Psalm (of Helen) : A mission statement

Gentle readers, may I beg your indulgence with this post; I set out to write a psalm, without first making much of a study on how the psalms were written, and I know that there are scholars among you who know and understand things like structure, metre, the little couplety thing that many of the psalms have and so on.  This will clearly fall far short.

My offering below is probably neither a psalm nor a poem, but a kind of outpouring from the heart in the rough style of the psalmists at their most raw and un-poetic. I don't think God is offended by the awkward and unskilled, and this felt important to me. It just wanted to be said.

As a writer who has - and is - struggling to understand what I am called to do, to find a niche, so stop speak, this seems the very bottom line in why I keep opening my laptop and stringing words together even when frequently I feel like giving up for good. I have tried so many different things, nothing seems to fit, and I come back time and again to this one truth: I want to write about Jesus.

I promise I won't often try to do it in verse.

This is what happened when I splurged it all out. I wanted to share it with you.

Continued over at The Association of Christian Writers' Blog, which is called More Than Writers. Please come and have a look around. There are things that are really worth reading. 

Just hold on

Last week I went prayer weaving.

No, I hadn't heard of it before, either. There's a little loom which consists of a series of removable prongs in a wooden base (five, in our case - just weaving something small). You take a ball of wool, or strips of fabric, ribbons - whatever you can make into strands - and weave it in and out of the prongs across the loom and back again. Knot two pieces together to change wool or texture, and then when the loom becomes almost full, pull the prongs out, threading the attached piece of wool through your creation. You can do this several times in order to make a piece that's as long as you want.

By the end, my piece of woven fabric was about eight inches long and about four wide. After removing it from the loom for the last time, you cut the warp threads (the vertical ones) and tie them off, and there you have it.

It's supposed to be a prayer.

The idea is that you have a conversation with God as you weave. You choose your colours instinctively and without too much deliberation in order to allow God to speak to you in whatever way He sees fit; through colour, through texture, through metaphor, through ideas or thoughts or words in your head.

I went along to the session feeling quite down; a prevailing mood for a while now. If I hadn't committed myself to begin there I suspect I might not have gone at all, and to be honest, I wasn't particularly up for having a conversation with God. I wasn't in the mood for more pep talks about persevering, or about counting my blessings. I was making up the numbers and, if nothing else, I'd decided that an hour spent doing something crafty might be a bit of relaxation time, and so I'd give it a go.

God started work a little bit before I did, that particular evening. I'd had to take my eldest daughter to swimming training at a pool some distance from church, and arranged for someone else to bring her home, so I was feeling a bit frazzled as I climbed into the car with twenty minutes left to do a half hour journey. For the first time in a few weeks I turned the music up as I drove off; I'm so rarely on my own in the car at the moment that I hadn't had the chance to listen to any music for ages. It was a Phil Wickham track called 'Just Hold On'.

Yeah.

'There is a battle in the distance

I see it flashing in the sky

It's gonna be a long, long night

All that was holding you together

Is crumbling apart

And left you with an aching heart

Take my hand, here I am'

The first thing that came to mind was that it feels as if I've been in a battle. This year has started with so many things to cope with coming at me from every angle. Things that I thought I'd dealt with (and written triumphant blog posts about) years ago are back to hassle me. Worrying about what people think, battling with indecision, pride, fear, tiredness and bad temper. Early mornings at the swimming club, self consciousness, feelings of inadequacy and anxiety about the future, and so on, and so on. And that old chestnut that when I need God most, I have no energy or desire to find Him.

Yes, there's a battle. Always a battle, but I've been struggling in the middle of it. It has felt like a long, long night, and I've been afraid that I'm coming apart, feeling downcast, miserable, apathetic, discouraged. Yes, that. What the man sang, that.

'Take my hand, here I am...

Love is gonna make it right

Just hold on, just hold on

There's mercy in the morning light

When you're weak love is strong

Hold on'

I don't really know what happened as I listened to that song, but a little glimmer of something seemed to penetrate the darkness. A ray of morning light, maybe. A little glint of something shining in the black. I turned the music  up loud. 

So, prayer weaving.

Each seat had a loom set up and ready for a participant. The vertical threads were already attached to the loom, and my seat had black threads already on it. Good, I thought.

I knew what I was going to do. The room was set out with multiple baskets and tubs of different fabrics, wools, yarns and ribbons in every colour, pattern and texture that you can imagine. While sipping my coffee before we began I decided where I was going to start. I chose the darkest colours I could find in shades of black and purple and began weaving. 

It was quite therapeutic, the in-out-in-out of the thread between the pegs, a rhythmic thing that I found wasn't conducive to thinking, really - more just switching off. My piece of work grew longer with each row of ins and outs and I changed material every few rows.

Fluffy black thread, chunky purple wool, tweedy fabric in dark colours, purple ribbon. I wanted there to be different textures, but little colour. Dark, drab, plain.

And then... a little glimmer of gold. A shaft of morning light in the gloom.

My mind was full of the symbolism of what I was doing. In-and-out, in-and-out. A rhythmic plodding on, sometimes fast and sometimes slow.

Sometimes tightly, weaving with tension, sometimes more relaxed, loosely.

Some threads were easier to use than others, some slipping through the fingers smoothly, and others lumpy and bumpy and hard to work with.

Some strands of fabric weren't really long enough - particularly the shreds of gold that I found; I wished there were more of those, but they were quickly woven in and then I was back to my dark threads.

Some of them rough to my fingers, some silky, some fluffy and soft, some thin and almost wiry.

In-and-out, in-and-out. Like days and weeks and months and years. Life (from where I was sitting, in that frame of mind) dull and monotonous. Too much dark and not enough light. Too dark to see what was ahead; not enough colour to inspire. And yet, bright threads woven through adding glimmers of beauty, changing the mood of the whole piece.

At the end when my piece of weaving was free from the loom, I found scraps of red and gold ribbon and tied off the ends - my little night-time prayer gilded at the beginning and end with little pieces of sunrise.

'There's mercy in the morning light...'

I was quite surprised at my piece, when it was finished.

I was surprised at how dark it was, in comparison with other people's. Bright colours everywhere, yellows and greens and reds and oranges... and then mine, by far the most miserable looking piece of work in the room. Still, to me it spoke of hope, the assurance that there is gold to be found even in the darkest hours, that after night comes morning, with it's rays of brilliance. That God is there in the blackness

'Take My hand, here I am...'

Afterwards, I took my bit of weaving home with me and laid it on the arm of a chair in the sitting room. As I sat, I was smoothing it out, fingering the different textures and gently shaping it in my hands.

As I looked closely, I noticed something; something that I hadn't intended when I'd selected the component parts.  I'd been looking for the darkest, drabbest colours that I could find, and yet... here was a dark-looking rectangle of wool and fabric, but examined closely it was full of hidden colour and pattern.

Much more beautiful than I'd anticipated.

I took photographs and took the lens as close as I could to the weave and I found that the camera found a depth of colour in close up that wasn't immediately obvious unless you held the fabric up to the light and examined it in detail. Through the lens, it looked different.

A browny-purple wool turned out to be made up of a myriad of different colours ranging from grey to beige to blue and green. A black thread had specks of vivid blue, and a dull tweed hid strands of yellow and teal.

More than meets the eye.

So perhaps when life is at its drabbest, most monotonous, then its beauty can only be seen through a special lens. Maybe I need eyes to see, and ears to hear. Perhaps there are hidden treasures that can only be found in close up, with concentration; only when I am enabled to see. Maybe even the darkest fabrics are made of tinier threads that bring their own colour to contribute to the whole - but from a distance seem invisible.

So my woven prayer was more of an offering to God: the God of the morning light, who invites me to take His hand when I am stumbling in the darkness. When there's a battle and the night feels long, He is there, and morning is coming. He took my offering and gave me something in return. He showed me that even in the darkness there is beauty - that black is not a colour on its own but all the colours combined. Sometimes even if we can't see them, the colours are still there, undiminished.

Maybe God's got plans for that darkness. He is a God who wastes nothing, remember; all the scraps of fabric that I knotted together go to create something with depth and texture. A combination of odds and ends, of lengths and strands. If anyone can bring good things out of bad, He can. If anyone can find beauty where all seems ugly, He can.

Beauty in darkness. Immense variation even in monotony.

Colour in the shadows.

'Love is gonna make it right.

Just hold on, just hold on'. 

Amen.

Phil Wickham, 'Heaven and Earth' 2009 INO Records

A letter to fill you in. Or not.

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

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

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

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

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

It's too big. 

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

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

You call me out upon the waters

The great unknown where feet may fail

And there I find You in the mystery

In oceans deep

My faith will stand

And I will call upon Your name

And keep my eyes above the waves

When oceans rise

My soul will rest in Your embrace

For I am Yours and You are mine

Your grace abounds in deepest waters

Your sovereign hand

Will be my guide

Where feet may fail and fear surrounds me

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

Spirit lead me where my trust is without borders

Let me walk upon the waters

Wherever You would call me

Take me deeper than my feet could ever wander

And my faith will be made stronger

In the presence of my Saviour

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

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

We sang.

'Spirit lead me where my trust is without borders - 

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

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

Lead me where my trust is without borders...

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

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

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

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

Hmm.

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

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

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

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

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

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

In the West, we have a problem with pride. 

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

And yet... 

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

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

Yeah. 

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

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

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

There would be peace, and victory. 

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

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

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

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

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

Shalom. 

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

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

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

In Christ Alone

In Christ alone my hope is found

He is my light, my strength, my song

This Cornerstone, this solid ground

Firm through the fiercest drought and storm

What heights of love, what depths of peace

When fears are stilled, when strivings cease

My Comforter, my All in All

Here in the love of Christ I stand

Amen, amen, amen. 

I know that this is true. 

How can I know? When faith is believing what we can't see? I don't know. Perhaps I don't really know it. But something inside me reaches for you when I sing these words and I think it's my soul. It's not a conscious reaction; it's instinctive. It's profound. It tells me that these words are truth. 

You are my solid ground. 

So many times I scrabble about looking for hope and light in other places but I come back to you every time. I lean on someone else only to find that they shift and they stumble too. I cast about for help, for advice, for support, for love  - and find that it only reliably comes from you. 

How often I fail to recognise that you are the only solid ground - other areas sometimes seem solid but turn out to be quicksand.

You remain firm. You never change. You stay put. You never let me down. 

You are eternal and everlasting and immutable and all those long words. 

The only problem is me; sometimes I forget. Sometimes I don't even forget; it's more stupid than that. Sometimes I just stop believing it for some reason and I try something else. I look to people for comfort, or to food, or to books, even to sleep.  But it never satisfies for long. I'm sad and worried all over again, I'm hungry again. I still have questions despite the texts. I am soon weary again.

But you are the One who stills fears, who brings peace. 

I stand in your love.

In Christ alone, who took on flesh

Fullness of God in helpless babe

This gift of love and righteousness

Scorned by the ones He came to save

'Til on that cross as Jesus died

The wrath of God was satisfied

For every sin on Him was laid

Here in the death of Christ I live

My God, what did you do for me? You gave up glory in Heaven to come and be one of us down here. You ate and laughed and wept and taught and loved and did all the things that you did and then you bled and you died. 

As if it were not enough for us to kill you, we mocked you as well. Insult and injury. No, we didn't know what we were doing. You were dying for each and every one of us and we either turned away or spat at you. Even your friends ran and hid. Your own mother watched you die. I don't have the capacity to understand fully what you did but the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end every time I sing this verse. 

You were light itself but you allowed the darkness to engulf you. You knew what would happen but you came and loved us and did it anyway. You, who never did anything wrong, who could at any point have called down lightning from heaven to stop the whole thing and prove your deity. 

You did this for me. 

For me. 

You love me so much that you would come yourself to do what was necessary to 
bring me home. I can never deserve what you did for me.

There in the ground His body lay

Light of the world by darkness slain

Then bursting forth in glorious Day

Up from the grave He rose again

And as He stands in victory

Sin's curse has lost its grip on me

For I am His and He is mine

Bought with the precious blood of Christ

I am so thankful that your story doesn't end with your death. Many stories do end like this; someone does something noble, selfless; he gave his life for his cause, and those stories are wonderful, inspiring, even... but only one ends like this. 

You rose from the dead. 

You came to life again. If even death is not the end, there is nothing that can defeat you. And because of your amazing grace and love for me, I can say that death is not the end for me either, nothing can defeat me. 

There may be many battles but you have won this war. 

You bought me with your blood. You paid the price that needed paying and I am yours. 

Oh, my God. 

Nothing can stop me from one day being with you, because of what you did. You, the living God, the creator of the universe; you, who can see history from the beginning to the end, you, who are the context of everything, the thoughts and dreams and hopes of all your children - you made me free. 

'If the Son sets you free, you are free indeed.'  John 8:36

Amen.

No guilt in life, no fear in death

This is the power of Christ in me

From life's first cry to final breath

Jesus commands my destiny

No power of hell, no scheme of man

Can ever pluck me from His hand

'til He returns or calls me home

Here in the power of Christ I'll stand

Oh Lord God I so want to live this way. You took away my guilt and yet I keep trying to take it back. You banished fear and yet I can't help hanging onto it. I am quite sure that the power of Christ is somewhat muted in my life, but each day I am trying to let more of it shine through me. I need lots of help.

I am a work in progress. I know that I'm not finished yet. I know that I'm not what I was. I know that I will be better, and most importantly I know that I am loved just how I am. You will never give up on me. You'll never shake your head impatiently and say that if I haven't learned by now then I'll never learn. You always, always, reach down and gently help me to my feet.

Try again. I am loved, imperfect as I am. 

Nothing can separate me from your love. 

Nothing can prevent me from being with you. 

I am saved and I am safe. 

No power of hell, no scheme of man can ever pluck me from your hand. 

No power of hell. If you are for me, then who can stand against? I am yours and nothing can change that. All the rubbish that goes on in my life, all the mistakes I make, the voices in my head that tell me I've really messed up this time, it's no good, I'll never amount to anything... nothing matters. 

Only you. And your voice is the one that tells me, 'I am loving you, my daughter. You are precious to me. I will never let you go.'

The other guy? He'll never win. He can cause me no end of trouble but he can't win. I am loved by the true and living God.

I am amazed.

Whether one day - tonight, tomorrow? At the ending of the world? When it's time, when it's all over for me down here I will go home to be with you and I will see you with my own eyes. What a day that'll be. I will be bowing very low on that day. And I believe that you will lift my chin until I look into your eyes and I won't see any condemnation or reproach or disappointment. All there'll be is love;  I'll see how much you love me. 

And then I'll stand in the warmth of your presence with my arms raised high, surrounded by everyone who has ever loved you down through the ages and we'll sing this song until all of creation joins in. 

I can't wait.  

You are my God and I am your child. 

Thank you.




In Christ Alone 
Words and music Stuart Townend & Keith Getty
Copyright 2001 Kingsway Thankyou Music

Linking up with Tania Vaughan at Monday Ministry.

You're beautiful

Hello, God.

It's getting busy now; all the Christmas things. Tomorrow we've got people coming to visit and I am a blur as I seek to get all the housework done that I put off on a day to day basis. A fairly grumpy blur, if the truth be known, as I don't like dusting, cleaning, vacuuming, tidying. It wouldn't be half such an onerous job if I did a little bit more a little more often but hey. There's always something better to do. 

In amid the list making, rushing about and planning of the last few days you have sent me some little gems, Lord.  A few things recently that have made me smile; even brought tears to my eye. Things that have comforted, encouraged, inspired. Gifts from you.  

I have so much to be thankful for.

On Friday I went to a wedding. I love weddings at the best of times but this was special. It didn't matter one bit that outside the weather was freezing and sleet was pelting down sideways.  Our lovely church was full, the flowers were so pretty, it was beautifully organised, the music lovely, the singing raised the roof. The bride looked gorgeous, the vows were heartfelt and emotional and the pride and love on the groom's face as he walked down the aisle with his new wife on his arm made my eyes fill up all over again. All those things were lovely but the most overwhelming thing was that you were there. You, who enjoyed a good wedding enough to turn water into wine, of course you'd be there. The two young people getting married know you and love you and made sure that you were invited. Not that you wouldn't have turned up anyway, because you love them - but you filled the place. The wedding was an offering to you and it felt to me as if you were smiling with pleasure and raining down blessings. 

Relatives and friends and many of our church were there and it felt as if the bride and groom were held tightly in the love of their family. It was just lovely. Lovely is too boring a word. 

And something else happened for me. The final hymn was a song I'd never heard before and it blew me away. You really spoke to me through it. It has a wonderful melody line which has been in my mind constantly since then, and the words are so powerful.

You're Beautiful: Phil Wickham (2007)

I see your face in every sunrise

The colours of the morning are inside your eyes

The world awakens to the light of the day

I look up to the sky and say

You're beautiful.

Lord God, this year I have learned so much. So much about myself, so much about you. I have learned that you are all around me and I just need eyes to see. This song reminded me straight away about the times I saw the sun rise on holiday this year on the east coast and the way that the light changed moment by moment, from glory to glory. (Finding a spacious place).

I saw you in the sunrise just as the writer of this song did. I look at the majesty and subtlety and wonder of the sun emerging over the sea and I am looking into the eyes of the Lord. My God, you're beautiful. 

I see your power in the moonlit night

Where planets are in motion and galaxies are bright

We are amazed at the light of the stars

It's all proclaiming who you are

You're beautiful.

.

I saw that too. 

I lay on my back with Bryan on the same holiday and we saw the Milky Way in a clear and unpolluted night sky and I was amazed indeed. (The skies proclaim your handiwork.) There were more stars than I've ever seen. You put every one of them there and it was breathtaking. Awe-inspiringly beautiful. This song was meant for me, wasn't it?

I see you there hanging on a tree

You bled and then you died and then you rose again for me

Now you are sitting on your heavenly throne

And soon we will be coming home

You're beautiful.

Lord at Easter I was struck in a new way with the enormity of what you did for me. It was very powerful and it knocked me for six. (The weight of the world) and (How marvellous, how wonderful). I was amazed at what I saw for the first time about what you did. For me. For me. You didn't have to but you did, because you loved me. I sat here at my computer and I tried desperately to make words describe what you were doing in my heart pretty much as I am now, and failed, I suppose, pretty much as I am now, because it's too big a thing. It's too hard to express it adequately when God says something to you. When the Lord of creation tells you that he died for you because he loves you so much there aren't words for it. 

And then came the last verse of Phil Wickham's beautiful song and I choked up again.

When we arrive at eternity's shore

Where death is just a memory and tears are no more

We'll enter in as the wedding bells ring

Your bride will come together and we'll sing

You're beautiful.

I think this is the song of my year, Lord. It sums up so much of what I've thought and felt. It's been a special time for me. You've given me the odd glimpse of the hope I have in the last few months and although I'm just a small child with such an incredible long way to go you've been gracious enough to encourage me with tiny glimpses of the promise that I have in you. (The place where beauty comes from). Lord God, I've said it before; I give you so little and you give me so much back. 

I find this last verse spine tingling. You have grown in my heart this year a real longing to know you. To notice you and to see you and hear you and experience you and reflect you and tell people about you. This little thing that's growing - it's small and incomplete and faulty and quite often gets drowned out by much less lofty desires but you've planted a seed and I am stooped over it, protectively, trying to give it water and light and help it to grow into something. I want it to, honestly.  

A little devotional reading on my iPhone the other night told me of an alpine plant that has a tiny, tiny flower, yet three feet of root to anchor it into shallow soil and reach between rocks to make it safe from strong winds and erosion and yet supply it with the nutrients it needs to survive and bloom. Lord, make me like that plant. Sometimes I can find rich, hearty soil but sometimes I find myself without any depth to reach into. Sometimes I find that I'm blowing in the wind and in danger of becoming uprooted but I'm hanging on. Give me three feet of root, Father God, even when beneath me is just rock. Even if my flower is minuscule, help me to blossom and show the beauty you've given me even if no-one is around to see. 

My devotional goes on to say that meditating on your word, and learning to appreciate your presence in the world around us is how we can put down longer and firmer roots. To anchor ourselves in you. 

I have such a long way to go, Lord, but you've been showing me all this, this year, haven't you? (The sacred that surrounds us). I hear songs like 'You're beautiful' and I read about meditation and opening my eyes to see you and hear you around me and I have come to recognise that I can see you. I so often shut you out because my vision is narrow and selfish but I can, when you help me, take a long look at the wonder of you. 

Lord what a loving God you are. You made me how I am and you know how much I like symmetry; how much I like things to be complete and orderly. You know how bad I am at listening to you and yet you've placed in my heart a little spark of something that delights me and leads me closer to you. You've sent me so many little gems this year; so many new ideas and glimpses and you've been patient enough to reinforce each one and send me reminders in so many ways. In books, in devotionals, through friends, sermons and the things I find around me. You've made connections where there were none and have fed and watered the little seed that you planted.

It is just wonderful, Father. 'You're Beautiful' doesn't begin to cover it, but I offer you what I can. What I have. Thankyou. 

Just as the young couple on Friday left the church to start their life together, I feel I've set out on a journey with you this year. I've taken some steps and it feels as if this trip could last a lifetime. I have no idea how long that might be, but I'm limbering up for the next leg of the journey. 

I love it. 

Yeah, yeah, yeah yeah yeah...

Hello, Lord.
Today we had a sermon based around a song that was a particular favourite of mine when I was at University in Liverpool.  We listened to this album a lot and so I know the song word for word. Lots of memories - eating fish and chips out of the paper in the back of a car driving around Sefton Park late at night after one or two drinks (not the driver, I hasten to add), singing loudly; putting on makeup ready to go out with this song in the background; listening to it on my Walkman while strolling along the riverside. Not particularly spiritual memories (especially not the first one, I think), and also I suspect that a careful consideration of the lyrics was perhaps absent on those occasions as well. 

Joan Osborne: One of Us

'If God had a name, what would it be

And would you call it to his face

If you were faced with him in all his glory

What would you ask if you had just one question?'

'If God had a face, what would it look like

And would you want to see

If seeing meant that you would have to believe
In things like heaven 

and in Jesus and the saints and all the prophets?'

Matt was talking about the will - would you want to see, if it meant that you would have to believe; no choice but to change your life completely?  

I found it hard to put myself in that position. I tried to imagine it, but I couldn't get past a strong sense of awe and gratitude that I do know you. No, it was more than gratitude, it was a deep feeling of joy. Not the jumpy-up-and-downy type of joy, but something deep inside me that felt like heat. Like a hot water bottle in a cold bed in November. Like the first swallow of mulled wine on a winter day. Not emotional but solid. Reliable. Permanent. 

Well, you have lots of names, don't you? I know a few of your names and yes, one day I will fall to my knees in front of you and I will have the confidence to call you Lord, Saviour, God Almighty, Creator and King of Kings.  And by some inexplicable product of your grace and mercy you have invited me to call you Daddy and Friend. Me! Little insignificant me, given significance because you chose me and you cherish me and you want me to be all that I can be. 

It seems an amazing thing that one day I will indeed be in your presence and enveloped in your holiness. One day I too will be pure and perfect. Because you sent your precious son to die for me, I can one day come to meet you face to face.  

If God had a face, what would it look like

And would you want to see...'

I do want to see. Sometimes I can't wait to see. I don't mean that I am some sort of saint-in-waiting or that this life is so appalling that I can't wait to throw in the towel; when I thought I might have breast cancer a few weeks ago I realised how attached I was to this life and the people in it. But sometimes when I'm in church worshipping you and it all seems to come together and I'm in the moment it feels as if you've lifted off the roof of the church so that the angels can join in.

CS Lewis said:

'It's safe to tell the pure in heart that they shall see God, for only the pure in heart want to.'

Wow. If that's true (and surely it is, for it was said by CS Lewis), then it's an amazing thing. Me, pure in heart? Ha! But on the other hand - I know that when the day comes for me to tremble in front of you as I have nothing to hide behind, I can lean on your forgiveness through Jesus and not have to pay the unpayable price for my sins. I am more excited about meeting you than I am about all the baggage that I would leave at the pearly gates because I trust that it's all dealt with. There must be a holding bay there or something. But you said that you would wash me and I would be whiter than snow. So maybe there's a bit of me that's pure in heart?

So there's the odd occasion when I get one of those glimpses of you and the thing deep inside me - the joy, the warmth - it responds by reaching for you. Is that my soul?

'Love so amazing, so divine

Demands my soul, my life, my all.'

When I Survey the Wondrous Cross, Isaac Watts, 1707. Charles Wesley reportedly said that he would give up all his other hymns to have written this one.  As for me, I like the new tune better than the old one, and I like some bits of it better than others. These last two lines I love. This was the last hymn today and I by no means did it justice as my children were back from their groups, showing me their art and asking me when they could have a biscuit. I'm sure you will let me off the hook for not singing the closing hymn with the appropriate degree of reverence and concentration. (I like to picture you as delighted with Katy's picture and Elizabeth's whale as I was, and sympathetic to their need for sustenance as it was getting on for lunchtime.)

I know that your amazing love demands everything from me, and I long to give you everything. There was a time when I held it all back because I knew that I couldn't/wouldn't give you everything and so I thought it wrong to try to give you anything much at all. Of late I have realised that there's no point in waiting until I can do it all perfectly because that day will never come. I just lay in front of you what I have, what I can. Some of it makes a decent present but I am quite sure that the majority of my offering is far from worthy of you. It's all I have. I know that you love me as I am while wanting more for me, and that touches me in a way I can't express because if I am so disappointed in me much of the time, then how much more must you be, perfect Lord, and yet you still insist that I am your precious child.

Adrian Plass reckons in his book 'When you Walk' that you can see into our hearts and even our messes and botched up attempts at doing the right thing please you. He said:

'God looks into our hearts and and is pleased by an intention to do what we are told. He has learned to live with the scrambled means by which we attempt to be obedient.'

I do have times when I long to do what is right. I am no good at it because my impulses are to do the other thing, but at times I want to be the person you want me to be. I hope that you don't miss those little moments, so that you can see the intention in my heart before it passes. Before it gets drowned out by all the other shouty little voices that so often prevail. 

'What if God was one of us?'

Back to Joan Osborne again. Me being me, I have a problem with the grammar here, as it should, of course, as you'll know, be, 'What if God were one of us', (In case of doubt or desire, IF is followed by WERE) but I can overcome my disapproval in order to mull over the message, just as I did in 1996 to belt out a good tune with wild abandon and no thought for the neighbours in my student days. 

What if God were one of us?  Well, you were, weren't you? So we can't say that you don't know what you're talking about. We can't say that you don't have a clue what it's like to be a person, to be happy and sad, to laugh and cry, to love and mourn and suffer and die. I hold this so close to my heart, Father, knowing that you understand. There's nobody better equipped to understand than Jesus Christ when it comes to having a crap time. 

'For we do not have a hight priest who is unable to empathise with our weaknesses, but we hav one who has been tempted in every way, just as we are - and yet he did not sin.'

Hebrews 4: 14-16

Thankyou that you are not remote, distant, God-like in all but personality and presence. You came and found out what it was like to be the created, not the Creator. You didn't make for yourself a cushy little time on earth where you were treated as you should be entitled; you did it all the hard way. You let mere men criticise and condemn and reject you; you let us sneer and spit on you. You let us kill you, so that we might be free. You did that so that we could come into your presence one day with confidence and call you by your Name and look into your face. You were indeed one of us. 

Joan Osborne, at her most profound, for the last time:

'Yeah, yeah, God is great.
Yeah, yeah, God is good
Yeah, yeah, yeah yeah yeah...'

Oh yeah, you're good. Oh yeah, you're great.

Amen.

Always more strength

Hello, God.


Sunday night and the music was amazing at church.  The sung worship felt great and it was obvious that the Holy Spirit was moving in a powerful way. I was only there as the result of a last minute decision. It might have been my last minute decision, Lord, but you knew I'd be there.  At least, that's what it felt like.


The songs were special to me.


'...When trials come, how you so easily forget
Cast all your burdens upon the Lord
Jesus cares, he cares for you'
Robert Critchley, 2001 Kingsway/Thankyou Music


I've had a horrible time recently and the last week knocked me for six. I've been aware of you, Lord; I don't think I've ever made such an effort to try to stay close to you - I've been struggling that much.  If I'm trying for a deeper relationship with you, so that I can be of some use to you, then it's bound to get messy, isn't it? 


But have I cast my burdens on the you?  Nowhere near as much as I could have, I guess. I've moaned about them, felt how heavy they were, told anyone who'd listen what a bad time I'm having; poked and prodded them and limped on, but I never actually handed them over. 


That song moved into another.


'Strength will rise as we wait upon the Lord
We will wait upon the Lord
We will wait upon the Lord'

Brenton Brown/Ken Riley 2006 Survivor Records


I was singing with all my heart and I heard your voice speaking so clearly.  You said three words to me three or more times.  


You said, 'Always more strength'.  


I've been so tired.  I've been physically tired as Katy is going through a phase where she needs attention several times a night; I've been tired as I've been unwell (have I mentioned that, Lord?) and I've been emotionally and spiritually tired too.  It's as if all the rubbish happening recently has taken it out of me; all the wondering I've been doing about why all the bad things, the mistakes, the inconveniences and the accidents; why are they all happening?.  


I've been so determined that I'm going to be faithful despite all these attempts to derail me, but best intentions aside, I've felt defeated.  Nothing much left; so the next thing to knock me off my perch might just have seen me lie there without getting up for the next punch.  


But...

'You are the everlasting God
The everlasting God
You do not faint You won't grow weary'


But you don't grow faint or weary. I do. You aren't worn down by the odd misfortune like I am.  And you'll never leave me.  You'll never be defeated.  And there you were on Sunday night gently telling me that I just need to stick with you because neither will I.  You have enough strength for me too.  


Always more strength. 

'You're the defender of the weak
You comfort those in need
You lift us up on wings like eagles'


I am weak and I can stand defended by you.  If I wait upon you, you will lift me up and give me a new strength. 


'...but those who hope in the LORD
will renew their strength.
They will soar on wings like eagles;
they will run and not grow weary,
they will walk and not be faint.'  
Isaiah 40:31


If I hope in you, you'll keep on recharging me. I will never run out of strength.  On my own I'll tire so quickly. But if I wait upon you; if I listen, watch, talk to you, stay close to you, listen some more, learn from you, then you will renew my strength until I am as gravity defying as an eagle.  


I can soar, not trudge.  
I can fly high, not fall flat.  
I can do great things, because I am powered by you.


What a promise is that?!  I sang my heart out as if I were in front of your very throne, and you spoke to me.  You smiled and said, 'Always more strength'. 


At times like that, I feel as if I'm overflowing with love for you; with awe and praise. I feel that I want eternity to start right now because there is going to be nothing better than to sit in front of you and worship for ever.  My God, who created the universe, who died and rose again, who understands everything, for whom nothing is impossible - the Lord - you touched me on an ordinary Sunday night in our church just to assure me that you are there, you have always been there, and you are enough for me. 


I am not defeated as there is always more strength available.  


"Always more strength."