A channel of your peace

So, Lord God.

We have a new Pope. 

I say 'we' and I mean we down here on earth, because being non-Catholic I'm not technically one of his flock, but I watched with great anticipation yesterday as the world's eyes were riveted on the chimney at the Sistine Chapel in Rome waiting for white smoke rather than black. Never has a small seagull sitting on a chimney in the rain received so much global media attention. 

As it happened I had to nip out for ten minutes to pick up my daughter from a birthday party and so I missed all the excitement but hey, that's life. 

White smoke came, the bells rang and the crowds cheered and danced and cried.

We wondered who it would be, which of the Cardinals was the chosen one, and even when it was announced, to be honest we still didn't get it. We were listening out for the Latin name of one of the candidates that we'd been expecting and he wasn't among them. The man that they - you - have chosen wasn't the one the 'experts' predicted.

I love it that you are a God of surprises. And I love it that you appear to have made a wonderfully inspiring choice for the Pontiff. He seemed different from the others. He came out on to the balcony and made a joke. He asked for prayers from the people that you would bless him so that he in turn could bless them. He bowed his head deeply and humbly and led millions across the world in prayer.

It's just such a shame that the BBC translator didn't know the Lord's Prayer when he heard it and gave such an awkward translation, but I guess that's a sad sign of the times. 

He didn't raise his hands in triumph, he didn't hold them out in aloof benediction and he didn't make intellectual or oratorial pronouncements as he faced the immense crowds in St Peter's Square in Rome. He stood with his hands by his sides and looked around at the sea of faces, and prayed. His breathing was fast; he must have been overwhelmed, but he simply looked - and prayed. When finally he spoke, it was down to earth; he came across as approachable, gentle and humble. I liked him. 

And he calls himself Francis. Pope Francis I. 

This seems loaded with meaning to me, and I admit that I know very little about the history of the Catholic Church, the Jesuits or indeed St Francis of Assisi.  All I know is that since about eight o'clock last night I have had the well-known hymn going round and round in my head. 

Make me a channel of your peace...

What better time could there possibly be for a Pope to bring peace?  It seems to me that people who don't believe anything are attacking those who believe, those who do believe are antagonistic towards those who believe something different and those who believe the same thing are squabbling about how they go about practicing their faith. A channel of your peace? Yes, please. 

What a huge and impossible job he has. But he has you, and for you the impossible is possible. 

May he sow love where there's hatred.

May he bring reconciliation where there's been injury.

May he inspire those who don't know you to reach out and find you.

May he bring hope to the despairing and shine Jesus' light into the darkness.

May he spread joy instead of sadness.

May we all do those things, Lord God. May I do them, because I know that you don't have to be a church leader with a billion people following you to show Jesus to the person standing next to you. But what a job he has. 

I'm hoping that Pope Francis I might be a calming, unifying presence in the Church in all its forms. Maybe we can start to consider our similarities instead of our differences? Start to look to you, Creator and Saviour of the world, instead of nitpicking and criticising? Shouldn't the Christian Churches stand shoulder to shoulder in days like these, even if we have our differences and peculiarities? To reach out to those who need you, instead of walking past on our self-righteous way, insisting that our way is the right way? 

Lord, grant that we might not seek so much to have our own needs met, but to look to those of others.

That your church might reach out to love and serve those who need you above everything else, and not just shout louder and louder to have our own agenda heard.

Give us a supply of love that doesn't run out even when times are hard, people don't want to know and say harsh and hurtful things. When people we trust let us down and when people who should know better bring your Name into disrepute, let us keep on loving. Never pulling up the drawbridge and looking inward and licking our wounds and saying, 'To hell with you...' 

Jesus, you loved until the last breath of your life, and then beyond. 

May we as your body on earth learn to love like you did. Forgive just as we are forgiven ourselves, and go on loving even when the whole of the world seems to be full of hatred. 

I don't think one man can do any of this, no matter how much ceremony there is, how much of a show is put on, or how pristine the robes. It seems to me from what I hear, what I read, and my brief and distant glimpse of the man of God that stood on the balcony yesterday and looked steadily and prayerfully in the face of a surely overwhelming job that perhaps you were at work. 

As CS Lewis said in Narnia somewhere, 'Aslan is on the move.'

Oh God, let it be so. Move in power. 

Let all who lift the name of Jesus Christ high come together. There are plenty of us really, even if the other guy would have us believe that we're few and weak and divided. 

We are on your team, and you never lose. 

The prayer attributed to St Francis of Assisi

Lord, make me an instrument of your peace,

Where there is hatred, let me sow love;

Where there is injury, pardon;

Where there is doubt, faith;

Where there is despair, hope;

Where there is darkness, light;

Where there is sadness, joy.

O Divine Master,

grant that I may not so much seek to be consoled, as to console;

to be understood, as to understand;

to be loved, as to love.

For it is in giving that we receive.

It is in pardoning that we are pardoned,

and it is in dying that we are born to Eternal Life.

Amen.

Images:

IMG_8912.jpg by ecerroni
stpesq.jpg by delboysafa
both used from Morguefile.com with permission

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Evening, Lord God.

I have been a Christian for twenty-five years. Technically, I have been a Christian for twenty-five years.

I'm not sure that I was much use to you for many of those years, but by the same token I know that you can work through us when we look least likely to be any use to you, so I won't rule it out.

The fire was lit in 1987 and I burned brightly for a year or two straight after I encountered you for the first time, and then my light sort of dimmed to a faint glow for a long, long time. You kindled it afresh in the years after I lost my Dad and my babies came along, but then about two years ago you fanned it into flame.

I am different.

Something happened. I woke up? I changed gear?  I grew up?  I don't know, but about two years ago, perhaps even three, or somewhere in between, things changed. It's the hardest thing to describe; perhaps its one of those hindsight things that you love so much where things shift subtly and incrementally and then one day I look over my shoulder and my eyes widen when I see how far I've come.

It feels like a long way. It might well be a long way, but I think it's nothing in comparison with how far there is to go. It's like a day's hike up against landing on the moon. But I have changed. The way I live has changed, the way I think, the way I behave (yes, I know, as I said, there's a long way to go).

Full colour.

It's as if my life changed from pastel shades and muted greys to full, glorious technicolour. It's vivid and vibrant and exciting. It still has ups and downs - indeed the ups are higher and the downs are lower than they used to be. Until the last two years I didn't really understand what it felt like to be so miserable that it's hard to breathe, or so filled with wonder and awe and joy that I found myself in tears.

The other night it was Pentecost and at church we invited the Holy Spirit to come afresh to our church. Some people saw pictures, some felt your presence, some people were overtaken by emotion. People were healed. People had messages to share with us all.

Me? I didn't feel anything. No shaking, no trembling, no warmth, no rush of laughter or sense of - well, anything. What I did feel was a distinct lack of disappointment. There was a time when I was desperate for a tangible sign of your presence. I would have felt upset and anxious that somehow I was missing out. Was there something wrong with me? Was I doing something wrong? Unconfessed sin? Something 'blocking' me from receiving the Spirit?  It would have been nice to have had an experience of you, Father, but these days, since the colouring-in of my life, I know that just because I don't see the flame or feel the rushing of the wind of your Spirit doesn't mean that you're not there.

I know that you're all around me. I know that you never forget about me, not even for a moment. I know that you have sent your Spirit to show me yourself in the world around me. In the wonder of a pine cone or the beauty of a sunset, or the love of a friend. I know that you love me. I know that I have felt the touch of your Spirit even if I didn't shake or fall over or start to laugh. Though speaking of laughing, there was that time during the solemn bit of the Maundy Thursday service when I began to laugh uncontrollably, but that was a different matter completely.

Or was it?  Ha! There's a thought.

Anyway.

It's hard, living a full-colour life. Not easy. It brings into play loads of stuff that I hadn't considered before. If I am walking more closely with you, stepping out in faith more, then I seem to attract other, less welcome attention. Things come along that threaten to derail me. Sometimes I fall for it and it does all go wrong, and sometimes I sidestep it, with your help. Sometimes it's downright difficult. I find myself wondering when things will get back to 'normal', but then at the edges of my mind comes this creeping suspicion that this is normal. It's a new sort of normal.

Better than normal. Harder than normal. More worthwhile than normal.

I could get the old normal back again; I could choose it, back off and get comfy on the sofa again instead of putting one foot in front of the other over and over again, but why would I?  I feel as if I'm living.

Time is rushing past so quickly. It's nearly the middle of another year, one that only feels as if it only started last week. It isn't five minutes since I was grumpily packing away the Christmas decorations for another year and waiting for the first shoots to appear where the snowdrops are and here I am planning for Elizabeth's birthday on the day before the longest day and wondering when someone will tell me how many shopping days there are until Christmas. Okay, maybe not that. Not yet. Got bonfire night first...

'...I came to give life - life in all its fullness.'

John 10:10

Full colour.

This is life, then. Is this what you meant when you said 'life in all it's fullness'? Full as in busy? Probably not. Life in all it's richness? Yes. In all it's moods and shades and experiences? Life with you. Life in you. It's hard, but I wouldn't change it.

The last two years have been more meaningful than so many of the others. I'm only sorry that I didn't share so much more with you as fully as you'd have liked. My wedding day, the birth of my children. I know that you were there for those events, but I wish you'd have been centre stage. I regret that.

Looking forward, though. What is to come? What have you in store for me? It's exciting, exhausting, challenging, wonderful. Rollercoaster indeed. A learning curve of monumental proportions. It's fun.

I started 2011 with an overwhelming sense of anticipation. I knew, somehow that the year was going to be different. I didn't know how, but as it unfolded it became clear that it was going to be eventful. Good things, bad things. A new experience of you. An understanding of your faithfulness, your humour, your compassion, your creativity. The vast wonder of you. A clearer concept of myself. A work in progress.

Loved. Right now, as I am, imperfect, overweight, short-tempered, confused. Special. Unique. Loved by the true and living God.

Full colour.

The colours are breathtaking. A kaleidoscope.

I blurted this idea out to someone the other day, the idea that a couple of years ago my life changed into colour, and she knew what I meant. It's not just me! My friend nodded and smiled in recognition of my description; she had the same experience. She could date it. She laughed in agreement when I said that it wasn't a fluffy sort of change; things got harder, not easier. Things weren't 'normal' any more.

It's a Big Thing.

I'm reflecting on it as yesterday was the twenty-fifth anniversary of the day I gave you my life, Father God. Our silver anniversary; me and you. Twenty-five years since I first heard your voice in my heart and twenty-five years since your Spirit first moved me to tears of awe and gratitude for what you've done for me.

Twenty-five years.

And then two years ago, you fitted me with a warp-drive and I've learned more in the last two than in the previous twenty-three.

Thankyou, Lord. Thankyou for the ride, and for holding my hand when the curves and inclines and steep drops get scary. Thankyou for the scenery and for the wind in my hair. For the music and the company and the colours and the promise of more to come.

I feel as if I'm really living.

Connections

Morning, Lord

Today I am getting things done. I have a pile of paperwork next to me that just gets straightened up from time to time and rarely gets sorted until deadlines are looming and I have a bit of a panic. Amid the filing and the reminders and the scraps of paper with incomprehensible scribbles on (that were so important at the time) I found some important things.  I have sent Christmas cards to a few people via Christian Solidarity Worldwide who are imprisoned or persecuted for their faith. 

I like the idea that somewhere in a prison a long way away someone might open an envelope from me and realise that they are not forgotten. That someone is thinking about them and praying for them even as they sit alone and wonder what the future holds. Lord, I read about these people who have such faith, such courage. They stand up for you when it might well cost them all they have; certainly it has cost these two men in Vietnam their freedom and their home - they are separated from their wives and children and they endure beatings and the constant threat of worse. 

Would I be so brave? I don't know. Here I am in my comfortable home, writing Christmas cards and saying a prayer and it all seems so small in comparison. Lord, keep them safe. Give them hope. Bless them in ways that transcend their captivity.  

Another lady in Cuba marches alongside the ladies who have had relatives who disappeared because of their beliefs. She was not personally affected but she believes that as a Christian she should stand for what is right. In exchange for her integrity and courage she has been ostracised, threatened and beaten, her house vandalised. Still she stands with her sisters and asks for justice. 

Wow. I find life difficult sometimes and I moan incessantly but what have I really to complain about?  I need to remember people like these who know about fear and hardship. 

I've written a letter to the little girl that we sponsor as well. Her name is Karen and she lives in El Salvador. She doesn't have much but in a photo we have she is smiling broadly. My daughters have made pictures for her and so I've sent those as well as a photo of us. Katy has something that looks suspiciously like chocolate all round her mouth but it was the only photo I could find with the four of us on it. I suppose Karen won't mind a dirty face. Isn't it amazing that we can connect from across the world? This little girl is five years old and is very, very poor. She lives in a hut with mud floors and she works as well as going to a little school in the afternoons. She tells me that at school she can play with a doll. That doesn't sound as if she has many toys - not like my girls who have so much already and are excitedly discussing what riches Christmas might bring. Little Karen has responsibility that belies her years, few things to play with, no room of her own, not enough to eat some days and no idea at all of the sort of life that my children live. 

How can I get this across to my girls? When we look at the pictures of Karen and we discuss what she might do for toys they are mystified and change the subject. They don't understand because they are so young and have so little experience and idea of the size of the world and the diversity of lifestyles. I tell them things but they find it hard to understand and I want them to grow up understanding how blessed they are and understanding the privilege of the choices that they have and the opportunities they are presented with.  It drives me mad when they break toys and discard them without a second thought, when they won't share, when they want more when they already have more than enough. 

I know that I'm to blame when they don't appreciate their things; I am quite sure that every parent wants to give gifts to their children and see their faces light up and I've done it far too often. I love Christmas morning when they open their stockings. Stockings are small, and full of small treasures. A packet of tissues. A pencil. A satsuma. It's Christmas afternoon that makes me a bit anxious when they open the presents from all the family and people are so generous and the gifts pile high. For the last two years I've spirited away armfuls of presents as it was an embarrassment of riches. 

What a thing to worry about. I don't suppose the two Vietnamese pastors in jail whose families are struggling at home without them worry about spoiling the children this Christmas. I don't suppose Karen's parents in El Salvador are concerned that she might take her non-existent toys for granted. I bet they would love to give her piles of presents.  I bet she'd be delighted with anything. I bet the mothers whose malnourished babies are dying in Africa aren't worried that they won't appreciate the things that they have. It makes me feel ashamed. 

Forgive me, Lord, for all the times that I shower my children with unnecessary things that don't do them any good and just bring short-lived joy. Forgive me, Lord, for the times that I don't show them how blessed we are and make sure that they understand. Forgive me, Lord, for the times when we turn our backs on people we could help and look inwards to our own comfort instead. 

Thankyou for all the blessings of our life here. Help us to appreciate them instead of taking them for granted and wanting more, and I mean me as well as the children. We're all as bad. With Christmas approaching help me bear in mind the things that are important and don't let me bury it all underneath a mountain of wrapping paper. 

And may those pastors in Vietnam, the lady in Cuba and my little girl in El Salvador know how proud you are of them. May they experience you in a real way this Christmas - and for that they don't need money or wrapping paper or even freedom. 

Now there's a thought. 

Halfway to the peak

Evening, Lord.

I'm thinking about something that A W Tozer said. I'm reading bits and pieces of what he wrote as one of the daily devotional readings that I use and I must read more because he seems to talk a lot of sense. Not always sense that fills me full of good cheer, but sense nonetheless.  Stuff that needs thinking about. 

Like this:

"The word 'mediocre' comes from two Latin words and literally means 'halfway to the peak'.  This makes it an apt description of the progress of many Christians. They are halfway up the peak. They are not halfway to heaven but halfway to where they ought to be, halfway between the valley and the peak...  

AW Tozer: Mornings with Tozer 

I think I know that feeling. I have been wondering for a while if I'm not wandering round the mountain a bit like the Israelites who set out on a journey that should have taken a couple of weeks and ended up still there forty years later...

Tozer goes on: 

"Many have settled down right there, and the tragedy is that years ago some of you said, 'I am not going to fail God. I am going to push my way up the mountain until I am at the top of the peak, at the highest possible point of experience with God in this mortal life!'"

Ah. I suppose I've been guilty of making wild claims like that. I have said on several occasions that I want to be all that I can be. I want to be all that God wants me to be: I want to take hold of everything he wants to give me, to do all that he has for me to do, to be some use to him. Not to fail God. In terms of mountain climbing, I've set my sights on the summit and said so. To God and to other people. Then...well, just as physically I am no mountain climber but set out grimly with determination and stoicism, it wears off when the going gets tough and I need to sit down and rest my legs. Take in the view. Wait for the pain from aching muscles to wear off. Grumble a lot. 

Ben Nevis. What a day that was. 

This mountain climbing analogy is an uncomfortable one for me. I used to go out with a keen mountain climber and we once went to Scotland where I was dragged in various moods ranging from indulgent and obliging but weary to openly hostile up a series of mountains known as The Monroes (mountains over 3000ft in the Scottish Highlands). I have never climbed a mountain and enjoyed it, and the view from the top (usually bathed in cloud or torrential rain) was never, not once, worth the special sort of agony that I endured to get there. 

But back to the 'I'm not going to fail God!' claim:

"But you have done nothing about it. If anything, you have lost spiritual ground since that day. You are now a halfway Christian! You are lukewarm, neither hot nor cold. You are halfway up to the peak, halfway to where you could have been if you had pressed on.

A halfway Christian. Sitting down looking at the view because the going got tough and my legs hurt. That's not a comfy thought. I don't really like to dwell on where I might have been if I'd pressed on, because for me, someone who made a Christian commitment aged 16, burned brightly for a few years, then went a bit dim in the heat and light department for a period of, well, let's say quite a while - perhaps I could have been much higher up on this mountain of mine.

I'm not going to let him down!

(I let him down)

No, I'm really not going to let him down!

(I let him down)

And so on. 

Tozer concludes:

"Do we really think that this halfway Christian life is the best that Christ offers - the best that we can know? In the face of what Christ offers us, how can we settle for so little?"

Lord, I don't want to be lukewarm. I don't want to be halfhearted. I don't want to be mediocre. I do want to push on - or at least my spirit does; but in so many ways I'm weak. I so often run out of strength, and will, and determination. Sometimes I start out aiming to please, just as I did with that old boyfriend, but after the gentle slopes turn into steep ones I start to think that it's too hard, too much trouble, too painful and then I want to sit down and get out the picnic. 

I don't want to write cheques that I can't cash. With your help I can cash them, because you've said that you'll walk alongside me and I'm hoping that means that you'll tow me a bit now and again, or at least keep talking to me as I'm struggling. Pull me up. On my own it seems likely that I'll let you down again no matter how insistent my protestations of sincerity this time...I can only do it with you. 

Mt Everest. Highest mountain on earth.
Will the view be better than this?  Really?

So show me this bloody mountain then. Ah. I'm standing on it.

How far up am I? Only there? Really?! But I've been plodding for ages. And my legs ache.

How much more to go? 

I can't even see the top from here. 

Are you promising me a decent view from the top? Really? Not shrouded in damp and mist? 

Like nothing I've ever seen, you tell me. 

Hmm.

So this time it will be worth it? 

I'm getting up. I'm trying to get the rucksack back on. I've put a plaster on my blister. 

I'm going to go a bit further because you've said you'll go with me. You know the way. I can't see past the next big rock.

And you've said you'll carry the rucksack if it really gets too heavy. 

I want to get to the top. You'll know what an achievement that'll be for grumbly, unfit old me.

Let's go then. 

After you. 

I'm following.

Injustice and the missing bun

Hello, God.
I'd be a rich woman if I had a pound for every time my children say (or shout), 'It's not fair!'  For example, today we baked buns together and the children each had their little bowl of mixture which made six buns.  Elizabeth gave one of her buns to Grandma, and ate one. Then she sneaked one of Katy's buns off the other side of the cooling rack and added it to hers so that they were even again. 

Unfortunately, owing to the greater mixing power of Lizzie vs Katy, Katy's cakes were easily identifiable as Katy's, being smaller and less risen. So Lizzie's new batch of cakes consisted of four beautifully risen buns straining at their paper cases, and one flattish one that looked suspiciously like Kate's. With Katy on her way to the kitchen to ice and decorate her buns, I extracted the purloined bun and placed it back with it's five siblings. 

Cue: wail from Elizabeth:  'But Mummy! It's not fair!'

Actually, it was perfectly fair. Elizabeth had snaffled one of her own buns (while it was still warm, very sensible) and had nobly gifted another to Grandma, who had an unaccompanied cup of tea (very laudable).  Sadly, her four looked quite lonely in comparison with Kate's six. Then my little Katy climbed up on a stool, assessed the situation, counted by jabbing her little index finger into each bun and immediately donated one of hers to make up the numbers on the opposing team. What about that?  

Round of applause for Katy, I think. Lizzie stopped crying and there was a moment's silence in the kitchen while Grandma and I gazed admiringly at our little peacemaker.  So they had each had five buns to decorate. Then round two began when Lizzie dipped her iced bun in it's entirety into the chocolate sprinkles leaving only one or two left that didn't adhere to the icing. 

I know. Scones a bit
overdone. Not many left
now though. 

Cue: wail from Katy: 'Mummy! It's not fair!'

And so on. You get the drift. But they're just kids, right? You wouldn't expect anything different from children, would you?  

I realise that I am no different. Maybe I don't give voice to it, and maybe it's more sophisticated than an inadequate number of buns, but I know that I am guilty many times a day of the adult equivalent of the 'It's not fair!' wail. 

Right, here we go. Just off the top of my head, from memory, so far today (and it's about four o'clock):

Why do I have to wake up when I want to stay asleep? It's not fair.

Why can't I hear out of my right ear still? It's not fair. 

Why do I have to fight with Katy about washing her hair/brushing her teeth/eating her breakfast/putting on her clothes? It's not fair.
Why do things keep going wrong? It's not fair. 

Why do I have to tidy up the girls' painting things instead of sitting here playing on my computer? It's not fair.

Why don't people leave me alone for five minutes to have a cup of coffee in peace? It's not fair.
Why are good people round me having a horrible time? It's not fair.
Why are you not doing what I'm asking you to do, God? It's not fair.

Why can't I eat a plateful of buttered scones without putting on even more weight when some people can trough through many of them and remain slim? It's not fair. (This one really isn't fair, Lord.)

And I'm quite sure that I could think of more. In fact I did think of more but I'm less than willing to drag them all out into the open. 

Which is why this morning's reading from the very wise A W Tozer made me think. 

'Christians who understand the true meaning of Christ’s cross will never whine about being treated unfairly. Whether or not they are given fair treatment will never enter their heads. They know they have been called to follow Christ, and certainly the Savior did not receive anything approaching fair treatment from mankind.'

Oh dear. It enters my head quite often. 

'He was oppressed, and he was afflicted, yet he opened not his mouth . . . neither was any deceit in his mouth.' 

Isaiah 53:7, 9

Oh dear. I know. This is the point at which the wind sort of goes out of my sails. It doesn't much matter if my little lot is 'fair' or not; it's trivia in comparison with the injustice that you suffered on my behalf, and yet you never complained. Not even a bit. Just imagine the scream that could have echoed down through the ages if you had yelled out, 'God! It's not fair!' from the cross. And it wasn't. Not a bit fair, because you didn't deserve to die, you deserved to be enthroned as King. You didn't deserve to pay the ultimate price, but I did. But you did it for me. You did it without complaining or whining or moaning. 

I'm so sorry. 

Tozer goes on to say:

'The man who cries “Unfair!” is not a victorious man. He is inwardly defeated...'

I suppose that's how I'm feeling at the moment, but I know that I'm not defeated for I have the victory in you. But the way I'm feeling at the moment isn't an excuse because I'm often pretty whiny about what's fair and what isn't. I wonder if anyone ever grows out of it?

Really? Oh. Just me then? That's disappointing.

'It is a certainty that Christians will suffer wrongs; but if they take them in good spirit and without complaint, they have conquered their enemy.' 


Oh here we go again. The enemy. I have so much to learn about the enemy. I'm reading books about the battle in and for the mind and I'm realising that so many of my thoughts aren't good for me.  The negative, the defeatist, the self-pitying, the critical, the resentful... all those type of thoughts for starters are not good for me. And the icing on top of the pyramid of destructive thoughts (like the chocolate on a pile of profiteroles) has to be the childish-sounding wail: 'But it's not fair!'

Help me with this one, Lord, because I often feel that life isn't fair. Indeed, that's what my Mum and Dad kept telling me as a child, and I know that it's true. It wasn't fair for you, was it? You came to love us and save us and show us the way to all that is good, and what did we do? We hurt you and rejected you and killed you. That wasn't fair.

So help me with this one, Lord. It seems a big ask to want me to take all these injustices in my stride - 'In good spirit and without complaint' - that seems a long way from where I am. One more in a long list of things that I can't do.

But you can.

When you know that I'm about to get crabby about things not going my way, remind me that your experience of the world wasn't one of perfect justice and yet you never complained. It might sound small but if my thought life is as important as I'm starting to think it is, then please help me to get a grip of all of these small things that add up to a big thing. I want to turn the negatives into positives and learning how to stop the wallowing will be a step in the right direction.

A place to belong

A friend sent me a text message with a prayer, and it was a prayer for our church; for all the brothers and sisters we have in Christ because we are part of a church family.  It's made me think.

I read somewhere a long time ago that no matter where in the world you are or what faith, if any, you have, or what sort of culture you live in, the one thing that all mankind have in common is the need to belong.  Everyone is searching for belonging - a place where they belong. I don't know if this is true; it strikes me that there might be genuine loners out there, but I don't know.  If a cleverer person than me has come to that conclusion then I'm happy to go with that.  What I do know for sure on this subject is that I have always wanted to belong.  I've always wanted to be the one who has a place, not on the outside looking in, but a niche where I am able to relax being me - not forever trying to be nicer, wittier, more interesting, more attractive -  and secure in the knowledge that I am worthwhile, and that for no other reason than that I am me, I have a place.  A reason to be. To be accepted.  Welcomed.  Valued.

So I've been looking for a place to belong.  And here I find myself part of a church family where this is exactly the case. I have been adopted into a new family and I find that I have brothers and sisters all around me that for years I never knew about, but we gather on a Sunday morning and we worship you together and we talk and we share and we laugh and we cry and we plan and we bicker and we apologise and we hug and we share a sign of peace and we stand side by side to take the bread and wine and we come together in worship of the One True God.

I'm not expressing this particularly well.  Lord, but I want to thank you that you have given us to each other. I want to thank you that you have led me to a place where I am finally accepted, valued, welcomed.  I belong with my family; the family of the church. We meet in your name and you are amongst us and that makes us different.

I know that we are far from perfect. I know that we don't always make you proud in the way that we relate to one another; we fail to notice each other, we fight amongst ourselves, we act selfishly where we should put others first.  That's something different - I'll think about that another day, because for now I'm just marvelling at the generosity that you show us in surrounding us with other people who love you so that we don't have to do this on our own.  We are never alone.  Just like the time I was in A&E feeling sorry for myself, you were there with me already, certainly, but you sent a special friend from the family of the church, my sister in Christ, to sit down next to me and represent you because I needed a hand to hold and a shoulder to cry on.  And a lift home.

We need to do better.  We need to pray for each other so much more, and not just arrow prayers so that we don't break a promise when we assure someone that they we will pray.  We need to be closer, more perceptive, more trustworthy.  We need to be more responsible, more accountable, more approachable, more welcoming. More inward looking and more outward looking. All of that and so much more I'm sure.  But isn't it marvellous that we are a family?  That we can be a body, each of us unique and special?  A place to belong?

Charles Spurgeon said:

  "It is here, among the household of his faith, he deigns to let me say it with sacred reverence to unbend himself, and hold familiar intercourse with those round about him whom he hath adopted into his family. He may be a consuming fire abroad, but when he comes into his own house he is all mercy, mildness and love. Abroad he does great works of power; but at home in his own house he does great works of grace".

Grace indeed.  It has to be your grace that changes us so that we fit together better than a couple of hundred disparate people might normally fit together.  It's more than a common purpose; it's the love of one family member for another.  I write this with people from church going through my mind one after the other and we are all so different! We are all so very different, and yet we are all in the same family. And the family resemblance is that you are at work in each one of us.  Not turning us into clones, so that we all think and act the same way, for that isn't your plan, but to make us each as good as we can possibly be.  To be the full-colour, fully-functional version of ourselves.  And we each have a job to do that even together, the rest cannot.  We each have value, worth.  We each belong.

And you come amongst us and just occasionally, we feel you and we praise you and there it is again, the glimpse of Heaven. The door opens a crack and the light and the music stream out. You talk to us, teach us, correct us, laugh with us and cry for us, but you are always there.  We are your people.

It's a wonderful thing that you have done for me. I am constantly amazed by you, Lord God.  If I did a word count in this blog I wonder how many times the word 'Amazed' comes up? I should use a thesaurus more I think.  But you amaze me.  You leave me open mouthed and on my knees when I see a little bit of your vast incomprehensible love; the way that you look after us so completely - not one of our needs goes unmet.  You've thought it through to the last detail, haven't you?  You see what we need and you provide it for us.  We need you, we need each other, and at our best in each other we find you all over again.

Thankyou that we belong.  Thankyou that I've found a place I belong. Thankyou that all the individuals in our church - and the wider church too - thankyou that we all belong.  Thankyou that no matter where we're from, our background, education, job, outlook, language, we all fit together as a family.  Thankyou that you have given us all something unique.  We are chosen.  Even if we never got picked first for the netball team (there it is again, that chip on my shoulder), we are chosen for  team much more important.

I don't really care how often I use the word 'Amazed'.  It fits.

Two types of co-incidence

Lord, I'm thinking about co-incidences.  

How they seem to happen more when I pray.  Is that just a co-incidence, God?  Ha ha. 

Now, I want to run something past you.

It strikes me that there are two kinds of co-incidence. 

One.  This is the co-incidence that happens when I pray; when I read my Bible, when I talk to you, when I talk to other people about you, when I read books about you.  When you're on my mind more, when I feel as if I'm taking steps towards you, when I think that I can tell that you're smiling; when I feel your Holy Spirit in my life. That's when things happen.  Co-incidences!  Answered prayers, amazing things, good things.  It's as if more You brings about More You. 

And then there's:

Two.  This also happens when I pray, when I read my Bible, read about you, learn about you and the place that I have in your family - all those things above, only this co-incidence is when things crash down around me and I find myself struggling with bad things, new anxieties, things going wrong.  It's been happening this week.  How come?

Now, I'm wary about mentioning The Devil. I reckon people start to turn off when you mention the devil, even if you sneak him into the conversation by using a different name - I don't mean Beelzebub or Wormwood or Lucifer or something from CS Lewis' book, 'The Screwtape Letters' - people refer to him as The Enemy, The Evil One, The Deceiver; and those names always sounds sort of dramatic.  Feels like there should be spooky music in the background when you're having a conversation like that. To be honest I'm never that comfortable when I find myself in a conversation about the devil.  I don't really know why.

It's not as if I don't believe he exists; you've told me that he does and I believe you.  I can read about him in many many places in the Bible. It's clear that you know him and although he might prevail in the odd battle, you have won the war. I just need to clear up one or two things, I suppose. I don't want to be one of those Christian folks who puts every bad thing down to the work of the devil. I don't believe that every loose paving stone I trip over is down to him, or every sore throat that I get just before I want to go to the church acapella group is an attempt by the evil one to scupper my worship. 


Or is it?

On the other hand I don't want to be someone who falls into the trap of discounting him entirely. You've warned us not to. In 'The Screwtape Letters' (I know it was written for children but it's about my level) the devil gloats that one of his best plans is to make people believe that he doesn't exist; that's when he has lots of power. You say we need to fight him, to be on our guard.  So I'd best be, because Co-incidence Type 2 seems to be happening a lot at the moment.

It took a friend to point it out to me, actually.  I'd had a terrible day on Sunday with this and that going wrong, and as I walked to church I knew that I was feeling emotional.  I arrived five minutes late (nothing new there) and so I really took my seat just as people were standing up for the worship bit. Imagine my horror (if not surprise) when the tears just came and wouldn't stop even before the introduction to the first song was done.  I did one of those dramatic and, dare I say it, feminine, dashes out of church while fumbling for a handkerchief, and went for a sob in the ladies'.  I missed the whole worship section and I know it included some of my very favourite songs. Grr. Several people have been very kind and thoughtful and it's wonderful to feel so cared about.

But to get back to the point, it took someone else to say to me, 'Read Ephesians 6, because it sounds as if you need to put on the armour of God'. So I did.


Ephesians 6: 10-18

'Finally, be strong in the Lord and in his mighty power. Put on the full armor of God, so that you can take your stand against the devil’s schemes. For our struggle is not against flesh and blood, but against the rulers, against the authorities, against the powers of this dark world and against the spiritual forces of evil in the heavenly realms. Therefore put on the full armor of God, so that when the day of evil comes, you may be able to stand your ground, and after you have done everything, to stand. Stand firm then, with the belt of truth buckled around your waist, with the breastplate of righteousness in place, and with your feet fitted with the readiness that comes from the gospel of peace. In addition to all this, take up the shield of faith, with which you can extinguish all the flaming arrows of the evil one. Take the helmet of salvation and the sword of the Spirit, which is the word of God. And pray in the Spirit on all occasions with all kinds of prayers and requests. With this in mind, be alert and always keep on praying for all the Lord’s people.'

So there it is. St Paul wasn't backwards in coming forwards on the subject of the devil, so maybe I should be a bit more switched on. He's pretty dramatic; 'the authorities...the powers of this dark world...the spiritual forces of evil'.  Whoa. It also seems as though the 'armour' he's talking about is pretty heavyweight too. Truth, righteousness, readiness, faith, salvation, the Spirit. Are they really for me?

I'm looking at this passage and thinking that there must be many a sermon there.  There's enough material for books and books I imagine. All I want to know is, how do I go about putting that lot on, so that I'm not completely knocked over and sent flying next time it happens to me? (note slightly squeamish about mentioning the devil just then). 

Here's my take on it, and I'm more than game if you want to put me right, Lord.

1. The belt of Truth.  I know the Truth.  You are the Truth.  You are the way, the truth and the life, and when I confess my faith, I am speaking the Truth.  You died in my place so that I could be forgiven and have eternal life. Blows my mind every time I write it. I love writing it. Thankyou Lord. Why a belt? Well, lots of metaphors available, but I reckon simply put, a belt holds my trousers up and without one, if my trousers fall down I'm not going anywhere, let alone being ready to fight an enemy. Anyway, moving on. 

2.  The breastplate of Righteousness.  Bit more difficult.  I struggle to see myself as righteous in any way because I mess everything up on a regular basis.  From what I understand, however it's the same as above; you bought my righteousness for me - I didn't deserve it but because I am in you, I am righteous. And also I think it's an ongoing thing - as I try to be more like you, I learn to be righteous. So it's two fold. Must be important if this is the bit that protects my heart.

3.  The Readiness that comes from the Gospel of Peace. Hmm.  Readiness? being in tune with you? Ready to spread the word of God? Ready to follow where I'm led? I'm going to google this in a minute and see what I can find out. I know it refers to the feet, and I can understand an analogy about needing decent footwear to go anywhere but I'm not getting to grips with this bit. 

4.  The shield of Faith. Easier. I have faith.  I believe in you more every day. As you show me new things, as you challenge me to go deeper and wider and higher and look for you in different places, I find you. You've given me faith as a gift and I have planted it and I want to see it grow and grow. I need to learn how to use it as a shield, maybe... I need to hold it high and let everyone see it. I need to hold it firmly, so that I don't drop it. It will stop things from hitting me. 

5.  The helmet of Salvation. Wey hey! I am saved. Simple as that. It's a single, completed action; I am your child. When it's all done, and the dust is settling I'm going to get to come and see you face to face, and the only thing left undecided is how much use I am to you in the meantime.  The helmet protects my head. My brain. My mind. My thoughts. This is a prime area for attack. If I think I can't do it, I probably won't. If my mind is not on the job, then the job isn't getting done. And I need to protect that knowledge that I have of my salvation because the other guy is going to try and convince me that I'm mistaken.

6.  The sword of the Spirit. Now here's a discussion for another time. Is there anyone who really gets to grip with the Spirit?  I mean, Jesus, who came to earth as a man, is a concept we can easily get our heads round.  God, even, is an idea that we're familiar with from an early age. The Spirit is more difficult to get a handle on. I know how often I say that I want to be filled with the Spirit, or I ask that you send your Spirit...when I stand up for what I believe; stand up for you, or write this, or pray or worship, is it the Spirit that enables me?  The power behind the button, so to speak?  

Well.  Here's me thinking I'd have ten minutes waffling with you and then get an early night. So much for that. I'd better stop now or I'll be Snappy Mummy when the little ones pounce on me at silly o'clock tomorrow. 

Let me draw it all together.  Lord, give me all those things.  I want them all, so that not one bit of me is left unprotected. Show me where to find them, the right way to put them on, how to use them.  And help me to see when to leap into action, too.  

You've told me that the closer I walk with you, the more likely it is that stuff will happen. I'm not prepared to back away from you, my Lord, because I've come too far and it's taken me too long and I've had one too many glimpses of your glory. So you'd better show me how to be ready to defend myself.  I really don't want to spend too many more worship sessions sniffling in the toilets if that's ok with you.

Thanks. 

Another fine mess

God, I'm cross. And nervous, and anxious, and frustrated, and scared.

'What is it this time?' I hear you ask...well I've got myself into another mess. I'm guessing that you've been waiting for me to flap about this. Amazing that I've left it so late in the day to start worrying, really - not like me.  It sort of crept up on me. Stealthily.

As you are no doubt aware, I'm going to be one of the governors of our local infant school. It took me ages to decide whether or not to be a governor, as the idea scares me more than a bit, and when I was asked my instinctive response was 'Whoa, no no no no, absolutely not'.  Actually, I think that's exactly what I said.

Remember, this is the school where I went as a small child, and when I was there the current headteacher was one of the teachers.  In her first year Elizabeth had problems which have taken some sorting out, and although things are just fine now, scars have been left which make this governor thing, hobnobbing with the big cheeses, just a little bit more tricky. 

I'm not a happy camper.

Why did I say I'd do it? I have no idea.  I was persuaded by an old friend who has a child in Lizzie's class, who is also a governor, and maybe she appealed to my pride?  Vanity? I don't know. I do know that she said she'd be happy to have another Christian on board, so maybe that was it?  Anyway, I'm flapping and I wish I hadn't said I'd do it, and now I realise that it clashes with a meeting at Church that I wanted to go to and I'm feeling even more narked about it.

So here it is. At Church I feel comfortable and confident (a bit, anyway); it's familiar, non-threatening and interesting. I am with like minded people and usually my blood pressure isn't particularly raised at any point. I don't feel as if I'm being assessed and I don't usually feel out of my depth. I feel as if I might even contribute, help. Be useful. 

And then there's this meeting. First time, lots of strangers, a place with some duff memories (new and old), a lot of paperwork that I don't understand, jargon, acronyms, politics, previous history and a couple of people that intimidate the pants off me. (Excuse my turn of phrase). What am I doing?

I needn't have put myself through this, did I, Lord?  I did pray about it and I felt it was the right thing at the time, but that conviction has left me, I must admit. I thought about standing for governor, then heard that the position had been filled, so I said to you, 'If you want me to be a governor, then it'll come up again soon, won't it?'  Two weeks later I was approached about a new vacancy.  It was easy to say yes when it seemed way off, a long time, not immediate.  Not now.

I should have said no. Life's too short for feeling scared and intimidated. What if I look like a fool? What if I don't follow what's going on?  What if they all wonder why I'm there? What if nobody likes me?

Ever since I said I would there's been one hold up after another with processing me - paperwork problems, people who need to make it happen being off sick, signatures needed, complications of this nature and that.  Then all of a sudden the first meeting is upon me and it's scheduled to clash with something I look forward to. Grr. 

Do you want me to do this?  Is there a reason you want me to be there?  Please would you mind making it blatantly clear to me just so I know that all this angst is worthwhile? 

Well, sometimes you do and sometimes you don't, Lord.  Maybe I'll never know what I'm doing there. Sigh. I feel as if I'll be OK if I know you're beside me, Lord God. And then I feel as if you'll only be beside me if you wanted me there for something specific; if I agreed to do this job just because I was flattered to be asked, then you might say that I got myself into this mess, so I can just manage it by myself. 

That doesn't sound like you, does it, Lord?  When you said you'd never leave me I know that you didn't mean it with conditions. You said you'd never leave me, full stop.  So you'll be with me at this governors' meeting tomorrow and maybe you'll show me why you wanted me there.  

Or not. 

At least, even if why I'm there remains a mystery, it will be alright if you'll just go with me.  Maybe hold my hand?  I don't like being out of my comfort zone. Keep it going through my head that I am just as worthwhile as everyone else there, and maybe I'll have something to say. Or alternatively not have anything to say, just listen and appear sage and wise.  Yeah, right.  Just don't let me make a fool of myself.  Or sign up for anything too scary.  Just be in my head.  If I listen to you before I open my mouth then I guess I won't go far wrong. 

Hey, look what I've found!

Deuteronomy 31:6
'Be strong and courageous. Do not be afraid or terrified because of them (this clearly means the headteacher and the rest of the governors), for the Lord your God goes with you; he will never leave you or forsake you.'

That's good then.