A - Z Challenge: Q - Questions

The older I get, the less I know. 

I could leave this blog post there, actually, as that's the upshot of this little entry. You can stop reading if you want. Alternatively, stick around if you feel you might have a 'Me too' moment; perhaps you too have begun to have more questions than answers when it comes to things of faith. 

I used to be so sure! Back in the days of my youth, when I went away to university for the first time after a few years of church youth groups (back then it was Pathfinders and CYFA - anyone go back that far?) things were pretty straightforward. My home church put me in touch with some people at a church in my university town so I transitioned seamlessly between two churches of the same ilk, I suppose. After university I went to work for that church, so more of the same. 

And then, blah blah, the missing years, the distant years, busy years, baby years, back to the church where I started out. Older, but not much wiser. 

Still kidding myself that I had answers. 

Then...recent years... I think it safe to say, life has been dark. Covid was a mammoth disruptor and, as my P post indicated, I've only just made it back into the church fold, and I'm not the same person that I was. I look back at some of the posts I've written on this blog and while in some of them I find comfort, sometimes challenge, sometimes even a strange and poignant 'Me too' moment with the me of years ago, quite often I marvel at the naivety and platitudes of my former self. 

Without going on forever, the tip of my huge Question iceberg looks like this: 

• if God loves us, why doesn't he stop bad things from happening? 
• if God is with us always, where is he when these things do happen? 
• if God is a strong tower providing shelter under his wings (and all those mixed metaphors), how come there are times in life when there is no respite, no safe place?
• when we need him, how come it feels as if God doesn't show up? 
• when we know that God can answer prayer, why doesn't he?

These questions have overwhelmed me. I've worried that there have been more negatives than positives - that so much of the church thing is built on platitudes and glib answers that only stand when they're unchallenged by any strong wind. I've genuinely wondered if I've lost my faith. 

The truth is, unanswered prayer is only a problem if you have faith. And it is a problem for me. 

I just don't know the answer. Where was God when life went horribly wrong? When I cried out for him, why was it that he seemed not to be there in any way that was meaningful to me? 

Nope, I'm still drawing a blank. A wise friend of mine points to the book of Job, where, when poor Job finally gets the chance to ask God what it was all about, instead of ranting and shouting and demanding answers, he just says, 'I'm sorry, I didn't understand'. 

Well, I don't understand either. Does it matter? Yes, and no. I have so many questions - I've been hurt and disappointed and angry with God and I've such a list of things I want him to explain me. Maybe when I get there I will get a chance to ask? Or, maybe when I get there it won't matter any more. Maybe I'll suddenly see the vastness and perfection of God's Plan and it all falls into place. Maybe when I get there I will be so overwhelmed and in awe that my gripes no longer matter. After all, his ways are not my ways; his thoughts not my thoughts.

I don't know. I would love to understand, because that's the way my mind works. I am frustrated when I don't get it. I am a hoarder of knowledge, a chronic accumulator of ideas and facts and thoughts and concepts. When I am at a loss I feel unbalanced and unsafe; when there are no books or people or Google searches to ask. Even AI has nothing to contribute here. Wiser people than me have considered this and have come to no safe conclusions.  There are no answers to be had, are there?

But something changed. Rather than losing my faith, I realised that I've lost many of the trappings, much of the ballast which has surrounded my faith. It is as if the training wheels have fallen off way before I was ready but miraculously the bike keeps on going. I have enough balance, even if it feels unsteady. 

Here's what I'm left with:

• Jesus.

As Christmas approaches, I find some songs hard to sing. The ones that make it sound easy, this Christian life, the ones where prayers are always answered (don't give me 'Yes, no or not yet'!), the ones that make it sound as if there is always light at the end of the tunnel, that God will always make it better. I don't know that he will, this side of the pearly gates. And yet, Jesus. 

So that's it. There's no startling piece of wisdom or even a coherent conclusion to this post. I don't know anything that will help if there's someone out there needing help. I have way more questions than answers. But my faith seems a little stronger for having shed the veneers that don't work. A little purer, maybe. 

If someone came to me with the awfulness of life and asked for something that might help, I do not know what I would say, but I do know, now, what I wouldn't say. I might share that I don't know either, but somehow I find that not knowing doesn't matter as much as it did. 

A - Z Challenge: P - People

Well, this could have gone several different ways. Given that my blog productivity moves at the pace of a glacier, if I say that it's taken me longer than usual to decide what to write about for the letter P, you'll understand the magnitude of my dilemma. I had a more than a few ideas (P for prolific). Here are the runners and riders:

P for Pain. Hmm. People wiser than me have not got to the bottom of this one. Theologians and philosophers have mulled it over but I've not heard of anyone who has come to any conclusions that actually help the average, normal person who wants to understand why there is so much sadness around. On the road I live in (and it's small) in recent times there have been frightening diagnoses, bereavements, mental health issues, chronic illness, broken marriages, accidents, devastating family news, violence and loneliness. Should I attempt to explore why God lets this happen? 

P for Prayer. Bit like the last one. Where is God when I need him? When I know that he CAN answer prayer, why doesn't he? Is there any point?

P for Purr. One cat post in an alphabet is probably enough for the average person, but I was tempted to mention once again what a delight and comfort my furry family members are. Bean is my special cat. Yes, I love all three, but Bean is the one who has chosen me, and when she curls up in the crook of my arm or on my chest and purrs (as she is right now), I purr back.

P for Progress. Should I ramble on into the ether about the fact that I am doing a bit better these days - getting out and about a bit more after the hermit-like retreat of the last few years? 

P for Painting. In an effort to increase my creativity levels, I decided this year to do something creative every day. This could be writing, doodling, gardening, or indeed, painting. I got myself a water colour set and quickly became frustrated that I couldn't make things look how I wanted them to, and then bought a cheap set of acrylics that seem to be more my thing. I like painting pebbles. P for Pebbles! 

There were more. P is a good letter for inspiration, it seems, and so my P was held up while I vacillated. 

Until today. Today I went back to church, for the second time since pre-covid days. Steady on. 

There are a number of reasons why I haven't been, not all of which I can go into, but suffice it to say that there have been times when I would not have been able to cope with lots of people asking me how I was, how things were, where I've been etc. Habits change, and one of my daughters is now away at university, the other took on a voluntary job teaching swimming on Sunday mornings and my husband works Sundays now to allow him to take time off in the week. Result - not been to church in years, and the longer I was away, the harder it felt to go back. I do want to say that I never thought I'd actually left church, still read the newsletters, felt as if it was my church; it was just the actual going on a Sunday morning that was problematic. P for problem. 

I was quite nervous walking down the road this morning. 

Would I still feel as if I belonged? Would I be left too far behind? Had I been forgotten? Would I still know anybody? This building that I used to feel was home, a safe place: would it still feel that way? 

Oh, my word. What a gift God had for me this morning. Before I'd chosen a seat, a friend came over and invited me to sit with her. Someone on the row behind hugged me and told me how good it was to see me. We chatted as the band warmed up, at the start of the service. Someone waved extravagantly to attract my attention in the first song and gave me a huge smile. Another dear friend blew me a kiss as she came in late and walked past to a spare seat. Someone else winked, another did a double take when he saw me and grinned broadly. 

The sermon was about the promises of God. P for Promises. About God's faithfulness when his people are unfaithful. About his nearness, his patience (P for Patience) and his unfailing love. His willingness to seek us out and bring us home, to bering about restoration. It was about hope. Exactly what I needed, having been lost in my own wilderness for what feels like a long time. 

Afterwards, I had given myself the option of sneaking out during the final hymn so that I wouldn't have to make conversation (and negotiate those awkward questions) if I didn't want to. And then when it got to that point, it turned out that the final hymn was one that was very special to me, with words that have given me hope to hold onto in recent years. When it was over, some people sought me out for hugs and said some lovely things to me. 

'How wonderful to see you!'

'I've been praying for you.'

'I'm so glad you came!'

For the first time in my life, I was one of the last few people to leave the church building. Never happened before. I even have plans! P for plans! I am meeting a friend for coffee on Tuesday, and another on Thursday, and next week another two for a catch up over a glass of wine one evening. You know that feeling where you see someone you haven't seen in years and it's exactly as if you've never been apart? That. 

I walked home in the cold drizzle with a smile on my face, and smiles have been in short supply for quite a while. 

So, this post is about people. P for People. It's also about prayer, about pain, about peace, about God's presence, about a sense of place, and about progress, but most of all it's about people. 

The people of God, and my people. 

Joy, sister

Here's a little anecdote. A true story. 

New York city, nineteen ninety something. Backpacking with a friend. The Empire State building, the Twin Towers, the Staten Island Ferry and the Statue of Liberty in one weekend and then, before we caught a train somewhere else, Sunday worship at a cavernous New York church.

It was held in a huge theatre right in the heart of Manhattan. There were thousands of people swaying to music and and the service hadn’t even begun.  A vast gospel choir in red and purple robes with big white collars straight out of the Blues Brothers had a band with guitars, keyboards, a five piece rhythm section and more brass than you could shake a stick at. Swirling spotlights played on the congregation as the music got louder.

Then, without warning, a small, bald man with an impossibly shiny head trotted out from the wings, bowed to the assembly and began to convulse. 

Read the rest over at the Association of Christian Writers' Blog, which is called More Than Writers, and can be found here.  I post on the 23rd of each month. Come and have a look around! 

Things you already knew

Church, Sunday morning. A simple message. 

As he preached, the Rector actually said, 'The most powerful, life-changing revelations are sometimes the things that you already knew.'

Yep. Exactly what He said. 

This is it:  Life is actually simple. 

Not that he actually said that; the sermon was about knowing God - knowing of Him vs knowing Him in person; in relationship. It was at that moment, however, when a long-known truth distilled in my head and dripped down into a different place of knowing.

I stared at him, and missed the next few minutes of what he was saying, which was a pity, because it was good stuff. 

Life is much simpler than I have been making it. Once again, for the I-don't-know-how-many-th time, I have allowed things to become much more complicated than they need be.

Later, we sang 'All I Once Held Dear', a vintage song of Graham Kendrick's, which has the lines:

Knowing you, Jesus

Knowing you, there is no greater thing

You're my all, you're the best

You're my joy, my righteousness

And I love you, Lord...*

I realised that it's true. Simple as it might be, the rest is trivia. 

Now, I know that there are many questions in life that need answering, and many decisions and lots of living to do; it's not possible (sadly) to live in a state of suspended animation gazing at a stained glass window with your mind far away marvelling at the wonder of God. You can't do it for very long before someone tugs at your leg asking if they can have a biscuit, or it's time to go home and make gravy, or get up to go to work, or to deliver a daughter to swimming practice. Life trundles on no matter where your head is, and so life must be accommodated. 

But - this last week, or weeks, I have been all over the place. It's been a horrible start to the year and I am beyond tired. I'm emotionally stressed and unable to see how things will turn out, which is always a recipe for anxiety in my book. Things that I thought I'd dealt with have returned to stick their hooks in me: issues around people pleasing, worrying what people think of me and my decisions, resentment that I want to get things done but life doesn't permit me to do them; uncertainty on parenting issues and fear of what might go wrong next. All this stuff has made the last few weeks as un-peace-full as it could be, and my word for this year is PEACE.

It still needs sorting out. Nothing has changed, and yet I got a glimpse this morning of something that is true. 

Life is simple. There is only one thing that is important, and that is my relationship with Jesus. 

Knowing you, Jesus; knowing you. There is no greater thing.

And guess what's been conspicuous in its absence, these last few weeks? You guessed, time spent with Him.  Edged out by tiredness, tears, confusion, social media - anything really. I have been known to climb into bed, sink into the pillows, remember that I could do with writing in my journal and rationalise that I'm already lying down and I can't sit up again. God, take that. 

As I took my place in church on Sunday I reflected that it felt a bit strange; I was out of touch. My spiritual home didn't feel much like my home. Last week I was so tired I took the opportunity to stay in my PJs all Sunday morning and the one before we'd been to a mammoth two-day swimming meet which meant leaving the house at 7am and not returning until 7pm each night, so no church then either. And, if I'm honest, very little thought given to spiritual matters in the interim.

So the next verse sort of sums it up, this penny-dropped moment of revelation. The thing that I've known and yet came awake and startled me this morning:

Now my heart's desire is to know you more

To be found in you and known as yours

I know from experience that the hard parts of life, the difficult decisions, the truly nasty days when everything goes wrong - the hard choices; they are all better if Jesus is right next to me. The bad stuff is still there, and if it does knock me over, He is right there helping me up. He doesn't stop it all coming my way but He is there in the middle of it with me. 

If I am found in Him, then I am safe. 

Jesus has never left me. He's been there before, and He is still there now. It's just that I've let a lot of rubbish pile up so that I can no longer see Him. It's not even my job to dig a tunnel through the accumulation of stuff; all it takes is the realisation that I've lost sight of Him, and a faint call on His name. 

So, Lord, I'm calling. My heart's desire is to know you more. To concentrate on that; to stay by your side and learn the things you would have me learn. To allow you to shape me into the person you want me to be. To take the opportunities you give me and to learn to hear you in the chaos of everything and everyone around me. To be more concerned about what you think of me than anyone else. To be faithful.  

I was praying the other day (one of the few occasions, lately) and in a child-like, slightly petulant manner, I asked God for something for me. Not a picture for someone else, but for me, please. Immediately I saw a digger. A JCB-type earth mover. It was breaking up the ground for foundations to be laid.  Smooth ground before, a terrible mess afterwards. And then the words, 'For a new foundation.' 

I think I understand. It feels like the ground is breaking up at the moment. 

I'm not doing so well. It's all a bit too much, so I've decided to make things simpler; to try to focus on what really matters. To build a foundation for something new; or maybe rather to allow a new foundation to be built, since I can't do it myself.  A strong, steady, sure foundation that can take the weight of whatever needs to be placed upon it. I'm hoping it's a foundation of peace. 

Knowing you, Jesus. Knowing you. 

Be my foundation, Lord Jesus. 

*Graham Kendrick 'All I Once Held Dear'

Copyright © 1993 Make Way Music,
www.grahamkendrick.co.uk

Image credit: Image P6300189.JPG 

by mzacha, courtesy of Morguefile.com. Used with permission.

Easy like Sunday morning

One day I'd like to get to church on a Sunday and not get whiplash from the change in pace.

The other week I was doing one of the readings in church and so was meeting with others in the vestry just before the service to pray. I couldn't think of a thing to say, and I stood, mute and unfocused, managing the occasional 'Amen'.

The whirlwind of Sunday morning had one again left my head full of static, and it was going to take me longer than the distance between the main doors at the back of church and the vestry at the front to calm it down, and this was not an unfamiliar feeling. I usually arrive at church in that state.

Whoever said, 'Easy like Sunday morning,' clearly didn't have children to get to church. My two require endless nagging to get them dressed, brushed and in their coats and shoes round about the right time to leave. We're inevitably just stumbling out of the front door five minutes before the service is about to start, with the church a ten minute walk away. On the day when I'm reading, or doing the prayers, it has been known for me to form an advance party to scuttle down the road ahead of my husband who undertakes to herd the children there when the missing shoe has been located, or the correct toy selected to accompany them. Sometimes when I appear from the vestry in my state of calm serenity (ahem), they're there sitting buffed and alert in church (haha) and other times they appear, grim-faced and pale during the first hymn.

It's not only the children that make Sunday mornings so fraught, however. Some of it may be down to my keenness to extract any last moments in bed on the only day free from school runs or (now) early morning swimming training, and I always underestimate how long things are going to take to get ready.

So much for the practical things, and I'm sure we're not unique - but the real chaos is going on in my head, and that's the thing that perplexes me the most.

I come into church, and it feels different. Whether it should or not is another debate, but I find that eventually, after I've calmed down and soaked up the atmosphere, listened to the liturgy, sung some worship songs, closed my eyes to pray, heard God's word read aloud.... I am in a different place from where I was when I shrugged off my coat and sat down, out of breath. I have slowed; refocused. I am outside myself, for once, and my eyes are on Him.

It feels so much better.

I want there to be less of a difference between that feeling that the breathless avalanche that is my arrival at church. I want there to be less of a difference between one state and the other - my outside church state of mind and my in-church state of mind.

I don't want my head to be so full of things that to slow down and seek God is such a stark contrast from my normal way of being.

I want Him to seep into my normal, everyday consciousness more and more. I know that family life and circumstances are always going to raise the likelihood that the trip down the road on a Sunday morning might be more hairy and exhilarating than serene, but taking that into account, I would love there to be less of a contrast between the spiritual and the secular. Let's face it, it's me that makes the distinction in the first place, isn't it? God doesn't think that I should be in one frame of mind for an hour and a half on a Sunday morning and a different one all week, does He? It's not as if school runs and supermarket shops and sitting at the poolside are beneath Him and He's only interested in me between 11am and 12.20pm on a Sunday.

I am not generally someone who compartmentalises things. I know people who have one pigeonhole for family stuff, one for relationships, friends, work, health etc., but I am not like this. My life has always been more like a sandwich - my children are one layer, my marriage another, work and health and so on the other layers - if one of them is bad, the whole thing tastes wrong. One part will infect all the others and so if all is not well in an area of my life, the whole of me is upset.

I think this is why I am uncomfortable with the feeling that sometimes I put worshipping God in a compartment only to be accessed on Sundays. Because I've done this, the rest of my life has to be awkwardly contained in the same framework and it just won't do it. So the other jumbled-up compartments labelled 'The Rest Of My Life' all swish about and froth up and overflow all on top of the 'Sunday morning' compartment and it gets swamped. And then in the vestry I find that I am waiting for 'Life' to drain away so that I can find God.

Perhaps it's not always like this. I suspect there have been times when my Life Sandwich is liberally spread throughout with spirituality and the whole thing is much richer and tastier and more satisfying because of it. Every bite has God in it.

Maybe I've just lost that at the moment; after all, Christmas is a huge and ironic distraction from one's spiritual life, isn't it? I find that I am all on to focus on the nativity advent calendar with the children once a day in the maelstrom of preparations and purchases in December. I missed the Carol Service this year, my annual advent devotional got pushed out as life got too busy and no sooner were the Christmas festivities over than I succumbed to a chest infection and sort of opted out of everything for the next week, which meant that my usual New Year musings and preparations were somewhat truncated.

That's probably not a bad thing. I over-think most things.

So, here I am in January and I am feeling a little out of sorts. Breathless from the speed with which I've found myself in another New Year and a bit reluctant to embrace it as I liked the old one.  Head spinning a little, trying to find something to focus on that isn't moving, something that will stay the same even when everything else is constantly shifting shape.

That'll be you, then, God.

Spread through my sandwich, will you?  I'm inviting you in - access all areas. Be the main filling, be the crusts, the salad, the pickle, the condiments, the mayonnaise on the side of the plate. Overflow and affect everything.

Peace, please.

No understudy

'Just as a body, though one, has many parts, but all its many parts form one body, so it is with Christ.' 

1 Corinthians 12:12

I'm familiar with this passage in the Bible.  When I was much younger we had all the jokes about who was the armpit and who was the spleen and so on, and now I'm older I'm still not too sure how far the analogy can be taken, but I take the point.

We all have different spiritual gifts. We are all unique, no-one less valuable than any other. A huge diversity of skills, personalities, abilities and talents. Together we make up the Body of Christ, with Jesus at the Head. Together, Paul says, we make up the whole. We are one through the Holy Spirit. If someone is missing, nobody else can do his job, because it is a job made for him alone. Each part needs the others to function and when we are all in concert we make a beautiful sound.

It's the 'all-working-together' thing that's the problem. We all interlock and if one cog gets jammed then sometimes the machine comes shuddering to a halt. I know well that if I have a sore thumb then I can't use the hand properly. If my knee hurts and I limp for too long, my hip starts to hurt too. If I put my back out, there's very little I can do with my day.

Quite often we bicker and squabble and and think we are more important than we are. We think we deserve more than our allocated part and try to be something else. We get resentful or critical and think that we could do a better job than someone else. Why are we never satisfied? 

I find it quite reassuring that the disciples had the same problem. They wanted to know who was the best and brightest. They wanted to know who would be sitting to the right and left of Jesus in Heaven. 

John 21:21

'Peter asked...'Lord, what about him?'Jesus answered, '...what is that to you? You must follow me.' (my emphasis)

What is it to me what someone else does? Why do I jostle for position and wonder if somehow I'm short changed? Why do I worry about what people think of me, of what I do, when I know that I am occupying the place that only I can occupy? Lord, I so want to do with my life what you would have me do. Sometimes I am full of purpose and sometimes I feel as if I'm treading water. Marking time. Vacillating.

Fibrillating. Like the heart does when it gets out of rhythm. Paramedics come crashing in and slap on two paddles and shout 'Charging!' and 'Clear!' and then whoof! the heart gets shocked back into a sinus rhythm (whatever one of those is, but I watched ER for a while). And then all is well again, but it was a close call.

Sometimes I feel as if I'm fibrillating. Immobile. Rabbit in the headlights.

But I have an important job to do because there isn't a redundant bit of the Body of Christ.
(I don't know about the appendix.  But that's probably being facetious.)

Charles Spurgeon took this idea of a collective whole to another level for me the other day. A beautiful level. An eye-opener:

'Each of God's saints is sent into the world to prove some part of the divine character.'

(Charles Spurgeon, The Daily Help devotional for iPhone, 43rd Element.com)

Somehow, just by being me, here, in my little corner of the earth, day by day, I reflect something of your character. Some little tiny aspect of your personality is me. Not somebody else. How amazing is that? 

He goes on:

'In heaven we shall read the great book of the experience of all the saints, and gather from that book the whole manifestation and display of some position or other of God; a different part may belong to each of us, but when the whole shall be combined, when all the rays of evidence shall be brought, as it were, into one great sun, and shine forth with meridian splendour, we shall see in Christian experience a beautiful revelation of our God.'

Can that be possible?  That one day I might have a contribution to make in this awe-inspiring spectacle?  This is going to be an enormous canvas. I can't wait to see it. 

The other day I got a glimpse of the sheer scale of you, God; the vastness and the majesty and glory of you who holds the universe in your hand. Creator of billions of stars in billions of galaxies. If I think of all the people who have known you from the very beginning to the end of time - from Adam and Eve through to all the people who are alive today and love you the world over, beyond and into the future, all those not yet born, until the end of time  - that's a lot of people. 

And we are all unique. If Spurgeon is right (and I so hope that he is) each one of all these children of yours reflects a unique part of you. We each have a little facet completely our own. It needs a glimpse of the enormity of you in order to understand how such a thing might be true. How complex you are. How many different aspects there are to you. 

So I am intensely significant. Not only do I have a role to fulfil down here, now, in my life, but I have a part in this extravagant art project in Heaven too. I have a ray of light to add to the 'great sun' which will shine for eternity and make you smile.

So why do I wish I were someone else? I am made to be me. 

Why do I think that other people matter more than me?  You made me to be me. 

There's no understudy.

What is it to me what they do?  I must follow you.

'Now you are the body of Christ, and each one of you is a part of it.'

1 Corinthians 12:27

Lord, help me to believe not in myself, but in the wisdom of you, who made me. Help me to see the honour that it is to do the job in this life that you have made me to do and not gaze about me wishing that I were an elbow instead of an ankle. Show me what to do. Give me enough light for the step I'm on and the courage to stride into the darkness, knowing that you won't let me fall. 

Give me a glimpse of that spectacular revelation that one day I'll be part of. It's going to be beautiful because it's You.

I'm working on my contribution right now.






Reposted from 2012 because I needed reminding. 

Image credit:  ashton_cogs3.JPG by doctor_bob from Morguefile.com. Used with permission.

I will sing of your love forever

Afternoon, God.

I've been struggling, lately. It's all gone wrong. Lots of things have been crowding in and leaving me miserable and anxious and so discouraged. Old worries and problems have come back with a vengeance; new insights full of potential but leading nowhere and most upsetting, a sense that I have no idea where you are. 

I thought I knew where to find you and suddenly I'm looking in the same places, and you're not there. 

Or if you are, I don't have the vision to see you. 

Lord, the last few weeks have been a tangled knot of confusion, apprehension, tension and resentment. Last week I thought I had a breakthrough - sensed a new dawn; it seemed so dramatically important, but I'm still waiting for some light. And yes, to be honest I've been disappointed and cross and I've wondered why you seem open handed with other people and not with me. 

I know that's possibly not the way I should be talking to you, but you've always encouraged me to be honest. 

I'm needing a little something. Just one touch from the King - changes everything, as they say. I could do with a pick me up. A heavenly hug. Just some encouragement, Father, something to keep me going. Please? And yet there's nothing. 

I've been reading about belonging, about being not only forgiven and justified, but being a precious daughter, a cherished child, and yet more than ever I've been feeling on the outside looking in. I know in my head that I am your girl, and I know in my head that you're my Daddy, my Abba, not only my Lord and my Saviour and my King, and yet I've started to feel that there's something missing, something wrong with me, something not good enough.

All the old stuff, the long-buried stuff. All that, right here again, piling up and obscuring my view. 

No co-incidence, I suppose. The darkest hour is just before dawn... and yet those morning rays are refusing to come. 

I've been asking for healing. Old wounds, long buried and ignored, but open again. My 'One Word' for the year is 'HEAL' and I've been so sure that you're at work doing something amazing that will make all the difference. I've been asking for freedom, because I don't feel free. I've been asking for a new revelation of you, because my current one is incomplete.

I've been very close to giving up. Closer than I've ever been, in fact. I've been writing to you here for more than two and a half years and suddenly I just don't want to any more. I have nothing to say (that anyone will want to read) and all the politics of page rankings and statistics and platforms and whether people like what I say is far, far too much. I'm tired and overwhelmed and I just don't want to do it any more. 

I wonder if I'm having a tantrum, or if you're guiding me into a better sense of what's important. Because however much I've told myself for the last year or so that the daily statistics of who's reading don't matter, they always have mattered to me. Maybe it matters too much. Maybe you're telling me that if I take a break and my little readership trickles away to nothing, then that's ok. That's not important. 

Summer is a hard time to keep writing. The children are on holiday and my husband is working from home and needs space and quiet to concentrate. I need to be available - both for the little ones and for him when he wants to relax in the evenings. Writing takes more out of me than it used to and I can't fit it into the small spaces in my mind between outings and tooth brushing and meal preparation. I don't know why. Maybe I am taking it more seriously, or too seriously? Or maybe I'm too close to it, too anxious. 

Maybe I need a break. 

I don't know. I've asked you, because I know that you do know the answers, but you're not telling, are you?

I looked for you at a brilliantly planned and led women's event at church on Friday night. The River. All about the water of life, the tree of life on the banks of the waters flowing from the temple, about never being thirsty. Parched, I thought I'd find you there - I hoped, no, expected to meet with you, but I looked around me and saw ladies of all ages moved and touched by the Holy Spirit, yet I couldn't connect. There were people speaking in tongues, there were words of knowledge, there was prophecy, there was peace and joy, but I was lost, even though I know that I am found. 

You can feel so lonely in a crowd.

And then, in church this morning, which was an act of will, we sang a song that I've not heard for years.  

Over the mountains and the sea

Your river runs with love for me

and I will open up my heart

and let the Healer set me free

I'm happy to be in the truth

and I will daily lift my hands

For I will always sing 

of when your love came down*

You spoke. You didn't address any of the things I've been wanting you to address. You didn't answer any of my questions. You didn't reach down and touch me. No drama, just a few tears sliding down my cheeks. 

Your river - the same river that ran through our worship on Friday night - that river runs with love for me. 

You are The Healer, and if I open my heart (how do I open it further than it's already open?) then you will set me free.

I am indeed in The Truth. I am found in you. I belong to you. 

It's my breath prayer: Abba, I belong to you. 

When I have nothing to say, I can sing of your love.

I could sing of your love forever

I could sing of your love forever

I found myself changing the words of the chorus from 'I could...' to 'I will..'  I will sing of your love, forever.

If you never do anything more for me than you have already done, then I am blessed beyond measure. 

I am sorry, Father, that I am so dissatisfied with all that I have, and all that I am. I'm sorry that I try to manipulate you and then I get all stampy and cross when you don't perform on demand.

I'm sorry. 

Lord God, I will sing of your love forever. When I have nothing to say, I can always come back to the basic foundation of our relationship. The fundamental thing: your love came down, and saved me. All else is detail, and I know that you will sort out the important and address it when the time is right.

I am loved. 

I will sing of your love forever

I will sing of your love forever

I don't know what happens next. I'm still feeling in limbo about things that have come to the surface recently and I think that they need dealing with - and I still don't feel equipped to deal with them. I'm still short of time, sleep, energy, inspiration. I still don't know about writing, about resting, about stepping out in faith. 

I still need The Healer to set me free.

But I do know that you love me, and that's the bottom line. My default position. If I have no words of my own, if I need to say anything at all, I will speak of your love. If the only words I ever write are my testimony of how my Abba loves me, then that's a message worth bringing. 

I am loved. There's a plan, and your timing is perfect. 

I will sing of your love forever. 

Amen.

*Martin Smith 1995 Furious? Records
'My One Word: Change your life with just one word', Mike Ashcraft and Rachel Olsen, Zondervan, 2012

Fuzzy Felt and chainsaws

Evening, Lord God. 

You know how you tell me things, and I don't get it? Well, I want to understand. I don't want to miss the point. It seems important. 

The other day, I was in a prayer meeting praying for the ministry among women at our church. There is already a women's ministry at our church; lots of things are already going on, but it has felt for a while now that a time was coming to bring all the strands together somehow. To become a team, maybe.

I'm not really sure why, or how - I'm just sure that it's what we're supposed to do. 

So anyway, a group of us, praying. Over the months there have been a surprising number of words and pictures given to us that seem to be relevant to women in church, and women in general.

• We have had pictures of climbing a mountain enveloped in fog, clinging to each other, and getting to a high place where the view is clear and beautiful. 
• An oasis in a desert, ladies laughing and having fun together, uninhibited and unselfconscious. 
• A lion confined in a cage, pacing back and forth as we eat a picnic from a red and white checked cloth, perfectly safe. 
• A tree, firmly rooted in you, stretching tall and strong, bearing fruit of every type. People coming from far and wide to choose and pick fruit from the beautiful tree. 

So, there I was. Trying to make my mind blank like a black Fuzzy Felt board so that you could draw me a picture.

Sometimes I think I try too hard, and I know that you're not dependent on me creating the perfect environment for communication; you are just as capable of grabbing my attention in the supermarket frozen foods aisle with a six year old in my trolley as when I am trying to empty my mind of everything.

So, suddenly on my Fuzzy Felt mind was an aerial picture of a church. Not from straight above, but the sort of view you'd get from a hot air balloon looking sideways over a town. Neither was it our church, for this one had a tall steeple. Indeed, all I could see of this church was the roof and the steeple, because all around it were trees. Big, mature trees. So close that the walls of the church were obscured. It must have been very dark inside. I couldn't see a door in the church, or any ground around it. It was a church totally crowded with trees.

I knew that there were people in the church. I don't know what they were doing, but they were in a huddle in the middle of the building. There weren't many.And then, I suddenly became aware that the trees need to go.

They need to be chopped down.

There was to be a row of tree-stumps around the church, allowing light to stream in through the windows. 

So people could find it. Anyone passing by on the nearby road might have missed the church, unless they glanced up high and saw the spire pointing heavenwards out from the canopy of trees. Surely this church was hidden. 

Choked. 

The church needed to breathe again. The people inside needed light and air. They were going to come out of the church doors and rejoice at the sense of space. They could see the sun. They could look into the distance where before they could only see the trees.They would be able to see the area around the church too. They could see the passers-by, the people who hurried by without even knowing that the church was there. 

What does it mean, Father?  Is this some sort of sign? What can I learn from this? 

There's a bit more. 

Another day I was sitting quietly in the garden and a neighbour began to cut down a tree in his garden. This tree is on his side of the fence, completely his to cut down, but I wish he hadn't. I liked it there. And because he's cut that one down, we'll probably have to cut down one of ours, as the missing tree had enveloped it so completely that it's unsightly and stunted.

I began by having an internal moan about the noise of his chainsaw, which shattered my peace and destroyed concentration. I don't like that he's cut down the tree because now we have less privacy in our garden - it feels much more open now.

I also went on to develop my grumpy feelings by reflecting that the tree in question has been there all my life; and so no wonder I liked it where it was. I am very used to it.

I scowled for quite some time. 

It got me thinking back to the church choked with trees. I love trees, and I've never really thought of them as being restrictive, or unwanted, but in this picture the trees were suffocating. Pressing in. Swamping. 

They need cutting down to enable the people inside to breathe, and the people outside to take notice. They might even come in and say hello, if they could see the way in.

Quite separately, someone who isn't involved with the women's ministry at church passed on a picture she had to my friend, because she thought it was relevant. She said that it was an axe, at the base of a tree.

Hmm.

I'm forever asking you for clarity, Lord, and I think the message loud and clear has to do with trees and the cutting down of trees. Correct me if I'm wrong...

I've started noticing trees being cut down all over the neighbourhood. I came across a clearing in a wood not far from my house the other day and in it was a huge pile of logs and tree trunks. A patch of dense woodland had been cleared and the sunlight streamed in  - it was a beautiful, peaceful place. 

 It's not the first time that I've had a picture from you about trees being cut down.

There's a special place in my mind that we go, sometimes, Jesus and me, and one day a long while ago you showed me a formal garden there, and a row of what had been large trees, now just a row of stumps. I knew that these trees had been hard to cut down.

It had taken a lot of work, a lot of emotional effort and had taken a long time. I knew that the clear view from that garden had been hard won. 

But what a view. Now, from that lawn, I could see across an expanse of cliff-top to the glittering sea. The sunlight sparkled on the waves and the sea birds soared above. Endless sky, vast ocean.

Openness, light, air. I could breathe.

This is my spacious place.

You cut down the trees - or you are in process of cutting them down, so that I could see further and not have my view limited by the leaves and branches.  By anything standing in my way.

The tree that the neighbour cut down today definitely enables me to see further, but I feel more vulnerable too. The trees in the church picture clearly need to come down - they're oppressive. The trees in my cliff top place are gone and that's a source of joy. 

Are trees things that block a clear view of you? 

Things that maybe have been there a long time, like the one in my neighbour's garden, or the ones on the cliff top, which had left stumps wide enough to sit on?

Do the trees represent stuff that is deeply rooted and obscuring the truth? Things that get in the way?

Things that choke and suffocate, and need to be removed so that light can flood in and illuminate the shadows?

So that people can breathe again and find a way out, and people can see the beauty of the building and the people inside and find their way to the door?

Will you cut them down? Do we? 

Oh, God, I'm trying to make sense of all this, but I can't seem to see the wood for the trees. Ha ha. 

I need a bit of help. A wise person, someone skilled in interpreting Fuzzy Felt creations from the Creator. Or a bit of insight.

A nudge. 

Thank you so much for talking to me. So often I wonder that other people seem to know what you want but I am still in the dark; and then you talk to me and I look puzzled and ask you if you'd mind repeating that, more slowly this time? 

The funny thing, Lord (not funny to you, I'm sure, and I mean funny remarkable rather than funny haha) is that ladies from every different corner of our church are coming together and contributing words of scripture, things that they've prayed about or pictures that have come from you. The number of times someone has said, 'I'm not the type of person who gets things like pictures, but...' 

It has to be from you. 

So, Lord, I have no agenda. I want to hear clearly. Give me ears to hear and eyes to see and a mind that doesn't add two and two and come up with eleven. This is about you, not me.

What's with the trees?





Image credit:  axe pic (plumb axe.jpg) by taliesin.  Courtesy of Morguefile.com.  Used with permission.
Other images mine. 

Linking with Tania Vaughan's Monday Ministry (better late than never?)
Also with Jennifer Dukes Lee on Tell His Story

From a daughter who loves you

A talk on prayer, some time ago.

The talk was based on the prayer that you taught your disciples, Lord Jesus, and my attention was drawn to the fact that you didn't tell us that this was what we must pray, but this was how we should pray. We shouldn't just chant the Lord's Prayer and not think about the words because it's so familiar.

We shouldn't say the Lord's Prayer, we should pray it.

We should think our prayers. We should be personal. We should talk to you as if you are right next to us, because you are just that.

So I've written my own. I'm hoping that you don't think this incredibly presumptuous or irreverent, and I must tell you that I believe very deeply that you did it best. Your version sort of draws things together in a way that can't be improved upon.

Your version is much snappier than mine. I'm not exactly known for being concise and I do have a tendency to go on. The 'Lord's Prayer' has such a beautiful simplicity.

Well, here it is.

This came from the heart, Father. I haven't written it and rewritten it and tinkered with it and rephrased it; I offer it to you now just as it came out of my head.

Please accept this prayer from a daughter who loves you.

God Almighty, 

I bow before you now and give you my praise because you are my Lord, my Daddy and my Friend

You reign on high.

All of creation sings praise to your holy name.

I long for the day when the whole earth joins the angels in beautiful worship. 

I rely on you for every breath and every heartbeat; please give me what I need to live each day for you.

I'm so sorry for all the times that I let you down and wound you in so many ways; forgive me.

Help me, please, to forgive those that hurt me. Yes, even them.

Show me how to keep my eyes fixed on you and not go my own way as I so often do.

I know you have won the war but the battle is raging round me and I ask that you would protect me from the Enemy because I am your child, and I'm often frightened.

You are the One who made the universe and everything in it. 

You are great.

You are the beginning and the end.

You are my God.

Everything that is belongs to you and I give you all the glory, my beautiful Lord; now, as long as I live, and for all eternity as I kneel at your throne.

Amen 

Linking up today with Tania Vaughan's Monday Ministry. Making sure that we don't leave Jesus behind in Church on Sunday.

Also for Concretewords, hosted by Nacole at sixinthesticks; finding inspiration for the abstract from something concrete.

And at Tell His Story at Jennifer Dukes Lee.


edited and reposted from 2011

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

The prayer of a righteous man

Jesus prayed for me. 

Yes he did, didn't he?

You remember? Of course you remember. You don't forget. Especially something like this. 

Jesus said a prayer for me. And if you ever answer prayers (which you do) then you will answer his, won't you? The two of you were pretty close, even when he was down here walking and talking and stubbing his toe like the rest of us. 

Alright, maybe not that much like the rest of us. But anyway. 

I've read this bit of scripture before, but it's just come alive for me. 

Thank you. 

I sometimes ask people to pray for me. I might mention it to someone, or send a text, or ask the church to pray on a Sunday in the intercession. I know that prayer is powerful and I know that you answer. 

'The prayer of a righteous person is powerful and effective.'
James 5:16

Yes. 

And there is none more righteous than your Son. 

If Jesus prayed for me, prays for me, then I'm going to be alright. 

Jesus prayed for the disciples and then he said this:

'My prayer is not for them alone. I pray also for those who will believe in me through their message, that all of them may be one, Father, just as you are in me and I am in you.'
John 17:20-21

So the disciples knew Jesus and they saw him raised from the dead. They knew him. They knew what had happened because they'd seen it, talked with the risen Christ, listened to him and done as he asked. 

They told people about him. 

Those people told people. 

Those people told people too. 

And so did they. 

Eventually one of the people told me. 

Someone told me about you, and I believed them. 

So Jesus prayed for me. 

'...I pray also for those who will believe in me through their message...'

Jesus prayed that we would all be one. United in our faith. Obviously different, diverse; but one. One with the people who told us the Good News, one with the disciples who first told it, one with the One who started it all - one with God. 

How sad that we fight all the time. How sad that we squabble and bicker and get hung up on words and points of view and trivia. For I am convinced that it is all trivia in the face of the truth. But it isn't trivial when it completely obscures the picture of Jesus that we're supposed to be showing people. It just misses the point. 

Jesus prayed for us. He wants us to be one. 

'Father, just as you are in me and I am in you. May they also be in us so that the world may believe that you have sent me. I have given them the glory that you gave me, that they may be one as we are one - I in them and you in me - so that they may be brought to complete unity.'
John 17:21-23

There's a reason why he wanted us to be united. It's so that people might see us and believe in him. The glory of God shines through me - or at least it should. There are days when any glory in me is deeply buried beneath layers of grumpiness and selfishness and self-indulgent bad temper, but the fact is that I am created to reflect the wonder of God. 'I have given them the glory...' reminds me of:

'Let your light shine before others, that they may see your good deeds and glorify your Father in heaven.' 
Matthew 5:16

I am supposed to live my life in such a way to point people to you, Lord God. I should shine. I should show people your glory, not distract them or indeed put them off.

'The glory of the only begotten shines in all the Sons of God. How great is the majesty of Christians!'
John Wesley.**

It's part of the thing. The disciples told people. Those people told people. One of the people told me - and so I should tell people. And I should do it in such a way that they will listen and understand.

I get it so wrong sometimes; we all do. The church is in disarray. Just look at the state we're in.

In the words of Matthew Henry:

'The more they dispute about lesser things, the more they throw doubts upon Christianity. Let us endeavour to keep the unity of the Spirit in the bond of peace, praying that all believers may be more and more united in one mind and one judgement.' *

See? I know that greater minds than mine wrestle with this. Whether it's gay marriage or the ordination of women or the liturgy or saints' days, or minor points of interpretation of scripture or language or the sound the church bells make and how often they should ring I wish we could get over it. I know that good and wise people are trying to bring peace and unity and I don't for one little minute envy the job of Justin Welby, the new Archbishop of Canterbury in trying to unite a church of more than 80 million people who each have an opinion. 

What I am saying is that it's obvious even to those like me who don't know much, don't understand much, don't influence much that we're getting this wrong. 

Does it grieve you, Father? Or does it make you angry? Or do you just look at us with pity because of the sheer waste of it all?

The Lord, Jesus Christ, said:

'...Then the world will know that you sent me and have loved them even as you have loved me.'
John 17:23b

If we are one, we can sing louder. If we're all on the same page of the song, singing in unison, people will hear what we're saying. 

Harmonies are fine, but different words and different tunes from different books sung to a different rhythm at different times and it's just a noise. 

It gets worse when those words are harsh and argumentative and unwelcoming and unforgiving. 

Just saying. 

Here's the amazing thing. Jesus prayed this prayer:

'Father, I want those you have given me to be with me where I am, and to see my glory, the glory you have given me because you loved me before the creation of the world.'
John 17:24

Lord God, you saw the end from the beginning. Nothing surprises you.  You sent your Son to save people who didn't deserve saving and you knew the problems we'd have. You built your church on a group of ordinary people who messed things up on a regular basis. You know the state of our hearts, the confusion of our minds, our struggle to do what is right even though quite often we're not sure what right is.

You love us. In our squabbles and our meannesses as well as in our odd moments of purity and truth. You died for us. You want us to come and live with you for eternity - you actually enjoy our company.

We who let you down so profoundly so often.

You want us to be with you where you are.

Jesus prayed for all of us who would ever turn to him, fall on our knees and say, 'Yes'. Even then, you knew us by name. You knew then all about me and you knew the day and the minute that I would give you my life. You know each of your children inside out.

Jesus prayed for us all.  He asked you to bring us to your heart, to make us safe in you. To allow us to witness the glory of God himself. I'd like this, please. And this is what Jesus prayed for me. It blows my mind.

And there's more. Jesus is still praying for me. Still.

'Christ Jesus who died - more than that, who was raised to life - is at the right hand of God and is also interceding for us.' 

Romans 8:34

Even in all my failures, you love me. Your Son is fighting my corner.

He wants me to be with him where he is, one day, when it's time. Me. Me!

So I think that I'm going to be alright.

Amen to that. Oh yes.

  

^{*Matthew Henry, Concise Commentary, Kindle ed. Christian Miracle Foundation Press 2011}

^{** John Wesley, Explanatory Notes on the New Testament, Classic Reprint, Forgotten Books, 2012}

Pictures:


114548445045.jpg by kalierin

<sup>choirbook.jpg by Anita Peppers
JesuitChurch-010105-07.jpg by Zandert

All used from Morguefile.com with permission</sup>