Cans of worms

Well, here's an update. Last week I was bravely announcing that I had a Plan for Lent. 

I was going to work through a list of '40 Things to Give Up for Lent' that I found online, and I was going to journal and pray through each one, telling God what was on my mind when I considered each particular word, and then listen to what God might say back to me. I thought it would be a learning experience, a little soul-searching, a little offloading, then perhaps some word of affirmation and determination.... 

That was the plan. 

You're expecting me to confess that I haven't been doing it, aren't you? That I got to Day 3 and tripped up, or that it's all become a little bit too difficult and I'll finish some other time. 

That's not it. I've done it every day. Thirty-four pages of journal and quite a few hours, actually. That's not the problem.

The problem with my Lent plan is that it seems to be having quite an effect.

The routine of doing it I've found quite easy; it's the things that I'm realising that are making it difficult. I've found that thinking and writing about these words causes stuff in my head to spill out that I either a) thought I'd dealt with years ago or b) didn't realise was there at all. Cans of worms, long shut up tight, and I'm levering the lids off. There's quite a mess. 

My word for this year is 'PEACE', and I am anything but peaceful, and this Lent '40 things' thing isn't helping. How can an examination of my heart on topics such as 'fear of failure', 'comparison' and 'your comfort zone' cohabit comfortably with PEACE?

So, in this short update, I bring you the news that there is work to be done, indeed, and I haven't even got to 'negativity' (day 16) or 'distraction' (day 22) or - gulp - 'worry' (day 30). 

Lots to consider, lots to confess. I'm just struggling to know how to deal with the things that are coming up. Over and over again I'm writing, 'I'll just leave this with you, Jesus.' 

I can't think of any other way of dealing with it. It feels right; some of the bad stuff had leapt back on board over the past few months anyway, and so the opportunity to confront what's going on seemed both necessary and God-led. I suppose that I thought there would be a sense of closure as I skipped through the forty things. And there isn't. No heavenly box ticked, no huge sigh of relief. No feeling of 'Right, that's done with.'

So, I conclude this is closely linked to my word for last year, that I was reluctant to replace as I chose My One Word 2015. My word for last year was TRUST, and as the year went on it became more and more precious to me. I know now that it is really my word for last year, this year and all the years that come until I run out of years down here on earth. 

TRUST is pretty much all there is. 

So, I trust you, Jesus, with my struggle with comparing myself with other people. I trust you with my fear of getting things wrong. I trust you when I put a wary foot outside my comfort zone, and I trust you that you will be there as I think about all the other terrifying things on the list. You haven't ever let me down. 

I trust you, Jesus. That must be the path to peace. There isn't another way. 

Ok, I'm ready. Day 9. What's it to be? 

Oh. 'Guilt'. 

Right. 

Forty things to give up

A quick note on Lent. 

I have done - and attempted not to do - many things for Lent. Giving up chocolate was not particularly difficult for me as it's not my biggest area of temptation in the food department. Biscuits were harder. Coffee would be impossible, though I did once go decaf for the forty days. 

I've given up Facebook, and found on the whole that it was a positive experience with a lasting effect. The time that I found by not grazing on trivia I spent journalling, and that has become something very precious in my life. Social media doesn't have the same hold on me that it once had, though I still have to be careful. No, this year, something different. 

A book? A set of Lent devotions? Hmm - I am swamped by reading at the moment and I'm thoroughly enjoying a pile of new fiction that I tell myself is essential as research as I'm trying to write a novel of my own at the moment. One of the websites with daily suggestions of good things to do and acts of generosity...? Maybe.

And then I saw an article that jumped out at me. A gentleman called Phil Ressler, Pastor of a Church in New Jersey, America, wrote an article entitled 'Forty things to give up for Lent'. The list just grabbed me - it stood out from the page and flashed repeatedly. Almost. Anyway, suddenly I knew what I was going to be doing that was different in the run up to Easter this year. 

So many things on Mr Ressler's list were meant Just For Me. I decided that I would pray through one of his suggestions each day. Maybe aim to devote at least one page in my journal to each topic. That seemed both positive and do-able.

I soon learned that he'd written a book with the same title as this article, and even as my finger twitched towards the Amazon link, (Ooh, there's a book, buy the book!) I had another thought - no, I didn't want this to become another exercise in reading someone's take on each item on the list - I'd read through all forty and identified at least three quarters of them as things that need attention in my life. Probably God would add the other ten to the list as well, and so I wanted it to be my prayers, and His answers. 

So, this is my plan. With just the words and concepts that Mr Ressler listed, I am going to bring each one before God and say what's on my heart, then listen for anything He would like to say to me. Some might say that this is a very inward-looking way of spending Lent, and that might be true, but I think for me, at a point in my life when I feel beset by loads of things that I thought I'd managed to beat, (most of which are on the list) it seems easily as valuable as cutting out crisps or resolving to do twenty sit-ups every day until Bank Holiday Monday. 

Ooh, the horror of sit-ups. 

Here's the list. If you know me even a little you'll see that we got off to a flying start.

1. Fear of Failure
2. Your Comfort Zone
3. Feelings of Unworthiness
4. Impatience
5. Retirement
6. People Pleasing
7. Comparison
8. Blame
9. Guilt
10. Overcommitment
11. Lack of Counsel
12. Impurity
13. Entitlement
14. Apathy
15. Hatred
16. Negativity
17. The Spirit of Poverty
18. Going Through the Motions
19. Complaint
20. The Pursuit of Happiness
21. Bitterness
22. Distraction
23. Giving Up
24. Mediocrity
25. Destructive Speech
26. Busyness
27. Loneliness
28. Disunity
29. The Quick Fix
30. Worry
31. Idolising
32. Resistance to Change
33. Pride
34. Small View of God
35. Envy
36. Ingratitude
37. Selfish Ambition
38. Self-Sufficiency
39. Sorrow
40. My Life

For each suggestion, there is a sentence explaining what the author means, but I am not making a note of that. I want to take each word and think about it, exploring what comes to mind, and then listen to see if/how God would have me change the way I think, act or speak. I suspect there's much work to be done. 

Time spent with God is never wasted, is it?  My One Word for 2015 is 'PEACE' - and it occurs to me that most - if not all - of these forty things are peace-stealers. Please God, it might be a long road, but I hope to take the first steps to reclaiming each of these bits of my life. 

So, this is my Lent Task. Time in prayer each day around these forty areas of life. I've already found that the first two stretched to multiple journal pages, much heart-searching and unexpected insights, so I'm hoping for real change over the next month and a bit. 

 my life. 

I'll let you know how it goes. 

I may need a new journal before very long. 

Article reference:  40 Things to Give up for Lent: The List by Phil Ressler, Pastor of the Lutheran Church of the Good Shepherd, Old Bridge, NJ. Published on the Church website 11/2/2015  

http://gs4nj.org/40-things-the-give-up-for-lent-the-list/

It won't always be dark at six

So how is my Lent going?

Is that you asking, Lord?  Why would you ask if you already know?

I am sort of blurred at the moment. 

Can't concentrate on anything. 

Including you. 

Going to stop writing in staccato sentences now.

I'm not feeling well. My cold has turned into a cough which has turned into a chest infection which saw me trudge up to the doctor this morning in defeat; with a following wind I should be on the mend tomorrow thanks to some little green pills. Part of me wants to assure you that my Lent will go better when I'm better.

But I'm thinking that this time last year you allowed me to be slowed to a stop as well. (You sat down next to me) Last year I stabbed myself in the eye with a document wallet (I know, I know, it still makes you smile) and the week was going to be so busy... I learned then that the world keeps turning without me and then again, this week, I've had to get off for a while again and strangely enough, life goes on. I can't help thinking that the one-eyed me this time a year ago might have made better of the hiatus in the speed of life than the coughing and complaining me this time around. 

But everything has been cancelled. I haven't even shopped so the meals are getting a little bit eccentric and freezer driven. Or they would be if it were not for my Mum, who once again (and again, and again) has been wonderful. I am sure that I'm more trouble to my mother now, as a forty-one year old with husband and children than ever I was as a teenager when I was supposed to be a hassle. 

I have read two and a half books and I have slept a lot. I have cried with self-pity and I have coughed until my ribs feel as if they've been run over (hence the self-pity). Have I spent more time with you in all this time when I couldn't do anything else? Well...

It's been unseasonably mild outside.

I think I just changed the subject.

Yesterday I went out in the garden for ten minutes and I saw three purple crocuses. A host of snowdrops. The weather has been mild and sunny and for a little while there I started thinking about when to clean out the greenhouse, what I would plant and where. I walked around and noticed which plants have (so far) survived the winter and which I never got around to pruning last autumn. The children came and went crazy in the sun for a little while. They got muddy and they swung on the swings and they kicked around a football. I sat with a couple of fleeces on huddled round a mug of tea and it was lovely. 

Spring isn't here yet but I can see it coming. I'm waiting for the daffodils. I love daffodils. When the daffs come I know that Spring is here. Soon, please. 

Of course, it's February and this is the England and so the chances are we'll have four feet of snow in the next week. Indeed, a frost is forecast for tonight. Good job I didn't take the fleece off the yucca.

Today I read a story about being happy. About choosing happiness. About not waiting for happiness to happen but to decide to be happy. It lifted my spirits momentarily until something happened to squash them again. I need to seize those moments and bury my nose in them. Close my eyes and ears to everything else that is going on around and immerse myself in a moment that is purely of you. I'm finding that it's hard to do right now.

The doctor told me today that the antibiotics will start to make a difference in about 24-48 hours but I might not be better for a couple of weeks. He told me to give myself time to get over the chest infection; to be gentle with myself. I think I am already too gentle with myself - I let myself off too many hooks. Things that are difficult I tend to shy away from. 

Like choosing happiness. Just for a moment there I pick happiness up and then something crashes into me and knocks me off balance and instead of clinging tight to the happiness in my hand it my fingers open reflexively and I drop it. And it's gone.

Too often I take the line of least resistance.

Sigh.

I'm feeling a bit rough and not thinking straight. I'm finding my promise to find the positive in every day a bit of a challenge at the moment. 

• My little girls gave me cuddles today.
• My Mum changed an appointment so that she can take Katy to her swimming lesson tomorrow so I don't have to get up early.
• My husband brought me a mug of tea in bed. 
• Every day this week I've had a text message from a friend asking how I am and saying that she's thinking about me.
• My Mum bought me freesia. My favourite flowers.

Thankyou for all those things and doctors and chemists and comfy beds and sleep. Thankyou that I'm not seriously ill and that you are a God of second chances.

Thankyou that the nights are getting lighter. As my Mum says, 'It won't always be dark at six'.

I'm holding onto that at the moment.

It won't always be dark at six.

Good intentions

I'm running late, Lord.

A day or two behind schedule. I've been ill and I'm not keeping up very well. 

But here I am. 

Shrove Tuesday this year was a bit of an effort, if the truth be known.  The children wanted pancakes (because it's Pancake Day, not because they particularly like them) and I was keen to do the talk about why Pancake Day and Ash Wednesday and what Lent is all about, not that I do it particularly well, I think).  So I ate paracetamol and ibuprofen and cough medicine and inhaled menthol and decongestant sniffy things and there I was with my frying pan and milk and flour and a box of eggs. 

I love making pancakes. I'm sure that's part of my motivation too, but it's not as noble as the one I mentioned first. Both are true. 

I love the way that the pan has to be so hot - almost smoking; and then I love the noise that the batter makes as it sizzles into the pan. I love the twisty turny manoeuvre that you have to do with your wrist tilting the pan to make the small, thick puddle of batter spread out into a large, thin one, while keeping it's shape. I love the way the edges rise slightly to let you into the secret that it's time to flip and I love the delight on the children's faces as it lands again. I love that one side is swirly and the other is spotty. I love that the best filling is lemon and sugar despite everyone's attempts to make it more sophisticated. 

Miraculously, I had lemons, even though I haven't been shopping for days. 

So we ate our pancakes (or played with them) and we talked about Lent and I did my best to explain but I suspect not much of it penetrated the minds of a six and four-year-old who were intrigued with the proximity of Easter. 

The idea of giving something up for Lent certainly seemed to capture their imaginations, however. 

Elizabeth has decided (and persuaded Katy) that they are going to give up for Lent:

• Chocolate, sweets and all food that has no nutritional value
• Being mean to each other
• Forgetting their manners

Forgive me if I'm a tad sceptical. 

Touched, but sceptical. 

I suspect that my daughters have bitten off more than they can chew. Don't you? In a manner which I hope was encouraging and appreciative and approving and nurturing I suggested that perhaps just one thing, one achievable thing, might be a better bet than three whopping resolutions,  but it fell on deaf ears. They were set. 

How much nicer was an Easter Egg going to taste if they had fasted from chocolate for the whole forty days? I agreed that it would indeed. 

And how much happier would they be if they were nice to each other instead of being mean and hurty?  Of course, how could I disagree?  

And how much happier would I be if they were polite and well-mannered for the next forty days?  Indeed. And less naggy. 

Their faces were alight with good intentions. At that moment they were ready to take on the world. How could I dissuade them? Should I have tried? 

So they are off. Ships in full sail. Rocks a-waiting just offshore.

I love them. Maybe some people's six and four-year-olds are more tuned into Lent and grasp the concept better than mine; I don't know. Perhaps I haven't been consistent in my explanations - or my modelling of appropriate Lenten behaviour - over the years. Still, I have to start somewhere. 

Nobody asked me what I was doing for Lent. 

I've had trouble deciding, to be honest. Last year I gave up Facebook for Lent and I rediscovered lots of time, some of which I gave back to you, didn't I? (Logging off for Lent) It was a humbling experience. I learned a lot. This year the same thing doesn't jump at me as it did last year when I knew from the moment someone suggested it that I had to give it a go. So I've been searching.

I've decided to do something, rather than not do something. I'm feeling poorly and vulnerable and not very brave so I wanted to make it small, achievable and meaningful. Something that I had an outside chance of managing. 

I'm going to write in my prayer diary every day. Each day I'm going to write something positive from that day. It might be a short thing - a list, or it might turn into a prayer. It's like half the Examen; the life-affirming half. For someone like me who tends to the negative, the pessimistic, it should be good for me. 

I am so poor at a regular prayer time that I toyed with saying that I would make sure I had a time with you every day, but I haven't really solved the problem of when and where to find peace each day with any sense of regularity or rhythm. I have resolved this so many times over the past year or so that I feared that it would simply be a meaningless echo until I find the thing that's missing (discipline? energy? insight?)  that means I can do it. So my aim got smaller and that's what I came up with.

I will visit my prayer diary each day and tell you what the best thing of the day has been. 

With your help, I will.  Without it, I'm incapable of even the little things.

I shall try to steer my girls away from the inevitable shipwreck and when it happens I shall preach never mind, let's try again (maybe just with the chocolate?). When my own personal shipwreck happens, I will climb back on the horse straight away (now there's a lovely mixed metaphor) and try again. 

I am emotionally and physically frail at the moment. I feel as if I'm not capable of much. 

Bless our little attempts, Father. Even those destined for failure. Hold my little girls close to you, please. Give me the words to be much better at telling them about you. 

As Lent starts, Lord God, give me your hand to lift me out of this place of ill health and inertia and claw my way up through the low cloud to a place where I can see a bit more clearly. 

I know from experience that when I manage to give you just a little, you give me so very much. Bless my attempt to open my hands this Lent, Lord. 

Prepare my heart for Easter. 

Coming back from exile

So, it's nearly Easter, and Lent finishes at Easter, doesn't it? Indeed, Easter Day marks the end of Lent, I believe, and all the fasting and abstinence and so on that we have been observing since Ash Wednesday back a month and a half ago.  Easter means feasting, celebrating, joy!  So the denial of Lent is over because on the third day, all those centuries ago, you rose from the dead.

This all seems a bit trivial, really. 

Still, I will push on.

All those who have given up chocolate for Lent will soon be tucking into their Easter Eggs, and those who gave up coffee will be brewing up and inhaling deeply.  No doubt those who gave up wine will be getting the corkscrew out, and those who didn't give up anything but instead did something positive for Lent will, they hope, be keeping up the good work. 

Which brings me to Facebook. Seems an age since I agonised and reluctantly decided to give it up for Lent.  (See 'Logging off for Lent'). Seems a long long time ago when it seemed that everyone had something to say about it, when I was wavering and wondering and hoping that there was something else I could give up that wasn't so precious to me - and now I'm on the brink of being back in the picture.  I decided that the proof of the pudding would be in the eating, and so now it's time to decide what's been going on over the last forty-five days. 

So what has it all been about?  To recap:  I was spending too much time on Facebook.  Quite often, I'm embarrassed to say, I was picking up my mobile to turn off the alarm in the morning and not putting it down until I'd checked in on Facebook.  Any time I was in a queue, waiting for the girls, killing the odd minute or ten, trying not to make eye contact with any of the intimidating mums outside school, there I'd be, checking to see who was doing what, who had said what, and adding my three penneth to conversations all over the place.  Last thing at night I'd be here at my computer and I'd look again to find out what was going on on Facebook, refreshing the page one last time, then again, to see if any pearls of wisdom would appear before I went to bed.  And then in bed chances were I'd check it again before I set the alarm.  And if it pinged again after I'd switched off the light, it wouldn't be beyond the realms of possibility that I might just have a last last quick glance and then reset the alarm. Of course, you know all this. It was definitely you who wanted me to take a look at my FB habit and see if anything needed doing. It did. 

So I was in the habit of looking at Facebook in a morning before I looked at my Bible, and I sometimes had the same in mind when I went to sleep. Of course, I have to qualify this by saying that Facebook itself is not at all bad.  I have many wonderful friends with whom staying in touch is easy and fun because of this means of communication.  I can see pictures of my friends' families even though they live in New Zealand, Australia, Senegal, Malaysia. I've got to know people better by sharing the minutiae of everyday life and given and received love and support because it's so easy to reach out in this way. I've laughed and cried in front of my computer because of Facebook and I have deepened existing relationships and cemented others.  I have shared my faith via Facebook. I've told people about this blog via Facebook. It's creative, simple, honest (if you make it so) and loving. It's a wonderful twenty first century invention and no wonder that millions of the world's population have a Facebook account. 

So why do I feel a bit ambivalent about my Grand Return to the world of social networking in the next few days?  

You and I have spent some special time together over the last few weeks, haven't we, Lord? I think that I have had a more meaningful Lent than I ever have before. Usually I give up something fairly meaningless (if I give up anything at all) and as you know, I've never really put myself out to keep it up, either. This time I was determined to fill my new found minutes with something positive so I've been reading the Bible and commentary excerpts from Martin Luther, AW Tozer, CS Lewis, Charles Spurgeon, Bill Hybels and a whole host of people who write and publish daily devotionals in bite size form for people like me. Some of the greatest minds in Christian history sharing their observations and insights with me. 

Some mornings something has captured my imagination and stayed in my head all day. At times when I'd probably have checked Facebook I've revisited what I read earlier and thought about it some more.  Other days I've emailed a reading to a friend because there's something there that I want to share.  True, there has been the odd day where I've rushed through, or the girls have jumped on me before I've had a chance to read what I want to read, but for the most part I have spent the first twenty minutes of every day with you, my Lord. That's new for me. As you know, I'm not a morning person.

What I have read has inspired me to write, to pray (I know, I know, this needs much more work) and I have felt distinctly different with words from the Bible, or from wise, learned and godly people in my head as I start the day. I've learned more about myself, and about you, and about you and me and how we relate to each other.  There's been space in my head because I removed something that was occupying a large part of it and created a void which you have filled with your spirit.  It has been amazing. It has been precious time. I don't want it to end. 

It has made an enormous difference to me and I don't want that to change. I have no intention of letting  that change.  I do, however, want to rejoin my Facebook family and so I need to sort out a way of accommodating it without letting it take over and demand the crown again.  I think I should definitely stick to my new found morning routine, so that's not negotiable.  Over and above that, however, I'm a bit in the dark as yet.  I have no plan.  Should I take FB off my phone, so that I can only access it when I'm in front of the computer?  Should I just say that a certain length of time per day is enough?  Half an hour?  An hour?  How should I measure that?  

So I'm going to have to find some willpower.  After the experiences I've had this Lent, I am motivated to maintain the habits that I've got into since I left Facebook behind for a while because it has been too good to lose.  I am sure that some people will be amused that it's still an issue with me, just as they were interested in my motivation for giving it up in the first place. You know me; I can analyse stuff and discuss it and dissect it until the cows come home so it will be no surprise to you, God, that I'm still wittering on about it with twenty four hours to go.

So I shall be back on Facebook soon, though not as much.  My morning offerings in the world of social networking will be more limited from now on; though I only ever used to moan about getting out of bed anyway, so not much loss to the world there.  I hope I can find a balance.  I pray that you'll let me know.

Thankyou for your patience with me.  Thankyou that you can work through modern technology as effortlessly as you work in more traditional ways.  Thankyou that you were so gentle in nudging me towards a few weeks where I thought a bit more, read a bit more, prayed a bit more, spent more time with you.  As we come up to Easter this year, it means more to me. 

And so, it was worth doing. 

Keep taking the pills

Thankyou God!


Spring is here - milder weather, blue sky (howling arctic gale, but we'll overlook that), crocuses and daffodils coming up, little tiny bits of green on the trees and hedges.  It's almost time to plant tomato seeds and put them on the kitchen windowsill and forget to water them, and the children are wanting to go outside to play again even though the garden is muddy. Because the garden is muddy.


It's usually the time of year that really energises me; makes me feel hopeful and optimistic (within the parameters of my characteristic pessimism, I mean) and generally cheers me up.  This year it's not happening.


I stood outside Elizabeth's school today being buffeted by an icy wind (why does her class always come out last whenever it's cold or raining?) and contemplated how not happening my Springness was this year. I could see the daffodils they'd planted along the side of the classrooms and the crocuses in neighbouring gardens and little bright green things on some bushes, and it was sunny and yet I just felt like waking up from hibernation, opening one eye and then closing it again and deciding to give it another month or so.


This time last year I'd already cleaned the greenhouse and organised the plant pots and had smiled a lot more and written about how wonderful it was to see clothes drying on the clothes line again after a winter in the tumble dryer.


Why am I so apathetic?  I put it down to three things:


1.  I am definitely not a picture of health at the moment.  I've got a season ticket to the GP, who smilingly informed me that I was 'chronically viral' the other day and this very morning added encouragingly that my immune system must be pretty much knackered (as you know, that wasn't the word he used. His was slightly less polite, to my surprise).  I am at present attacking three separate ailments with antibiotics and I ran out of paracetamol the other day - and you know how obsessive I am about having crates of painkillers ready for every eventuality.


2.  I have given up Facebook for Lent. This might sound trivial and somewhat frivolous, but I am definitely missing the company and support of my online mates.  Today I would have posted that I'm not a happy bunny, and they would have doubtless been supportive and sympathetic and encouraging and made me feel loved. Hmmph.


3.  Something else.


I feel as if things are going wrong for me.  One thing after another is breaking, crumbling, aching, becoming troublesome. Is this the co-incidence thing that we've talked about recently?  The more I step out in faith, the more difficult things get?  The more I try to do for you - the more excited I feel about my walk with you, the more I find obstacles in front of me?  Maybe my giving up my prodigious Facebook habit in order to concentrate more on you is making (ahem) The Enemy feel uncomfortable, so he's throwing in my way circumstances that would normally have me running to my support network?  That sounds a tad melodramatic to me, but as you know, I haven't really got this devil thing sorted out. 


CS Lewis (who spoke so much sense) said that it makes the devil happy when we underestimate him but I still feel a bit uncomfortable about giving him credit for all the duff things that are going on right now. I must get to grips with the idea of spiritual warfare. That's for another day.


To continue my whinge, I'd like to bring it to your attention that this week I've missed two church meetings I really wanted to go to, am even as I chat with you now I'm missing the lovely acapella group that lifts my spirits so much. I've had to cancel a coffee date that I've been looking forward to for weeks as I've got something stressful that has to be done in the afternoon and I know that I can't fit in both things either time-wise or energy wise and I'm unprepared for both.  I have spent much of the time that I should have been busy doing this week sleeping instead, which in itself is a blessing but doesn't seem to have given me the boost I would have expected.


Oh I just need to get a grip, don't I?  


I can see you nodding, only you do it in such a way that I can't take offence.  You've got that lovely indulgent, loving expression on your face so that I don't feel got at, I just feel like my Daddy is amused by me, but loves me too much to take the mickey.  


What do I do, Lord?  What do I do to feel full of energy and expectancy and enthusiasm again?  Can you see your way clear to just filling me with it while I sleep tonight so that tomorrow I start the day feeling great?


Or maybe I just have to keep on keeping on.  Be a brave soldier.  Learn to be a bit more self sufficient without my Facebook buddies?  Or better still more dependent on you. Look at you when my instinct is to look to them.  Listen to you when I'd be seeking advice in cyberspace.  These are fundamental things, aren't they, Lord?  I am such a spiritual baby sometimes.


Psalm 121

'I lift up my eyes to the mountains—
   where does my help come from?
My help comes from the LORD, 
  the Maker of heaven and earth.'


So if I lift my eyes up I might see you. 


Or at least, if I'm lifting my eyes then I'm not focused on the ground, on the problems, on the puddles and the mud, unable to see the vastness of the sky, and the sun, and you.  If I lift up my eyes I'm not looking inwards, or at myself and my problems and hurts and anxieties.  I know that you won't let me down.  I've been here before, when I'm feeling bewildered and hurt that you're letting these things happen to me and maybe I'll never get to the bottom of why.  But, as I've said before, what I do know is that you will never leave me.  And if I can't feel you next to me, that doesn't mean that you're not there.


'The LORD will keep you from all harm—
   he will watch over your life;
the LORD will watch over your coming and going
   both now and forevermore.'


You always have, and you are still watching over me. 


So why is all this rubbish happening and why do I feel so low?  I don't know.  Maybe when I'm wiser and more mature as a Christian I might understand what it's all about; or maybe not.  Maybe that saying is true, that what doesn't kill you makes you stronger.  


Maybe I knew that when I started to do new things for you, when I gave you a little tiny bit more of me than I'd done before, when I just opened another little door of my life and let you in, a bit that I'd been withholding, maybe I knew that I would meet with opposition.  Maybe as the angels celebrate, in another place there are demons grinding their teeth (now I do sound like CS Lewis).  


Well, I'm going to keep on with this, I'm going to keep on talking to you, and leaning on you heavily.  


I'm going through this week with my worship CD on in the car, my devotions applications on my iPhone, my Rick Warren book and the new one by Eric Delve on my bedside table next to my Bible, and the distraction of Facebook absent for once.  


Ok then.  I'll keep taking the pills.  

Logging off for Lent

So, God, I may have bitten off more than I can chew.  


You know it was Shrove Tuesday yesterday?  Well, today turns out to be Ash Wednesday, strangely.  I suspect you have this one covered, don't you, Lord?  Well, remembering dates has never been my strong point. Ash Wednesday being the start of Lent, my thoughts turned to what I should do/not do for the duration of Lent.


As you are no doubt aware, I don't have an illustrious history with regard to Lent.  I have on many occasions written cheques I can't cash regarding fasting from chocolate, coffee, wine or indeed anything bad for me; or alternatively made wild claims about going to the gym twice daily, exercising for long stretches each week or something like that.  Nothing ever lasts very long.  Certainly not until Easter. So in recent years I haven't engaged with this practice at all, or 'given up' something that I don't like anyway, like seafood or mushy peas.


As it is in so many ways already, this year is different.  I am giving up my Facebook habit, and already on Day One I am missing it.  


Several things have already happened today about which I would usually inform my friends on Facebook and because I haven't, and won't, I can't get feedback from them or receive the support that I value so highly.   On a several-times-daily basis I exchange news, highs, lows, jokes and messages of support with my Facebook buddies and I shall miss it badly. 


I shall have to turn to you for all those things. I suppose I should have been all along.  Maybe that realisation alone is not a bad thing. But then surely neither is Facebook a bad thing?  It can be used in many ways but I have found it to be a wonderful way to get to know people better. I can pop in to see what people are up to; how an appointment went, to wish someone Happy Birthday or just to say 'I'm thinking of you'.  It means a lot. People have been so kind, so helpful, so supportive. 


And I'm giving it up.


Why?  Well, I'm asking myself that question right now.  Usually as I write this I have another tab open on my computer and I can flick back and forwards between this and Facebook (and Google, and the BBC News site, and CNN...) but I feel bereft without access to my online family. 


The thing is, when I was wondering what to do for Lent, straight away it came to mind that I should stop using Facebook for a while.  Straight away I put it out of my mind with great determination, but it kept coming back.  Anything I was so resistant to giving up was clearly very important to me. How much time do I spend on Facebook each day?  Well, I wouldn't like to say.  By that, I mean not that I wouldn't like to say in case I get it wrong, but I wouldn't like to say because then you'll know exactly how much and I might be embarrassed.  Not that you're not aware of it already.  Hmm.


So Facebook it is.  No pain, no gain.  (Though my mantra is usually 'no pain, no pain'). The trick will be to make sure that I do actually use the time I save by not exchanging the time of day with my Facebook friends to do something useful. Really, it's time I should spend with you, since you are the reason I'm reprioritising the next few weeks. Maybe I'll be rambling here with far greater regularity - is that good?  Or are you groaning at the idea of an increase in my ramblings?


So I am saying that you are first in my life.  


I don't want to let anything be more important to me than you. Maybe my Facebook habit has encroached a bit on other areas of my life.  After all, there has been many a time that I've checked in on Facebook on my phone before I open the little Daily Bible application in a morning.  And then if the children arrive to jump on me and it's getting-up time guess what doesn't get done?  So maybe it's time I get things in order.


That sounded very decisive, didn't it?


What do you think?  It might sound silly and even a bit juvenile, but I'll miss it. I like the way it makes me feel connected.  I'll have to find other ways of staying in touch. Write a few letters!  However did we manage in the old days when we didn't do everything by computer?  People had to try harder, I think.  Maybe people were more self sufficient?  Perhaps we're always so pushed for time because we waste so much of it?  Still, I'm sure there's a way through. As Gloria Gaynor once said, 'I will survive'. 


'I can do all things through him who gives me strength'.  Philippians 4:13


It doesn't matter that it's a daft website that I'm addicted to; it doesn't matter whether it's a big thing or a little thing, I need you to help me do it.  Because on my own I'm weak and I'll cheat and I'll feel depressed that I'm so pathetic and I'll tell myself it's not important and give up.  Or I'll struggle with all the things in my life that are happening for which I'd usually lean on my online friends for support and then I'll say I can't do it and it's not worth it. I need you to help me with this, and I need to look to you for the things that are missing because I've logged out of Facebook for a while.


So I've made it through a morning without Facebook.  I can do this.  After all, it's not for long, is it?  Forty days.  Plus Sundays.  Forty seven days.  Forty seven days?  That seems like ages!


I can do this. It's a small thing to do to put myself out for you. To get things in proportion. Facebook isn't bad, only the status that I give it in my life that might be a bit out of proportion.  So I can re-order.  Get it right.


Look what you did for me.  You gave your life for me. Jesus, this time two thousand years ago you only had forty-odd days left to live and you knew that and you knew what horrors were in store and nevertheless you strode on, determined, steadfast, with your eyes set on the Father.  You knew what was important and you did it.  And it was a damn sight harder than giving up Facebook. 


So there it is.  This is a small thing.  If I find it hard then it'll remind me that I'm doing it to show you that I want you to be first in my life.  I can lay aside something special to me to remind me of what you have done.  If it helps me to be more still, less busy, less occupied, more thoughtful, then that's great. I'll have achieved something.


'I can do all things through him who gives me strength'.  Philippians 4:13


So here we go.