The Me Too Moment

Earlier this month, a fellow ACW member reached into a hole, took hold of my hand and gently pulled me out. I'm quite sure she didn't know that she'd done it, and it's possible that she'll be amazed when she finds out. When God takes our words and uses them for something unforeseen his creativity quite often astonishes us.

In her post, Deborah Jenkins speaks of her desire for her writing to touch people. To offer them comfort and encouragement as they navigate the ups and downs of life; to point them to God. The day I read her words was definitely a down kind of day. I can't remember the weather but let's say it was dark and cold and rainy. I was cross and miserable, feeling defeated and overwhelmed. Through that post, Deborah noticed me in my hole, stopped and spoke to me and offered me a hand.

Continued over at The Association of Christian Writers' blog, which is called More Than Writers. Come over and say hello. 

I will sing of your love forever

Afternoon, God.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Maybe I need a break. 

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

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

You can feel so lonely in a crowd.

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

Over the mountains and the sea

Your river runs with love for me

and I will open up my heart

and let the Healer set me free

I'm happy to be in the truth

and I will daily lift my hands

For I will always sing 

of when your love came down*

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

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

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

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

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

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

I could sing of your love forever

I could sing of your love forever

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

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

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

I'm sorry. 

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

I am loved. 

I will sing of your love forever

I will sing of your love forever

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

I still need The Healer to set me free.

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

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

I will sing of your love forever. 

Amen.

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

The weight of the world

Good Friday.

Wasn't such a good day for you, was it? I think the 'Good' bit is dependent on hindsight, because I can't imagine there were many people there who thought that what was going on was good.  There might have been some, perhaps, who thought they'd got rid of you, but when it came down to it even the soldiers who had wielded the hammer and nails looked and listened to you on the cross and concluded that you were something special.

What must you have gone through?  The agony of rejection, the agony of crucifixion, the agony of the moment that God the Father had to turn away from you. How is it possible that you went through with it at all?

Gasping for breath.  Pushing up on the nails in your feet to relieve the dislocating pressure on the shoulders and hands before sinking down again when your muscles betrayed you. Blinking blood and sweat out of your eyes, lifting your head a moment and feeling again the thorns pressing into your scalp; the torn and raw skin and muscles of your back against the splintered wood of the cross. Bracing shaking legs to take a breath - sinking down as weakness overtakes you and taking the agonising weight once again on nails through flesh, every suffocating breath a struggle.

The exhaustion and loneliness. The humiliation of nakedness in front of your mother, your friends, your enemies. And then the dark, dark emotional anguish when your isolation became complete; the Father, with whom you had always been completely in tune, was nowhere to be found.

 You had the weight of the world on your shoulders at that moment and I cannot begin to imagine the desolation.

Everything that was bad, corrupt, evil or rotten was laid upon you when you became the perfect sacrifice; the sacrifice to end them all.  You did all that.  You hung there and asked forgiveness for those that did that to you.

You asked the Father to forgive us all because I did it to you too.  I smiled and praised you then betrayed you and denied you and crucified you and you allowed it all to happen so that I could be free.

You were afraid; in Gethsemane you came before the Father and asked if there was another way - and yet you went through with the Plan because you knew that there could be no other way.

What can I say?  There's nothing I can do that is enough to thank you, and you know that. You did it anyway. There's no way that I can repay you - and you know that. You died for me anyway.

I am forever in your debt.

Lord Jesus Christ, thankyou for that Good Friday.

I have seen films in which an actor portrays your Passion. They all do it differently; some are more true to the Bible than others and some are more sanitised for the squeamish viewer than others.  The one thing that they all have in common for me is that when I come to the part where they crucify you I find it a terrible thing to watch. It's new every time.

I see that the Lord of my heart was put to death for me, and my eyes fill with tears, because they are murdering someone that I love.

Even if I watch these films over and over, Lord Jesus, never let me get to the point where those scenes don't move me. I never want to feel that it is not the momentous thing that it is. I never want it to be too familiar, routine.  I want to hold this feeling of shocked awe and wonder forever.

I want to remember the horror that I was responsible for what happened to you so that I can never forget the magnitude of the forgiveness that you have given me. If I no longer feel the awfulness then I can no longer feel the astonishment. If I don't perceive the depths of my need for forgiveness then I can't appreciate the vastness of your love.

You died for me. You loved me so much that before I even turned to you and held your gaze, you thought me worthwhile enough to die for.

'Can a mother forget the baby at her breast

and have no compassion on the child she has borne?

Though she may forget

I will not forget you.

See, I have engraved you on the palms of my hands'.

(Isaiah 49:15-16)

My name is on the palms of your hands.

I give you my tears and my wonder and my awe and my love. My guilt I don't have to give you because you lifted it from me on the day that you died.

It was heavy, I know, but you are strong.

My God, you did that for me.

(Picture OL9.jpg by edouardo
Courtesy of Morguefile.com
used with permission.)

Edited and reposted from 2012

The meaning of loneliness

Maundy Thursday.

Tonight at church we will remember the Last Supper and the events that followed in Gethemane. It will be quite a sombre affair as we listen to the account of your betrayal. 

That night in Gethsemane. My heart breaks for you. Nobody kept you company as you prayed and waited for the inevitable. They fell asleep. They didn't understand what was happening. I can't imagine  that they would have nodded off if they'd known what was about to happen. You asked them to stay with you, to be there, but they couldn't.

You were truly on your own; lonely in a way that no-one else before or since could possibly understand. My heart goes out to you. 

It must have been terrifying. You knew what was coming. You knew what had to happen. You were waiting for the start of a chain of events that would result in agonies for you - physical, emotional and spiritual, but the loneliness must have started right here.

You asked the Father if there was another way. Oh, Lord Jesus, how I thank you for that moment of - what? fear? weakness? doubt? I don't know, but my heart hurts for your humanity just then. You put yourself aside and chose the necessary path.

Minutes and hours ticked by while you waited. 

And then, one of your chosen friends betrayed you with a kiss.

Those same men who had sworn that they would never leave your side - they fled. Peter was aghast at the thought that he might disown you but he ran away and denied he ever knew you.

They were afraid for their lives and despite their claims that they would stand by you and even die for you they made themselves scarce in case it might be their turn next. 

You were alone. 

God, what was it like to watch your Son that night? To hear him ask if there was another way, and shake your head? To watch his sweat fall like blood, to see him on his face on the ground with anguish and fear?  To see these weak men who were his friends run away and deny him? 

Were you proud? Were you tempted to abandon the Plan?

Were you torn apart by grief?  Did you, even for a second, wonder if saving us was worth it? 

He did it all that scripture might be fulfilled. It had to happen this way. There was only One who was good enough. 

Tonight we will share bread and wine and we will watch as the altar in church is stripped.

It always moves me, to see the front of church bare and unadorned. No candles, no altar-cloth, no crucifix.

It doesn't seem right. Where you are there should be majesty and glory and richness and beauty but tonight there is just a wooden table. A cloud in front of the sun. Shadows instead of streaming, golden light. 

They took you away and you knew what was to come.You were human enough to pale in the face of this last horrible chapter but God enough to go ahead with it. You asked for company and support and the comfort of friends and nobody gave it.

You were totally alone.

Jesus Christ, Son of God, led away like a criminal as your friends abandoned you.

But here's the thing; I know the end of the story. I know that it doesn't end with your death. From my little vantage point in history I know about the agonising death and I know about the resurrection. I know that your team is still the only team to be on even though right at this moment in Gethsemane it looked totally defeated. You are victorious. It all works out alright in the end. 

I have an advantage over the disciples. And yet...

Would I have run away? I'm sure that I would. 

Would I run away now if they came for me, because of you?  Oh, Lord, I hope not. 

I am like Simon Peter. I don't flatter myself that I am any more loyal, brave, steadfast than the Rock upon which you built your church. I love you, but I am easily frightened. Easily cowed. 

And yet you did all this for me. 

Even without the adornments, you are beautiful. Without the gold and the tapestry and the candles, you are still the Lord of Light. 

Walking away with your captors, allies nowhere to be seen, you are not diminished. 

I am in awe. 

You are here.

Your spirit is with me.

I lift up my heart. 

I give thanks to the Lord my God. 

It is right to give Him thanks and praise.

Thankyou, Jesus.




Edited and reposted from 2012

Will you be my friend?

Hello God.

It's me again. Going over old ground again, I think. 

New school year and new emotions for me as I say goodbye to both my daughters in a morning and leave them in their classrooms instead of bringing one back home with me, or dropping her at a warm and fuzzy nursery for a couple of hours now and then. It's different. I'm still acclimatising. I'm still hesitating and turning round at the door and waving (again) and blowing kisses and looking for any glimmer of tears in those big eyes that might trigger a quandary - should I scuttle back for more hugs and kisses or should I set my shoulders and walk away...

I miss them. 

Actually Katy is doing pretty well. I'm doing magnificently, all things considered (and by that I mean that I'm doing OK within certain parameters, namely that my youngest daughter has just started school and in the last two weeks I have been a strange and unpredictable hormonal mess that snaps and cries a lot. Aside from that I'm doing just fine.) 

It's Elizabeth who's struggling and I'm asking you to make it better. Please, Lord, make it better. 

As I'm sure you'll remember, not least because I've moaned on about it before, the Powers That Be split Lizzie's class in two last year and her friends were all in the other class. Elizabeth now sees them at playtimes but lunchtime is different as each class is called in to eat at a different time and the anxiety of not having anyone to sit with to eat her dinner and play with after they've eaten is keeping my six year old daughter awake at night and reducing her to tears on several occasions. 

Father God, find a friend for my little girl. Find her a girlfriend who is kind and encouraging and makes her feel happy; at least most of the time. Not a friend who criticises the clothes she wears or makes her self conscious about her height, or calls her names, or throws her woolly hat in a puddle. We did all that last year. Please find her a friend who makes her more herself, not less. Someone with whom she flourishes and grows and becomes more sure of her worth and uniqueness. As term started I knelt down with Lizzie and told her that she was never ever on her own, because you were with her all the time. She later told me that she'd remembered what I said, and it helped, but she needs someone she can skip with and whisper with and run with and eat with as well as a heavenly Friend that she's learning to trust. Don't we all?

'Two are better than one, because they have a good return for their labour

If either of them fall down, one can help the other up.'

Ecclesiastes 4:9-10

Lord, in my life you have surrounded me with some very special people; and I consider myself blessed beyond measure by your gift of one wonderful friend in particular. I know someone who loves me, understands me and accepts me as I am, even when I'm not nice, or when I'm irrational or angry. Someone who has cried with me and laughed with me, prayed with me, held me in her arms as I've fallen apart and then helped to rebuild me. She walks alongside me with faithfulness and honesty and inspiration and we help each other. 

'A friend loves at all times, and a brother was born for adversity.'

Proverbs 17:17

That'll be sisters too, I imagine. She is not afraid to tell me when I'm wrong and yet does so with gentleness and love. She is there when I need help even if she is weighed down herself. She is full of your Spirit and I learn so much from her. She makes me want to be better than I am; she inspires me, encourages me and shows me another way to think when I've reached a dead end. Our lives are not easy and we cling to each other but we have fun as well.  She brings colour to my world when I'm seeing life in black and white. We have often remarked on how sure we are that our friendship was a gift from you because our lives have so often reflected each other's; the pattern of my unfolding world is quite often so similar as to be indistinguishable from hers. It's amazing, uplifting, reassuring, comforting and a source of great joy to me. I would love to see my girls blessed like this.

As I was growing up I made mistake after mistake with friendships around me. I had some good friends throughout all those years, some of which are still active and valuable to me now; but there are some terrible memories of times when I misplaced trust, when people were just plain mean; when I tried to be someone I wasn't in order to hang onto a friendship that was doing me no good at all, and when I was wounded repeatedly but didn't have the perception or courage to walk away. It's taken me until my forties to understand the damage that early non-friendships did to my confidence and self esteem and to start to tear down the strongholds of wrong beliefs that resulted from some of these experiences. 

Please don't let that happen to my girls. 

I see Lizzie so needy and desperate to be liked. I see her longing to be accepted and it breaks my heart that she isn't comfortable in her own skin. Have I done that to her because of my own beliefs or behaviour? I tell her that she's special and loved and beautiful... but then criticise too much? Are my standards too high? Do I expect perfection? I don't know. 

Maybe you'll help me with these demons, Lord, and soon. But today I'm asking you, please, find a friend for my little one. For both of them. 

My Kate

On her open day before the summer Katy recognised another girl that she'd met at a nursery she attended briefly when she was tiny. Let's call her Annie, though I know that you know who she is. For two visits the two of them ran round hand in hand and it was wonderful to see. All summer Annie was in Katy's mind and she was anxious to see her on her first day. Then...nothing. She wasn't mentioned at all. Today I asked if she got to play with Annie at all and Katy said, 'It's very sad,  Mummy. Annie has another friend and doesn't want me.'

That one hurt my heart. She was pretty matter of fact; indeed she told me about another two friends, both little boys, that she had fun with. It was just that she'd been so sure that she and Annie would be inseparable and it had not happened. She was disappointed. I said all the right things, that people could have lots of friends, not just one, that she could play with different people, that she was lovely...

So Lizzie cries at night and worries about who to sit with. Although I don't know the circumstances it seems that Katy has already taken her first knock. Father of all, hedge them in with your protection. Protect them against all the hurts that might take root in their heads and hearts and grow into damaging perceptions of themselves. Every night I pray for them as I watch them sleep - I pray that anything that has happened today that might become A Thing for them would melt away and be forgotten. If they are hurt or worried or frightened that you would take care of it. Please keep them intact. Show my wonderful girls how gorgeous they are, how special, how unique, how they are designed to be themselves and no-one else.

Lovely Liz

Help me to show them those things and not just show them their flaws (as perceived by an impatient and overtired mother with perfectionist tendencies).

Send them a friend, Lord. A little girl who will make them happy, who can be made happy by them. Teach the two of them how to be a friend, so that they can give as well as receive.  They're warm little creatures, Father; you know how charming and funny and innovative and exciting and imaginative and creative they can be. Please please let there be someone in each of their classes who might come to meet them. Sit next to them in the dinner hall. Run next to them in the playground. Share with them. Build them up. Have fun with them. Someone that they can face life alongside. 

I know they all have their fallings-out - I know quite well how little girls can be. Make them resilient and secure so that the knocks don't flatten them. Help them bounce back. But please don't make them wait until they're grown up before they experience true friendship. It is so special and I so want it for them. Life is so much more beautiful with a friend. Family is one thing - a wonderful thing - but friendship is different. Friendship is a different colour and the most beautiful tapestry is lacking without this shade. A husband - well, I'm sure I'll come to that in time, but they're six and four. Before they find their men they need to find their friends. Please, Lord. A friend for Lizzie and one for Katy. Maybe two - but I mustn't be greedy. 

Here are my daughters, Lord. I love them so, so much. I want so much for them. I have this special thing and I know what it's worth and nothing can buy it for them. It's a blessing and I pray that you'll give it to my girls. I can't protect them the pain of rejection and other stuff like this but I would if I could. I'd give out application forms and hold interviews and do research and select the best friends I could find for them out of the ranks of small girls available but I'd probably get it wrong. You know who might fit, Lord. I trust you.

Don't let them be lonely at playtime, Father. Be there, yes. But will you stand in the playground and introduce them to another small person who might say, 'Will you be my friend?'

Amen.