Rock of ages

'Hello again, Lord.

This morning I was feeling sad. Cross and sad. Hard done to. Unappreciated. You know the sort of thing. It was all people stuff. Hurt feelings and so on. It might all have been trivial but it was painful and I was sad. It felt very bad at the time.

I lay on my bed and had a little cry. I tried to read some of my devotional book but I wasn't really paying attention and had to keep starting the paragraph again. I was just feeling worse and worse. I decided to go off by myself for a little while.

I thought I'd find somewhere out in the countryside on my own and sit down and see if I could find you. As I drove off I wasn't sure where I was going and I had tears streaming down my face. I couldn't go anywhere in civilisation. I turned the worship music off because I didn't want to hear anything upbeat. 

Got where I was going. Parked the car. Bought a drink from the ice-cream van because I didn't have any change for the car park machine. Wondered if it was worth it as I only had half an hour. Placed ticket in window of car, locked up, trudged along path to find a place away from the myriad of hikers. 

Tear-stained and sniffly. Red-eyed and red-nosed, clutching a handkerchief. Everyone else there seemed to be kitted out with hiking boots and gaiters, rucksacks and walking poles. Those little transparent pockets with maps in. All organised and purposeful. 

Rock of ages, cleft for me

My favourite place. I left the path and began to meander among the rocks on the Edge. I kept stopping and looking about me for the right spot. I asked you to find me a place. It didn't take long. 

It was a hollow. A little rocky, grassy niche between a few mammoth boulders strewn there for centuries. I could sit on a smooth rock with my back against another and a few feet away more enormous stones sheltered me from the breeze and from anyone else. 

I could have been the only person in the world. 

I felt as if I was protected. Tucked away. Hidden. Surrounded on three sides. Enveloped. And not by rocks but by you. 

Safe. 

You know what came to mind?

This: 

'Rock of ages, cleft for me,
Let me hide myself in thee.'

I hid myself in you.  It wasn't for very long, because I had to get back, but for a short space of time this morning I left my little world and sat with you in yours. Apart from some hikers miles away in the valley there was no-one in sight but I was not alone. You were all around me. All around me, just as you always are, but I was aware of your presence in a wonderful way. You were with me. You showed things to me. You were tapping my shoulder and pointing and saying, 'Look. Use your imagination.'

I could hear the birds. Countless voices, different calls.  I must find out about birdsong so that I know whose voice is whose. Sweet twittering and chirruping and the low call of the wood-pigeon. Swifts swooped and danced in the air. A kestrel hovered. A couple of bees buzzed in front of me. The wind whispered in long grass. A bird flew past level with the rocky edge and I could hear its whistling wing-beats. Another came to land close to me but was surprised to find me there and took off in a flutter of feathers. A dog barked and I heard its owner's whistle.  

So beautiful but so easy to miss.

The rock I was leaning against had horizontal striations which might tell a geologist something about its history. Not me; it just said to me that it had been around an awful long time. Millstone Grit. Different shades of sandstones in layer upon layer. 

Roses of lichen in a palette of grey and white flowered across the surface and soft green moss on the sides in the damp and shade. Rabbit pellets by my feet, heather in white, brown, cream and the palest of pink. A tiny spider made its way across the rock face. 

Down in the valley where the road curled round and back on itself the odd car went past. The irregular shaped fields, marked out with Derbyshire dry stone walls, were home sheep or cows, or horses, or crops. I was high enough looking down that huge oak and beech trees seemed small, dwarfed by the landscape of ridge and rocks. In the distance a forest of birch. 

Occasionally there was a small break in the clouds and sunshine played on the greenness for a moment or two until it disappeared again. 

Immediately to my right was a deep crevice in the rock. Dark enough for me to prevent me from seeing how far it went back into the hillside. At such an angle that the light was dim. In this crack in the rock was growing a fern. A small plant, sturdy and healthy-looking, growing in a most inhospitable spot. Damp and  hidden from view unless you were sitting exactly where I was sitting. I would never have noticed it if I were just walking past. You knew it was there. You showed it to me. 

Look, in the darkest places, life. Not just surviving, but flourishing. 

The fern was thriving in the darkness of it's little crevice. Unfurling it's fronds in the space it had taken root. 

'Rock of ages, cleft for me.Let me hide myself in thee.'

It was beautiful. Bright, improbable green against the grey and brown of the rock.  You can bring life out of darkness. Hope out of despair. Beauty out of ugliness.

As I leaned back the rock was hard behind me and cold underneath me. Each side of me there was rock. In front of me opened out a vista to gaze at for hours. Openness and space.  Unyielding stone behind and yet in front, a vision of your glory.

When my back is against the wall, there you are in front of me. With beauty and majesty and glory spread out to breathe new life into my soul.

When I was suffocating, there you were with fresh air.

Deep breaths.

A safe place. A few moments of stillness. Solitude. A space where my lungs could fill. I thought I was finding a place to have a cry and lick my wounds; maybe tell you all about my hurt feelings and upset, but instead you took my hand and led me to a place where you could soothe me. A spacious place.

'You brought me out into a spacious place...'

2 Samuel 22:20

Rock of ages. From the beginning of time you have been unchanging. All else fades or evolves or shifts. I know that the seemingly permanent landscape of the countryside that I love so much would alter unrecognisably before you will change even a tiny bit. You are firm and solid, reliable and faithful. Everlasting. Eternal. A safe harbour. A place to run to.

My refuge.

'Oh Lord, my strength and my fortress
my refuge in times of distress.'

Jeremiah 16:19

My rocky fortress indeed. Hidden from view.

I was distressed and you took me away to a place I could breathe. You held my hand and showed me your treasures and you smiled on me. My refuge indeed.

I may have missed church this morning but I still visited your sanctuary. I met you and we sat together a while. It was a holy place where I could worship.

Thankyou, my God.

On the way home I turned up the worship music and sang.

After your own heart

Hello, God.

I've found new way of looking at things. 

Well, it might not be new for you, for obvious reasons, and indeed it might not be new for people wiser than I, but I was reading something and this stood out. I carried on reading but my eye came back to this sentence.

'And real prayer isn't about changing God's mind but about finding God's heart - and letting His heart change my mind.'

Ann Voskamp, A Holy Experience (http://www.aholyexperience.com)

How often do I pray to try and get you to do something for me? How often do I somehow assume that you're reluctant to give me what I want; indeed more likely to be planning the polar opposite, and so somehow by begging and persuading, I might change your mind? 

Why do I think of you like that? I know you are patient and loving and generous and compassionate. Slow to anger and abounding in love and all that. I know that you are my Father who loves to give me good gifts. I know that because I know you. So why do I find myself talking to you this way?

Are you up there?

Prayer. I am not very good at it. 

I realise that my prayers are mostly arrow prayers. Mostly 'Lord, help so-and-so, will you?' Or even shorter still, ''HE-ELP!' when I'm in a corner or at the end of my tether, when Katy's having a tantrum or Lizzie's in a sulk and I can feel my temper mounting. 

I read of the great characters in Christian history from the Bible to modern times who wrestle in prayer for days and nights on the trot. St Paul tells us to pray continually.

I pray sporadically. I often fall asleep before I get to 'Amen'. I often drift off into my own thoughts and never come back. I often put it off all together and read a book instead. 

So praying until I know you so well that I find your heart? Praying myself in tune with you? Praying until your will becomes mine?  I'm miles away. 

I think I understand this concept, though. I can see that the more time I spend with you, the more you rub off on me. A bit like a childhood friend that I hung around with - after a while I adopted some of their mannerisms and turns of phrase. The things they liked I began to like and their views became mine. Only when I hang around a lot with you then I become a better person, not just a different one. 

It also makes me wonder why I always think you're going to ask me to do something that I don't want to do. Why I often think that if something means a lot to me, then you're likely to ask me to give it up. This makes no sense to me even as I do it. I know you for who you are. I know you've made me as I am for a reason and although I am still a work in progress you aren't going to alter the very me-ness of me, because you don't make mistakes. The essence of me is what you made it, quite deliberately, and so my deepest longings and hopes and dreams are God-given. Why would I assume that you set me up only to thwart me?

Forgive me, Father, for this view of you. Forgive me when I infect others with this way of thinking about you. I'm sorry that I sell you so short. 

You are my loving Father and you want what is best for me. The more I understand the way that you think, the more I will agree with your assessment of a situation. The more in tune we are, the more I will be asking for the things you want to give me. The more like you I am, the better. 

I do want to know your heart, God. I do want to be faithful in prayer. I know very well that prayer changes things, so why don't I do more of it?  I know that exercise makes me healthy, but I don't do much of that either, come to think of it. Laziness?  Don't like that idea much. Might be uncomfortably close to the truth.

Lord, I could finish here by promising to spend an hour a day on my knees. Or (as I have done, to my shame, many times before) by swearing that I intend to find a time daily or weekly where I will find a quiet ten minutes to read my Bible and spend time with you. I've said that I will and then I haven't. I'm still out there in the wilderness when it comes to finding this promised land. 

So what shall I say? Help me to make a step towards it. Give me an idea where I should start. How about that?  

'The prayer of a righteous man is powerful and effective.'

James 5:16

Baby steps. Prayer changes things. 

I want to be a woman after your own heart.

Unshakeable

Afternoon, Father God.

I've just had a thought. 

There is only you, isn't there? Only you who is forever. Nothing else.

Everything is subject to change. We have absolutely nothing that could not (and will not) be taken from us, except you.  All the things we hang onto, all the things we think of as precious, living or inanimate - nothing is permanent. Only you.

All the people I love will leave me, one way or another. Young or old, they will drift away, move away, pass away. All the things I hide behind might disappear; my home might be lost or destroyed, my bank account might shrivel and dry up, my job (if I had one) might be taken from me, the diamond in my engagement ring might be lost or sold. The food in my fridge will perish. The plants in my garden will die. The flowers in the vase next to my computer are wilting already. 

Memories fade. Hopes and dreams evaporate. Energy is spent. 

How depressing is that? 

Sigh. 

For someone like me, who hates change, it's a scary thought to consider that everything that I arrange around me to create stability and routine and familiarity might disappear without a moment's notice. 

Charles Spurgeon didn't mince his words:

'We have many things in our possession at the present moment which can be shaken, and it ill becomes a Christian man to set much store by them, for there is nothing stable beneath these rolling skies; change is written upon all things.'

CW Spurgeon, Morning and Evening

Oh great. If my husband updates the operating system on my computer I moan for days until I learn how to use it again. If I change my mobile phone I whinge incessantly since I don't like new things. Every last stage of child development has brought delight and despair in different measures as I always wail that just when I know what I'm doing, it all changes. Is there nothing I can rely upon to be the same always?

You. 

Spurgeon:

'Whatever your losses have been, or may be, you enjoy present salvation. You are standing at the foot of his cross, trusting alone in the merit of Jesus' precious blood, and no rise or fall of the markets can interfere with your salvation in him; no breaking of banks, no failures and bankruptcies can touch that. 

Then you are a child of God this evening. God is your Father. No change of circumstances can every rob you of that.'

You are my Father. You will be my Father whether I have much or nothing. Whether I am healthy or sick. Whether I am happy or sad. Whether I am surrounded by loving family and friends or completely alone. 

Nothing can take you from me. People and circumstances can take everything else, but not you. 

When I have fallen and can't get up
Still you are there.

Take Job for instance. He lost pretty much everything, except his trust in you. He lost his family, his home, his health and reputation and his friends, but you - you stayed unchanging. I'm not one hundred percent sure that I get the book of Job; I have a few questions I want to ask you about it, one day. Like why? and How come? and Wasn't it a little unfair? But that's for another day. 

'The patience of Job'.  I wonder how patient I'd be if you stripped everything away. I'm hoping that you don't listen to me here and decide to give it a try. I imagine I'd be a mess. It would hurt me more than I can imagine. Would I waver and collapse under the strain? I don't know. But I do know that the only thing left would be you.

Quite often I get to feeling a little desperate with the way things are going - poorly children, disturbed nights, headaches, colds, worries, time management problems - and I wallow and whinge and wonder why me?  But I am blessed with so much. With my home, blossom on the apple trees, blackbirds singing in the garden, sun and rain and supermarkets and taps from which clean water comes. I am far from having nothing. 

But all those things are ephemeral in comparison with you. They sometimes get in the way; I sometimes focus on the mountains of things rather than on the things that matter. 

I wonder if the people we see on television who sit on the floor in aid camps waiting for food or waiting for death - I wonder if they see with any more clarity. I wonder if you reach down and lift their heads and make them know that there is one things that cannot be taken away? Where are you with people who have nothing at all? I don't know. Blind because of disease and malnutrition, blind because we can't see past the insignificant to the truth. Which is worse? 

'Our best portion and richest heritage we cannot lose. Whatever troubles come, let us play the man; let us show that we are not such little children as to be cast down by that what may happen in this poor fleeting state of time. Our country is Immanuel's land, our hope is above the sky, and therefore, calm as the summer's ocean; we will see the wreck of everything earthborn, and yet rejoice in the God of our salvation.'

Ouch. I don't want to see the wreck of everything earthborn. I like it here. I like it like this (mostly, except when I'm complaining). It's very hard to imagine a place where everything is so much better since I can only process wonderful as being like the best thing that's ever happened to me. My frame of reference is only this world; I cannot imagine something far superior. Forgive me for being too comfortable here.

So often I don't 'play the man'. Here I take it to mean woman as well, of course. I don't square up to disaster and loss so much as whimper under it. And whilst I know that you are mighty and undefeated and unmoveable, I confess that I sometimes don't find the joy that he speaks of. 

I don't look for it. I look downwards and inwards and I lick my wounds and I exclaim about how hard life is and I feel defeated and hard-done-to and resentful. Joy?  Yeah, right. Yes, I am quite often cast down by the things that happen, fleeting or not. 

The only thing worth hanging on to after a shipwreck is the thing which won't sink. The only thing that won't die, or rot, or fade, or disappear is you. We live in Immanuel's land. I like that. It all belongs to you. It points to you. The very best that we have or perceive down here on earth is a glimpse of what heaven will be like. I need to hold onto what I know.

A friend today asked me some deep theological questions about suffering. I didn't have any answers. I've read a few books by clever people on this subject and they don't know either. All I could come up with is that we need to hold on to what we know. And what we know is that you love us. Very much. Enough to die for us. If you'll do that for us, just because you love us, then why would you not do the little things? If we think that it's out of your control, it isn't. If we don't understand, or don't have the answers, then it's because our brains aren't big enough to understand. 

And in the absence of understanding, I just need to hold on to something solid. 

You.

Lord, help me with this. And by help me, I don't mean give me lots of opportunities to be brave in the middle of trouble, please. I once made that mistake when I asked you to give me patience. What I mean is help me to get things in the right order in my head. Not only with time management, about which I've been bleating lately, but with the importance that I attach to the things in my life. Let me strike a balance between appreciation and dependence, and involvement in the world without wholesale immersion in it. 

'"Though the mountains be shaken and the hills be removed,
yet my unfailing love for you will not be shaken
nor my covenant of peace be removed."
says the Lord, who has compassion on you.'

Isaiah 54:10

Let me hold onto what is unshakeable. When the wind blows and the rain comes and the plagues of boils descend, let me hang on to you. I am standing at the foot of the cross and I am a child of God.

I am holding on to the fact of your unending, unchanging, unparalleled love, and my salvation. 

To the fact that you love me so much that you died for me, so that I will live with you forever. 

To the fact that nothing on earth or in hell can take that away from me. 

To the fact that this is not forever. 

The best is yet to come.

Why would I ever think that anything else in my world might be more important than that? 

Psalm 139: my version

Hello, Lord God.

You have taken a good long look at me, haven't you? 

You know me inside and out and back to front.

Whether I'm feet up with a glass of wine or reluctantly doing the vacuuming, 

you know what I'm thinking.

You know when I'm off out for coffee with a friend 

and when I finally climb under the duvet;

Nothing gets past you.

Before I've even decided what to say

You know what it's going to be (even when I shouldn't say anything at all).

You surround me on all sides.

You have touched me with mercy.

I can't get my head around it;

It's far too big for me.

There's nowhere I can go that you aren't already there.

How can I get away from you?

If I'm having a great day where everything goes my way

If I can't do anything right and I feel like giving up, you're there too.

Even if I get up to see the sunrise,

Or if I fly to the other side of the world,

Wherever I go, you'll show me the way.

If I say, 'That's it; it's all gone wrong

There's no point in trying any more,'

you can bring hope in the darkest of days

and turn trouble into triumph.

Because you made the very heart of me;

You put me together just the way you wanted me.

Just look at me - I'm a masterpiece!

Even when I don't feel like it, I know that you don't make mistakes.

Your creation is flawless.

From before I was born you were watching me

As I grew from the tiniest of cells, you took care of me.

From the earliest moments of my existence, you were full of love for me.

You had a plan for me from the very beginning;

You hold my life in the palm of your hand.

Oh, Father, if only I could grasp who you are;

you are so far beyond my imagination.

If I could get a glimpse of your glory

It would blow my mind.

Awake or asleep, you are right here next to me.

...

Lord, check out every last bit of me. 

Look at my heart at what I believe and what I feel, 

and in my head, at what I think. 

You know what I'm like.

If there is any part of me that you would change, 

Show me and help me put it right

so that I will be yours for eternity.

Amen

That's my Psalm 139, Father. With apologies for missing out the bit about annihilating bloodthirsty folks. Still not sure what to make of that bit. 

My Lord and my God. 

Here I am. 

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. 

Revving in neutral

Morning, God.

I'm sitting here trying to think and all there is in my head is a fog. It's like thinking through treacle. It's not that my thoughts keep slipping away, it's that they can't seem to break through in the first place.

Busy. Trying to fit too much in. I'm much better at saying no these days, and I'm trying hard to prioritise to make space for things that are the most important...but then I have mornings like this when I have a few hours free and I find that my head hurts and I can't concentrate. I didn't factor that in to my schedule this week. No time for being tired and thick-headed.

Grr.

Lord, this is going to be short because I need to go, but I'm feeling a bit fragile today. The pile of things that need to be done is getting bigger and bigger and I seem to be going slower and slower. Something needs to give.

Either I need you to slow down the turning of the world a bit so that I can find time between commitments and meetings and services and school runs and taking the girls to parties and hospitals and bedtimes, or I need you to help me get things in order. This morning I had three hours of spare time which is very precious, but I also had a headache that stopped me from doing anything and ended up napping uncomfortably and falling down the stairs on the way back.

I'm needing some help. The old thoughts are coming back:

'Why are you trying to do anything? There's no point.'
'Just give up. It's too much effort.'
You'll never do it. It's too big.'
'Look at you - you're all stressed out over a few deadlines. You can't cope with anything else.'

I know that these are lies and I am trying not to believe them. But I am struggling a bit. I haven't cleaned the house for ages and even by my standards things are looking a little dusty.

making a lot of noise
but going nowhere.

Show me how to get things in order. I'm straining my ears to hear you because I know that you must be talking to me. I would so like to disappear for a week or two somewhere on my own and find some space. Maybe then I'd get things done.

Or not.

CS Lewis said:

'If we let ourselves, we shall always be waiting for some distraction or other to end before we can really get down to our work. The only people who achieve much are those who want knowledge so badly that they seek it while the conditions are still unfavourable. Favourable conditions never come.'

Favourable conditions never come. So there might never be a time when I have lots of free time, undisturbed, without a headache or a wrenched shoulder. Might never be a time when I can clear all else so that I can concentrate on one special thing.

Best get on with it. Please help. I'm revving in neutral at the moment. It's frustrating.

Calm.  Deep breath.

Painkillers.

Gotta go.

More later.  Please?







Photo by wraggy78 
www.morguefile.com
used with permission.

Brick wall

Morning, Lord.

Today didn't start well. It began at 6am with a small child getting all stampy and shrieky at the bottom of our bed, and continued in the same vein pretty much until said child was deposited in her classroom at school. Where, I might add, she magically became smiley and co-operative; a model pupil.

What channel is she on? How can I tune in?

I don't know how to get through to her. We've used a star chart; added stars, taken stars away. She doesn't have any left now. She's had toys taken away, she's had rewards in the form of biscuits and trips to the park. We've asked, reasoned, shouted, cajoled, joked, persuaded, pleaded, ignored, commanded, walked away, plonked her unceremoniously in her bedroom and listened to the sound of the door being kicked and books being thrown. Stood there wondering how other parents manage. Are their children so intractable? Is it just me?

Brick wall.

I'm up against a brick wall.

I've taken on a project recently that sounded exciting and interesting; right up my alley. I was feeling full of hope and promise and since I started it I've been beset with technical problems that I don't have the skill to overcome and confidence problems that have knocked me over.

Brick wall.

All I can see are walls.  Sometimes it seems as if every way I look there's a wall. So close that I feel claustrophobic. I can see blue sky if I look up, but the walls are closing in on me. Downwards I see only mud and shadow and cold, tall, stone walls that I can't get over.

On occasion I feel as if I've found a handhold and pulled myself up a bit, and then I get hopeful that I might get to the top and climb over, but I can never get very far. Always I slip off again and land at the bottom feeling defeated. I feel trapped.

Trapped is the word. I'm finding being a Mum hard at the moment and there are added complications that I'm trying to do something (other than being a Mum) for the first time since the children came along. That's fine - I don't for one minute wish that I'd done things differently over the last few years but I'm coming to realise that it's been a while since I've tried to do anything other than parenthood and housework. I think I can do this; indeed I think I should do it. I believe you want me to do it, but I don't half feel ill-equipped to do it right now.

I can't even get my five year old daughter to get her clothes on in a morning.

Sigh.

'Jesus looked at them and said, "With man this is impossible, but with God all things are possible."'

Matthew 19:26

Now here I find myself wondering if you're looking at me and saying that, or if feeling defeated by one's five year old daughter is ridiculous, and sorting it out should quite clearly be well within my remit as mother, and shouldn't be elevated to the position of 'impossible for man'.

She's only five. She can be a delight. I love her so much that my heart swells when I see her run towards me in the playground after school. She has a will of iron.

The fact is that we have good days and bad days, and days when we seem to lock horns more than on other days. Today is looking like the second type of day but who knows what it'll be like when she gets home from school. I need some help. I don't know how to make things better, and the stack of parenting books on the landing bookshelf are not helping.

I've hit a brick wall.

A while ago I sat in church and listened to a sermon about brick walls. At the time I didn't feel as if you were speaking into a situation I was in, but I remember that I felt it was significant.

What I heard was: when I can't find a human answer, maybe there isn't one. Maybe you are the answer, God. Maybe you have the answer, or maybe you are it.

So where are you in this? Where are you when my computer doesn't do what it should do and I lose precious time not knowing how to fix it? Where are you when I don't want to get angry with Katy, and I'm trying desperately hard not to shout but I do need her to put on her clothes and get ready for school? Where are you when I want to step out in faith but every time I choose a direction a wall appears in front of me?

I know you haven't forgotten me. I know you are there. You know that I feel bricked up and trapped. You know that I'm battling with confidence issues - I'm not good enough as a mother, not good enough as anything else. Why try to do something special? No point in trying.

I can't find a human answer. I need you.

The walls of Jericho came tumbling down. Daniel walked around in the fiery furnace even though he should have been burned to a crisp. Jesus died on a cross and yet three days later he was walking and talking, vividly alive. You have a habit of beating the odds.

You are with me.

Just because it looks like a brick wall doesn't mean it isn't insurmountable. I can't get over it, but you can. You might give me a leg up and a crash mat at the other side, or you might demolish it, but you alone can get me past it. It's only insurmountable for me. On my own.

So I want things right now. I don't want to wait and learn from my difficulties and change into someone more patient and wise and steady through hardship. I want you to rescue me straight away. Make it all easy, because when things are hard I get cross and frustrated. I start to doubt myself and you too. I start to be discouraged and wonder where you are in all this. Why you're not moving the walls.

I don't want to develop perseverance. I want it right now. Stamp.

I sound a bit like Katy. I don't want to put my clothes on. You put them on for me.

The devil wants me to focus on the wall. He wants me to stare at it and realise how big it is. How impossible to climb. Look at me, I can't even find a toehold. It's too big. Too well-built. Too much for me. You want me to look up and focus on you.

You say, 'I am with you.'

Genesis 26:24 With Isaac:

'Do not be afraid, I am with you.'

Genesis 28:15 With Jacob:

'I am with you and will watch over you wherever you go...I will not leave you until I have done what I have promised you.'

Psalm 73:23 With David:

'Yet I am always with you; you hold me by my right hand.'

Isaiah 41:10 With the people of God:

'Do not fear, for I am with you; do not be dismayed, for I am your God. I will strengthen you and help you. I will uphold you with my righteous right hand.'

Jeremiah 1:8 With Jeremiah:

'Do not be afraid of them, for I am with you and will rescue you.'

Haggai 1:13 With your people:

"Then Haggai, the Lord's messenger, gave this message of the Lord to the people; 'I am with you' declares the Lord."

Matthew 28:20 With your disciples:

'...and surely I am with you always, to the very end of the age.'

Helen 1:1 With me:

'Stop moaning and get on with it. I am with you.'

You were with Joshua and the walls of Jericho came tumbling down. Joshua didn't do it himself. He didn't figure it out. He called on you and kept on calling. He was faithful and you brought the walls crashing down when the time was right.

And the walls came tumbling down.

So, two things:  Faithfulness. I am so often not faithful. I pray about something, and I forget about it. Only when I get to the very end of my tether do I pray in the earnest, wholly surrendered sort of way that you want me to pray. So often I secretly (or even subconsciously) think that I can probably do this on my own, and so my prayers are half hearted, if indeed I pray at all. You can see my heart and you know my thoughts. You know me better than I know myself. There's no dissembling with you. I can't pretend to be faithful in prayer.

The other thing is timing. Your timing is not the same as my timing. I know what I think I need and when I think I need it My timing is a 'give it to me right now' sort of thing, but you know what is best for me. In the same way that I can see a bigger picture with my children you can see a bigger picture than I can. I don't let them have snacks too close to mealtimes because I want them to have an appetite for the things that are good for them.

I'm beginning to suspect that there's a lesson here.

Sigh.

What I want is to have the sort of faith that knows that you can smash the walls down and that you are with me, but faithfully trusts without knowing the answer. Like Daniel:

'If we are thrown into the blazing furnace, the God we serve is able to save us from it, and he will rescue us from your hand, O king. But even if he does not, we want you to know, O king, that we will not serve your gods...'

Daniel 3:17-18

There's faith. You can do it, I'd quite like you to do it, but if you don't do it, I'm OK with that too.

'Even if he does not...'

Wow. That's hard. I have such a long way to go.

Lord, there are walls that I don't know how to climb and I could do with being on the other side of them. I'm not liking where I am right now.

When the time is right please, would you help me? Show me the way out, show me where the handholds are, or send the bricks flying, will you?

Bring harmony to our house and help me meet deadlines?

Let the walls come tumbling down.

And could it be soon, please?

Until the time is right, Lord, take my right hand and hold me tight.

Amen.

'Hotblack 20070715_brick' photo by Scott Liddell.  (www.scottliddell.net) 
'Crossbricks' photo by Mary R Vogt.
Pile of bricks photo by bosela.
All used from www.morguefile.com with permission. 

You'll never walk alone

Thankyou-thankyou-thankyou.

I'm smiling.

Lord God, today we took the girls to see Joseph and his Amazing Technicolour Dreamcoat at the theatre and it was such a treat to watch them singing away and dancing to the encore songs at the end. Katy was getting very much involved in the story - she looked at me with big wide eyes when Joseph is dragged off to prison after his run in with Potiphar's wife.  'But he didn't do anything, Mummy! It's not fair!' and then, emphatically with a pointy finger, 'She is a bad lady'.

I love the way that they don't do anything by halves, my children. They are either uninterested or totally immersed. Lizzie almost let her interval ice cream melt because she was so absorbed in Pharoah's song. It was wonderful. Great tunes, dancing, singing, colours; a real spectacle. And a treat at a little town like ours that rarely gets the big shows. 

I love that my girls favourite story of all time is a Bible story. I love that I know the story of Jacob and his sons and the story of the dreamer who came good. I love that I can say to the children, 'Yes, it's a true story; it's in the Bible', though whether Pharaoh was an Elvis Presley lookalike only you will know. I think it'd be great if someone wrote a catchy musical about the rest of the Bible. Let's all sing along.

Most of all I love that we all went to see this wonderful bit of entertainment together. Mum sat in the middle (as Grandma was Highly Favoured by small people) today, and Bryan and I flanked the girls and exchanged proud glances when they started joining in with such enthusiasm. We all clapped along and joined in the choruses at the end and it was one of those freeze-frame moments that I need to pin down and remember. 

It's been a good day. Morning spent behind the counter of the coffee shop in the church centre as the local Food Fair took place which is always good fun. We are so much more efficient than the day we opened when the Archbishop of Canterbury came for tea and a date slice (Living Stones and Cappucinos). I love it when it all comes together and the cafe runs smoothly and people get their coffee quickly with the right amount of froth. Afternoon at the theatre watching the show and watching my little girls faces light up with joy.

Now it's the FA Cup Final and Bryan is hoping that Liverpool might win the football. Hmm. 

Well, we might have to settle for success in the morning and the afternoon and not so much the evening.  But who knows? The Reds might prevail. 

I'm not too worried about the football. I'm going to get the girls' tea ready in a minute so I'll miss the kickoff. What I wanted to do right now was to sit down for a few minutes and check in with you.

Today has been a smiley sort of day and I wanted to say thank you. Thankyou for fun and coffee and company. For Bible stories and music and football teams.

I know that all that is good comes from you. Without you there would be no companionship or achievement or laughter or song. There would be no celebration or excitement or fun. 

I noticed. I've been taking it all in. 

I want to look away from it all for a moment; away from my family and the songs and the cheerful optimism in my living room right now as we watch Bryan's home town football team square up to the other team like David before Goliath. Just look away from all that towards you with a smile. These may look like simple pleasures but I know better. They are little moments to treasure.

Liverpool Football Club's anthem is a song called 'You'll Never Walk Alone', though fans come and go. If they win today they'll have a lot more fans than if they lose.

Me? I never walk alone either. Win or lose, you are with me. 

Thankyou. 

I don't see that joy, sister

God, I'm feeling out of sorts. 

Disgruntled. Had a bit of a catalogue of disgruntling events today and I'm tired and a bit headachy and I'm feeling like a moan. I have coffee next to me which could do with a bit more milk in it really but I can't be bothered to go into the kitchen to get any so I'm drinking it even though it's less than satisfactory. That's the sort of mood I'm in. 

Sort of defeated. 

I've been wandering round the internet depressing myself with the news headlines and the fact that nobody is talking to me on Facebook (which is probably because I haven't struck up a conversation on there for a while) and then I clicked on a devotional website which threw this at me:

'...for I have learned to be content whatever the circumstances. I know what it is to be in need, and I know what it is to have plenty. I have learned the secret of being content in any and every situation, whether well-fed or hungry, whether living in plenty or in want.'

Philippians 4:12

Oh.

Good for Paul.  Saint Paul.  He learned how to be content in any circumstances, and when I think of the situations in which he must have been content I am in awe. When I think of being hungry, it's in 'time for a little snack' terms, but he faced starvation. When he speaks of being in a difficult situation, he's talking about life-threatening events like persecution, shipwreck, attempted murder, not just hurt feelings and a duff cup of coffee. 

I live in plenty, whatever I think about the state of my bank balance or the battered car; I am amongst the rich of the world. And I am mates with the Living God. How on earth do I come to be so discontented?

The answer makes me feel ashamed. As well it might, I suppose. 

Poor old me, looking forward to going out for lunch today but the date was cancelled. Poor old me, too lazy to go to the kitchen to make her coffee more palatable to my sweet tooth. Poor old me who didn't get on the bathroom scales this morning in case reality hits home with a thud. Poor old me who lost a favourite earring. Poor old me who stayed up too late last night and is having a tired and grumpy day.

In plenty or in want. 

I need to get a grip. And it's not all about a well-stocked fridge and central heating, either. I read today, 'Would the people who know you best describe you as a woman of joy?'

I snorted into my inferior cup of coffee. Ha.

Would they?  I very much doubt it. I shall have to ask them. I can imagine a few things they might say to describe me but 'joyful'? Probably not. 

How do I find that joy? I remember a long time ago I visited New York and attended a huge church there. Thousands of people. It had a vast gospel choir and enormous band and the music was awe-inspiring.  During the singing people were full of the Spirit and they were calling out to you, waving arms and dancing with a lack of inhibition that I can only dream of. Worship was certainly a whole-body experience, and there was I, overwhelmed by something I had never seen before and completely incapable of joining in. I was singing, and I may, possibly have been subtly swaying in time to the music, but I was oh so British. So much so that the big lady gyrating to my right nudged me in the ribs with a meaty elbow and bellowed in my ear. 

'I don't see that joy, sister!'

No, she was right. She wouldn't have. There was none to see. I loved being at that service and I shall never forget it, but I was never really a part of it. I'll also never forget that the theatre was full of souls reaching for you and I didn't know how to join in. The lady didn't see any joy. I don't know if she expected me to switch it on, but the only result of her observation was an increase in my level of discomfort and self-consciousness and a funny story to tell to my similarly uptight British friends later. 

Do people around me see joy? Or do they see the sighs and the scowls and the dissatisfaction? What does that say to the world? Jesus loves me so much that he died for me and yet I can't raise a smile today. 

Oh dear. 

'I have come that they may have life, and have it to the full.'

John 10:10

Not just survive life, but live it. Not just getting by and sinking into bed at the end of each day glad to have got through. Instead of this, I weigh myself down with things. I take things to heart that I should shrug off and I gather hurts to me and nourish them with attention and self pity instead of refusing them house-room. And the joy?  I'm not really sure how to find it. 

Sometimes in church during sung worship I find myself somewhere different. In a place where the angels are joining the songs and I get a glimpse of the wonder of you. A place where I am dancing with abandon like everyone else. I can lose myself for a little while there and I think in my heart I am filled with joy. Those are special times and I am aware that it is nothing to do with me. It is clearly the presence of your Spirit that allows me access to a place where I can join with heaven for a little while in praise of you. 

Sometimes I can be walking down the street and see a flower growing out of a crack in the wall, or I can sit in the garden and watch my tame blackbird as he opens his beak wide in beautiful song. Sometimes when I see the pattern of frost on the car window, or new green shoots in spring my heart swells with joy. When my daughters hug me, or I feel a little hand in mine, or when I laugh so much with friends that I have tears on my face, I am truly joyful. I think those moments are gifts from you. 

At those moments I am close to you. The enemy is far away; he can't get a look in. I am glowing like the Ready Brek man. I am breathing you in and breathing you out. But those moments don't make up the minutes of the average day. They are bright sparks of colour but the scenery for me is generally much more muted. 

'The joy of the Lord is your strength.' 

Nehemiah 8:10

Amen. I can see that. 

But the contentment that St Paul speaks of is a choice. It has to come from me. I can't avoid feeling pain and disappointment, but I can, and so often do choose to avoid feeling content. I can decline to be defeated by what are, after all, fairly trivial sorts of disaster in my cushioned little life. I can't really say that I have it hard. I can count my blessings and make a conscious decision to be satisfied. 

I have so much; so many things, yes, and clearly those things don't make me happy, or I'd already be on cloud nine. The only thing of value is you, my God, and I am a strange and self-absorbed woman if I can allow the joy of knowing and being loved by you to be washed away by the tide of daily minutiae.

I want to be joyful. I want to stop being a 'glass half-empty' sort of person and switch to being 'glass half-full and what's more, it's a free bar!' I want people to see that joy, sister. I want people to ask me what my secret is. And I'll tell them. 

You. 

I want to be strong in you. I want to learn to live content in any situation. I don't want to blow this way and that and be moody and disgruntled all the time. 

I am so far from being this person right now that it's hard to pray this way, but I know that nothing is impossible with you.  Not even really difficult things. I know that I am a work in progress; you haven't finished with me yet. 

There's a way to go, I think. 

As the old song goes, give me joy in my heart, Lord. Help me to throw off defeat and discouragement and find contentment. To know where my strength lies. 

Trust and obey

Yesterday morning I woke up with the words of an old hymn in my mind. I woke up very early and they came into my head, and then they were still there when I woke up again at getting-up-time.

'Trust and obey, for there's no other way
To be happy in Jesus, but to trust and obey'

John H Sammis, 1887 (public domain)

Is this the gospel summed up in two lines? And two lines that rhyme, at that?  Is that all I need to know? 

The meaning of life?

I'm sort of thinking as I go along, here, so this might be theologically unsound, but it strikes me that pretty much all the problems I have and all the difficulties I face might be explained away by these two lines. 

I worry and get anxious and chew my fingertips and let my shoulders get all tense and I confide in friends and I lose sleep about things. More often than not things that I can do nothing about. Eventually, usually, I get round to bringing it all to you, and when I do, I find that then, I sleep. I find that even though the worry doesn't go away, or even though the circumstances don't necessarily change, something in my head is different. Better. Why didn't I do it sooner?

When I trust you, I am different. 

When I don't trust you, when I take things into my own hands and try to fix things, or when I am so sure that I can handle it that I don't give you a look in, that's when things go wrong. Sometimes immediately, sometimes a way down the line. Sometimes it's a hindsight sort of thing. There are things that I think I might have got away with, but who knows (but you) what's going to turn out down the line? They might go a bit wrong, or totally pear-shaped. When I think that I don't need you, that's when the ominous music starts in the film of my life. The audience might know what's going to happen, but I blunder onwards...

Trust and obey...

Obedience. Now there's a word I'm not keen on. In a world where it's good to be a free spirit, it's not that trendy to be obedient. Not even if your Master is the Creator of the Universe. Nobody tells me what to do... and even in my most humble moments I chafe at the idea that I am not in control of my own life. I so want to be in control. I want to call the shots. Even my prayer life often consists of little more than a list of things I'd like you to do my way, please. 

Thy will be done... but please could your will be pretty much in line with mine? And if one of us needs to change, I'd rather it be you, please?

Obey. Do as I'm told. How often do I bark 'Do as you're told!' at my children? And do they? Ha. Well, occasionally. How pleased am I when Katy puts her shoes on when I ask her to? How frustrated when I know what's good for them but they don't do it? 

If she'd only put her shoes on I'm going to take her to the park/the sweetshop/swimming pool/fireworks show but for some reason she's so stubborn and short sighted that she won't put them on. She's going to be so happy when she does as she's told, but she doesn't like being told what to do. 

Ahem. 

Neither do I. And yet I know you, my Father God, and I know that you want good things for me. 

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

Matthew 7:10-12

Please put your shoes on, Kate. You're going to be glad that you did.

Are you telling me to put my shoes on? And here I stand in my socks being snippy about being asked to do something? 

'Trust and obey, for there's no other wayTo be happy in Jesus, but to trust and obey'

Is there another way?  So I don't trust you and I don't do as you tell me to do and yet I wonder why my life isn't straightforward? I think Mr Sammis got this right. I might carve out for myself moments of satisfaction, or the odd laugh whichever way I go, but the happiness that lasts is only for those who walk in your footsteps, Lord Jesus. I know that if I follow you, there are no half measures. It simply doesn't add up; either I have given you my life, or I haven't. I can't give it to you and take it back, or try to make a deal to be your child on Sundays but do my own thing in the week. I am either in you, or not in you.

I am either wholehearted, or I'm not. I'm in, or out. Not hanging around the doorway trying to decide if it's too much trouble.

"'For I know the plans I have for you,' declares the Lord, 'Plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.'"

Jeremiah 29:11

I know that you love me and you want me to make the best of my life. You have a plan tailor made for me. A part of your Grand Design that only I can do; my little contribution to the Kingdom. How wonderful is that? And yet I sometimes wonder if perhaps my plan is better?  Sometimes I amaze myself with how little sense I make.

If I am trusting you, then I needn't worry, for I am in your hands, and there's no safer place.
If I'm in the place you want me to be, I'm in the right place.
If I'm doing what you want me to do, then I'm doing the right thing.

Why would I not be happy?

You have A Plan. It can't go wrong.

I want to be in Jesus and I want to be happy. Therefore I must trust you even when it doesn't come easily. I must step out in faith and obey you when I hear you ask me to do something, even if it scares me.

Trusting turns out to be a choice and not a feeling. It might not feel right to me. I might have the little voices in my head that tell me that I know better; perhaps this is not a good idea, it's all going to go wrong - but I will choose to trust the One who made me and knows me better than I know myself.

I trust you.

Likewise obedience isn't something to which I'm naturally inclined. I don't like being overruled any more than my two little girls do. But once again, I know that you know what is best. Maybe there's a firework display to end them all out there if only I'll get my shoes on and come and see.

John Sammis' last verse:

'Then in fellowship sweet we will sit at His feet,
Or we'll walk by His side in the way;
What He says we will do, where He sends we will go;
Never fear, only trust and obey'

I'm liking the sound of that. I like that one day I'll get to sit at your feet. I like that one day you and I might take a walk. I'm assuming that 'in the way' means along a beautiful picturesque Heavenly path, rather than me being underfoot. Me and you, having a chat. Enjoying each other's company. Me, me and my God. Me, happy in Jesus.

It makes me smile.

Lord, make it so. Help me. I think I have a way to go.

What you say, I will do. Where you send me, I will go.
Never fearing, only trusting and obeying.

Let it be like that, Father God.

Amen.

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