Come, let us worship

Morning, God.

I'm feeling a bit rushed today. It's been a bit of a frustrating week as I've wanted to spend more time with you to catch up a bit but circumstances seem to have conspired to prevent it from happening. 

Now, there's a sentence that begs to be deconstructed, don't you think? Immediately I said that I realised a few things:

1) Feeling rushed is a state of mind. Actually, I have just less than an hour before I need to be somewhere else, which is plenty of time unless I try to squeeze too much into it. I need to have lunch, do a supermarket shop, dust the living room (someone clever wrote their initials in the dust on top of the DVD player) and, oh, come and chat with you. Hmm. 

2)  The week has been frustrating because I've constantly been trying to get something out of the way so that I could do something else. I've been thinking a lot about Living In The Moment recently rather than wishing time away either looking back or looking forward, so I have not been getting it right. This is Not It At All. 

3)  I've wanted to spend more time with you - then why haven't I?  Well, because I've said yes when I should have said no (and I've just done it again! Help! Got to untangle another self-made mess... but that's a stress for another day, not got time right now...rush rush). Also because I've been unutterably tired so evenings have been written off, and also because I am the mistress of distraction. If I was a bit more Mary-esque and less Martha-like I might do better with this one. 

4)  Circumstances. Me, yes, and also the usual stuff that gets kicked up by a normal life with two children. The day to day things that need dealing with. Domestic crises. Tantrums. Spiders to be removed from bedrooms and nightmares to be soothed away. 

Arthur. Turned him out of Katy's bedroom.
He showed up in the sink. 

So, on this Friday morning, a week and a bit into the new term, I resolve to:

1)  Stop rushing so much. Dust less often (hahahahaha).

2)  Live In The Moment. Stop to see the flowers more.

3)  Stop and think occasionally. Especially in meetings when everyone is looking at me.

4)  Stop being surprised when my plans are derailed. It's life. 

Does that sound reasonable? Or are you chuckling as you listen to me? After all, you know me pretty well. 

Before I disappear in a cloud of shopping lists and hairspray (haircut this afternoon, please bless that appointment, Lord. I'm in great need of a miracle) I wanted to say thankyou for a couple of things. 

1)  A couple of days ago I was awoken by a piercing scream. I galloped to Elizabeth's bedroom very early in the morning to find her in tears because of a bad dream. Something about a giant slug. I stroked and soothed and glanced at the clock to find that it was only an hour or so until alarm-clock time, which is bad news from the perspective of trying to convince a seven year old to go back to sleep. 

Back in bed, was just relaxing into the warm again when another piercing scream. This time a duet. Galloped back across the landing to find both girls huddled on Katy's bed (clearly Lizzie had decided sleep was not on the agenda and had gone to find Kate). Spider of mammoth proportions in the middle of the floor. I nearly trod on it as I stumbled through the door. Of course, I had to go and find my glasses, a glass and a coaster to trap the spider and as I located the necessary items I could hear from the shrieks that the beast was on the move. He was eventually tracked down with much moving of furniture and hopping about lest a spider the size of Denmark made a run for my pyjama leg. I trapped him, we admired him, I deposited him outside the back door. 

This doesn't do you justice.

Since I had to walk past the kettle on my way back upstairs it seemed only sensible to right off the remainder of the pre-alarm clock time. We were all well awake. An abrupt start to the day. Grr. 

I pulled back the bedroom curtains and found your present right outside. Waiting for me. 

The most spectacular golden sunrise. Red and orange and sheets of beaten gold across the sky. Just for those of us who'd been catapulted into the day ridiculously early because of slugs and spiders. 

Thankyou. 

We had a moment or two, then, didn't we? Me and you. It made a real difference to my day. Me and you, first thing. The glory of you shining through my bedroom window. If it hadn't been for the slug-dream and Spidergate, I'd have missed it. In fact, within the hour, a bank of cloud had obliterated the sun and we didn't see it again that day, which made that morning glimpse all the more wonderful.

2)  Later that same day, it rained. Just in time for the school gallop, the rain came. Pelting. One of those showers where it starts as I leave the house, stops when I put the key in the door and leaves a wet line around my jeans where my coat finishes. It was a strange thing, though. I'm enjoying the round trip to the girls' two school and on this occasion as I went to fetch Elizabeth I had my umbrella up so that the rain was coming at me vertically from underneath, it was so heavy, and I had my headphones in with a song played loudly. 

Picture taken the following day,
when the rain had stopped.

It was YFriday's 'Come, let us Worship'. 

'He made the heavens and they shine his glory

He moves the sun across the sky

So incomparable the star of morning

Radiant in light'

As I set off in the rain it reminded me of the sunrise at the crack of dawn that morning. The golden streaks across a sky that was dark and heavy with rainclouds by 3pm. It made me smile. It made me smile because there wasn't much that was radiant about the day at that moment. The noise of the rain on my umbrella and the the sound of it beating down was competition for the music.

'He made the world and all its countless wonder

Composed the song creation cries

Our God incredible, immortal Saviour

Jesus Christ'

I rounded a corner and there was a single sunflower, drooping with the rain, against a dark fence. Nothing else around, just a bright yellow face looking at me through the grey of the afternoon. Just as I was hearing about Creation's song, there it was, singing. As I disappeared down a little shortcut path a rose was poking through another fence. In the drenching rain where I huddled under an umbrella and plodded through puddles, eyes fixed on the splashing at my feet, there was breathtaking colour. Standing out even more because of the backdrop of grey. 

'Come, let us worship

Come, let us bow down...'

So here I am, just wanting to tell you that I noticed. That it was a couple of days ago, but I've been holding this in my heart ready for a chance to tell you that I haven't forgotten. I want to mark it down and remember it. Tell people about it. It was a grey, dark, threatening day where the rain came down heavily, but that sunflower was all the more beautiful for the beads of water. The rose stood out all the more against the dark wood. They were there to see. Thankyou that you gave me words in my ear to draw attention to them, Father; if my umbrella had been any lower I'd have missed them. You brought it together perfectly. To see and to worship. 

So, the dusting will have to wait. Again. I'll find something in the freezer for tea. The haircut can't wait, though, it's an emergency - but I have liked this bit of time you and me. 

Thankyou for slugs and spiders and sunrises. For rainclouds and sunflowers and pink roses. 

For your endless patience and gentleness in showing me your treasures. 

'Come, let us worship

Come, let us bow down

Come, let us sing of all the Lord has done'

Amen.

(YFriday, from 'Great and Glorious', 2009, Kingsway)

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.