A faint whiff of chlorine

I have written so much about swimming, because our family has been completely consumed by it. If you think that I go on and on about it here on the blog, you should see my journal. God must be sick to death of the subject. 

One  minute you're thinking to yourself that it might be a good idea to get your little girls some swimming lessons, and the next minute the eldest is swimming ten hours a week and the youngest three and you find yourself turning up twice a week as well. And then there's the inordinate number of hours spent on the poolside or up in the viewing gallery plus galas that go on for so long you lose the will to live and kit that requires a second mortgage. Surely all you need is a swimsuit and a towel? Maybe one of those little rubber hats? 

You'd be surprised. And I haven't even mentioned the horror of the 5.30am training session. Least said about that the better, I think.

Sucked in, imperceptibly, bit by bit, then swallowed whole. That's us. 

In the past twelve months there have been many challenges as a result of the dramatically increased commitment to the swimming club. These challenges have been on several levels - logistical and financial, problems with timing and traveling, interpersonal stuff in the water and out of it. Tears have been shed and sleep lost. Energy and exhaustion both in the pool and out of it. Triumph and disaster. 

But last night, as we were getting ready for yet another practice, something else struck me. 

It was my younger daughter, Katy's turn. She's moved up to a new squad and although she's still learning technique, her lessons have taken on more of the nature of a training session in recent weeks. She's determined to follow in her older sister's footsteps and nothing is going to stop her. Her teachers have all commented on how hard she works, and how carefully she listens and follows instructions. 

Last night she was collecting her kit together and dancing about in her swimsuit. She'd put in on hours in advance so that she would be ready and she was discussing with Elizabeth what the night's lesson would be. They would be working on tumble turns (in the US it's known as a flip-turn, I believe - the way they do a somersault just before they get to the wall and push off with their feet all underwater). Katy was describing a problem she has with tumble turns and Elizabeth was demonstrating the correct procedure. They were having an earnest and grown up conversation right until it dissolved into hilarity when Lizzie fell off the sofa while trying to replicate the manoeuvre without the benefit of water. 

A jumble of thoughts went through my mind (once I'd established that she hadn't broken any bones). 

• Katy was hanging on her big sister's every word because Lizzie is a great little swimmer and Katy so wants to be like her.
• Lizzie was loving her sister's attention and admiration and was trying hard to share her knowledge.
• Katy was jumping up and down in anticipation of her lesson; couldn't wait to set off.
• Lizzie has gained so much confidence in the last year. It might be fragile at times, but her mastery of something difficult has boosted her enormously.
• Katy too, in the last six months, has grown so much as she's made such good progress up through the stages in her swimming. 

I watch them swimming (for hours) and sometimes I see Lizzie in one of her training sets and she'll suddenly somersault in the middle of the lane before carrying on, hardly breaking stroke, just for the joy of being in the water.

Katy, too, will bounce up and down while listening to instructions in the pool, or spin round and round while treading water just because she can. I have a photo that was taken as Lizzie climbed on the blocks just before an event at a gala. She has a shy smile on her face. I love it. She looks so happy, so relaxed. 

They're enjoying it. Now, obviously, we wouldn't be doing this if they weren't, but I have to say that sometimes the happy part of it all gets lost in all the hard work, and the hamster-wheel of training sessions and rinsing swimsuits and washing hair. 

We know that they love swimming - as do I, believe it or not - but it can get very serious indeed and before you know it you've lost sight of the reason you're doing it at all. 

First of all, we got the children swimming lessons because we wanted them to be safe around water. To enjoy swimming pools and the sea and have a chance of knowing what to do if they ever fell into a canal or a river. That kind of thing. Then there was the opportunity to move from the lessons into the swimming club, and I was naive enough to think, 'Oh, that's a good idea. Lizzie can enter the odd swimming race. It'll be a bit of fun.' I had no earthly idea of what we were starting. 

But... before I once again get sucked into dwelling on the difficulties and negatives let's look at the good things that swimming has done for us: 

• Both my girls are in great shape, physically. Lizzie particularly, as she swims so much and so hard, but Katy is catching up fast. Lizzie's little body is a lesson in anatomy and she is strong, fast and flexible. Her cardiovascular system allows her to swim hard for almost two hours and then produce a personal best in a freestyle sprint. Then come home and do cartwheels round the garden. 

This is wonderful for a mum like me who has struggled with her weight and size all her life. It is my prayer for my girls that they find a way of getting regular exercise that they enjoy, that doesn't feel like a chore. They're learning to look after their bodies in a way I never did. Lizzie learns about rest and nutrition and when to push herself and when to ease off. It's amazing and encouraging to hear them talk about healthy choices, even if they do then go on to snaffle too much pizza. 

I hope that establishing a pattern whereby sport is incorporated into their lifestyle might mean they avoid the problems I've had, physical and emotional.

• They sleep well. 
• They've made some good friends in the swimming club. It's widened their social circle from simply the kids at school and given them a different perspective. They spend such a lot of time with these children (and their little brothers and sisters) that they get to know each other well. 
• They're learning about supporting each other when things go right and also when they go badly.
• They learn about teamwork and co-operation - when you watch a relay team in action you realise how hard they have practiced working together. When someone is in a race, the others often form little groups at the end of lanes and cheer them on, and a personal best time is celebrated as much as a medal. 
• Swimming is teaching them about keeping going when things are tough. About doing the hard thing, and not giving up. We're still in the  middle of this, to be honest, with Lizzie's early morning training. It is indeed very hard, and we haven't cracked it yet, but I live in hope. 
• They're learning how to win and how to lose with grace. (On the other hand, they're only young, and they sometimes need a bit of help here...don't we all?) 
• They're learning about listening, taking instructions, respect for authority, behaving well, trying your best, persevering, coping with disappointment and being kind and generous.

These are big lessons. I have difficulty with them myself; I think some of them are things that we have to learn over and over throughout our lives. Let's face it, some people never do get it, do they? I want more than that for my girls. 

Lizzie is almost ten, and she's growing up fast. Among the youngest in her year at school, she seems lately to have a new maturity, and I can't help thinking that it's partly because of her swimming and the things that she's experienced. She has friends at the club whose ages range from 7 to 16, rather than just her own age, and I think that is good for her. We have had some terrible times as well as some top-of-the-world moments, but I think she is growing up beautifully and I am very proud of her. 

As for Katy, her determination is so impressive and we've been so proud of how bravely she's responded to challenges. She has made up her mind that she will not be left behind and she is working so, so hard to improve her strength and stamina and technique. It won't be long before she gets a chance to race too. Can my heart stand it?

So it looks as if our total immersion (haha) in the swimming club won't be changing for a while yet. With both daughters enthusiastic and determined, the radiators and airer are constantly festooned with swimsuits and towels, and the basin full of damp kit. We are constantly searching for a way to keep goggles from misting up and we get through more shampoo than you can imagine. The man in the cafe at the sports centre knows how I like my coffee. When I walk through the front door, when I get in the car, when I kiss my girls goodnight I can often detect a faint whiff of chlorine.

It's life at the moment. It's hard work, unrelenting. Sometimes I just want a week or two off. 

Then, I look at my daughters enthusiastically stuffing kickboards and pull buoys and hand paddles and snorkels and flippers into their kit bags and squabbling over water bottles and oohing over the latest racing swimsuits and comparing notes on trackstart dives and whether your ears pop when you dive down to the bottom at 12'6" and I realise that they're healthy and happy. 

We'll keep going. 

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

Letter to the Brave: No, I have the Lord

Dear Helen

Did you think I didn't see? 

I saw you gazing with such longing at the future version of yourself and I understood what you were going through. On your face I saw pain and envy and so much sadness. I saw the things you worked hard to hide, too - I looked into your heart and I saw the depth of your shame, and the bitterness that you still suffer while this woman is free. I see everything, you know. I see the hidden things. 

My daughter, I know you so well. You know that, but you still get angry with me sometimes because you think that I don't understand you. You ask me why I don't step in and sort out all the troubles that you hold so tightly in your fists and you question my love for you. No, don't protest - I hear you say that you accept my love but you think that love is a frail, pathetic, limited thing. 

I love you with a love that existed from before the beginning of time. My love has survived much greater challenges than anything you throw at it and still I go on loving. I am Love. You don't believe how much I love you because your capacity to give and receive love is tiny in comparison with mine. You limit it still further by refusing to believe the truth about yourself. 

I made you. I am the Lord, and I made the lions and the trees and the penguins and the pine-cones and all the things that you find so appealing, beautiful and awe-inspiring - and I made you. I made every bone in your body, every cell and hair on your head, and I was pleased with what I made. I didn't look at my daughter Helen and have the smallest regret. I smiled when I saw you, and as you sleep at night I gaze at you and I kiss your forehead and I smooth your hair from your forehead with the same tenderness that I see you doing with your daughters. 

I love you, precious one. I love you just as you are. You remind me of my Son; you're more like him all the time. Don't keep batting my love away with polite thanks and disbelief. Let it sink in and transform you. It will transform you, you know. If you were to grasp just an inkling of the breadth and depth of my love, it would change your life.

You do not disappoint me. I love you with a love that will not let go. Not ever. Don't compare me with the people who have let you down in the past. You don't have to be wary of me. You don't have to protect that sore place deep in your heart; let me in. When I touch it, I will heal it. I am the Healer. 

I know that you're not perfect, my precious one. I know that you've made mistakes and I know that you will make more. You can't put any of it right on your own - that's what my grace is for. Listen to me, there is enough grace to go round. My Son took care of that. There's always enough to cover you. I don't keep any record of the rubbish in your life; on the contrary, the things I pin on the walls of heaven are my snapshots of your face turned towards me, your hands reaching for heaven, your baby steps, your love-notes. Not one of those moments is lost - I treasure them all.

I grieve for the pain you put yourself through. I see how hard you try and I know how hard on yourself you are when things go wrong. You panic and lose your focus and if you can't do everything perfectly you are tempted to give up and not to bother trying.  You listen to the voices in your head when they tell you that you're worthless and inadequate and you believe the lies. One of those lies is that you would be more acceptable to me if you were thinner. My Spirit in you will soon teach you to hear how ridiculous that belief is, and you will take your first steps to being the woman you long to be, but there is more that we must do before then.

Don't let the voice of the evil one overpower the hope that you have. You let that hope be eroded by self-doubt and self-accusation and perfectionism. I don't expect you to be perfect; I can use your imperfections! In your world people are desperate to give the impression that they are completely in control, but control is as much an illusion as self-sufficiency. Again and again I see the relief on people's faces when they find that they are not alone. Be open with people and show your struggles and triumphs and the things that you learn because it is in such honesty that people see me and believe.

You fear failure, but I am not limited by your definition of success. Every time you fall I reach down and offer my hand and every time you take it and get to your feet again the angels sing, and, my love, it's a beautiful, beautiful song.

Don't keep worrying about that other woman. I showed her to you to give you peace; to help you believe that I am not finished with you yet. I have a plan for you, my daughter, and I will not give up on you. There is so much that we can do together.  

Don't worry about what might happen tomorrow, next month or next year. Don't worry about the road ahead, because I'll walk with you. In good times we'll celebrate together, and believe me, I'm a good person to have at a party. In bad times I'll hold you tight and carry you in my arms, but you and me, we'll keep on walking. Don't look at the woman you'll one day be and despair of ever getting there. We'll do it one step at a time. I know you can do it. 

Be brave, little one. 

Here's what I want you to do. I want you to focus on joy. You have it in your reach but too often you turn inwards defensively and lick your wounds. You have all you need. You are fully equipped. If I think that you need something else, something new, then I will give it to you. I will never see you go into battle poorly armed. You have all you need, and I'm coming with you anyway. I will never leave your side; you are not alone. When the voice in your head tells you that you are lonely, overrule it. Again, I say, you are not alone. I am here. 

I am all you need. 

Let my Holy Spirit in your mind and heart take control and resist the worry, the anxiety and the fear. 

Say, 'No. I have the Lord.'

Say it after me: 'No. I have the Lord.' 

This is truth. 

With my love. Believe it. 

God

This is a response to a previous post - Letter to a Stranger. 

Linking up with Sabrina and Ruth, this time at Just Keep Singing for the second in the 'Letters To...' series. This week the prompt was 'Letter to the Brave'. 

You're the business

Hello, Lord.

The supermarket calls, unless we're all going to share a small piece of pepperoni and wizened blueberries for tea, but I wanted to drop by for a few minutes to say hello. 

Hello. 

Something lovely happened the other day. Father God, and it was you. You know what I'm talking about. You were smiling all over your face.

Let me tell you how this looked from my angle. I know you were watching.

The other day I was waiting in the car outside school at about 3.15pm and I was feeling out of sorts. This was made worse because I'd forgotten my journal. You and me often have a little time together around then and I was a bit cross that I'd left it at home. I'm not quite sure why I was feeling unhappy, but I had a strange sense of unease, dissatisfaction, anxiety.

I was sitting behind the steering wheel and scowling, and staring at the bit in the middle where it says, 'Airbag'. For some reason I can't fathom, I even took a picture. I felt like I might need an 'airbag' illustration sometime. Hmm.

I put my head back on the headrest with a bit of a thump and a heavy sigh and I said out loud, 'Lord, I'm needing you.'

And what happened? A car drove slowly past with the number plate 'JOY'. 

Straight away it reminded me of the boat I saw when I was struggling with negative feelings while I was on holiday this summer. JOYFUL. (A boat called Joyful). Well, that thing that you did then? You did it again. 

It made me laugh. It made me think of you and it made me realise that you are right there with me. You are my Friend and you care about the trivia as well as the Big Things. I was sitting in my car, disgruntled, nothing special the matter, just a bit bleurgh, and you were kind and gentle enough to reach down and make me smile. And as I was smiling in amazement, and thinking of you, another car came from behind me and pulled over to the kerb in front of me. It's registration plate said, 'AWE'.

Ha! Oh God, there you were. You said, 'Cheer up, I'm here. Choose joy.' and then, as I was enjoying the message, you said, 'See? I am the business.'

I needed a cuddle and you sent me one. You sent me a smile and a hug. 

I choose joy. 

And I am in awe. 

 Yes, you are the business. 

I don't see that joy, sister

God, I'm feeling out of sorts. 

Disgruntled. Had a bit of a catalogue of disgruntling events today and I'm tired and a bit headachy and I'm feeling like a moan. I have coffee next to me which could do with a bit more milk in it really but I can't be bothered to go into the kitchen to get any so I'm drinking it even though it's less than satisfactory. That's the sort of mood I'm in. 

Sort of defeated. 

I've been wandering round the internet depressing myself with the news headlines and the fact that nobody is talking to me on Facebook (which is probably because I haven't struck up a conversation on there for a while) and then I clicked on a devotional website which threw this at me:

'...for I have learned to be content whatever the circumstances. I know what it is to be in need, and I know what it is to have plenty. I have learned the secret of being content in any and every situation, whether well-fed or hungry, whether living in plenty or in want.'

Philippians 4:12

Oh.

Good for Paul.  Saint Paul.  He learned how to be content in any circumstances, and when I think of the situations in which he must have been content I am in awe. When I think of being hungry, it's in 'time for a little snack' terms, but he faced starvation. When he speaks of being in a difficult situation, he's talking about life-threatening events like persecution, shipwreck, attempted murder, not just hurt feelings and a duff cup of coffee. 

I live in plenty, whatever I think about the state of my bank balance or the battered car; I am amongst the rich of the world. And I am mates with the Living God. How on earth do I come to be so discontented?

The answer makes me feel ashamed. As well it might, I suppose. 

Poor old me, looking forward to going out for lunch today but the date was cancelled. Poor old me, too lazy to go to the kitchen to make her coffee more palatable to my sweet tooth. Poor old me who didn't get on the bathroom scales this morning in case reality hits home with a thud. Poor old me who lost a favourite earring. Poor old me who stayed up too late last night and is having a tired and grumpy day.

In plenty or in want. 

I need to get a grip. And it's not all about a well-stocked fridge and central heating, either. I read today, 'Would the people who know you best describe you as a woman of joy?'

I snorted into my inferior cup of coffee. Ha.

Would they?  I very much doubt it. I shall have to ask them. I can imagine a few things they might say to describe me but 'joyful'? Probably not. 

How do I find that joy? I remember a long time ago I visited New York and attended a huge church there. Thousands of people. It had a vast gospel choir and enormous band and the music was awe-inspiring.  During the singing people were full of the Spirit and they were calling out to you, waving arms and dancing with a lack of inhibition that I can only dream of. Worship was certainly a whole-body experience, and there was I, overwhelmed by something I had never seen before and completely incapable of joining in. I was singing, and I may, possibly have been subtly swaying in time to the music, but I was oh so British. So much so that the big lady gyrating to my right nudged me in the ribs with a meaty elbow and bellowed in my ear. 

'I don't see that joy, sister!'

No, she was right. She wouldn't have. There was none to see. I loved being at that service and I shall never forget it, but I was never really a part of it. I'll also never forget that the theatre was full of souls reaching for you and I didn't know how to join in. The lady didn't see any joy. I don't know if she expected me to switch it on, but the only result of her observation was an increase in my level of discomfort and self-consciousness and a funny story to tell to my similarly uptight British friends later. 

Do people around me see joy? Or do they see the sighs and the scowls and the dissatisfaction? What does that say to the world? Jesus loves me so much that he died for me and yet I can't raise a smile today. 

Oh dear. 

'I have come that they may have life, and have it to the full.'

John 10:10

Not just survive life, but live it. Not just getting by and sinking into bed at the end of each day glad to have got through. Instead of this, I weigh myself down with things. I take things to heart that I should shrug off and I gather hurts to me and nourish them with attention and self pity instead of refusing them house-room. And the joy?  I'm not really sure how to find it. 

Sometimes in church during sung worship I find myself somewhere different. In a place where the angels are joining the songs and I get a glimpse of the wonder of you. A place where I am dancing with abandon like everyone else. I can lose myself for a little while there and I think in my heart I am filled with joy. Those are special times and I am aware that it is nothing to do with me. It is clearly the presence of your Spirit that allows me access to a place where I can join with heaven for a little while in praise of you. 

Sometimes I can be walking down the street and see a flower growing out of a crack in the wall, or I can sit in the garden and watch my tame blackbird as he opens his beak wide in beautiful song. Sometimes when I see the pattern of frost on the car window, or new green shoots in spring my heart swells with joy. When my daughters hug me, or I feel a little hand in mine, or when I laugh so much with friends that I have tears on my face, I am truly joyful. I think those moments are gifts from you. 

At those moments I am close to you. The enemy is far away; he can't get a look in. I am glowing like the Ready Brek man. I am breathing you in and breathing you out. But those moments don't make up the minutes of the average day. They are bright sparks of colour but the scenery for me is generally much more muted. 

'The joy of the Lord is your strength.' 

Nehemiah 8:10

Amen. I can see that. 

But the contentment that St Paul speaks of is a choice. It has to come from me. I can't avoid feeling pain and disappointment, but I can, and so often do choose to avoid feeling content. I can decline to be defeated by what are, after all, fairly trivial sorts of disaster in my cushioned little life. I can't really say that I have it hard. I can count my blessings and make a conscious decision to be satisfied. 

I have so much; so many things, yes, and clearly those things don't make me happy, or I'd already be on cloud nine. The only thing of value is you, my God, and I am a strange and self-absorbed woman if I can allow the joy of knowing and being loved by you to be washed away by the tide of daily minutiae.

I want to be joyful. I want to stop being a 'glass half-empty' sort of person and switch to being 'glass half-full and what's more, it's a free bar!' I want people to see that joy, sister. I want people to ask me what my secret is. And I'll tell them. 

You. 

I want to be strong in you. I want to learn to live content in any situation. I don't want to blow this way and that and be moody and disgruntled all the time. 

I am so far from being this person right now that it's hard to pray this way, but I know that nothing is impossible with you.  Not even really difficult things. I know that I am a work in progress; you haven't finished with me yet. 

There's a way to go, I think. 

As the old song goes, give me joy in my heart, Lord. Help me to throw off defeat and discouragement and find contentment. To know where my strength lies. 

The joys of motherhood

I have slowed down, God. 

Once again, I've had to cancel some things and change plans and it's actually been alright. 

Yesterday was one of those days where my heart goes out to a poorly little one as my Lizzie was ill with a tummy bug. She is usually so energetic, never still, always doing something, interested in everything, constantly on the go, but yesterday she just was.  Not like her at all. 

So she lay with her head in my lap, or Grandma's, and she dozed a little, but mostly she just lay. I stroked her hair and read her stories and held her when she was sick. I whispered to her, and kissed her and cuddled her. She's usually too fast moving to be much in favour of snuggles and so it was a treat, to be honest, to sit still with Elizabeth. She wanted Mummy, and that, too, was a treat after the debacle of the night before. 

My little girl was poorly and we spent a day together. I couldn't make her better and neither could the doctor - though we've had the palaver of getting a stool sample up to the surgery so that they can determine which evil little bug is making her sick. That was fun. The joys of motherhood. 

My poorly Elizabeth

Actually, the joy of motherhood is sitting with your little girl's head on your knee or on your shoulder on a bench in the garden on an unseasonably hot day in March. We read fairy stories and a bit of Enid Blyton (what a trip down memory lane that was) and we played I-Spy and we sat quietly. The night before I'd hit the bottom of the motherhood experience; the sense of utter failure and defeat, and then yesterday and today I got to claw it back a bit. Maybe make up a bit of ground. I'm not sure who needed who the most these last two days but I think it might have been a close thing. 

Today Liz was much improved though still a pale, thin-looking wraith with no appetite. We went to the supermarket this morning and she made my shopping list and ticked off items for me. We laughed that the list appeared to say, 'hairy-way' instead of 'hairspray'; for a six year old this was hilarious and I'm sure we haven't heard the last of this joke. And you know what? Every time she asks me if I need 'hairy-way' I will joke back. I promise. For as long as it makes her laugh, I will make the effort. To make her smile. It won't be long before she doesn't laugh at my jokes. That laugh is precious. 

In the shop a kind lady on a promotions desk gave Lizzie a tiny pot of ice-cream and she even grated a smudge of chocolate on it and added a strawberry when she heard that Liz was recuperating from a tummy upset. Elizabeth was tempted enough to eat it and declared it delicious. The most wonderful ice cream ever. 

Beautiful Lizzie

We bought a tub to bring home. A winner every time. 

Afterwards we went to the coffee shop for a drink and I'd have bought her cake if she'd wanted it. She was helpful and thoughtful and lovely company and it was good. I love her so much. 

Thankyou Father. Thankyou for healing after hurting. 

I'm not sure if I overlook Lizzie sometimes. She's the older one and the attention has been on Katy, I think. Katy is smaller, more affectionate, more vulnerable in some ways. Or maybe that's just how I see her because over the past twelve months she's had surgery twice and more appointments at the hospital than I could count. She's the one we're worried about all over again and we're psyching ourselves up for more appointments, blood tests, scans, treatments, surgery. Maybe Lizzie gets left out. I didn't think so but maybe she does. Maybe Katy is the baby and Lizzie the more self-contained older sister. I don't know, but I worry.

Oh dear. 

It's so hard, God. It's so hard to anticipate all these needs and respond to them when I'm so tired and when my head is full of so much stuff. I have two small people who depend on me for so much - physically and practically and emotionally and spiritually, and I have a horror of letting them down. What scars will I leave when I do let them down, which I'm certain to do. I let Elizabeth down the other day and she let me know about it. I feel that the last two days have been a gift to bring us closer again and I will always be grateful for that. 

But I'd rather have not got it so badly wrong in the first place. 

I am not a perfect Mummy, and neither are my girls perfect children either. I know that. They are so different from each other, and so different from me. They're not going to do everything the way I want them to, no matter how much I want them to. I don't want to try to make them into something that they're not. I just want them to grow up knowing that they are loved, that they are special. That they are capable and valued and unique and loved, just as they are. I can't do it on my own. Bryan and I can't do it between us. We all can't do it, all the family and friends and church together. We need you. 

You loaned me my two girls to look after for a while. They are your children. You don't have grandchildren - we are all your little girls and little boys. You think I can do this job, or you wouldn't have given these two beautiful little people into my care. You seem to think that I can do a good enough job. I doubt it sometimes, but whether I do or not, the job still needs doing.

Please give me again what I need to make sure that they grow up ok. Please heal them of any hurts that are planted in their little hearts. Don't let anything negative thrive in their minds, Lord. Cleanse the two of them of any ideas that might damage them in any ways. Protect them from doubt and insecurity and jealousy and fear. Lord God, who knew each one of them even before they were in my tummy, mould them the way you want them to be so that they won't have to unpick years of worry or confusion or rejection in the years to come before they can be all that they were made to be. 

Help me, Father. 

• Prop me up when I don't have any more energy. 
• Give me patience to stop the exasperated sigh when they spill their drinks or their cereal or the paint. 
• Give me grace to smile when I feel like snarling. 
• Give me self-control to keep back the cutting words when they're too silly for my grown up way of thinking and my sense of humour is AWOL. 
• Lord of compassion, give me wisdom to find the right words when I need to correct them without crushing them. 
• Prince of peace, show me how to break up a fight with justice when there's no earthly way of knowing who was in the wrong. 
• Show me how to comfort a child who has been pinched, or pushed, or cheated out of the last biscuit. 
• Help me to forgive, and show them how to do it too. They're going to need a lot of practice. 
• Give me buckets and buckets of love so that when my tankful comes to an end I can run on your reserve supply. 
• God of mercy, give me the grace to hug a child who's covered in vomit because they need a hug and it can't wait until they're bathed.
• Show me how to bring joy and contentment into their lives instead of dissatisfaction and envy.
• Creator God, help me to show them the wonder around them; to see you everywhere. To teach them that the world is a beautiful place, not a scary one.
• When they wake in the night with unnamed fears or needs give me the grace to soothe them even when I'm desperate for sleep myself. Even when it's the fourth or fifth time that night.
• When the world is too much for them, help me to help them cope. Show me how to build them up, not demolish them. How I long for my girls to have more confidence than I've had, to be comfortable with themselves. Not arrogant or boastful, but at peace
• Give me understanding when I can't work out what is needed. 
• Lord God, equip me to show my little girls the way to find you for themselves. I'll never ever do that when I shout and glare at them. Light of the world, help me to shine brightly, not bring darkness and shadows.
• Help me to quiet the insistent, selfish little voice that constantly complains, 'But what about me?'
• And anything else I need that I've left out. I could go on forever but I need to get to bed tonight. 

Above all, save me from thinking that I have to do all this on my own. 

The prayer of St Francis of Assisi

Lord, make me an instrument of your peace.

Where there is hatred, let me sow love;

Where there is injury, pardon;

Where there is doubt, faith; 

Where there is despair; hope;

Where there is darkness, light;

and where there is sadness, joy.

O Divine Master, 

Grant that I may not so much seek to be consoled as to console

To be understood as to understand;

To be loved as to love. 

For it is in giving that we receive;

It is in pardoning that we are pardoned;

And it is in dying that we are born to eternal life. 

Amen. Oh yes, amen. 

Pure joy and relentlessness

It's a beautiful morning, Lord.

The sun is out, the birds are singing, the magnolia buds are looking fat and pink and full of promise against the blue sky. The children went off to school happy as they're having their 'Mini-Olympics' today and are allowed to wear sports clothes for the day, and I have a little time to potter on my computer and check in with you. 

Two things have happened. Possibly three, but I need to work it out in my head and then I'll decide. 

(*actually, more than three.)

Magnolias in Spring

I walked back from school today and the world seemed in vivid colour. I put my headphones on as I walked and I chose a song that I like. However, as I put the iPod in my pocket, it jumped to another track. It was 'My Troubled Soul (Praise the Mighty Name of Jesus)'. This song has resonance for me as I've long been a worrier and I do believe you spoke to me through it some time ago. 

'My troubled soul, why so weighed down?

You were not made to bear this heavy load

Cast all your burdens upon the Lord

Jesus cares, he cares for you'.

(2001 Kingsway Thankyou Music / EMI)

I am so often weighed down and at the moment my anxieties are particularly burdensome. I've gone on and on about my worries so I know that you're aware of them; I know that it isn't your plan for me to stumble about here trying to carry something that's too heavy for me. How come I can't leave them with you when I do believe that you are there waiting, and I can trust you?

'...and all your worrying won't help you make it through...'

I can't make Katy better. I can't do anything on my own - I rely on you for every breath. I do indeed need to trust again in the promise of your love. 

'So I will praise the mighty name of Jesus

Praise the Lord the lifter of my head

I will praise the rock of my salvation

All my days are in his faithful hand'.

Lord, you really did lift my head. This morning as I walked back I noticed the magnolia buds against the blue of the sky. I noticed little green shoots on a bare hedge just starting to come to life again. If I hadn't looked up I would never have seen them. 

little green shoots of Spring

Lord my days are in your hand. So are my little Katy's and those of everyone I care about. I switched the computer on and a daily devotional by Max Lucado was in my email inbox. He was talking about just this. Everything is in your hand. It's under control. You've got this one. 

There's no point in fighting and kicking and objecting. 

'Trust again in the promise of his love'. 

It seems to be something that I need to do over and over again. I think I do trust you, then I realise how knotted up with worry and confusion I am and then you gently remind me and I understand that I've taken it all back. All the responsibility. All the heaviness. I can't stop Katy's illness. I can't even look after her as completely as I'd like. Only you can do that. Only you are all-encompassing. Only you will never let us down. It's only you. 

'I will praise the rock of my salvation.'

There's so much more going on this morning. I read a Bible verse first thing on my phone and I confess that I pressed the little 'next' button quite quickly because it wasn't what I wanted to hear. 

'Consider it pure joy, my brothers and sisters, whenever you face trials of many kinds, because you know that the testing of your faith produces perseverance.'

James 1:2-4

My initial response was 'Ha.' And I don't mean I laughed in a happy sort of way. Who can think to themselves, 'Hooray! Things are going badly at the moment! Praise the Lord! My life has come crashing down around me!'  Who? 

I don't get this one. So I pressed the button and found another verse that was a bit more to my liking for the day. I forget what it was. Perhaps that's significant.

But about an hour later a friend sent me a text with this very verse. She said, 'Courage and strength, my friend.'

Trials, yes. Joy? No. Testing of my faith? Seems likely. At this point I know that it would be perfectly possible to say that I don't understand why this is happening to Katy and I don't think you're being fair. But I can't do it without you. Where would I go, if not to you?  What shall I do, if not persevere? What choice do I have? 

Run away? It's tempting but it's not an option. Go to bed and refuse to move? Yeah, right. Also tempting, but I can't do that either. All I can do is keep putting one foot in front of the other. Courage and strength. Yes please, give me courage and strength. 

Next in my eventful little hour was yet another little touch from you via technology. You are a God who moves with the times, are you not? 

I was browsing on the computer and I read the blog of a friend of mine who lives many miles away across the sea and yet I feel as if I know her. She is my sister in you. We're family. She pointed me to you this morning.

Dwelling in the House: Relentless

'Over the last few months, God has been teaching me about belief in the face of

unyielding circumstances.

Faith boils down to this: do I just believe in God - 

or do I believe God?

You see, I've got some stuff in my life that is not.

More than once, I have cried out in prayer, 'Lord, this situation won't end. It is relentless!'

His answer:

So am I.'


(Ginger, December 2010)

This made me sit back in my chair. Well, actually it's a stool, so I didn't sit back as such, but I straightened up and took my hands off the keyboard in a sort of 'pause' moment. 

Katy's lump is back and now there are two. This disease seems relentless. The surgeon told us that if he hadn't got it all, it might come back, and getting it all was difficult as the tumour was wrapped around a nerve in her neck. He must have left some. And it started growing, relentless. Slowly at first, perhaps it was a little stunned following four hours of surgery attacking it. It hadn't been beaten. Slowly, determinedly, then picking up pace, but relentless. 

So are you. You are bigger than the universe, let alone bacteria. You are bigger than anything, and our troubles are so small in comparison that they should be nothing to you, and yet you reach down to reassure me. You reach down to hold Katy's heart so that in church on Sunday when our Rector asked, 'Who will let Jesus into our homes?' Katy's hand shot up and she said 'Yes! Open the door!'

The illness might be relentless, and so are you. You won't give up on us, will you?

You cannot be beaten.

I might not understand why or when or anything much at all, really, but then you tell me that I don't have to understand. Just trust. 

Trust again in the promise of your love.

I have lots of stuff in my life that is not trusting you. Help me parcel it up and leave it in front of you. Leave it with you. 

Thankyou for lifting my head to see the magnolias against the blue sky. 

Thankyou for good, good friends who have wisdom to share and for obedience to you when you prompt them to share it. 

Thankyou for your word, and I'm sorry I sort of snorted at it this morning.

I'm struggling a bit with the 'pure joy' part. 

Help with this would be gratefully received. 

Looking up

Well.

What a wonderful time I've had, Father God.

I've just had a marvellous little break from normal life. Actually, it was more like a trip through time back to our old pre-children life when Bryan and I lived in London and used to do dynamic things now and again, like Go Out. Sometimes we used to wander round the streets in the capital city after work watching the evening come to life (in hindsight, not often enough) and occasionally we'd have dinner and/or go to the theatre or cinema and get the Tube back home late at night. Sigh. Of course, such behaviour is not possible with small children who require frequent snack and toilet stops, entertainment and a clearly visible child-friendly objective. They're not up for aimless wandering. Or restaurants where you don't collect your food on a tray. Or anywhere that you have to sit still or keep the noise down, come to that. No, wandering, restaurants and theatres are something for another day several years hence I think.  

St Paul's

Until then, little escapes like this keep me going.  Met Bryan for a bit of lunch at Borough Market and then as he went back to work for the afternoon I went exploring.  It's years since I've been in St Paul's Cathedral. I don't remember much about it, to be honest. This time I queued up and was a little aghast at the size of the entry fee but after a moment's pecuniary indecision I paid up, looked happy and went in.

The High Altar

My goodness, it's worth every penny. Apparently it costs an arm and a leg to maintain this place and when you've had a wander round this breathtakingly beautiful cathedral you can see why. What a monument to your splendour, Lord. Every way you turn there are mosaics, spectacular frescos, paintings, murals, sculptures, woodcarvings and statues. Rich fabrics, gold leaf, jewel-like colours and chandeliers. Famous names everywhere; history comes alive among the dead and commemorated. William Blake, John Donne, Nelson, Wellington, Grinling Gibbons, Millais, Holman Hunt. 


I took the tour, I listened intently on my headphones, I wandered and sat and listened and gawped and marvelled. I climbed the two hundred odd steps to the Whispering Gallery and no wonder my knees went wobbly at the top as I gripped the handrail with white knuckles. I learned so much and feasted on the beauty and extravagance and skill and workmanship and the sheer vision of Christopher Wren. (I always want to call him Christopher Robin, Lord, why is that?) 

The Dome from
The Whispering Gallery

Grandeur at every turn. What man can achieve with enough determination and boldness and inspiration. And money. I think you like St Paul's, Lord. I felt that you were there. You were in the vast spaces and the tiny details. Apparently when a team of experts cleaned the outside of the cathedral, high up among the towers and curlicues they discovered carvings and stonework that would never be visible to the eye normally, hidden behind other structures, yet created with the same intricacy and attention to detail that marks the more obvious adornments of the building. Someone knew that you see even the hidden parts and took care not to cut corners. I like that the craftsmen made it perfect, even in the bits that no-one sees. 

I spent the whole afternoon wandering in St Paul's, and came to the conclusion that the opportunity to explore this extravagant house of yours was worth every penny of the sizeable entrance fee. I could have spent another couple of hours there and that's even before I got to the gift shop. 


I liked being there on my own as well. Not only because I could wander as I pleased, immersed in my headphones guides, but because it left me alone with my thoughts. You were in my mind. You opened my eyes. 

The Light of the
World

I have for a long time loved the painting, 'The Light of the World' by William Holman Hunt. I used to have  a postcard on the wall by my bed when I was at University. I love the colours, the warmth, the composition, the patience on Jesus' face as he knocks on the door, waiting for it to opened from the inside. I love the idea that you will wait until we realise that the door is there and you are just beyond it, waiting for an invitation. I didn't realise that it hung in St Paul's. There was my painting. I finally got to see it. It's as magnificent as I thought it was. 


What a wonderful way to spend an afternoon. As I left the cathedral the organist was limbering up for Evensong and the glorious sound filled the air. Dusk was falling and outside was that wonderful pinkish half-light that makes spectacular architecture like this look even more outstanding. I walked away from St Paul's down to the river and kept turning to see it's looming beauty. The lights of the city were starting to twinkle and the Thames reflected the bridges, streetlamps, floodlights and light shows. I had music on my headphones and I walked to the middle of the bridge and stopped to take it in. Beautiful. I miss London. 


There's a song that I listen to often that has the lines in it:


'As sure as gold is precious and that honey's sweet
So you love this city and you love these streets...'


(Robin Mark, Revival)

Lord, sometimes when I'm out in the Derbyshire countryside revelling in the stillness and tranquility of nature I can see you. I see you in the beauty of the natural world, and yet yesterday I stood on that bridge in the middle of the busiest city in our country with barely anything green visible to the naked eye and yet I could see you there too. In the pink of the sunset on a cloudy January day behind the distinctive dome of a cathedral built to honour your name. In the beauty of the lights of a busy city reflected in the water of a big, fast flowing river. In the juxtaposition of history and newness as I looked at the Tower of London across the river from the newest unfinished statement building that they call 'The Shard'. In the glass and chrome and metal of the city and the sandstone and marble of the elegant bridges and arches. In the shouts and laughter coming from a crowd dining on a boat on the water and in the eyes of the tourists who, like me, stopped to drink in the atmosphere.

Such energy. Such a mixture of all life. Hope and despair, joy and pain, triumph and disappointment, celebration and defeat. All human life is here, someone once said. All emotion. I found myself looking at people, as I find that I do when I'm on my own in a busy place. I like the feeling of solitude in a crowd, sometimes. I like having my headphones on so that I can cut myself off even further and live in my head. I  look at people hurrying, lingering, frowning, thinking and I wonder who they are and what is in their heads. You know. No city is too big for you; you don't leave anyone out.

It made me think of the Holman Hunt. How many of these busy, rushing people slow and hear you knocking? How many of us put down the camera for a moment to see things as they are?

Underneath the painting

At Borough Market there's a tunnel where the railway passes above on it's way to the bridge over the river and underneath there are little shops and market stalls. One of the tunnels has a huge net of tiny star-like electronic lights on the whole of the underside of it so that when you walk along the pavement underneath there are rippling lights spreading in patterns. From the centre, then random twinkling, then a wave of sparkles. I found myself stopping to look up. Looking up at the lights, up at the skyline, up at the sunset, up at the majestic dome and ornate ceilings of St Paul's Cathedral. No matter how high I climbed today the beauty was still above me. I guess it always will be.

What a wonderful, beautiful, joy-filled day I've had. Thankyou so, so much.

Lord, Bryan and I had a lovely meal and saw a wonderful show. We just enjoyed being together like we used to in the old days before the family came along and enjoyment starts taking a different form. Maybe being just the two of us is being a little self-indulgent, but I don't think so. It was great. There was something a little melancholic about it, perhaps - remembering days that are long past and impossible to get back - but maybe that's just me, inevitably finding the downside. It had everything. Theatre, food, wine, the best company, space, peace, beauty, inspiration, music, sleep - even time to relax and read my book uninterrupted on the train. What a treat. I loved it. I had a great time.

London

Thankyou for coming with me.

Can we do it again please, soon? I quite fancy going to see Westminster Abbey next time and I'm quite sure I'll find you there as well. Mind you, I know you don't just hang out in the churches, Father God. I could go to the Art Gallery or the Zoo or the Planetarium or a packed city square and there you'd be as well.

You were gazing at the skyline with me last night and showing me the glory of the city, too. You showed me where to look.

You really do send blessings in surprising ways.

Thankyou.

The Pumpkin Party

Hello, God.

A couple of things have happened recently that have made me really thankful for my church family; and this is a good thing I think, as a couple of things have happened lately that have made me less than thankful for it as well.  I suppose that's the thing with families. Sometimes you fit together beautifully, all neat and kentucky, as they say, and other times you sort of rub up against each other like grit under a contact lens. 

I am going to focus on the good things. Probably for the best.

Take the Halloween party. As you know, Halloween is the 31st October and a friend and I decided that it was important that our church organised an 'alternative' Halloween event so that people who don't like the scary or negative connotations of the day, or those who don't want their children going Trick or Treating have a place to go so that the little ones don't miss out on fun.

Now, I'm not really sure where I should stand on this. I don't think that there's anything intrinsically evil about pumpkins (they're only a vegetable, after all) or about dressing up, for that matter. My children like being scary on occasion the whole year round; they don't need an excuse to pull faces and leap out from behind the sofa.

The date itself isn't necessarily any different from any other day; I am quite sure that the devil doesn't wait all year for the end of October in order to do mischief. He can sort that out any night of the year. In the UK we seem to have imported from America the practice of trick or treating without the friendliness they seem to enjoy over there. A few years ago my elderly parents were left considerably unnerved because they declined to open their door after dark to unknown people and as a result had their front windows pelted with eggs. I don't know why it has to get nasty. But this is going off the point. If we don't want our children celebrating all that's dark and creepy and distasteful then we need to provide them with an alternative.

I don't like to fill the girls' minds with monsters and zombies and ghosts and so on. Some of the costumes and masks in the supermarkets are really nasty-looking. The assistants in Sainsbury's on 31 October had make up on to make them look as if they were decaying corpses and many of them had painted on cut throats and were covered in blood. I am not against fun but I think you can take the harmless thrill thing a bit far. On the other hand, there is a growing tradition whether I like it or not, so I don't want them to feel that they miss out on enjoying themselves.

But then maybe I worry too much.

We have you, Jesus, the Light of the World. You came to bring peace and joy and love and all that's positive, didn't you? You have the victory over all that is evil. Whatever the rights and wrongs of Halloween, let's celebrate the good and not the scary. Let's lift you high and not flirt with the other guy, not even for a bit of fun.

I think that's what I think. I'm open to advice, though, if you feel so moved?

Anyway, in the true spirit of 'It seemed like a good idea at the time', I put my hand up at a planning meeting and said I'd sort it out. Weeks later it felt overwhelming and what had begun as a little get together for church family members threatened to become a monstrous juggernaut that we needed to keep on track for fear of derailing and causing untold problems. Still, onward. Fish and chips for about ninety, games, drinks, music, fun and carving pumpkins. 

People were just wonderful. Helpers emerged as if from nowhere, the evening went beautifully with just the right level of chaos. People were generous with their time and energy. Games went with a swing, fish and chips distributed seamlessly, rubbish spirited away effortlessly. I have no idea how long the aroma of chips and vinegar took to dissipate from the church! Some people sat and with a drink and a slice of pumpkin pie and watched and others joined in with gusto or stood and encouraged and laughed. And at the end the pumpkin prayer was explained stage by stage and the pumpkins were created.

Each group had a pumpkin that was ready prepared but with all its bits still in place.

Dear Lord Jesus, open my mind so that I can learn about you. 

Someone from each group took the lid off the pumpkin.

Please take away everything that makes me do things that are wrong...

The insides were scooped out of the pumpkin.

Thankyou for what you did for me on the cross, so that I could be forgiven.

The cross-shaped nose was pushed out.

Open my eyes to see your love all around me...

Two heart-shapes were removed to make eyes.

Please open my ears to hear your Word...

Rectangular ears pushed out at either side of the pumpkin.

Help me to tell other people about you.

A mouth-shape was removed to make a big smiley mouth.

Please let your light shine through all that I do.

Finally a battery operated tea-light was placed in each one.

The lights were dimmed, the pumpkins lined up and switched on and we gave out glowsticks before the band played 'Shine from the inside out' and 'The greatest day in history' and the children jumped and danced and the grown ups lifted their hands and we all sang and it was just wonderful. Maybe the strangeness of the event helped; it's not every day that you get to dance in the dark in church and wave a luminous stick and sing as loud as you can, off-key or not, in a disinhibited manner while surrounded all the time by the same folks that stand with dignity and solemnity on a Sunday morning and do it by the book. It's for the children, right?

My friend said to me afterwards, 'Now that's how we teach our children to worship.'  She's right. They had fun. They were joyful. The message was simple and positive and Biblical and they understood. The music was loud and they had glow-in-the-dark things and a big open space was cleared and they were given permission to be energetic and to have fun. They were given permission to be children in your house and they praised you while dancing and waving their glowsticks and revelling in the specialness of it. We were all given permission to be children and it felt really good. 

I am quite sure that the angels were laughing as we were. It must have made you happy, Lord, didn't it? For a minute or two it just felt as if we'd got it right. 

It was a lovely evening. People pulled together, had fun, praised you - and clearing up seemed to happen all on its own. Everyone was smiley, people left with a handful of sweets and young and old seemed to like it. I haven't heard that anyone didn't, anyway.  It was a family event, and Abba, you were there. I could feel you.

Thankyou so much for giving that evening to me, Lord, because I needed it. I needed a little something to restore my faith in my Family. We'd wondered if it was all worth it beforehand and I'd made mental notes not to do it all over again in a year's time, but on the night it was great. It was reassuring. It was a happy time. 

You were there; it was good, wasn't it?