'. 

Alright then. 

Spurgeon tells me that other 'advisers' might tell me something different:

"Despair whispers, 'Lie down and die; give it all up.'"

But if I listen to you I should take courage and rejoice in your love and faithfulness. I haven't contemplated lying down to die, but I have definitely heard that 'give up' voice in the last couple of days.

"Cowardice says, 'Retreat; go back to the worldling's way of action; you cannot play the Christian's part, it is too difficult. Relinquish your principles.'"

But if I listen to you, I cannot do this because I am your child, and I should not allow anything or anyone to divert me. I don't want to. I like who I am in you much better than I like who I am on my own. 

"Precipitancy cries, 'Do something. Stir yourself; to stand still and wait is sheer idleness.'"

"Presumption boasts, 'If the sea be before you, march into it and expect a miracle.'"

Not so sure about these two, as I don't feel much like leaping into action to do anything, let alone do something spectacular and daring. 

Still, Spurgeon finishes well by saying that if in doubt, I should stand ready for your next order like a soldier in an army, and it won't be long before I hear your voice telling me that it's time to go forward again.

'What, if for a while thou art called to stand still, yet this is but to renew thy strength for some greater advance in due time?'

So I am waiting. Still hanging on; I don't really see myself standing with much poise or patience, but I am standing still nevertheless.  I don't have anywhere to go and if I did I don't have the wherewithal to get there right now. So I stand and I wait and I am waiting for you to direct me. Actually I'm waiting for you to come and take my hand and lead me somewhere, but if you did just that I'm sure that you'd find me ready to come with you. 

I'm standing and waiting. 

A crowd of witnesses

Today is only half over and yet I feel as if I've lived a week. I've not done much, particularly, but I'm ready for bedtime. 

I've been so down and lately I feel as if I'm sinking lower. All that boasting I did a month or two ago about the bad things in life not getting me down - well I don't think that's true any more. Today I feel completely defeated. I keep asserting what I know to be true; that you will never leave me because you are faithful. That I am a child of God and although that doesn't guarantee me a life free of trouble or pain, it does guarantee me a Friend who is closer than a brother who loves me and has a plan for me. It's just that I can't feel it; it's not helping at the moment.

This morning I battled with the girls at breakfast and manhandled them out of the house in time to do the school run (did you see Elizabeth so excited to go on a school trip and looking so grown up with her backpack? She is so beautiful and innocent) and then on to nursery. Katy went happily into her classroom and once again I had to make arrangements to bring her home early, only this time for a nice reason. It was Katy's lunch at her new school today. Elizabeth was disappointed that she wouldn't be there to show Kate what's what in the lunch queue but I think it was for the best. This is Katy's show.

Anyway, I'm getting out of sequence. 

I drove home after nursery listening to a song from my worship album, 'You are the Voice of Hope', sung by Lara Martin. I've heard it loads of times but today the words jumped out at me.

As high as the heavens are above the earth

So high are your ways to mine

Ways so perfect they never fail me

I know you are good all the time

And through the storm -  yet I will praise you

Despite it all - yet I will sing

Through good and bad - yet I will worship

For you remain the same, the King of Kings

Oh Lord I've been trying so hard. I've been trying to keep on praising you when I can't even find you. I've looked and listened and waited and I think I've been faithful but I've just about had enough. I'm tired and worried and things are still going wrong and it's getting harder and harder to find the glimmers of good things because most of the time they feel swallowed up by the avalanche of bad things happening at the moment. I just don't want to bother any more. I don't want to have to find the energy to make the effort. 

I'm worried about Katy. I'm worried at the speed the bump on her neck is coming back and the way that it looks and I'm worried that the doctors seem more worried about it than they were. I'm worried at some of the conditions and diseases they're testing her for and the implications they have for her long term health and development; worried about more surgery, long term intervention and treatment, stigma, scarring, how this will impact on her last nursery weeks and the start of school. I'm worried about the impact that it already has on her - she's in the room when the doctors discuss her and she's so distressed with the blood tests, dressing changes, poking and prodding. She can't go swimming and we've only washed her hair once in a month because of getting the lump/dressing/wound/lump wet. 

I'm afraid that something bad is happening to my little girl and I can't stop it. You can, but you don't. I'm afraid that this thing will have long term effects on her physically and psychologically. I'm afraid that she'll be self conscious because of a lump or self conscious because of a scar. I'm afraid that she'll have to have more blood tests and cannulae and anaesthetics and hospital stays. I'm afraid that I don't have the resources to keep on the way we have been. I just haven't the energy. I don't get enough sleep. I thought the end was in sight and all we had to discuss was whether the dressing was necessary any longer but no, the histology results were back and there were two consultants, not one, and they were much more concerned than in other appointments. The end doesn't seem to be in sight, yet over my shoulder I can't see the beginning any more either.

As high as the heavens are above the earth

So high are your ways to mine

Ways so perfect they never fail me

I know you are good all the time

You are good. Are you weeping with me when I cry about this? Does it hurt you too that your little girl(s) are hurting? Or are you trying to tell me to be faithful because good will come of this and it's all in hand? Your ways are not my ways indeed. You are a mystery. Why don't you say, 'Ah, look, she's one of mine. I won't let her baby get ill. I'll make it alright.'

You are the voice of hope

The anchor of my soul

Where there seems to be no way

You make it possible
You are the prince of peace

Amidst adversity my lips will shout for joy

To the most high

Without you as my anchor I'd be adrift indeed. I'm starting to feel annoyed that this is going on as long as it is. I don't understand why plaguing Katy can be good for me. I don't understand what harm it could do to cure her completely. Just like that. 

I dropped Kate at nursery this morning and drove past church, looked at my watch and realised that morning prayers would just be starting. I briefly considered going to join in and then drove past. Then I took the next right and turned round and drove back down, parked outside. I fiddled with my phone for a minute then went to the door. It was locked. I scuttled back down the path and got in the car again. Put the key in the ignition then noticed someone else going up to the church. So I got out and followed them in case they had inside knowledge of which door might be open. The minute someone greeted me in church I started to cry.

I didn't see it coming at all. I've been feeling miserable and last night I lay in bed with fear washing over me. I kept saying your name and then slept through a thunderstorm, it turns out. I was feeling low and tired and defeated but I didn't anticipate dissolving totally when I came into church. I thought that maybe joining in prayers (or just being there, actually) might just change the way my day was going. I thought that it might perk me up a bit. Might refocus me. I didn't intend to turn up for a counselling session or a cathartic cry.

Some wise and lovely people prayed with me today, offered practical help and listened as I offloaded a lot of speculation and anxiety, some of it warranted and some of it based entirely on ill-advised internet searches and long-buried fears. 

I came out feeling not much better but sniffing a lot more. Blew my nose. Came home and reapplied make-up. Picked Katy up from nursery and took her to her new school for lunch, which was lovely. I even had a long and constructive conversation with someone with whom I've definitely had my differences and usually avoid like the plague. It was strange to receive encouragement and reassurance from such an unlikely source. 

Katy loved her visit to school. She recognised a little girl in the playground and they ran around hand in hand and called goodbye to each other as they left. I am so hopeful that she won't be as lost as little Lizzie was when she started school. Different class, different teachers, different personalities. Same neurotic mother...

I came home and sank, again. I could feel the pessimism and fear setting in fresh. I switched on the computer and my daily devotional email was waiting for me.  

'What do you do when you feel like giving up? Everyone has that moment where they've been struggling with something - maybe a health issue, a broken relationship, financial problems, or depression - and they start to wonder if they have the strength to keep going because they just can't see any light at the end of the tunnel.'

Rick Warren: The Daily Hope

I suppose if I were cynical I could point out that with a readership of many many thousands it would be a dead cert that at least a few of those who received that email would indeed have been feeling just as you describe. So it might not be that you were speaking directly to me. Co-incidence. On the other hand...

Rick Warren goes on to speak about the part in Hebrews where Paul speaks of the great men of faith in the Bible; Abraham, Moses, David. And then the first verse of the next chapter begins:

RW:  'Therefore, since we are surrounded by such a huge crowd of witnesses to the life of faith ...'

What Paul is saying is that you don't want to give up because heaven is watching and cheering for you. That's encouraging news!'

Hebrews 12:1

The exclamation marks are Mr Warren's, by the way. I can't feel that animated about anything right now, let alone excited. But I concede that it interested me. At least I read it and didn't flick straight to Facebook. That's something, right?

So the Big Guns of the old testament are rooting for me. Really? Does everyone in heaven see what's going on with us stragglers back here on earth then? 

RW:  'Jesus tells us, 'Every hair on your head has been counted.' (Luke 12:7). God knows every detail of your life. He watches every breath you take; there are no secrets in your life. 

And it's not just God who's watching. Abraham, Jacob, Moses and all the other saints are there as well.'

Apparently so. Or at least, so thinks Rick Warren, a man who is clearly never wrong. Sorry, that was a bit facetious. But still, you used him to poke me today to wake me up and so he must have something to say that I should listen to.

A crowd of witnesses? Are they all looking down on me now and muttering to themselves and each other, 'She's whinging again. Lord - she's at it again.' They had much more to cope with than I do. You gave them huge scary jobs to do and their lives were downright difficult. Of all the saints that might be watching and listening to me now, my troubles are pretty minor I think. Is that it? I should be keeping on keeping on because they had it worse?

RW:  'How is this encouraging?'

Yes, I was wondering.

RW:  'When you feel like giving up, remember that people who have gone through much worse circumstances than you are watching to see how you are enduring.'

Great.  Give me a break.

RW:  'When you feel like giving up, remember that people are watching you and offering encouragement through their life stories of faith.'

I'm not convinced that that's encouraging. I am no Abraham. And now I'm even more paranoid about what people think.

It's no use. I'm not going to be taught anything in this state of mind, Lord, though I appreciate your word about feeling miserable. I'm determined to get an early night so try again tomorrow?

Elizabeth's home from school and she's shattered after a day building shelters in a forest and hunting for bugs. She found a centipede and an angry bee. She banged her head on a climbing frame and ate all her lunch. She was cross that I didn't put crisps in her lunchbox. She had a good time, especially when the bus driver took a wrong turn. She says that she didn't learn anything but then it wasn't about learning, it was about having fun, and then she sort of learns things by accident. I must tell her teachers that. They'll love it. 

Lord, I am too tired. Thanks for the people you put round me today, for the wise words, the prayers and the unexpected encouragement from unexpected sources. Thanks for the email, for my smiley girls and the cup of tea my Mum has just put down in front of me. I know that I am blessed beyond measure, but I just can't lift my own head at the moment. 

You were the one before time began

There's nothing beyond your control

My confidence, my assurance

Rest in your unchanging world

And through the storm - yet I will praise you

Despite it all - yet I will sing

Through good and bad - yet I will worship

For you remain the same

King of kings

I'm trying, Lord. How much longer? I can't sing much but I am offering you what I can. You still hold my heart in your hands and I give you my poorly little girl who is more precious to me than that. I am relying on you; that she is precious to you too. I'm so tired of keeping on. 

There's nothing beyond your control. Why aren't I comforted by that?

You are the King of Kings. I'm doing my best to worship anyway. 

Lonely at playtime

Lord, listen.


My little girl Elizabeth has had a bad day, I think. 


Tonight at bedtime she was tired and upset and things were weighing heavily on her little heart I think and so we talked for a while and I tried to make her see how special she is and it doesn't mean that there's something wrong with her if one little boy has decided that he no longer wants to be her friend, and how proud we are that she got her 50m badge at swimming at the weekend even though another child got their 75m; no, it doesn't mean that she's hopeless at swimming.  I'm sure that someone will play with her at playtime tomorrow; they do like her, why would they not?  

It nearly broke my heart. I know she's tired and tearful and I know that I do the same; late at night when I'm tired and overwrought things look worse than they do in the sunshine.  I've just been in to see her and she looks so small and so heartbreakingly beautiful with her little pigtails, her arms wrapped round her cuddly pig.  Katy is asleep with Barney on her face, the lump on her neck sticking out at the side, and Elizabeth is snuggled up with Pig, her lonely and anxious tears dried on her cheeks. 

Lord what a responsibility it is to bring up children.  


I know I can't do it without you; even with your help I feel as if I'm not really holding my end up.  Please show me how to help my little girls to grow in confidence.  Not arrogance, not self-satisfaction, but self esteem.  Show me how to nurture in them a knowledge of how special they are; how unique and gifted. I don't want them to compare themselves with other children any more than is necessary and I don't want them to feel they have to win, to be the best, to get it right every time to be a success.  

And help me not to overreact.  It's parents' evening on Thursday and I don't want to be the Mum who is always fussing. I want my beautiful, vivacious, imaginative, energetic, fun-loving Elizabeth to be equipped to fight her own battles - as far as any five year old might be - and not have her Mummy anxiously consulting the teacher every time something might be amiss.  

I get it so wrong sometimes. I cut one of them off as they try to tell me something when they're eating their dinner and then I realise how important it was to them. Tonight I declared it was a race to see who could get upstairs to bathtime first and Katy stood at the foot of the stairs and howled as she will never in a million years win a race against Lizzie.  She sobbed to me that she was tired of always being last.  


'When I'm five, (sniff) Lizzie will be (sniff) six, won't she?  And when I'm (sniff) seven, she'll (sniff) be eight. I'm always behind.  I'm never fast enough.  I can't ever win anything.'  


When will I learn?  I cuddle her and tell her that it's not always about being fastest or first and so on and so on.  How hard it is being a little sister.  How hard it is being a big sister.  


How hard it is being a Mum. 

Lord Jesus, you were human; you came here and lived as we did.  Did you ever feel inadequate?  I can't imagine it; you are God, after all.  Did you ever feel lonely?  We know that you did.  You were rejected in such devastating terms that I can't compare our small and superficial hurt feelings to your experiences in any way; that line of thought isn't really helping me.

You know my Lizzie.  You know how wonderful she is. You've made her bright with all the gifts that she has; please, Lord Jesus Christ, help her to shine. Help her to understand the wonder of herself so that she isn't cut so deeply by another child's careless rejection, that she has the confidence to walk away if someone is being unkind to her, that she might approach a new friend with her self esteem intact and not worry that she might not be good enough.  


Father, hold my little girl close and assure her of her worth, her loveability.  Am I not doing it well enough? 

I get so cross with her sometimes.  I am not good in the mornings and she is bouncy, excitable, silly.  I would say that more often than not we are cross with each other at breakfast time. I'm irritable.  I'm always snapping at her; clean teeth, brush hair, get dressed, eat breakfast, get books, stop messing about, find shoes, put on coat, why so late to mention that she needs something, don't be silly, walk faster, settle down, quick, quick... 


I leave her at school and then walk home with the same regret and guilt that I feel last thing at night when I go in and see them angelic in sleep - how come I could have been so cross with you such a short time ago?  I am impatient and critical.  Maybe her diffidence and low self esteem is my fault.  Can I have done such damage?  

Lord heal my girls. Heal them of any damage that I have done unwittingly in my heavy handed, clumsy, galumphing parenting. I love them so, so much that I write this with tears in my eyes at the idea that I have sown seeds that might grow into attitudes that might dog them into adulthood.  


You know that I, of all people, find it horrific that I might do that to them. I'm working through some of these things myself at 40 and I am terrified that I see it all in Lizzie aged five. I've wasted years that I don't want her to waste. 

I want her to be comfortable being Lizzie. To be proud of it, not apologetic.  To know that when she's done her best, she's done well, whether she's top of the class or bottom (not that in this day and age they let the children know their rankings in the class).  I want her to be kind, gentle, lighthearted and open minded in her choice of friends and her treatment of them.  I want her to be resilient and secure, not devastated when things go wrong. 

Maybe she's just tired tonight and focusing on the negatives. Maybe I am tired tonight and focusing on the negatives.  

Let my girls sleep in your arms tonight, Father God.  Keep them safe from anything that might harm them physically, emotionally, spiritually, intellectually, or any other way. Heal them of anything that threatens to take root and hurt them, please.  Wash away the wounds and pains of being little and unsure and worried.  Assure them of your love in a way that they can understand, please.  And of mine too. 

Help me to be a better mother to my children. I need more patience, loads loads loads more patience.  I need a stronger grip on what I say and how I say things.  I need to stop and look more and hurry and chivvy less.  I need to let them be little more and stop expecting them to grow up.  One day they will have grown up and then what?

I'm going to go to sleep now and I hope that tomorrow we can all start afresh. Make it alright, Lord. I feel so unequal to the task of being a Mummy right now. Will you do it, please?  Show me really clearly what to do, what to say. Tomorrow, help me put you right in control. Give Lizzie a great day at school and Katy a great day at nursery. 


Build them up and show me how to do it. 


Make them smile. Please. 

Take the tears that have been cried in this house today and turn them into something special.