A letter to fill you in. Or not.

I'd like to fill you in, but I can't. I don't know what's going on myself. 

I haven't been able to write for ages, and in normal circumstances not feeding the BlogMonster regularly isn't a great idea.  I've long since let go of the blog stats - sort of given 'em up as a bad job. That in itself is something, I think, as a year ago I used to check several times each day, hungrily waiting to see the spikes get higher per day, week, month. These days I rarely bother checking, and the spam robot things keep the numbers ticking over. 

It's been a combination of busyness, other unwelcome things occupying head space and eating away at the opportunity to write, and then an overwhelming absence of inspiration when I do have time. The lack of inspiration thing is generally new to me as I have gone for almost three years now constantly on the lookout for things to write about and usually find that ideas queue up to be explored. 

It's not as if I'm in a dark place, spiritually. 

I went to a conference a week or two ago and it was amazing; a mountain top experience, I think you call it. God showed up and made His presence felt. It was awe-inspiring, beautiful, challenging, reassuring, moving, wonderful - and yet I haven't a clue how to write about it. 

It's too big. 

So I'm letting the words fall out in any old order and not worrying too much about how elegant it is or how much sense I make. I hope that by trying to explain, I might start to understand a bit more.

I've taken a song away from the conference as my song for now. It's by Hillsong, and it's called 'Oceans (Where feet may fail)'.*

You call me out upon the waters

The great unknown where feet may fail

And there I find You in the mystery

In oceans deep

My faith will stand

And I will call upon Your name

And keep my eyes above the waves

When oceans rise

My soul will rest in Your embrace

For I am Yours and You are mine

Your grace abounds in deepest waters

Your sovereign hand

Will be my guide

Where feet may fail and fear surrounds me

You've never failed and You won't start now

Spirit lead me where my trust is without borders

Let me walk upon the waters

Wherever You would call me

Take me deeper than my feet could ever wander

And my faith will be made stronger

In the presence of my Saviour

And somewhere in there is my current confusion and why I'm struggling to write anything at the moment. 

At the beginning of the conference, I asked God in the pages of my journal to show me something new about Him, and something new about me. He answered my prayer. 

We sang.

'Spirit lead me where my trust is without borders - 

let me walk upon the waters wherever you would call me...' 

Tears streamed down my face. He gave me a glimpse of how much my soul longs for Him; I could barely sing the words, so full was I of yearning, reaching to go further, deeper after Him. I tend to tie myself in knots about my motivations, my commitment, whether my heart is in the right place. The strength of my own longing overwhelmed me.

Lead me where my trust is without borders...

My trust definitely has borders. It has a clearly defined perimeter, I think. I think God showed me that my trust in Him is not complete. At the same conference, Danielle Strickland spoke to us powerfully about living outside our comfort zone, about waking up and choosing a boundless life, and there it is again. Boundless. Unconstrained. Unlimited. 

I've been reading a book with a friend for a while now; we read a chapter and meet each week to discuss it. We're reading Lysa Ter Keurst's book, 'What Happens When Women Say Yes to God?' It's been an uncomfortable read, and we're only on chapter three. Over and over again I've said 'Yes' to God, but I wonder if my yeses have been measured, limited. 'Lord, show me where you're proposing to take me, and I'll tell you if I'm following.'

Another wise lady whose words I usually devour as food for the soul wrote the other week about Heidi Baker, and called her 'possibly the most surrendered woman in the world.'  I mentioned this to someone and they said they saw Heidi speak recently. She related an anecdote about the time she asked God why so often when she tried to speak to Western audiences she found herself so overcome by the Holy Spirit that she fell down, unable to say anything, and yet at home in her ministry in Mozambique, it rarely happens?  She said:

'And God answered me. He said, 'In Mozambique they don't have a problem with pride.'

Hmm.

My trust has borders. I sometimes come crashing into the edge of my trust in God. And then what? I panic. I stand still. I pull up the duvet. I turn to my own plans and efforts, to a friend, to food.  

I want to walk upon the waters, but do I? 

I'm comfortable, and I don't really want to be uncomfortable. I like my life, in the main, apart from the usual everyday sort of niggles, and I know that I should complain a lot less and be thankful a lot more. I want more of God - I know I do - but I think maybe I'm counting the cost and backing away in case it turns out to be expensive.

I think my boat is pulled up high on the beach.

I ask Him to lead me wherever He wants me to go, but I am reluctant to set off unless I have a map and a guide book and an assurance that it won't get too choppy out there. I have my own ideas of where I want God to lead me and I fear that I interpret everything through the lens of my hopes and my dreams. I try to manipulate Him into my plan as if faith were a charm to be invoked.

Lord, lead me wherever you want me to go - as long as it's where I want to go. 

In the West, we have a problem with pride. 

I want to get out of the boat and walk towards Jesus' outstretched hand. I want to be whole, full, overflowing. I know that the trivia that I cling to is nothing in comparison with the riches that God would like to give me. I know that my own plans are dwarfed by what He would have me do with my life.

And yet... 

I'm afraid. My trust is not without borders. I wonder how much it might hurt; what I might have to let go of, to lose. And I'm comfortable. 

And this is where a blog post like this ought to end with an inspiring conclusion. A breakthrough to share and encourage. Some wisdom along the lines of: '...and that's when I realised that... and now it's all brilliant! My confusion is a thing of the past!'

Yeah. 

You know what I'm hanging on to? At the conference I went to a workshop about prayer and prophecy. We got into small groups and prayed for each other, asking God to give us a word or a picture to encourage each other. The room was full of the Holy Spirit. 

There were four in my group, so we each ended up with a card with three things from the Lord. I was moved to tears (again) by people's words for me. How could strangers have known those things that spoke to very specific circumstances in my life?  God is so gracious. 

But there was one word spoken to me by a lovely gentle lady that made no sense to me at all just then. She said that there was conflict in my life. She didn't know how or if it would be resolved, she said, but there would be peace. Shalom-peace, she called it. 

There would be peace, and victory. 

So I'm laying all this before God, and asking Him for the Shalom. 

The walking on water, the following, perhaps opening my hands and laying down the dreams that I am oh, so invested in and believing that He knows best. He knows me. He sees me. He loves me anyway. 

He knows what I will do already. He knows the beginning and the end. He will never give up on me and He won't let me sink; He'll keep my eyes above the waves. 

At the moment I just see a tangle of conflicting ideas, a mess of confusion and fear and the seemingly impenetrable borders of my trust. 

He sees a daughter who loves Him, who overthinks and worries, who lifted her hands with longing in her heart and tears on her face at the thought of walking across the waters to take His hand. 

Shalom. 

*Oceans (Where Feet May Fail) 2013 Hillsong Music Australia

Linking with Ruth and Sabrina in the return of 'Letters To...' 

Two in your name

Here I am with another one of those events in my life where a penny finally drops. The head-knowledge finds its way to the heart. The head nods but at long last the eyes light up as well.

You know what I mean.

'Where two or three gather in my name, there am I with them.'
Matthew 18:20

I went to a conference in London a while ago and there were 4,300 women in one room. It's the first conference of this type that I've ever been to and the only one where 4,300 people all sang to you with the help of two worship leaders whose music I play in my car. What a sound it was. A sea of hands lifted in praise of the living God. Eyes closed, tears on cheeks, hearts offered to you. The Holy Spirit was there in power and it was amazing.

I just loved it. If it was on again this weekend I'd be there like a shot. Actually, it's not that simple, as just to be there at all was a bit of a miracle for my friend and I, taking into account illness and childcare and car troubles, but that's another story, and one you're familiar with already, Lord. You were onto it.

What a great day. The atmosphere was wonderful and there was a tangible sense of you as we worshiped, prayed and listened to inspiring teaching. So many things, so many ideas, so much to try to hold onto as the excitement receded afterwards.

On the drive home in the car we tried to hang onto it. We discussed the things we'd heard and we tried out our new ideas. We bounced things back and forth. We had worship music playing and now and again we turned it up loud and sang along. We talked about you; about how much you love us and how much we love you. We talked about our imperfect lives and the difference you were making.

Lord, we met in your name, the two of us, and you were there. Just as present as when there were 4,300 singing their hearts out in your name. It was an amazing few hours' journey up the motorway. We sang, we talked, we listened and we prayed (in my case not the eyes closed hands together sort of prayer at 70mph, obviously), but we talked to you nonetheless. And you joined in the conversation.

We felt your presence in a number of ways. The worship that we gave you while travelling up the M1 from London to Derbyshire was just as special as in the huge auditorium with musicians and a big, big screen. It was a really precious time. We discussed ideas that made the hair rise on the back of our necks and sent a chill down our spines that we know is because of you. We talked about scripture and shared insights that occurred to us as we drove along. We shared very personal things about your Plan for our lives and how not to be discouraged or derailed by other people, by circumstances or by perfectionism. We talked about a ministry for women at our church, and we dreamed dreams that I believe you inspired us to dream. You were there.

'Where two or three gather in my name, there am I with them.'

And you were.

It made me want to pray for all the people in all the other cars on the motorway. We queued in traffic; people in a sea of cars. What music are they playing? Anyone else thinking of you? Someone overtakes and I glance sideways and get a brief glimpse of someone in the driving seat, someone looking out of the passenger window. Are you invited into their car as well? I see someone on a bridge over the motorway walking their dog; who are they? Do they know you? I found myself smiling even as we passed some miles in silence.

I don't really know the difference between the way that you are with me always, wherever I am, whatever I do, even when alone, and the way you're with those who meet in your name. I wasn't surprised that we felt your presence so strongly; I've felt that same assurance of you now and again when there's just been me.

I don't think that you are only present when two or three are together, but I wanted to say thankyou for that special sense of you. For the feeling that you were right there. That you were enjoying the conversation; that you gave us your blessing. In your endlessly gentle way I realised halfway up the motorway that you were showing me something in my life that wasn't what you wanted it to be and I knew without a doubt that you had pointed it out.

Thankyou for gentleness and for laughter, for music and friendship and goosebumps in the presence of the Holy Spirit. For encouragement and inspiration and conviction.

It leaves me awestruck that the God of Creation joined us in my battered Citroen with a backseat covered in crumbs for a trip up the motorway on an overcast and drizzly day in October.

How amazing is that?