The world's claws

Good morning, God.

I read this:

'I was not created to marry, have children, work a good job, and be comfortable financially, but I was created to be with God for all eternity... A good way to determine if the world has its claws in you is to ask yourself whether or not you would want to die today... Today I am working on true faith in God, knowing if God took me to be with Him that He would take care of my wife and my boys because he loves them more than I do.

It made me think. 

It made me uncomfortable. It made me defensive. What's wrong with marrying? Having children? Working and being comfortable financially? All these things are not inherently bad... Can't I be what I was created to be while still being those things? And then...

Last summer I found a lump in my breast and the doctor thought that a biopsy would reveal bad news. He told me so. I came home and planned my funeral. It's saved in the 'documents' file on my computer. That night I sat alone in the kitchen after the children had gone to bed and I cried and cried and cried. I trembled and I yelled out to you in my heart not to take me home just yet. Running through my head were devastating thoughts that I wouldn't see my daughters grow up, marry, have children. I wouldn't be writing them letters at university. I wouldn't be going on holidays with my husband when the children were all grown up. I would never do the things that I wanted to do with my life; things I thought that you wanted me to do. It was all coming to an end. 

And I was devastated. How would my girls manage without a mummy? How would my husband cope with working and caring for them?

(See 'Let's not do it yet', June 2011)

At no point did I find peace and comfort in thinking that if you took me to be with you, then you would take care of my husband and the girls because you love them more than I do. In fact, I didn't think much about coming to be with you at all. I was completely focused on what I perceived that I was leaving behind. This must have told you an awful lot about where my focus is. 

Hmm.

So the world has its claws in me, does it? How does a person really manage to be in this world but not of it?  Does the guy who wrote that little quote honestly have such an open handed grip on his life that he could genuinely step away from the things he holds most dear without a backward glance? 

I love you, Lord. You know I do. There are times when I know that I don't belong here; when it's blatantly obvious that I don't fit in. I know that there is a place where I won't be plagued by anxiety, frustration, confusion and fear. I know that when I come to be with you then I will be more alive than I am right now. I know that where you are is a place of perfect peace where self consciousness and grief and loneliness don't exist. When I sing in church and the angels join in, when I read something and I hear you loud and clear, when I see a special sunrise or a rainbow or ice crystals or a dragonfly my soul swells and reaches out for you. But when it came to the crunch last year I hung onto the world with both hands. It wasn't a decision, it was an instinct.

Let your light shine

So the world has its claws in me. Is this a spiritual maturity sort of thing? Will I grow into a person who holds life so lightly?  Life is so full; so many people need me (do they? Would they manage without me?); so many things need doing (but must they be done by me?); there are so many things that I have yet to do with my life (are there? Surely that's up to you...) Surely I haven't finished yet. Maybe that's why I'm not ready. 

Now I know that I'm being hard on myself. Anyone would tell me that. I don't know of anyone who has their eyes so focused on you that they can live fully in this world while being totally wholehearted about the next. But then, I don't know, do I? I don't know people's private griefs, or the state of their hearts. I don't ask questions like that. But you know the state of my heart and I want it to please you.

A few months ago a friend and neighbour of mine died. He knew he was going to die, and he had peace. The magnitude of that struck me powerfully at the time, and still does. The defensive voice in my head tells me that maybe it all looks different from a hospital bed with a prognosis like my friend's - I don't know. So much I don't know. But he had peace. He had a lifetime of knowing you and loving you and when he arrived at the threshold of your Kingdom, it seems to me that he stepped over it without a backward glance. 

Lord, I don't have anything as valuable as you, but knowing that doesn't stop me looking around me longingly. I can do nothing for you at all that you need, and yet I long to do something with my life that honours you. I know full well, in my head, that all the things that I hold tightly clenched in my fists here in this life are small and transitory and trivial in comparison with the treasure that you offer me. I know. I am surrounded by people to whom I turn for help or advice before I turn to you. I am surrounded by stuff that pleases me more than it should. I have plans that are definitely my plans. I don't hear you as much as I might because I haven't learned to listen that well. 

I have some way to go, don't I? 

I want my priorities to be in the right order. I want you to come first, but it's a constant battle. You know the state of my heart, don't you? I don't want to be so hung up on my motivation for everything that I can't get anything done or decided or considered without wading through a load of angst. I over-think and I over-analyse.

So my conclusion is that you know me. You know me through and through and still you love me. I am sure that there are times when you are pleased with the progress I'm making; sometimes I can feel your pleasure. There are times when you are not so pleased and you want me to pick myself up and try again instead of lying beating the floor with my heels and wailing about how unfair everything is. There are times when you nudge me back into line in no uncertain terms. I know that you love me for who I am, not what I will be, what I do or what I think. I know that you care about me right now, imperfect and anxious and tying myself in knots. 

So that's what I give you. All I can do is lay it down as it is now and invite you to come and change what you want changing.

I'm going to come home to be with you one day. Maybe this afternoon, maybe in forty years time, maybe somewhere in between. You know when and where and how. In the meantime, you have a Plan for me and I pray for wisdom and discernment so that I can fathom the next step. The next step. The next step. I trust that you're going to change my heart day by day, moment by moment, so that all fits into place as I grow into the person you want me to be. My timing would have you do it all today, right now, but you know best. Little voice in my head whispering 'but...but...but...', shut up. He does know best. 

So give me more faith, Lord. What the author above refers to as 'True Faith'.  The sort that shows you to the people around me; so that when they look at me they see you. Build on the foundations that you've established, God. Make them strong enough to withstand the gales and the storms. Build tall and beautiful so that people can see. Show me how to unhook the world's claws while still appreciating the wonders and blessings with which you've filled that same world.

I'm a work in progress. I'm not finished, am I? Help me to take each day as it comes and fight each battle as it arises instead of looking ahead to where someone else says I should be and feeling defeated. I am so, so blessed with all that I have around me - my family, my friends, my home, food and drink and warmth and a Bible and a pen and a computer and a little fluffy ladybird thing in which my phone sits that makes me smile. What about that? 

I don't want to be dissatisfied and discontented, but nor do I want to live as though this is all there is. I know that it isn't the case. 

There is so much more. As they say these days: So. Much. More. 

Lord, make my heart more like yours. Give me your vision, your words. 

Let your light shine. 

Travis Verge, Walking in Shadows 2008, Anomalos Publishing

What a world

Hello, God.

I had a conversation this morning that was fairly depressing.  I was on my way back from the morning school run and started a conversation with a gentleman who lives near us. He is expecting another grandchild and I referred to the impending happy event with a smile, expecting - well, I don't really know, but surely a positive response. I didn't get one. His face fell, his body language closed up and he shook his head. 

'What a world to bring a child into.'

This was just the introduction; the conversation went on to address such matters as climate change, the exhaustion of the global oil supply, the rise of Islam, the over-fishing of the seas, the destruction of animals' natural habitats and the role of the clairvoyant in the decline of society.

When I finally got home I put the kettle on as a matter of some urgency and after that I glanced at the news headlines. To be added to this litany of doom were the lack of any vague sort of integrity in the political arena in our country, the ever-growing number of soldiers being killed in Afghanistan and the growing financial crisis in Europe. Also knife crime, pornography, the huge divide between rich and poor and the escalating price of vegetables.

What a world to bring a child into.

My neighbour felt pessimistic and hopeless about the way the world is going. I can see his point. When I read so often that we will still be working at seventy-five or eighty years old, that our children won't have decent pay-packets or pensions and will still be paying off debts from college when they're approaching senility it does sometimes get to me. When I hear about people blowing themselves up in terrorist attacks it makes me wonder how on earth we can defend ourselves against those who are willing to die in order to hurt us. When I read that the streets are full of predators who want to assault and abduct our little ones it makes me want to keep us all locked up in the house while we sit on the sofa and eat pizza.

You're in this with us.

My solution to all this is not to read the news very often, but I'm aware that this doesn't make anything any better. What it does do, mind you, is make sure that my head isn't full of the latest atrocity or dire predictions from the latest politician or financier with an axe to grind. I am a worrier. I tend to get anxious about things, even things over which I have no control (I'm sure you've noticed). So I tend not to read the news.

Is my attitude responsible? Possibly not. Sensible? I think so.

Something occurred to me, however. I surprised myself.

I don't feel the same gloom about the future that my neighbour does.

I am the mother of two small children who will in the next thirteen years be leaving school and perhaps going to university, where they will have to finance their ongoing education themselves. The world's resources are diminishing to the point where people suggest that we won't be driving anywhere in twenty years as petrol will be so expensive it will be the preserve of the wealthy only. The standard of living is likely to be in decline. The ice caps might melt, or freeze, or stay the same and the sea levels might rise or fall and there may or may not be any fish swimming about in them. I have every reason to be concerned about the state of the world that they will one day inhabit as grown ups.

So why aren't I worried? Why aren't I filled with misery and fear on this topic?

I wasn't sure, this morning. I don't really know about any of these subjects sufficiently to debate them, so it may well be as ominous as my neighbour suggests. But I feel hopeful nonetheless.

We're not showing our beautiful planet the respect that it deserves. We are making some bad mistakes; we are living in a culture of violence and inequality. All these things need looking at and sorting out. Every last one of us needs to change the way we think and the way we act. But it's not the end of the story. I realised when I'd rehashed the conversation a few times what it was that was missing.

You.

Yes, things are pretty dire. Prices are up and wages are down. Bad things are happening. But you are still in your heaven, and therefore all is well.

I have a hope. I look at my children and I see their beauty and their talents and their potential and I have such hopes for them. I hope that they will find out what you want for their lives and I pray that they will learn to listen for your voice and to see you in the world as they go through life.  Their relationship with you has infinitely more bearing on their happiness or wellbeing than any oilfield or invoice from the student loans company.

You are with us. You're with me and you're with them. You have a special place in your heart for children.

Father, it seems to me that it's all about perspective. I am the world's worst at losing perspective and becoming all het up and anxious about things beyond my control, but for some reason you were in my heart this morning and the lengthy conversation about the decline of civilisation as we know it failed to bring me down. Thankyou that you were there.

I feel as if I should be working up to some punchline or other, and sadly I'm not. I don't have any breathtaking insights about these things. I live in a world where our leaders sometimes lie. People do bad things. But I trust you.

You are good. You are all that is good. You are the Healer, the Comforter, the Guide, the Way and the Truth and the Life. You are the centre, and all else is trivia.

I don't mean that I shouldn't be concerned about global warming or cooling, or whatever it is; I suppose I should think about it more often when I put another degree on the thermostat on a chilly night. I know that to bury my head in the sand isn't the best way to do my bit in all these areas, but what I think I mean is that to focus on the negative (and there is plenty of negativity) at the exclusion of the good and the joyful and the optimistic is to deny your place in it all.  You love our world. It is not a bad place.  You made it, you pronounced it good, and you are invested in it.

You love me, and you love my children. You love all the children, and you're waiting for the birth of this baby with delight and anticipation, for you know all about him already. You can't wait to see the faces of his proud parents on the day he arrives. The world he is coming into is yours. You hold it in the palm of your hand.  You are the only one who is able to determine when it's time to give up on it.

Father, thank you for the hope that I have.
Thankyou that I can look to the future with hope rather than despair.
Thankyou that you are there for the next generation in the same way that you have been there for all the other generations. No baby is born without you as a witness. Nobody takes a breath without your permission.

Thankyou that there's nothing we can do to earn your love.
Thankyou that you don't erase us from the earth with one word for all the evil that we do.
Thankyou that we can look to the future with joy because you are always with us, just waiting for us to know you better.

What a world to bring a child into.

I sat on the bench in the garden with a coffee and a slice of toast and I contemplated the things around me. This tiny, tiny part of your immense planet. The sun was warm on my shoulders, the birds were singing and singing. I would really like to find out the difference between a wood pigeon and a collared dove, by the way. I will google it later. We've had so much rain lately that everything is a vivid, vibrant green. The peonies and lupins and poppies are blooming. The children in the playground at school were shouting and laughing.

It isn't a terrible, depressing, fearful place. It's a beautiful world full of wonder and colour and excitement and contains men and women who are inspired to do marvellous things in your name. A world full of potential for learning and exploration and delight. A world full of you. The beginning and the end.

What a world to bring a child into.