A - Z Challenge - F: Friend

This is a little something I wrote as an exercise on a writers' weekend. We had to write a parable; a narrative that held a deeper meaning. Something that could be read on different levels, allowing the reader to pull out truths as they saw them, embedded in story. Here it is.

My Friend (first published as 'Treasures Everywhere')

This afternoon I went for a walk with an old friend. We haven't spent time together for quite a while - I'm not sure why. He's always good company but I've kind of got into the habit of walking with other people, or even just by myself. That's when there's time for things like that at all, of course; everything is such a rush these days!  Anyway, my friend seemed a little surprised to be asked but as soon as he heard my voice he was full of enthusiasm. So delighted was he to hear from me that my pleasure was tinged with a little guilt, if I'm honest.

Anyway, we went for a stroll on a beautiful sunny summer's day. It was very pleasant. We chatted about this and that - or at least I did; he didn't say very much and so I felt a bit as if I needed to fill the gaps in the conversation. I probably went on a bit but if he found my monologue tiresome he didn't let on. He just listened and smiled encouragingly.

We reached a point where the path forked into two. Left or right? I hesitated.

My friend knew the area much better than I did, so I asked him which was best. He shrugged  and told me it was my choice. I felt a pang of irritation at his reticence, but quickly rallied.

After scrutinising each path, I chose the one that looked easiest walking. I was only wearing my battered old flip flops; not the best choice for a walk in the woodland, as it turns out.

I chided myself that I should have been more prepared. I hadn't really given much thought to what I'd need before I set off.

Easy walking indeed! Before long the path took a sharp and rocky upward turn. I set off up the steep gradient somewhat hesitantly as it would have been very easy to slip in my inadequate footwear. A couple of times I felt the reassurance of my friend's hand on my elbow, which was very welcome. I was soon out of breath and stopped talking to him completely. Again, he didn't seem to mind but stayed beside me as we climbed. Later I realised that when we got to the top and flopped down for a much-needed breather I should have thanked him for his assistance, because I'm not sure I'd have made it without him, but embarrassingly, it didn't cross my mind.

Funnily enough, it was the downhill section where I nearly had an accident.  Feeling more confident, I had taken the lead and my friend did not call me back as I strode off ahead. He followed not far behind, but let me do my thing. I very nearly came unstuck as my bare foot slipped on some loose rocks and I stumbled badly. After that rush of adrenalin I slowed my pace a little and stayed closer to my sure-footed friend. The experience had also taught me to pay closer attention to the path to try to avoid another mishap.

I was so focused downward that I would not have seen the baby rabbits playing in a clearing, if my friend had not gently stopped me and pointed. What a delight!  He encouraged me to slow down and not worry so much about each single step, or what was round the next corner. I resolved to follow his advice and go at a more leisurely pace so that I didn't miss any other wonders along the way. It is too tricky to concentrate on one's feet and take in the scenery at the same time.

After a while, we had a welcome rest on a bench. My friend produced a bottle of cool water and handed it to me. I looked at him in astonishment; he seemed to know just what I needed! I drank deeply - almost forgot to leave him any if I'm honest - and felt much revived. I sighed happily as we took in the vista below our vantage point.

The woods opened out below onto a lush meadow of wild flowers bordering a small, still lake. It was the perfect spot - so very beautiful. I could feel the gentle breeze cooling my forehead and hear the whisper of the trees and the song of the birds. I slipped off my sandals, felt the soft grass soothe my sore feet and inhaled the fragrance of honeysuckle. What a treat! I smiled broadly at my friend, who seemed to be taking pleasure in my relaxation.

Much restored, we resumed our walk at a much gentler pace. Neither of us said very much; conversation seemed unnecessary.

We walked companionably side by side, stopping often to admire a flower, a leaf, a ladybird. My friend had the gift of spotting nuggets of interest that I would have walked past, but as I paid attention and fell into step with him, I began to notice more and more for myself. Each time I paused to examine something, my friend encouraged me with his delighted response to my observations.

We rounded a corner and I realised that we were almost at the spot where the path had divided earlier. The sunlight filtered through the canopy of trees lighting up the leaves in more shades of green than I had known existed. I remarked that it had not really mattered which route we took through the woods; there were treasures to be found everywhere! My friend laughed affectionately and I felt full of gratitude toward him. His company had made all the difference.

It had been such an agreeable afternoon that we made plans to meet again for another wander in the woods. My friend somehow seemed to have all the time in the world and would have agreed a date and time immediately; he seemed a little disappointed as I flicked through the pages of my well-worn diary for the next few busy weeks and drew a blank. I promised to telephone him at my earliest convenience. 

We said our goodbyes and I left him leaning on the stile at the end of the path to the woods watching my departure with a strange look on his face.

Glancing at my watch I realised that a number 62 was due from the high street any moment. If I got a wriggle on I could be home in time for the prayer meeting at church.

I hurried towards the bus stop.

A gentle bump

So here I am again after a long break.

Busyness, holidays, minor illnesses, small emergencies, life events, daily distractions: the sort of time-consuming hamster-wheel kind of family life that consumes all in its path.  Not all bad things, not all good things, just things. For someone like me, who needs periods of space and solitude in order to function properly, the summer is a stressful time too full of people and activity, even though they might be my favourite people in the whole world, and much of the activity is stuff I've been looking forward to for months. It's exhausting and non-stop.

There have been times when I thought my head might explode.

You'd think I'd need the peace that only God provides even more than in my normal term-time routine, where I build in periods of withdrawal where I can, wouldn't you? Well you'd be right. I  need Him more than ever.

Funny that I seem to lose my grip on Him at the very time I need Him the most. It happened last year, and probably the ones before that as well. I get stressed and overwhelmed and instead of clinging more tightly, I let go and drift off. I'm the first to admit that it makes no sense.

Even the odd time I have had where I could have slunk off with my journal to find a little oasis of the kind of peace that only He gives, I've found myself reading paperbacks, checking social media or frittering away precious moments of peace on trivia.

Then this thing happened.

On holiday at the seaside. I had been in the sea with my husband, swimming back and forth, enjoying the waves, the sparkle of the sun, the cool of the water, the warmth on my back, and I'd just decided to get out and join Grandma and the girls on the beach. I wasn't in deep water; I put my legs down on the sand and stood; it was about chest level. Something bumped into my leg. Gently, but a definite bump. Not like seaweed, which would have made me yelp, given my irrational fear of seaweed, but I thought, maybe a fish? Sharks are pretty rare off the north Norfolk coast, I believe.

I began to wade back up the gently shelving beach, towards my youngest daughter who was happily hopping about in the surf. As I turned to let my husband know I was heading in, there between us was a Grey Seal. It looked right at me, turned, and looked right at him. We watched it for a long moment, before it dived back underwater and swam off, resurfacing occasionally to have another look round.

What about that?

On my way up the beach I found my oldest daughter squatting over a rock pool near the beach groyne that leads down into the sea. She'd found a little starfish. A few paces later and there was a feather on an untouched area of sand. A perfect grey and white flight feather.

As I stood on the beach on that beautiful warm summer day, blue sky, shimmering sea, soft sand, surrounded by my family, all (at that moment) content and occupied, I had one of those the penny-drops moments.

A seal, a starfish, a feather.

God keeps on giving, even when I'm not receiving. He goes on laying His gifts in front of me, even when I'm not looking out for them. His generosity does not depend on my willingness to receive, any more than it depends on my behaviour, whether I've earned it.

He just keeps on giving.

It blew my mind.

How pleased God must be when we do notice something, and stop what we're doing to smile and marvel and thank Him for the little bit of loveliness He has placed in our path. For years now I've prayed for eyes to see and ears to hear, and I know that God has answered that prayer, but I now realise that I have the ability to turn it off, as well. It's hard to fathom, but I can choose to be blind, and deaf, and ungrateful. I must miss so much.

But there's more, too. God never stops giving, and He never stops loving, either.

He just keeps on loving me.

You know that old thing that we've heard, 'There's nothing that you can do to make God love you more, and nothing that you can do to can make Him love you less'?  Well, it suddenly made sense.

I do things that pull me away from God all the time. It might not be a huge great sin that I commit that lands me in the lowest place possible, knowing me, it's more likely that it's a slow drift that takes me away from His side, just like the insidious little currents that slowly and imperceptibly pull you away from the shoreline if you swim out too far.

And yet, His love for me doesn't change. Not one bit. He still loves me enough to lay beauty in my path just to make me smile.

Then the third thing in this trilogy of personal revelations: He doesn't want my guilt.

He just wants me.

God waits patiently for me to remember who He is, who I am, and to look up into His face once again. He is there, where He's always been, waiting for me to come back. And when I do, He holds out His hand for me to take and He is just pleased to see me.

No recriminations. No stern talking to. No rehashing of my failings, no comment on how long I've kept Him waiting or how many of His treasures I missed. No ground to make up. Just pleasure that I'm back.

My daughters are at that age when quite often one of them stalks off on their own if we've had a confrontation or I've failed to live up to expectations in some way. When they come back our relations are sometimes strained for a while. Hurt feelings on both sides, ruffled feathers. It would be unwise for one of them to ask me for something at a time like this, when I'm feeling raw or annoyed. Grumpy and disinclined to co-operate. We need soothing words and a period of reconciliation.

Not so with God. He throws open His arms and welcomes us while we are still far away.

I am not in disgrace. I don't have to work my way back into His good books. No probationary period.

How He loves me.

So I stood there on the beach, looking at my daughters happily jumping in the waves, my husband relaxing in the sea, my Mum watching us all from a deckchair with a smile, and I realised that my Heavenly Father loves me so much that He keeps giving me gifts, even when I'm miles away from Him.  And on top of all that, He's so tender when He reaches down to touch me. Like the grey seal - a gentle bump.

And that night I intended to get some of this down in my journal and spend some time thanking Him for this amazing generosity, but it didn't happen. I was busy, distracted; believe it or not, my mind was once again elsewhere. It turns out that I am capable of turning away even after such precious and loving insights.

Days later I opened the devotional that I'm reading (intermittently) and found this:

"Gently bring your attention back to me, whenever it wanders away. I look for persistence, rather than perfection, in your walk with Me.  I not only accept you as you are, I love you as you are...You can easily fall prey to self-rejection if you have unrealistic expectations of yourself. I want you to bring your focus back to Me gently, without judging yourself... I always welcome you back with unfailing love." *

He doesn't want my guilt. He doesn't want me to waste time and energy berating myself for having the attention span of a begonia. He doesn't want me to feel bad that I let Him down. He just wants me to try again.

He waits, and welcomes, and keeps on loving.

Father God, thank you for your unfailing love. Love that keeps no record of wrongs, holds no grudges. Love that never changes.

Thank you that you know me better than I know myself, and yet you love me still. I want to stay close to you. I want to see and hear all that you have for me; I don't want to miss a thing, and yet I am easily distracted.

Help me to bring my attention back to you and place my hand once again in yours. Thank you that you are always there waiting for me.

Amen.

Reference: 

*Dear Jesus, Sarah Young, 2007, Thomas Nelson

A time for everything

God - there's somebody out there who thinks like me. 

I imagine that doesn't come as any surprise to you, since you are omniscient. And you made me. But I read something the other day that reflected so accurately how I've been feeling and realisations about myself that I've been having that it amazed me that someone had encapsulated it already. I suppose it really shouldn't surprise me as I don't flatter myself that I am profoundly original and revelatory in any way, certainly not with regard to theology, but it was surprising and reassuring. A bit strange, actually, to read in someone else's words thoughts that I'd had so recently. 

What was also interesting was that a friend gave this book to me because it reminded her of me and she thought that it would speak to me. I wonder which pages she looked at! This definitely speaks to me because it speaks about me.

It's a prayer by Eddie Askew in his book of prayers and meditations, called 'A Silence and a Shouting' (Published by The Leprosy Mission International, 1982, London).

This particular prayer is on page 21 and is inspired by Ecclesiastes 3:1-11.

'There is a time for everything

And a season for every activity under heaven...'

Ecclesiastes 3:1

Eddie writes about busyness and the pressure of time; the fact that in this passage from Ecclesiastes God is telling us that if there is an appropriate time for everything, then there is clearly an inappropriate time as well. That our work is given to us by God and that we are never in possession of all the facts; only God can see the big picture. That we can only do as much as we can do, do it as well as we can, and then rest and allow God to do the rest. Someone sent me a picture on Facebook the other day. It said, 'Let Go and Let God'.

Here's how Eddie Askew puts it in his prayer.

'Lord, I get so busy.

Sometimes because I want to help.

Sometimes because I can't say no.

Sometimes because I'm flattered to be asked. 

And it all adds up to strain, to tiredness,

to not having two minutes to call my own.'

Ooh that sounds familiar. Quite often I want to help; I'm carried along on a wave of enthusiasm and bite off more than I can chew. I've said a few times that if I ever write an autobiography I'll call it, 'It seemed like a good idea at the time'.

Quite often I can't say no, though I'm practicing. I'm flexing my 'I'm sorry, but no' muscles a bit more often lately. Not easy though. Usually accompanied by pangs of guilt and second thoughts. 

Flattered to be asked? Oh yes. I'm usually surprised that people think I can contribute to something and if people think I can, then I should oblige, shouldn't I? Last year I took on an important role pretty much for this reason only and I've been oppressed by it all year, dreading the regular commitments and worrying about it until lately I reassessed priorities and resigned. Would that I hadn't said 'yes' in the first place.

Eddie again:

'Lord I feel like a mouse in a treadmill.

Rushing around, faster and faster.

Getting nowhere.'

Oh yes. I mentioned this some time ago only I think I chose a hamster. 

'And the first thing that goes out of the window 

is you.

No time, Lord, sorry!'

Oh yes again.  How often have I lamented recently that I thought when Katy started school this September that I would have more time, and that one of my plans for that new time that I would have would be to spend a regular time with you, Lord? I said that it might not be a daily thing, to start with, but I would definitely find time to sit with you, read, pray and learn to listen. I've been going on about wanting wisdom, wanting to learn to hear your voice and follow your call and then the reality is that Kate has been at Big School for a whole half term and I've just been chasing my tail taking on new commitments and 'yes' to everyone but you. 

Eddie has been there. He knows. He told you about this syndrome already, didn't he?

'Lord, it's at times like this when I need you most.

Yet you seem so far away.

Why, Lord? Where have you gone?

Then I hear it, the quiet voice...

...be still and know that I am God.

You are near. You have been all the time.

And I understand

that I can't hear you if I don't listen.

That I will feel alone if I don't give time to you.

I have written the exact same sentiments over the last few posts right here.  Lord, what are you saying? What should I do? Guide me! Speak to me! Yet I am moving so fast with so many things in my head that even if you were shouting at me I would still fail to hear you. 

On the Quiet Day last week it took me a while to stop, to slow, to reach a place where I could sit next to you and be. The quiet voice. You reminded me of who you were, who I am, and you told me that I needed to slow down. That it was ok to 'be'. More than ok, it is necessary for me.  Without it I've felt so lost and confused. Things have closed in on me. My spacious place has become claustrophobic.

The quiet voice. Be still and know...

'Lord, I just thought so much depended on me.

I know the whole works wouldn't end if I took a break,

but it made me feel important.

I need to remember that it's your world, your work.

I'm glad to have a part in it, but it's yours, not mine.

And when I've done what I can,

I can safely leave the rest to you.'

You must be shaking your head when I admit that sometimes I feel as if everything rests on me. Some days I feel as if I'm constantly keeping someone else happy; and rarely that person is you. How absurd it is on so many levels! That I am the only person who can support all the people in my life, that it all depends on little old mixed up me, that the person who comes last in the queue of people I need to keep happy is the Creator of the Universe, the One who made me, died for me and sustains my every breath.

Absurd indeed.

'Lord, still my heart.

Help me cut down the adrenalin.

Give me your peace.'

Amen. Eddie Askew, thankyou. You put it into words. I flicked through the first pages of your book and the Lord spoke to me through you. 

Lord, God, forgive me for getting it wrong over and over again.  I went to the Quiet Day and loved it; learned a couple of things that meant a lot to me and wrote down what was going to change when I got back. I realised that I need to spend time with you and that it's alright to build time with you into my week. Have I done it?

Nope.  Of course, it's half term week, so the children aren't at school, which sort of cuts down the opportunities for peace and quiet even more, and Bryan's been poorly, so that means that I've taken the children out a bit more than I might have, but I suspect that these too are excuses.  

I'm sorry for all the times that I think that things depend on me, when they depend on you.

I'm sorry for all the times that you give me a little job to do and I think that I need to do the whole thing.

I'm sorry for all the times that my ego tells me that everything rests on me; that no-one (not even you) can do the thing as well as I can.

I'm sorry that you get so crowded out that you fall off the bottom of my To Do list. 

Lord, thank you for your patience with me - that I turn back to you and I'm almost afraid to look up at you because I've let you down again, missed the point again, got it wrong again - and yet instead of impatience and frustration all I see in your face is love. You just open your arms and smile and restore me and give me another chance. And another. 

Thankyou that it's never the end, when I get it wrong. You never wash your hands of me, no matter how obtuse I am. You find a way to speak to me even in the vacuum that I leave behind as I rush from one red herring to another. You took me on a Quiet Day and to make sure that you made your point my friend gave me this so that I would be reminded of the lessons I learned on that day and yet failed to act on. 

Let it be different, this time, Lord. Help me to change this. Live differently. Let's meet up more regularly.

I know - you're waiting...

The unforced rhythms of grace

Good morning, Lord.  

I am feeling perky this morning. Just got a job done that has been hanging over me for weeks and weeks and waking me in the night worrying (though that's not an indication of the seriousness of an anxiety; not long ago I woke in the night and couldn't get back to sleep for thinking that I need to clean the bathroom before we have visitors next week - next week! - and 'must add kitchen roll to the shopping list' was going through my head. I'm going mad.) 

So, job done, and as ever, it wasn't as stressful as I thought. Bryan and I went out for a drive in the country and breakfast to celebrate and anywhere with bacon and eggs, toast and free coffee refills is fine by me. All that caffeine is possibly one reason I'm feeling with it today. Ha!

Well, the ups and downs leave me breathless. This week has been a case in point; Monday I was anxious and restless (mid-ground), Tuesday was my wonderful Quiet Day away (more on this in a minute) - high - and Wednesday back to earth with a thud (low). Thursday was a depressed day, miserable and tired (very low) and now today, optimistic, buoyant and caffeine-fuelled (high). Let's stay here for a while, can we?

Tuesday. Ahh. Quiet for five whole hours and no pressure. Sit, walk, pray, write, draw, read, drowse, stare, listen, sit some more. Five hours just disappeared. Poof. It was wonderful. I didn't want to come home. I can understand why some people go on a retreat for a week or more. Much more. I can see why some people go to live on a remote island, actually.  I didn't really have any expectations about the day other than a vague anxiety about the length of time I had to be quiet for, but I needn't have worried. It was such a blessing to have a whole day just to be. To sit and contemplate and think or indeed not think. Lovely lovely.

It was a strange day, really. I started out sitting down by a window and unaccountably started to cry. I'm not quite sure why, other than I felt delicate and emotional. I couldn't put into words how awful I felt and the tears just came instead. I could have dissolved completely but there were other people in the room and I knew that if I let things go there'd be an awful lot of sniffing and nose-blowing involved and there's little chance of achieving that sort of thing with any subtlety on a Quiet Day. So best pull myself together. So I did. I sat and stared and talked to you a bit, sort of awkwardly, and then I started doodling and lost myself in an elaborate doodle for an hour and a quarter. I haven't done that in years. I'm quite pleased with the result at the back of my prayer diary notebook. 

It was a tree. Right outside my window down the garden was a tree. It was a big, big tree with barely any leaves left on it and it was blowing in a strong Autumn wind that was making wonderful noises around the eves of the chapel in which I was sitting. The rain kept coming in gusts on the wind and then the sun would make an appearance and the few remaining leaves on this tree would glow orange. It was bowing and reaching in the wind, yet so big and strong and permanent and such a lovely shape. I didn't really think about what type of tree it was. I started doodling and it was actually only as I was putting my things back in my bag hours later that I noticed a brown, dried leaf from that tree had blown and was stuck to the window sill in front of me. It was an oak tree. 

Earlier on this year I had a picture of a big tree and it's symbolism, (I am a tree) and this week it touched me that I happened to be sitting at a window on a day when I had sought to be with you and listen to you and right in front of me was that beautiful tree. I will always look at big trees, particularly oaks, and think of you. It makes me think of all that I'd like to be. 

So I doodled for a while and relaxed and found that my mind was clearing beautifully. I hummed in my head, I stopped and closed my eyes when the sun came out and bathed me in warmth, and I watched the tree being blown in the powerful gusts of wind but always straighten up as the wind dropped. It looked solid, strong, steady, reliable, safe, patient, enduring, timeless. Beautiful.

Lunchtime was a slightly strange affair as a dozen people ate sandwiches, made coffee and sat together munching away without talking (but hardly in silence - a bag of crisps can't be consumed quietly!) I think if the weather had been nicer I might have taken my sarnie and my drink and disappeared off somewhere in the grounds so that my crunching didn't add to the soundtrack but in the absence of that opportunity I left the crisps where they were and picked a book from the library shelf so that I didn't have to make eye contact in any self conscious way. There was one book that jumped out at me as it was lying flat on a shelf, out of place. It was called 'The Call to Intimacy: Finding Rest in the Love of God' by Tony Horsfall.

I only picked it up as something to occupy me as I ate but you left it there just for me, didn't you? This book was just what I needed. The author speaks about the guilt that people feel taking time out of a busy life full of commitment and 'doing' to stop, contemplate and try to deepen their own individual relationship with you. I know exactly what he meant. I have so many claims on my time, so many things that need doing and so many people to please that even coming away for a Quiet Day from 9.45am-3.45pm necessitated lots of arrangements by other people to help me and consequent guilt on my part. It seemed indulgent and selfish. 

I read that because I am programmed to 'do' all the time that I have a tendency to measure my relationship with God by how much I do for him. The author points out that this is moving me away from grace-based living and into works-based living. Perhaps because my church background is Evangelical Anglican I feel a moral obligation to do; the author quotes John Wesley:

'Love so amazing, so divine

Demands my soul, my life, my all.'

and I've quoted that myself as a response to all that you've done for me.  After all, we go on so much about the need to be an active church; to be doing, reaching out, tirelessly working. We're constantly starting new projects and getting involved because it's the right thing to do - to further your plans; to do your will, to tell people about you. 

Clearly these things are not bad. I think you can't argue that we need to do. People need to learn about you and we have a commission to go and make disciples. But maybe we need to be careful about how much we're doing. How much we can take on and how much we are not doing because our time is full of things. And by this I mean me. I need to be aware not only when it's appropriate to say no, but when I am doing at the expense of being.

I have wittered on and on over the course of this year that when Katy started school and I had so much more free time (ha ha) that I would make a regular space to sit and spend time with you. I gave myself permission that it might not happen every day, at least not to start with, but this term was going to be a new start where I found time for you. To read, to pray, to listen. Particularly to listen. To learn to listen. And what has happened? Half term starts tomorrow and it hasn't happened once. Not once.

What am I doing instead? I am organising things, I am writing, I am volunteering, I am going to meetings, I am planning, I am attending church - I am doing.  On top of doing I have been getting increasingly stressed about commitments, increasingly tired and headachy and low. I wonder if I'm getting the balance a bit wrong?  Seems to be what is referred to as a 'no brainer' don't you think?

This Quiet Day has been the first opportunity to stop and breathe and think since school started. 

Phew. How wonderful it was. Have I said that I could have stayed there indefinitely? Yes, I think so, but it deserves saying again.

Tony Horsfall, in 'Intimacy: Finding rest in the love of God' goes on to say that perhaps we need to rediscover 'The unforced rhythms of grace.' (Matthew 11:29) and he quotes a lady called Dr Pamela Evans who says:

"'Discovering the rhythms of grace' speaks to me of settling into the need to stay in step with Him, neither lagging behind or being driven beyond His call."

Between them, they suggest that it is possible to be doing far more than you require of us. Really? This is a new angle for me as I've been working on the principle that I owe you so much that you deserve everything I have. I know that common sense tells me that you would not have me work so hard for you that I am exhausted and no use to anyone; and I wouldn't suggest for one minute that I do work that hard. My struggle is more a mental one; which thing to do is the most urgent/worthy/necessary/appropriate thing to be doing - and stopping to sit and contemplate, stopping completely to listen and do nothing for a while hasn't even been on my radar, let alone in my plans. 

What would people think? 

I can just imagine. 

'There she is, Helen's off on another Quiet Day. She went off in October to sit and draw trees and loll about all day and she's going to do it again. When there's so much needing doing!'

Going to do it again?  Oh yes. I am. 

And you know what else I learned on Tuesday? That there's a Biblical base for this idea. Oh yes there is!  (I am sensing a bit of eye-rolling here, Lord. Bear with me. I am but a child.)

St Paul (himself) tells us that we should live peaceful lives. Here it is in a few different translations:

'...that we may live peaceful and quiet lives in all godliness and holiness.' 

1 Timothy 2:2 NIV

'...so that we can be quietly about our business of living simply, in humble contemplation.'

1 Timothy 2:2 The Message

'...so that we can live in peace and quietness, spending our time in godly living and thinking much about the Lord.'

1 Timothy 2:2 The Living Bible

See?  The penny drops. Are the angels cheering?

So, I need to find space, peace, quietness. I need more simplicity, more contemplation. I am liking the sound of that. And then if I get this piece of the jigsaw in place, my life should start to reflect you more. It may take a long time, I guess, but the more time I spend with you, the more this should leak out into my life, into all that I do. 

'Make it your ambition to lead a quiet life.'

1 Thessalonians 4:11

I am going to make it my ambition. I know that I am sitting here now writing away with coffee after coffee and full of hope and good intentions and then this afternoon I am going to get a haircut, call at the supermarket (kitchen roll; left it off the list after all, also bananas), then collect the children, cook tea and clean the bathroom and then by evening time collapse in a not-very-contemplative-more-telly-watching sort of mode. I know that I am only taking baby steps and this might not change very quickly.

But I am going to change this. I am going to spend more time with you. I am going to get a grip and stop being swept along on a tide of well-intentioned busyness trying to meet everyone's expectation but yours. 

In 1 Peter 3:4 Peter encourages women with unbelieving husbands to live this way so that they may win them over by demonstrating '...the unfading beauty of a gentle and quiet spirit.'

Hmm. Think you'd better ask Bryan about the gentle and quiet spirit. Still, I am a work in progress. May my spirit become ever gentler and quieter!

Mr Horsfall concludes this part of his book (as I was concluding my tuna and rocket sandwich - and very nice it was too) by quoting someone else, Henri Nouwen, in his book 'The Way of the Heart':

'There is always one more phone call, one more letter, one more visit, one more meeting, one more book, one more party. Together these form an insurmountable pile of activities. The contrast between the great support for the idea of prayer and the lack of support for the practice of it is so blatantly visible.' 

My first thought when reading this was that I should get hold of his book as it sounds interesting and then hot on the heels of that thought was that it was just 'one more book'.... I should skip to the prayer bit. 

Just glancing at my To Do list reveals that yes, I need to make two phone calls 'urgently', I have three letters that I'm halfway through writing, several people who are expecting me to visit, lots of meetings on the calendar, more books on the bedside table than you could shake a stick at and, well, not so many parties, but still. An insurmountable pile of activities. 

A quiet life.

Thankyou Father God. 

Thankyou for your endless patience. 

Thankyou for every baby step that you guide me to take. 

Please help me to carry this little revelation on instead of letting it languish under a pile of Things To Do. 

I started my Quiet Day in tears and ended it smiling. I started it with a jumble of thoughts and worries and ended it with a bit of peace and fresh ideas. I started it with despair and ended it with determination. 

When I sat down at the window, the horizon was foggy and blurred where the rain was falling on the hills in the distance and by the time I left the hills were crisp and sunlit. I know this parallel is a bit on the cheesy side but hey, it's true and I like it. 

Thankyou for my tree, my symbol of your permanence, your strength and your steadfast faithfulness. Thankyou for this book and your message to me that I don't have to meet everyone's expectation; only yours. An audience of one. Thankyou that you are not impressed by how much I do, but you want me to be still and listen. To life a quiet life. 

'Be still and know that I am God.'

Psalm 46:10

You are indeed. 

Thanks for the reminder, Lord. 

Be still and know that I am God

I've been reading about silence. I've been reading articles about silence in books, there's been a daily devotional series about silence, and the subject of silence has cropped up numerous times in our house over the last few months, and I don't just mean references to blessed peace and quiet after the children are finally asleep.

I'm talking about silence before you; silence that allows my brain (theoretically) to still, and the busyness of life to stall for a little while, long enough for me to learn to hear you speak. All the writing I've been looking at has one thing in common and that is that it tells me that you are able to communicate with us in a myriad of different ways, but the way that you use most often is to speak into silence when we just sit with you and give you space.

Why is this so hard?!  I can write, I can talk, I can read, I can sing - and yet sitting still and just being is immensely difficult for me. I itch for my keyboard, or my iPhone, or my book, or my notebook. Or even a song. 

I've often longed for space, for peace and solitude; with two small children I find that I rarely get to be on my own. I used to like my own company, and I didn't always destroy the silence with music. I remember some very happy times sitting in the sun near a window with a book and a coffee, or my computer, or falling asleep. In those days silence wasn't so precious or so rare. I didn't know that I should somehow be making the most of it. You think you know what life will be life when babies arrive but nothing can really prepare you.

So back to the present, and these days I long for peace. Solitude. Quietness. On the odd occasion I actually achieve these things. But somehow I can't achieve the remaining dimension, which is stillness. My mind has to be occupied; I want to write or read. Or sleep. I can't just switch off and be.

'Be still and know that I am God.'

Psalm 46:10 

Is that a command? In which case I should probably start to try a bit harder to crack this one. No doubt I'll start getting anxious because I'm letting you down in some way; that I'm not doing as I'm told.  Or is it a piece of advice? If we are still then we can know that you are God. If we are still then you will come and meet us somehow and enrich our experience of you. 

So why am I so bad at it? Well, to be honest, one reason is that I'm not trying very hard. In my reading I've been challenged to set aside time to be still, and to commit to practice stillness, and yet I haven't. I'm not sure why I'm so reluctant, but something is stopping me. I feel a bit afraid of it. Like the silent retreat idea; when I watched a documentary about it on television my initial reaction was one of enthusiasm and the desire to run away somewhere and have all that luxurious time to be quiet. I even sent off for details of somewhere I could go to do just that. Then the more I think about it, the more scary it sounds. I suspect that the attraction of a silent retreat for me might be more based on the desire to escape temporarily from my hectic, noisy, busy, unrelenting, exhausting daily routine.  To stop the hamster wheel and get off and look around rather than indulge a desire to leave the world behind to meet with you.

Does it come down to personality type? Or can/should everyone be able to find you in silence? I see you around me in nature, in kindness, in beauty, in other people. I find you in things I read and sermons I hear. I find you in music and the words of songs. I find you in the Bible and in devotional writings. You have spoken to me through songs, through my reading, and through other people. You have spoken to me directly on occasion, through pictures or words in my head. You speak to me often by directing my thoughts as I sit here and talk to you like this. So is silence not for me, since I find it so hard, since I'm reluctant and hesitant to try it?

Or is it just a matter of practice and perseverance? Is there something huge and meaningful that I'm missing? I wonder if that's the case.

It seems likely to me that I don't often leave you a space to get a word in edgeways, as they say round here. I talk and I talk and I shout and I cry and I talk some more and then I'm finished and whoosh, I'm off. Doing something else. Loading the washing machine, making coffee, sorting washing, cleaning, writing something else, surfing the internet, playing on Facebook, watching TV, reading something. Sleeping, even. The few occasions I've tried to be still in your presence it's gone something like this:

Ah. Deep breath.  

Sigh.  Yawn. 

Here I am, Lord.

Deep breath. Sit down, lean back, close eyes.

Turn palms up, try to relax shoulders. 

Here I am, Lord. 

I'm listening.

Try to banish thought that creeps in unbidden that the washing machine has just finished and the clothes need hanging out now as it's going to rain this afternoon and they could be drying in this sun.

Got to make sure I send a birthday card later. What day is it today?

Short attack of anxiety that I can't remember which day it is.

Deep breath. Back on track. 

Open eyes. 

Notice button on window sill from Lizzie's school cardigan. Resist temptation to go and put it somewhere where it won't get lost. Make mental note to remember where it is.

Look out of window. Notice clematis needs fastening to fence. Start to make mental list of other jobs in the garden. Thank you for the beauty of nature, Lord. 

Count minutes until school run.

Running short of time.

Refocus. Deep breath. 

Here I am, Lord. 

Think about cup of coffee. Consider going to make one then returning to attempt at silence. Banish the thought as I've only just had one.

Deep breath. Lord, I'm listening. 

Speak to me. 

Any time now would be good. Got to go soon.

Phone beeps with text message. Try to resist urge to check it immediately. Fail. Read it, type quick reply. 

Now thinking about someone else or a job that needs doing.

Sigh.

Give up. Well, there I was, Lord. For all of five minutes. 

Catch you later?

See what I mean? And I can count on the fingers of one hand the occasions where I've even got that far. The other day I went and sat in a graveyard in the beautiful countryside with the sun on my back and a coffee in my hand and it was lovely, but I actually sat still for less than ten minutes, I reckon. Then I was walking round reading the stones, taking photos, thinking my thoughts and throwing the odd one your way. 

It's the head-space I can't seem to find. 

So help me, will you, Lord? The people I know who can do this seem to get so much from it. If it would please you, I'd like to do it for you too, if I could, not just for what I could get out of it. I'm just not sure how to do it, and there's always something else I could be doing.

I've definitely found that since I've been reading my little devotional pieces and verses of the Bible every morning, that my thoughts are with you much more often in my day. I find myself saying the odd thing to you, lifting my problems, or those of other people to you all through the day in a series of little conversational arrow-type prayers, but sustained prayer and silence isn't my strong suit. I know how much you bless the small hesitant baby steps I make towards deepening my relationship with you, so I have no doubt that you would meet me halfway (or closer) if I grow in this direction. 

I give you something so small it's pretty insignificant, and in exchange you shower me with blessings. 

Silence. Stillness. Be still and know you are God.

So, show me how. Show me when. Show me more of you, will you?