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.

Roll on Spring

Today's one of those days where spring seems a long way away.

It's a dark, dank day with wind that seems to be coming from every direction and throws cold rain in my face. The children have been bickering and fighting and I'm digging deep for reserves of patience that I can't find. Our house is particularly wintry today.

Lord - here you are. I'm dumping today in front of you because it's only eleven o'clock and I've had enough of it already. Last night I had one unsettling dream after another - about having experiments performed on me, about everyone laughing at me, about collapsing in front of a crowd of people. Getting up time seemed like the middle of the night, which is never a good thing. 

It's funny how the glass seems sometimes half full and sometimes half empty, isn't it? The other day we were marvelling how some of last years apples are still clinging onto the trees in the garden despite the fierce weather we've had recently. We commented on how they glowed in the light of a low winter sun, looking like little orange lanterns in the trees. Today they just look brown and rotten and even the birds don't want them.  The trees themselves seem more gnarled and covered in lichen than they usually do. I have been reliably informed that there are two snowdrops out in the garden already and it's a sign that Spring is on it's way - but you can't see them from the kitchen window and I can't be bothered to put on a few more layers to go out and have a look. Spring seems a long way away. 

Grump grump grump. 

I've said that the children can do whatever it is they do on their gadgets; some mindless game that causes hilarity and squabbling in pretty much equal measure. I know I should be playing games with them or doing a jigsaw or baking or designing a family mural for the stairwell or finding a cure for world poverty or something, but I haven't the energy. I just need five minutes. Or more. Five years, maybe. 

I've got a cup of coffee here but it went cold while I was adjudicating in the lengthy argument about the blue felt tip pen. I put it in the microwave a moment ago only to find already in there was a coffee from earlier and for some reason I burst into tears. 

Lord, you know what? There are times when I don't want to be with my children. 

There. I've said it. 

I feel very guilty that I said it and even guiltier that I think it from time to time. It's supposed to be different from that, isn't it? I'm supposed to be delighted with them twenty-four hours a day and constantly thinking up new ways to celebrate our family-ness. I don't think I'm very good at that. Sometimes it all gets to me and I want to run away and hide and not come out again. And then I feel guilty for not revelling in the undoubtedly precious gift of my girls. If I'm honest this happens quite a lot. Is there something wrong with me? 

You know that I love them. You know how much I love them. You know my strengths and weaknesses and you'll know that my current state of being is down to a mixture of lack of sleep, a cold, the time of year, hormones and good old self indulgent bad mood. 

I can't do anything about the first four and I don't want to do anything about the last one. It would take too much effort to be cheerful right now. 

I don't suppose it's any co-incidence that I haven't been talking with you much for a while. I find that when I stick close to you, hanging onto you, following in the footsteps like the page following King Wenceslas, then I feel better. Safer. More secure. But maybe gradually I've dropped back until the snow covered the footprints, and then for a bit I tried to find them so I could catch up, and then I stopped trying because it got too hard and so I sat down in the snow and felt sorry for myself. 

So I'm a bit adrift. Help me. I don't think I'm doing so well at anything today. At being a mummy, at being me. At being your child. 

I'm going to see if I can find those snowdrops. 

***

Brr. Cold out there. But there are indeed, just as Mum said, two little snowdrops that are just in bud. They'll flower in the next few days. A little bit of hope in this miserable, colourless season. A little bit of purity and beauty creeping up on us out of the mud and dead plants and fallen leaves of the season left behind. A bit of the future; a bit of promise. 

That's what I'm needing today. A bit of something positive. A little bit of peace.

I feel like a child today. I feel like howling and stamping and saying, 'But what about me? What about what I want?' but I'm a grown up and I'm not allowed to any more. And I probably should have feelings like that under control by now, but they bubble up to the surface sometimes and it's all I can do to sort of squash them so that people don't know how juvenile I can be. How selfish. 

I don't want to be like that. 

Thankyou for letting me get this off my chest. I do feel a bit lighter since I had a moan. 

I'm going to hang onto those little snowdrops. I'm going to go and see them again tomorrow. I shall watch as they unfurl into that tiny intricate little bit of early Spring. I hope that the snow doesn't come and cover them up. I hope that the crocuses and daffodils aren't far behind. I hope that the sun comes out soon.

Lord, I don't know if you ever just got out of bed the wrong side but thank you that you understand the whole range of human emotions and you don't condemn us for experiencing any of them. 

Thankyou that there's always another chance. Thankyou that even when I wallow in self pity for no real good reason you always care enough to help me up and brush me down. Thankyou for forgiving me and loving me all over again. 

I'm going to go and see if the girls will make room for me on the sofa. 

Dwelling in your house

Evening, God.

I have so much to say and a few hours ago I felt like saying it. Right now I'm wondering when it might be decent for me to climb into bed and my eyelids are drooping at the very thought of it. But I'm going to make the effort. That's big of me, isn't it?

Here it is. Earlier today I read this:

'One thing I ask of the Lord
this is what I seek:
that I may dwell in the house of the Lord
all the days of my life,
to gaze upon the beauty of the Lord
and to seek him in his temple.'

Psalm 27:4

I read this and I thought, 'Yes.'  That's what I want to do. I have read this psalm a few times and this was the first time that it leapt off the page and made my heart respond, 'Yes.'

I don't know about the 'One thing I ask of the Lord...' part; I have quite a list of things I regularly ask, but I know what this psalmist meant. I look forward to the day when I simply sit in your house and gaze up at you. I will live with you and I will spend eternity watching and listening and singing and soaking you up. I can't wait.

So on one hand, this is what I long to do. This is what my life aims towards; it's what I'm for. I have this longing because I was built and wired that way. But...and there's a big 'But'... there are a few obstacles before the eternity thing, aren't there?

The biggest one is the need to go on living life until it's time for eternity.

Tonight I made a lovely nutritious dinner for my family that took quite a while to prepare. I asked my eldest daughter to clear some toys from the table (yes, even if they weren't actually her toys but those of her little sister) and to set the table, which she did, grumpily, with heavy sighs. When the food was ready they both complained that their television programme hadn't finished. Eventually we did sit down to eat, but the meal was over in the blink of an eye. A tiny fraction of the time it'd taken to get ready. Elizabeth wouldn't eat her vegetables, Katy wouldn't eat her mashed potato. I found myself clearing pots in an empty kitchen once again and wondering why I bothered.

As Bryan was reading a story to the children I decided to run myself a bath; a rare occurrence in the week as I can always be sure that the moment I climb in to the bubbles one or both of the girls will shout or appear at the side of the tub with some pressing request or grievance. I put in my lovely new fragrant bath foam, I placed a book and a towel to rest my head by the bath and I stepped in.

Brrr.

There hadn't been enough hot water left after the children's bath and two loads in the washing machine. It was a very brief bath. I found myself getting dressed again muttering the word, 'Grace. Grace.' under my breath. Time for bed with a coffee and a book.

Nope.

I made a coffee, I put my feet up, I picked up my book. That was about the time that the children organised themselves into a tag team and came in alternately for the next half hour with many and varied requests. At one point I even ventured downstairs and microwaved my coffee warm again but it soon chilled for the second time. By the time the girls had conked out in their own beds, my eyes were too wibbly to concentrate and I ended up putting my bookmark back in the book in exactly the same place as it had been when I optimistically placed it by the bath.

How does life fit in with dwelling in your house?  I know that being close to you isn't something that only happens after I die. I know that life is made up of the things like this - the demands of family life, keeping on doing the things that nobody notices, trying my very best not to be devastatingly grumpy and snappy when there's no hot water left for me. I need to get the two things to live together, somehow.

Grace.

I need so much more of it. I find that I want peace and quiet when the children want attention. They should get the attention, but it's so hard. I know that they will only be young once and if I don't take them up on their offer of a Moshi Monsters' Mission now the invitation might not be extended again. Hmm. Perhaps that was a bad example. I know that a time will come when they no longer want 'just one more story', and yet I find myself resenting the fact that they won't go to bed and leave me alone. And then there's the guilt.

I feel as if my desire to dwell in your house is a selfish one. For me, it sounds great. But just as it wouldn't be fair if I were never around in body when my children need me, it's not fair if I'm continually trying to be somewhere else in spirit either. This is why I need to try to find out what dwelling in your house means, while I'm on the go. While I'm cooking food that nobody seems to appreciate, while I'm stepping on and sweeping up discarded Rice Krispies, while I'm grinding my teeth because there's no hot water left for me.

Sometimes I amaze myself. Katy asks me to lie down with her (again) at bedtime for a cuddle and I find myself sighing and looking longingly at the door because my evening is tantalisingly close, if only they'll just settle - I have to remind myself that my five year old daughter wants another cuddle. That Is Not A Bad Thing. It's the most wonderful thing in the world. Pull myself together.

Does that sound awful?  I love cuddling Katy.  Despite her protestations to the contrary, she won't be wanting Mummy to lie down with her when she's twenty-one, will she? How can I rush her and disappear to do my own thing?  It makes no sense. Oh, the guilt of motherhood. The way it messes with my head.

Some people say that there will always be a tension between the fact that we are not at home here in this world as we are citizens of heaven, which is our true home. Is that it? Or is it just that I still haven't got my head around the fact that I can't always do the things that I want to do at the time I want to do them?  It's all very well seeking to be with you but I have to learn to do that at the same time as the juggling of daily stuff that requires energy and patience when I'm already running on empty. Retreats and Quiet Days are wonderful -I could definitely do more of those - but they're only of so much value when it's the day to day hamster-wheel that needs shoring up by you.

Katy has a mysterious rash and the very lymph nodes in her neck that the consultants are keeping an eye on are vastly enlarged. Probably it's a miscellaneous infection; I know that in children these nameless viruses sometimes manifest with a rash where in adults they don't. She's waking in the night agitated but can't tell me why. She's well in the daytime, no raised temperature, eating well (except mashed potato, it would seem) and is happy and energetic enough. The rash is probably nothing much and the new level of enlargement of the nodes probably only because of the nothing-much-rash. But...perhaps I should tell the consultant?  Watch and wait, I think. Feel free to interject if you have other ideas, will you?

It's a glorious evening and the garden needs so much attention but I am exhausted. I want to sleep. I did want to have a bath, then a read, then sleep, but right now I'll settle for just the sleep. The weeds in the garden are waist high in places and I have a beautiful new plant that is looking for a spot to live. Don't let me leave it in the pot to die before I clear it a space.

So, Father God, show me how to get the balance right. Show me how to find space when space is to be found but not to resent the times when there is no space. Give me grace to replace the bookmark when someone wails and not to look at them witheringly when their crisis turns out only to be a misplaced piece of Lego. Help me to carry on providing meals and coats and dinner money and fill in forms for school trips with a smile even at those times when nobody seems to appreciate the behind the scenes stuff.

Perhaps I'm dwelling in your house when I'm scraping mashed potato into the bin or loading the dishwasher. Maybe I'm gazing on your beauty as I watch my beautiful girls sleep. Maybe lying next to Katy as she sucks her thumb and plays with my hair at bedtime is seeking you in your temple - and finding you there.

Help me to pick up one more set of pyjamas from the floor and locate Scruffy Barney one more time. Help me read one more story. Help me clear up one more mess.

And help me put the water heater on in time next time I want a bath. 

Strength will rise

Evening, God.

Very tired tonight, so forgive me if I stop making sense after a few minutes. You must be used to it by now.

Today has been a strange day. One of those days when I've felt as if I've been outside my body watching myself. It started way too early with a small girl with an upset stomach wailing that she'd had an accident. One which turned out to involve carpet cleaner and a variety of detergents. Poor little Katy couldn't go to school; and indeed couldn't go to the appointment with the consultant that we'd been gearing up for. We've had to postpone finding out the plan for her neck and her lumps (still there) for a few weeks until the next available appointment. 

Poor poorly girl. 

I felt sort of deflated - we'd planned the journey, we were all ready to find out the scan and blood test results and (please please) we've been hoping that we might not have to go back again. Tomorrow was the day we'd find out, and now it's not for another two weeks. Sigh. 

Poor Mum also ill today - the girls made Get Well Grandma cards and I hovered anxiously with offers of cups of tea, bread rolls and Poorly Person Biscuits. 

Not much got done today. I sat with Katy and watched 'Joseph and his Amazing Technicolour Dreamcoat' twice, 'Barney at the Seaside' twice and 'Charlie and the Chocolate Factory' just the once, mercifully. We curled up on the sofa and many times my arm went numb, but that's what you do when your little girl is poorly, isn't it? Cuddle until you can't feel your arm.

I managed five minutes dusting while I brushed my teeth (not until 11.40am) which consisted of wiping down the chest of drawers and bookshelf with an old sock from the washing basket on my hand. I managed a quick nip to the shop to buy fresh bread to try and tempt people to eat (not very successful, but now the bread bin is overflowing). I managed a quick surf of Facebook but no writing as I only had my left hand (right trapped under Katy). 

Yesterday I flapped about how much I have to do and ask for your help in prioritising, today I am forced to slow down to a full stop. 

Co-incidence? 

I don't know. What I do know is I spent the day with my arms wrapped around my littlest baby girl and able to kiss her whenever I wanted and inhale the wonderful fragrance of her hair all day. It took me a little while to stop lamenting the demise of the plans I'd had for today, but I came to terms with things eventually. About half way through the second Joseph, I think. I was still chafing all the way through Barney, but hey - whose teeth are not on edge during Barney?

My beautiful Katy. She missed her big sister today. She was worried that she should be doing her reading at school and she was concerned that everyone would forget about her. She couldn't even eat a fish finger at teatime so to be honest I'm not holding out much hope for tomorrow. We'll see.

The house was warm as everyone was feeling shivery. There was a bit of a poorly-person odour in our part of the house after Katy's early morning accident. I'd spent most of the day on the sofa and I was feeling so sleepy that I could barely keep my eyes open. Bleary and stuffy and a bit sorry for myself. 

I had a little break when I walked round to school at 3pm to collect Elizabeth and I put on my headphones as I walked. There's just enough time for one song, and I put it on shuffle to surprise me. 

'Strength will rise as we wait upon the Lord

We will wait upon the Lord, we will wait upon the Lord.'

(Brown/Riley 2006 Survivor records)

Strength. Oh yes. 

This is something that other people have. 

I need more strength, and I haven't got any in reserve at the moment. The past few days I've been planning all that I need to do and I even commented to a friend last week that it's all very well having my week planned out, but when something goes wrong I may as well rip up the schedule. My little girl is poorly and I spend the day on the sofa with arms wide and eyes half open watching the TV. Brain pretty much switched off - you don't need a brain for Barney. Indeed it's a positive disadvantage.

The world doesn't stop when I get off for a day. I guess I have an inflated idea of my own importance if I think that my input in various things is so necessary to the wellbeing of those around me. Today I was stressed out that a poorly child meant my plans went by the board, and yet yesterday I'd asked you to help me with prioritisation.

There you have it. 

I need to wait upon you. I need to do that because unwittingly I've started worrying about time, again. I've been much better at it recently but it's so easy to slip back into old habits. I need to wait upon you because that is the number one important thing in my life. Without time with you, nothing else means anything. Nothing else will ever come to anything. 

And strength will rise when I wait upon you. And after a disturbed night, a very early morning and an un relenting child-full day I could do with topping up tonight, Lord God. 

'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

I think this is an everyday strength as well as a strength that you give us for the uncommon events and challenges that life throws at us. A daily, or hourly, or minute-by-minute renewing of the strength just to keep putting one foot in front of the other. I don't know about soaring on wings like eagles; I'd love to do that, but at the moment, if it's not selling you short, I'll settle for a Good Night's Sleep and a reasonable start to tomorrow, if that's alright with you? 

I walked to school and the sky was blue, the sun shining and a crispness in the air more like March than May, but it didn't matter, as the house was hot and stuffy. I looked at the greenness after all the rain we've been having and the signs of Spring slowly turning summery and I looked at the clouds and the older children pouring down the road from the senior school and the faces of the little ones looking for Mummies and Daddies as they came out of the infant school - and I saw you. You are all around me. There in the evening song of the blackbirds in our garden right now as I sit up in bed with my window open onto a beautiful evening. There in the weight of my gorgeous poorly girl on my tingling right arm. There in the sun and the sky and the forget-me-nots taking over the flowerbed that I haven't weeded. 

And there with me as I scrub smelly stains in the carpet and there as I frown, trying to work out when I can fit in things I want to do for you. 

You've got this one, haven't you? You know what you're doing. 

Priorities. 

I hope in you and you will renew my strength. 

Father God, whose ways are so far above mine that I can't keep up, thank you for the gentle reminder today that I should get things in order.

Thankyou for the chance to cuddle my little girl. Thanks for the chance to sing the words to Joseph with her (again). Thankyou for the chance to fast forward to the best bits in 'Charlie'. And thanks for the chance to watch Barney. No, scrub the last one. I'm not that thankful for that bit. Sorry.

Lord, I need to start from the beginning again. Here it is: my time. I only have so much of it, and since you designed it that way, I can assume that I have the right amount. Help me to use it wisely. 

'You are the everlasting God

The everlasting God'.

Everlasting. That's you. I never get to the end of you, like I get to the end of me, sometimes. I'm pretty much there at the moment. But you? You go on forever.

You do not faint, you won't grow weary'.

But I do. Never enough sleep. Never enough energy. Never enough patience, or unselfishness, or generosity. I grow weary alright. 

You're the defender of the weak;

You comfort those in need

You lift us up on wings like eagles.'

That's me, my God. I feel weak and in need. I could do with lifting up right now. Show me how to spread my wings. 

Amen. 

Banging my head against a wall

Hello, God.

I'm just checking in with you because I haven't been around lately. I know you've been around - it's me that hasn't been. 

I don't really want to be here now, if the truth be known. I'm feeling grumpy and not inclined to be nice. My eyes are almost closed, I'm so tired, but lately it seems that when I do get into bed it's ages before I can get to sleep. There's a lot in my head at the moment. You know everything that's in there - the good stuff and the bad stuff. Help me to sort it all out, will you? Because there are lots of things in there that are not welcome. I don't like playing host to a lot of bad feelings. 

The other day Elizabeth (6) shouted me upstairs after her bedtime and her latest gambit to postpone going to sleep was:

'Mummy, I've banged my head on the wall and everything I know is swirling round in my brain and stopping me getting to sleep.'

Later the following evening she remembered that she's complained of a bumped head and asked me to look for a bump. While investigating the non-existent injury I asked her, 'Did all your knowledge settle again?'  She replied:

'Not in time for maths.'

Ha. A child after my own heart. I'm doing my best not to let on that I was terrible at maths as well, but it seems to be in the genes. Her teacher and I are working on her confidence. 

I know what she means about things swirling round her head. I don't need to bang my head against the wall to have it happen to me (though sometimes I'm tempted to do just that for a completely different set of reasons).  I just can't switch off, sometimes. 

Take yesterday.  Yesterday was a really bad day. Some stuff went wrong that was in my control and some stuff went wrong that was out of my control. I had conversations that I keep going over in my head and I said stuff I wish I hadn't said. I know that there are many sides to any problem and yet it doesn't stop me feeling hurt and resentful when people can't see my side. I didn't do anything bad; my motivation was (I think) to bring about something good, but I somehow got it wrong. Last night I was very tired and overwrought and at bedtime I disintegrated. I was just like my four year old daughter is sometimes - one last thing went wrong and it was the last straw. I lay in bed and cried and sniffed and cried some more and all I could say was 'Lord'. 

It was just a bad day. Nobody died, nobody even fell out. I just felt bad because I didn't get my own way. I tried to help but I got it wrong. My feelings were hurt. Forty one years old and yet I lay in bed and cried because I was tired and had nothing left.

Yesterday has cast a long shadow over today as well. I woke up with gritty, puffy eyes and felt as if I would sell my soul in order to stay in bed and not have to interact with anyone today. (That's just a figure of speech, you understand, the bit about soul-selling). The way today started out it felt as if it was going to be a disaster just because of the way yesterday finished. It didn't really turn out as bad as all that, thankfully.  I suspect I have you to thank for that. 

Do we ever grow up, Father God?  We humans? Me in particular, I suppose I mean. Will I ever be wise? Will I ever be able to end a day like yesterday and shrug and give it all over to you and leave it with you and walk away without meltdown?  Without raking it over a million times before I can leave it alone? Will I ever have perspective on life's little disappointments?  

Will I ever get enough sleep?  

Sigh. 

Tonight's not a great deal better, but there are improvements. I am still so, so tired, partly owing to the fact that valuable sleep time last night was spent snivelling instead of catching the Zs. I won't do that tonight. Also, half a dozen sobbed 'Lord!'s do not make an adequate quiet time. I need to find you again. I know you haven't moved away from our spot, but I have, and I'm not quite sure where I left you. 

I booked a holiday today. Just a cottage on the coast in this country; we're not going far, but a holiday nonetheless.  We're going in the summer. It's a cottage on a cliff top overlooking the sea. There's a path down to the beach not far away and from the windows we'll be able to watch the fishing boats and the late night ships out on the ocean. I love the sea. Maybe Bryan will take his telescope. The sky will be dark and full of stars because it's in the middle of nowhere and we'll leave the windows open at night to hear the noise of the waves. From where we will be on the east coast facing north we'll be able to see the sunrise and the sunset over the sea. It's going to be all the family. Buckets and spades and fish and chips and paddling and rock pooling and fishing for crabs and boat rides and just being away from the everyday.  I can't wait. 

How I wish I were there now. With you. Sitting looking out at the enormous blackness away from streetlights and school runs and noise and everyday politics and focusing on the power of the sea and breathing in the freshness. How I need you. How quickly I run out of steam on my own. 

So, I am off to bed. With a cup of coffee and my book on prayer. I hope my eyelids stay as droopy as they are now, so that I can have a nice long night's sleep before the children descend on me in the morning.  

Lord, please cleanse my mind of all the negative things that are trying to take root there. The resentments and the hurts and the anxieties.  Heal the wounds that are still open and then help me to turn away from them and not start picking at them again.  Help me to pray words of forgiveness even though forgiveness is unnecessary, but because I feel hard-done-to.  Help me to leave things in the past and not load them into this huge and unwieldy bag of rubbish that I cart around with me all the time.  I've been doing so much better with my tendency to worry recently - don't let me slither down a snake back to square one. 

Help me not to go over and over what was said and what I should have said and what I wish I hadn't said. Keep on reminding me that I am playing to an audience of One, and that's you. What other people think does not matter; only your opinion counts. Show me if there's anything that you want me to learn from this, and otherwise, help me to leave it behind and get on. 

Thankyou that your love for me is unconditional. Even if other people form a bad opinion of me, or think critical things of me, you still think that I'm alright. Thankyou that there's nothing I can do that will surprise you because you know me better than I know myself. Thankyou that you will never leave me, even if I'm doing my best to wander off in a different direction. 

I'm glad we talked. Or I talked, anyway. It's been good to get this off my chest. I feel better for having had a moan.

I'd love it if you'd chip in with your four penneth.  If there's something you want to point out to me, please do. Bring something good out of it, please. 

But I'm planning an early night, and I'm going to be snuggling up with my pillow and a warm wheaty in the shape of a dinosaur in about ten minutes, so if you want my full attention, better make it soon. 

Is that ok? 

I'll do better tomorrow. I'll try. 

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. 

Please can we stop now?

Lord, here I am again asking you please will you heal my little girl. We've just got back from the latest in a distressing line of dressing changes and she's fragile and quiet and not wanting her tea and I'm just exhausted. 

It's been less than a week since her surgery and we've had very sympathetic nurses, slightly sympathetic nurses, brisk nurses and one mean nurse and Katy is thoroughly spooked and she screams and shouts and breaks my heart with things like, 'Mummy don't let them hurt me' and 'Please make it stop, Mummy' and I've had enough. Today's (brisk) nurse said that the wound was still deep and would need packing for some time further though I'd hoped and hoped that after tomorrow's clinic appointment it might not need so much digging and probing. 

Please stop all this, Lord. She's been so brave but she's worn out and so am I. Each dressing change takes so long because she kicks and writhes and she's strong. It takes every ounce of strength I have to try to allow the nurse to do her job. She's got a perfectly reasonable fear of being hurt - and it does hurt I'm sure - and she's only four. Maybe some four year olds are unnaturally brave and stoical but my Katy is just normal. Does this really have to go on so long?

I feel so miserable. I hate putting her through it and I hate coming back from the hospital/surgery and snapping at Lizzie because she greets me at the door with her list of woes and injustices or wanting me to play some energetic game in the garden when I just want to curl up and cry. 

What's it all about? Is this adversity deepening my faith or something?

Huh. 

If you want me to reflect on this and understand more about how you feel as our Father, then I have to tell you that I've got it. I think I have, anyway. If it causes you pain to see us hurt and grieving and suffering then I understand.  It causes me such pain to hold Kate still while someone hurts her. It causes me physical pain to see her terrified face with eyes wide with dread, and hear her begging me to make it stop when all I do is hold her still so that it can go on longer. Every time my eyes fill with tears and I'm kissing her and shushing her and saying pointless unhelpful things that she isn't listening to. And then we pick ourselves up and leave and she dutifully says goodbye to the nurse and I have to hold myself back from giving her treat after treat to try to cheer her up. Today's nurse stuck the dressing too far back so it's got hair under it so tomorrow is going to be a nightmare. 

Is it to show me how terrible it was to watch your beloved Son endure unspeakable things on our behalf? If so I can understand why you turned your face away. My heart breaks every time Katy asks me to make it stop. I would if I could. I'd so much rather it was me. 

I don't know if there's anything positive in this; I know you can bring good out of the worst situation. I know that it will end, that children heal quickly and that in comparison with some her situation is very minor. I used to work with children who had major burn injuries - 60, 70 or even 85% of their body horrifically burned. They and their parents had to endure skin grafts and months or years of reconstructive surgery. In comparison this seems nothing. I am quite sure that when I worked there, before I had my children, I had absolutely no idea how appalling it would be to go through that. I would have a better idea now. 

Give me strength Lord. I could sleep for a fortnight. I don't want to have to do it any more. I know children are resilient. I know that she seems to bounce back. It's me that feels that every time I'm damaged a bit more. Ah I know I'm being melodramatic.

This is my life, Lord; I think I've done an awful lot of moaning recently. How come such a lot of trouble is coming my way for such a long period? It's alright, you know, you don't have to keep sending stuff to give me something to write about in my blog. I could be perfectly happy and sufficiently prolific just burbling on about the garden and the birds and songs I've sung. No need to keep me topped up with adverse material.

I love my girls Lord and I'm struggling to give Elizabeth the attention she needs because of all Katy's appointments and medicine and phone calls and attention she needs because of it all. I'm short of patience (shorter than ever, and that can't be good given my usual level of patience) and even after a decent night's sleep I still feel tired. I'm feeling sorry for myself. 

That's it for now. It's home group tonight and my dear friends are coming round. I'd better go and read what I'm supposed to have read and have a coffee with caffeine in it. I'm sure I'll feel better in a while. Where two or three meet in your name, you said you'd be there, so I'll expect you in the sitting room in about twenty minutes. Not that you're not here now, but you know what I mean. You can have the comfy end of the sofa. I've forgotten to buy or bake any cake though. I made a banana cake last week then forgot it and when Elizabeth found it, it had gone blue. Imagine, me forgetting a banana cake. Usually it's in my mind pretty much all the time. 

Don't leave me, Lord. How good it is to know that I'm not alone, even if it feels a bit that way sometimes. Hold me close and help me to keep on helping Kate and Liz as best I can. Please protect us all from anything else. I can't manage anything else.

PS.  Just had home group. If I had read the chapters of our book that I was supposed to have read I would have read about growing up as a Christian. About character building. About spiritual maturity. About being transformed to be more like Jesus. About life not being a) about me and b) meant to be easy and about you not being a spiritual genie who is here to solve my problems and make life comfortable. It's in adversity that I grow.

I am not sure what to make of this. I am, however quite sure that I will have something to say about it when I've had a chance to lie awake thinking about it tonight.

Character building? Ha.

Lord, just let me off the hook for tonight. Make the hours before morning magically go more slowly as already there aren't enough left to make me into a nice person when I get up at the crack of dawn, even if I nodded off right now, and that's unlikely.

I haven't got anything left, Lord, so I'll come back to this another day. Just let me be a baby Christian for now and sleep in your arms. Is that ok? 

Tantrums and tiredness. And bats.

Ugh. Today has been one of those days that leaves me feeling as if I've been chewed up and spat out and it's not over yet. Still got the children's bathtime and bedtime to get through.

I'm tired and crabby.  I'm not quite at the end of my tether but I can see it from here. 

The day started far far too early when the time still had a 4: at the beginning of it and Katy notified me in her inimitable manner that she was Awake. It took me an age to get her back settled again only for Elizabeth to join the party just before six. Bryan went back to London after some palaver because his cab didn't turn up at 7.15am (possibly because he didn't book one as it's a Tuesday following a Bank Holiday and his regular taxi comes on a Monday). Elizabeth accidentally snapped a kitchen cupboard door off it's hinges with much splintering of wood, Katy had had enough by 10am and it's been one tantrum after another all day long. 

Mum, worth twice her weight in chocolate, has helped out all day (I think I would be in a much worse state if she hadn't - and she was the emergency lift to the station this morning too) and has had enough. I planned on the day going quite differently, said I could do things and so I'm having to let down people that I said I'd help this afternoon as I simply can't leave a whiny five year old and a screamy four year old with an exhausted eighty year old and so we have a frustrated, tired and resentful forty year old moaning to you right now.

What's gone wrong? Apart from Daddy's return to London, expensive accidents, not enough sleep (by far) and a houseful of very tired women of various ages?  Would it be possible, please, for something to go right today, at some point soon? 

Bryan's train broke down somewhere south of Luton and he had to disembark outside a station and thus got to London very late. We've had a call to say that Katy's surgery on Friday has been pushed back to the afternoon list rather than the morning one, thus lessening her remote chance of coming home as a day case. Everyone I know is rather pleased that they appear to have been allocated some tickets for the Olympics but nothing has been debited from our account. I've forgotten to send a present for a friend's daughter's birthday tomorrow despite having had it for a few days waiting to parcel up and send. 

I don't know where my head is at the moment. I don't normally make arrangements and then let people down yet I've done it twice in the last few weeks (and to the same person!). I hate it when people are unreliable and at the moment it's me. I'm forgetting things, failing to write things down, not taking things in properly and sleeping poorly. The last one probably explains all the others I guess. 

I'm sorry. What a self absorbed and self pitying moan this is. 

Bat. By Lizzie, age 5

Let me tell you about the bats the other night. 

The other night I was on my way to bed when I noticed that it was still light at 9.45pm. I love the light nights and I love the mild weather so I went outside and Bryan joined me. The clouds were beautiful, sort of lit from beneath and silvery and shiny so we lay on the grass to look at them for a bit as the last bit of light faded. We saw the patterns made by the clouds, the lovely half-light and, just before the first stars came out, there came a pair of bats dancing in the dusk over our heads. Silently, playfully, as if  choreographed, they danced and swooped and dived and just seemed to enjoy themselves.  Neither of us are bat experts but we'd both heard of Pipistrelles, so we decided that they were probably Pipistrelle bats.  They were beautiful. 

It was a special twenty minutes. I'm sure it wasn't the only good twenty minutes of the weekend but it's the bit that sticks in my mind right now as the weekend recedes and this week starts walking all over me. I never thought that bats would feature in any nostalgic memory of mine, but it turns out that they do.

Sigh. 

Well, this is destined to tail off I think into a grumpy bathtime and then I'll feel guilty when I look at my girls at bedtime and remember how impatient I was this evening. Just day to day living wears me out sometimes. 

We've had dramas recently and quite serious things to contend with; and Katy's op is still ahead on Friday assuming that her cold clears up in time. The last few weeks have held a lot for me to cope with and we've plodded through it with some tears and some worrying and an awful lot of over-thinking, but largely managed alright. I haven't gone under and stayed in bed and wept. And then here I am on a relatively normal day where the worst that happens can be easily rectified, where the frustrations are merely tantrums and thrown toys and uneaten meals and people being grumpy, and yet today has been the day where I've come closest to losing the plot completely. I'm just so tired, Lord. I feel as if I've been tired for ages. Can't it just stop for a little while? 

I'm sure it's no co-incidence that I feel far from you at the moment and I feel my reserves are low and I could do with something to lift my spirit. I'm sure that I only feel so low and empty because I'm in need of a Good Night's Sleep.

Be with me, Lord, on this beautiful evening in which I can't seem to find any joy. Be close to me as I go to bed and please sleep next to both my lovely girls so that you're on hand if they wake. Be with Bryan as he works late while tired to make up the hours lost by his broken train. Be with my Mum as she falls asleep in front of her favourite TV programme because her daughter and grand-daughters have worn her out. 

Lord, bring peace on this house and make tomorrow a better day. 

Rabbit in the headlights

I still can't find you through the fog, Lord. I feel as if I'm just going through the motions at the moment. I could do with a bit of encouragement, to be honest. Just give me a smile?


I feel as if things are piling up again and I'm about to be buried in an avalanche of stuff that need doing and I'm frozen like a rabbit in the headlights longing for a cup of coffee and a nice peaceful sunny day instead of getting them done. 


It's mostly trivia. 


Take this morning, for instance. The alarm went off (as in: the children) at about the right time for getting up, and had I got up at that point I could have washed my hair and felt better about how I look today. Instead I lay in bed with my eyes screwed shut hoping that there'd been some dreadful mistake and it wasn't morning. Entirely because of me the three of us went downstairs for breakfast late which meant trying to speed up the children's breakfast and dressing which is, as you know, a recipe for disaster. Even if mornings go smoothly they are a frustrating time in our house. So I was cross with Katy for refusing to try to get herself dressed, and cross with Elizabeth for being silly and making Katy laugh instead of getting dressed herself. So we left for school/nursery late and Elizabeth forgot her skipping rope which made her cross with me, and Katy forgot her aardvark for the Teddy Bear's Picnic at nursery which made her cross with me. 


By the time I'd left them both I felt worn out. 


On Tuesday this week Katy was supposed to take flowers in to nursery and I forgot that too, so we're doing well at being cross with Mummy this week. At least it wasn't as bad as the time that I forgot to send in a couple of cans of food for the Harvest collection at Kate's nursery. On that day as part of her Harvest assembly they were standing on the stage singing songs and thanking you for all the good things we have. Suddenly Katy announced accusingly at the top of her voice in front of the assembled parents, 'Mummy, you didn't send me with anything!'  Nothing like a bit of public shame.  You'd think I'd learn, wouldn't you?


So now I need to drop off an aardvark to nursery before lunchtime, and I think Lizzie could manage without her skipping rope as it's raining and they'll probably miss their playtime anyway. One or two KindMummy points would be gratefully appreciated.  Then I need to go to the supermarket and shop as I've been managing from the freezer and local shop for a couple of weeks so the cupboard is indeed bare. Meals have been getting a little eccentric as it is.


I started helping a friend with a few jobs that needed doing and when it all went pear shaped for me last week I stopped helping. I need to get onto organising a party for Elizabeth who'll be six in a few weeks. I need to buy her birthday present soon. I need to send cards and gifts to some other friends' children who are having important birthdays in the next few days. I need to send apologetic notes to friends who've had important birthdays that I've missed in the last few days. I need to make several calls, arrange a few repairs, hang a few pictures and repot Mum's yucca (yukka?) so that it doesn't blow over again. I need to clean the bathroom and the kitchen floor and peel Space Putty off the dining room carpet and do some baking as the bananas are squidgy. I need to buy new socks for the girls as they're too small and too holey. I need to write a letter to an old friend who asked if all was well in February and I haven't replied yet. I need to send a letter to the little girl in El Salvador that we sponsor who wrote to us and is surely wondering if we care at all. And I could do with a Good Night's Sleep. 


Did you get that? Mostly trivia, I know.

Arnie the Aardvark is the orange one.

I'm really not looking forward to this afternoon. I have to take Katy to the hospital for her pre-op assessment and tour of the children's ward. She now knows that she's going to have to sleep at the hospital for a night and that a doctor will give her some medicine to make her go to sleep and then when she wakes up her bump will be gone.  She said it was ok, she didn't mind her bump much and it could stay where it was.  Her eyes went all big and she said she didn't like the hospital any more. My poor little love. Could this lump not just disappear, Lord? Save all this scary stuff (for her and for us). 


I don't really know what it's all about but I haven't got the energy to go there at the moment, Father God. And I know that understanding why might not help much. I just don't want to have to take my daughter and allow someone else, skilled or unskilled, to make her unconscious so that they can rummage around in her neck. I'm going to buy her some new pyjamas to wear, and probably spoil her silly with little treats, but I am quite sure that it will be terrible to walk away from my sleeping baby when I know that someone's going to hurt her. Every night I look at them both as they sleep and my heart overflows with love even on the days when a few short hours earlier they've been little horrors. I love my children so much. I do, really. Even when I'm snapping at them for being silly or spilling milk or losing shoes or forgetting things, I love them so, so much.


Help me today, Lord, because I'm feeling ill equipped to cope with it all and I need to be on top of my game this afternoon. Katy's having nightmares (which is unsurprising)  so I'm not sleeping very well. I've got tonsillitis again, I'm so tired and headachey and I need a haircut . And a hairwash, actually, but I'm hoping you haven't noticed that. Ha! If I'd got up earlier...


Help me be what Katy needs today. Help me be loving and supportive and honest without being patronising or scary. Help me soften what needs softening and explain what needs explaining. And I'm hoping that there'll be an opportunity with Katy not listening for me to find out about the administration of anaesthetics and other specific stuff that I need to know to be prepared and calm down a bit. 


I know you're there, Lord, even if I can't feel you. I know you're there even if I can't hear you. I feel a bit as if I'm floundering round with little direction at the moment, but I'm trusting you to point out the signposts if you don't mind. Give me some energy and more patience and wisdom and ...and... everything else I'll need. 


And if you can make the sun shine that would help a bit too. 


Got to go now. It's nearly aardvark time.




PS.  Thankyou my Friend. I pressed 'publish post' and the sun came out. Bless you. 
PPS. As I came out of the house I could hear the children at Lizzie's school in the playground for playtime since the sun was out so I went that way and handed over her skipping rope at the gate. The joy on her face was worth it. It was another little gift. Thankyou. 

Plodding

I've been sitting here for a couple of minutes with my fingers on the home keys, waiting for inspiration. In the absence of inspiration, I've started anyway. 

I don't know what to say. The last week has been a rollercoaster of anxiety, joy, fear, relief, worry, happiness, insecurity and reassurance. 

The doctor said he thought things looked bad, I went away on a beautiful weekend by the sea for Mum's birthday and had a lovely celebration, I came back and sank into a bit of a swamp of worry, I rallied for Katy's appointments then was disappointed and apprehensive as the doctors stuck to their guns regarding the need for surgery. I braced myself for my breast clinic appointment, felt sick with anxiety and then lightheaded with relief. Friday was our wedding anniversary so we had a really nice day together that we wouldn't have had if Bryan hadn't had to come home to be with me at the hospital the previous day. Then Friday night I went for 24 hours away as part of the course I'm doing, spent Saturday inspired by you to explore the idea of vision in Christian ministry - then came home to find a friend ill and needing help. 

Today I'm tired. I feel as if I'm insulated from everything. Nothing is really penetrating; maybe I just need a Good Night's Sleep. Ha. But I thought on Thursday night that when I had the good news about my non-life threatening lump that I would feel euphoric and close to you and full of life and praise and positive emotions. Instead I feel as if I'm reaching for you through a fog. 

I know you're there, because you don't go away. I know that you were there on Thursday because I felt your presence with me. I know you were with me yesterday because there are aspects of the discussions about vision and your purpose for my life that have stayed with me, but this morning in church I felt sort of deadened; cheerful enough, not depressed, not over-emotional in any direction, but as if I'm outside myself watching and removed from the songs, the talk, the baptism, the prayers. 

Maybe it's what my Grandma would have referred to as 'Reaction'. The week has been pretty stressful and I've waded through it because I had no option, and so now I've stopped for a bit, things are catching up with me. Maybe I'm just tired. Maybe I have things that I thought about for the first time last week to do with illness and death - my death - and family that I need to process or something. It was indeed a heavy week. Or, I don't know, maybe something else is going on.

Where are you, Lord? I want to see you. I want that excitement back that I had a few weeks ago when I was on fire with anticipation and learning new things every day. I want to be like that again. I don't want all the stuff that happened last week to blunt it all. It feels blurred. That crisp, fresh revelatory experience seems to have disappeared behind and instead I feel numbed a bit. My prayer life is still in the staccato, abridged phase it was last week when all I could do was send up pleas and worries to you. I'm thinking, praying, singing, worshipping through a fog. Walking through treacle. How many metaphors do you need? The energy is gone. The electricity. The experience. 

Here's where all that stuff comes in about being able to worship and pray and lean on you whether we perceive you to be there or not. About experiences being unreliable barometers of your presence. I do know you're there, but I do like it when you make yourself known to me. It's nice to feel you. To get a glimpse of you, to catch a few bars of your music. I like it. It thrills me, feeds me, lifts me. Without it I am here, you are there, but there could be inches or miles between us. I know that you can reach out to touch me no matter how far away you are, but my arms are only short. 

Come back. I mean, pull me back closer to you. Or show me how to throw off the blanket and see things clearly again.  I like it better that way.

But here's the thing. You know what you're doing. There have been times in my life where you have shown up and changed everything, or nudged me in the right direction, or even picked me up and run with me, and never once did you do it to order. There have been times in my life when I've just got on with it and you've been as close to me then as you were when I was in your arms, except I didn't know it. You hold all the cards, I don't really know how to play without your help. Just give me enough light to show me the next step, Lord God. Even if it's a bit dim.

I keep wanting to know why all the time. Why, and when, and for what purpose. I love the experience of you, but I know that life isn't all high colour and exhilarating movement and cinematic widescreen. Maybe this bit is in black and white.  Maybe you've backed away for a bit to see what I'll do. Well, help me to do what you would have me do. Don't let laziness set in now that I'm not wide awake with experience. Don't let me grind to a halt and find somewhere to sit down just because the momentum has gone. I'm trusting that you are as much in charge as you were when I could see you ahead of me in the driving seat when I was clinging on tightly and laughing with delight. This ship is still moving, even though the wind has dropped.

CS Lewis, wise man, has this to say:

'Remember, He is the artist and you are only the picture.  You can't see it. So quietly submit to be painted - ie keep fulfilling the obvious duties of your station (you know quite well enough what they are!) asking forgiveness for each failure and then leaving it alone. You are in the right way. Walk - don't keep on looking at it.'

I'll keep plodding. 

Unless the sun explodes

I'm very tired today. Feeling lethargic and sleepy.  Possibly some of this is down to a day out with Bryan and the girls and a long drive, but mostly I'm sure I could just do with a Good Night's Sleep.  The elusive aspiration of parenthood.  Every Mum or Dad longs for one, some more than others, depending on the way that their little ones are made. The fact that Elizabeth is an early bird is something for which I blame you, by the way. I'm just waiting until my girls hit their teenage years and then with any luck they'll be in bed till lunchtime and I can catch up on some of the sleep deficit that their preschool years have left me. Please don't let me down here.

I remember when I used to go to bed when I felt tired; if there was a late film it didn't put me off that it continued after nine o'clock and quite frequently the time changed till tomorrow and there I was on the sofa, alert and still able to follow a plot. Secure, indeed complacent in my knowledge that I could sleep till I woke up in the morning. Now it gets to half nine and I start to calculate how many hours are left until I need to get up, taking into account getting ready for bed, time taken to nod off, nocturnal visits to the bathroom and the likelihood of disturbances from small people in the small hours. Rarely does that equation reassure me.

So here I am writing this with an eye on the clock and knowing that I am so tired I could sleep for a week, but I haven't brushed my teeth yet, Katy is still whimpering in bed (we went to the National Space Centre today and although we all had a lovely time Kate is now lying awake afraid that the sun will explode) and I am in no doubt that I'll need to go and see her again before Sleep time.

Sigh.

I wish I were designed to be cheery, energetic and function smoothly on 5 or 6 hours a night.  I'm not. I reckon I need about nine to be ok, more to be feeling in great form. I seem to remember the last time I took this for granted was around the end of May 2005.  I might have had difficulty getting comfy being nearly nine months pregnant but once I had myself surrounded with pillows and dosed up with indigestion remedies I could stay in bed till lunchtime if I felt the need.

Sigh.

Funny how black everything looks when I'm tired.  I know that right now I'm bad tempered and cross.  I know that I'm scowling even as I type this.  I'm just feeling irritable and I thought I'd mention it to you. In the mood I'm in right now, it feels as if nothing's going my way, I can't see an answer to any problem I think about and there isn't anything that's going to cheer me up. And if you were having a good day so far then you can stop because if I'm not, you can't either.

Well, I didn't mean that exactly how it sounded, Lord.  Well, I did, but it was just an expression of frustration, really, not meant to offend. I don't suppose you have good days and bad days, do you?  Only good days?  From what I know about you it seems unlikely that occasionally you get out of bed the wrong side - it's just a human thing.  When you were here as a man, Jesus, did you have bad days?  Cross at the world days?  Days when you couldn't be bothered?  No, I thought not.  Or if you did, you must have risen above them in a way that I rarely find myself capable.  I snap at my family, I contradict everyone, I refuse to be cheered up, I pick holes in everyone's plans and criticise and generally spread gloom and dissatisfaction.  What a lovely person I can be sometimes.

Sigh.  Here's where you could interject with something reassuring and helpful, if you wanted.

Now I'm feeling guilty.  I should apologise to everyone, really, but everyone's asleep.  Even Katy. It's hard comforting a four year old who has been spooked by news that the sun will explode in several billion years when she doesn't understand what a billion is.  Could you give me the inside word on that one, please, God?  Then I can tell her definitively.  The scientists just have an idea that it will one day explode but you know exactly what your plans are for the sun. Perhaps it wouldn't put her mind at rest if I told her that there was a chance the sun and the earth and everything in it (including us) might end much sooner than a billion years.  Maybe I'd best not go there. We said a little prayer, Katy and I, and we asked Jesus to come and help her feel happy and sleepy and give her lovely dreams, and so I'm sure you will.  Take away from her little head the fears that she's found. It's so strange the things they find to latch onto. You can never predict what will capture their imagination.  I sort of thought the section on how astronauts use a toilet in space might have been the most memorable part of the day for my two little girls but it seems not.

I pray that you would take away her fears and worries. And from me, take away all the rubbish that I'm hanging onto right now. Help me, too, to stop poking at hurts and irritations and worries, step away from the computer and get some much needed sleep.  Help me to leave with you the minor annoyances of this evening and not store them up.  Help me to sleep till morning and start tomorrow fresh and bright, not hung over from a night's worth of analysis and over-thinking.  Take away my self pity and self absorption and selfishness and give me self control and self awareness.  Help me to look outwards instead of inwards; to look after other people and not so much myself. Help me to love more and unconditionally. I haven't been the person you want me to be tonight, Lord.  I'm sorry.

Well, time to go to sleep.

Tomorrow's another day. Well, it is unless the sun explodes.

Over to you, Lord.

.