A - Z Challenge - F: Friend

This is a little something I wrote as an exercise on a writers' weekend. We had to write a parable; a narrative that held a deeper meaning. Something that could be read on different levels, allowing the reader to pull out truths as they saw them, embedded in story. Here it is.

My Friend (first published as 'Treasures Everywhere')

This afternoon I went for a walk with an old friend. We haven't spent time together for quite a while - I'm not sure why. He's always good company but I've kind of got into the habit of walking with other people, or even just by myself. That's when there's time for things like that at all, of course; everything is such a rush these days!  Anyway, my friend seemed a little surprised to be asked but as soon as he heard my voice he was full of enthusiasm. So delighted was he to hear from me that my pleasure was tinged with a little guilt, if I'm honest.

Anyway, we went for a stroll on a beautiful sunny summer's day. It was very pleasant. We chatted about this and that - or at least I did; he didn't say very much and so I felt a bit as if I needed to fill the gaps in the conversation. I probably went on a bit but if he found my monologue tiresome he didn't let on. He just listened and smiled encouragingly.

We reached a point where the path forked into two. Left or right? I hesitated.

My friend knew the area much better than I did, so I asked him which was best. He shrugged  and told me it was my choice. I felt a pang of irritation at his reticence, but quickly rallied.

After scrutinising each path, I chose the one that looked easiest walking. I was only wearing my battered old flip flops; not the best choice for a walk in the woodland, as it turns out.

I chided myself that I should have been more prepared. I hadn't really given much thought to what I'd need before I set off.

Easy walking indeed! Before long the path took a sharp and rocky upward turn. I set off up the steep gradient somewhat hesitantly as it would have been very easy to slip in my inadequate footwear. A couple of times I felt the reassurance of my friend's hand on my elbow, which was very welcome. I was soon out of breath and stopped talking to him completely. Again, he didn't seem to mind but stayed beside me as we climbed. Later I realised that when we got to the top and flopped down for a much-needed breather I should have thanked him for his assistance, because I'm not sure I'd have made it without him, but embarrassingly, it didn't cross my mind.

Funnily enough, it was the downhill section where I nearly had an accident.  Feeling more confident, I had taken the lead and my friend did not call me back as I strode off ahead. He followed not far behind, but let me do my thing. I very nearly came unstuck as my bare foot slipped on some loose rocks and I stumbled badly. After that rush of adrenalin I slowed my pace a little and stayed closer to my sure-footed friend. The experience had also taught me to pay closer attention to the path to try to avoid another mishap.

I was so focused downward that I would not have seen the baby rabbits playing in a clearing, if my friend had not gently stopped me and pointed. What a delight!  He encouraged me to slow down and not worry so much about each single step, or what was round the next corner. I resolved to follow his advice and go at a more leisurely pace so that I didn't miss any other wonders along the way. It is too tricky to concentrate on one's feet and take in the scenery at the same time.

After a while, we had a welcome rest on a bench. My friend produced a bottle of cool water and handed it to me. I looked at him in astonishment; he seemed to know just what I needed! I drank deeply - almost forgot to leave him any if I'm honest - and felt much revived. I sighed happily as we took in the vista below our vantage point.

The woods opened out below onto a lush meadow of wild flowers bordering a small, still lake. It was the perfect spot - so very beautiful. I could feel the gentle breeze cooling my forehead and hear the whisper of the trees and the song of the birds. I slipped off my sandals, felt the soft grass soothe my sore feet and inhaled the fragrance of honeysuckle. What a treat! I smiled broadly at my friend, who seemed to be taking pleasure in my relaxation.

Much restored, we resumed our walk at a much gentler pace. Neither of us said very much; conversation seemed unnecessary.

We walked companionably side by side, stopping often to admire a flower, a leaf, a ladybird. My friend had the gift of spotting nuggets of interest that I would have walked past, but as I paid attention and fell into step with him, I began to notice more and more for myself. Each time I paused to examine something, my friend encouraged me with his delighted response to my observations.

We rounded a corner and I realised that we were almost at the spot where the path had divided earlier. The sunlight filtered through the canopy of trees lighting up the leaves in more shades of green than I had known existed. I remarked that it had not really mattered which route we took through the woods; there were treasures to be found everywhere! My friend laughed affectionately and I felt full of gratitude toward him. His company had made all the difference.

It had been such an agreeable afternoon that we made plans to meet again for another wander in the woods. My friend somehow seemed to have all the time in the world and would have agreed a date and time immediately; he seemed a little disappointed as I flicked through the pages of my well-worn diary for the next few busy weeks and drew a blank. I promised to telephone him at my earliest convenience. 

We said our goodbyes and I left him leaning on the stile at the end of the path to the woods watching my departure with a strange look on his face.

Glancing at my watch I realised that a number 62 was due from the high street any moment. If I got a wriggle on I could be home in time for the prayer meeting at church.

I hurried towards the bus stop.

Psalm 139: my version

Hello, Lord God.

You have taken a good long look at me, haven't you? 

You know me inside and out and back to front.

Whether I'm feet up with a glass of wine or reluctantly doing the vacuuming, 

you know what I'm thinking.

You know when I'm off out for coffee with a friend 

and when I finally climb under the duvet;

Nothing gets past you.

Before I've even decided what to say

You know what it's going to be (even when I shouldn't say anything at all).

You surround me on all sides.

You have touched me with mercy.

I can't get my head around it;

It's far too big for me.

There's nowhere I can go that you aren't already there.

How can I get away from you?
Why would I want to? - and yet there are times when I do...

If I'm having a great day where everything goes my way;

If I can't do anything right and I feel like giving up, you're there too.

Even if I drag myself out of bed to see the sunrise,

Or if I fly to the other side of the world,

Wherever I go, you'll show me the way.

If I say, 'That's it - it's all gone wrong

There's no point in trying any more,'

you can bring hope in the darkest of days

and turn trouble into triumph.

Because you made the very heart of me;

You put me together just the way you wanted me.

Just look at me - I'm a masterpiece!
Yes, me, even me.

Even when I don't feel like one, I know that you don't make mistakes.

Your creation is flawless.

From before I was born you were watching me

As I grew from the tiniest of cells, you took care of me.

From the earliest moments of my existence, you were full of love for me.

You had a plan for me from the very beginning;

You hold my life in the palm of your hand.

Oh, Father, if only I could grasp who you are;

you are so far beyond my imagination.

If I could get a glimpse of your glory

It would blow my mind.

Awake or asleep, you are right here next to me.

...

Lord, check out every last bit of me. 

Look at my heart - at what I believe and what I feel, 

and in my head, at what I think. 

You know what I'm like.

If there is any part of me that you would change, 

Show me and help me put it right
so that I can be all I can be -
so that you can use me for all that you can -

so that I will be yours for eternity.

Amen

That's my Psalm 139, Father. With apologies for missing out the bit about annihilating bloodthirsty folks. Still not sure what to make of that bit. 

My Lord and my God. 

Here I am.



(Edited and reposted from last year. I come back to this psalm over and over again. You see, it was written for me.)

Twenty-five years: my story

God, you know all this.

I'm just feeling like telling my story, but feel free to interject if you'd like to add anything.  Clarify it, maybe, or if you just want to put in your four penneth.  There's a good chance that you have a different perspective from me.

This is my testimony.

I once heard somebody say that for some people, coming to faith in Christ would be a Damascus Road experience - a blinding flash, something that stops you in your tracks and convinces you, pooff! of the truth of the Gospel.  For other people the path to knowing Jesus is a series of links in a chain. For me it was sort of both.  There was a flash, then a fizzle, then a chain along which I groped my way back to the light.

In my teens I had a great friend; we were inseparable. We went to different schools at 11 years old and it didn't matter; and even now I haven't seen her for about three years but I know that when we do meet up, it will be easy to pick up where we left off.  I think friends of that nature don't come along that often, and in life you're blessed if you have one or two. Anyway, she used to go along to church CYFA group (Church Youth Fellowship Association) which took place after the 6.30pm service on a Sunday night. She invited me, and I went along.

St Thomas' Church

I can't remember exactly what my thought process was in agreeing to go but I seem to recall that at least part of it was a very good-looking boy who also went. I used to sit on the wall outside church swinging my legs and waiting for her to emerge before joining the gang on their way to the curate's house round the corner. This went on for some time. I was sixteen years old. I enjoyed the group, made some friends, (didn't get anywhere with Mr Gorgeous) but didn't really take in the reason they had for being there.

One day a group of the CYFA people were going to Cliff College, which is a Bible college not far from here that holds a big conference/festival type thing each summer with visiting speakers and so on.  I tagged along, and found myself sitting on a bench in the sun on a very very hot day in a huge outdoor space with thousands of other people.  People were using their programmes as fans. There was singing, about which I don't remember anything at all (but I have the programme, all bent out of shape, so I know that there was singing) and then a man called Eric Delve came onstage and started telling us about Jesus.  I don't have much recollection about what he said, though I have since heard him speak to a similar audience on similar occasions so I'm pretty sure I know what it must have been.

He was speaking just to me.

You know how in films, or on the news, when they want you to focus on one person in a crowd, and they sort of fade out everyone else, putting a clear circle around the subject, and everyone else goes grey? Well, Eric Delve was clear, and I was clear, but the crowd round me, including my friend and her parents in whose car we'd come, were grey and fuzzy. I have no idea of their reaction to what they were hearing. Of course, they'd heard it before, and understood it.

I hadn't.

Speaking just to me. It was the most amazing thing I'd ever heard.

Jesus Christ died for me.  You died for me. I know at one point Eric showed everyone a Roman nail - they type that they used for crucifixion. It was in a little perspex tube and he held it up to show us. It was huge. I knew about the crucifixion, of course I did - any self respecting teenager has a grasp of gory things - but on that day it was as if I was hearing the story as it happened to one of my dearest friends, or a family member.  It happened to someone that I love. How could you have done such a thing voluntarily,  for me?

Tears were streaming down my face and I didn't care.  I was then, and am now, one of the most self conscious people you'll meet, and yet when Eric asked for anyone who had been touched by the message he'd given to stand up and go to the front where the stage was, I got up straight away. I think my friend came with me; I'm not actually sure. But I squeezed past the knees of some folks on the bench and there I was, crying and crying, and standing with a small crowd of others while Eric prayed for me.  No idea what he said.

Someone came afterwards and gave me a copy of John's Gospel and a leaflet of some description. To be honest, nothing else is remotely memorable about that day.  I don't know if anyone else was on stage after Eric Delve, or how long it took my friend's parents' car to get out of the car park, or what I said to my Mum and Dad when I got home, or what I had for tea.

I just remember that it was the day that I gave my life to Christ. It was 27th May 1987.  Twenty five years ago. 

So hooray! That was the day I was saved!  So life must have turned around and become wonderful, now I was one of the flock. I must have had a special Ready Brek glow about me, didn't I?!

Not really.

Nothing much changed. I started going to the 6.30pm service at church instead of waiting outside.  I wanted to go, and I liked the people and the singing, but the sermons didn't mean that much to me. I went away on CYFA camps to the Lake District in the summer as a member, then a helper, then a leader. I finished school wearing a little dove 'Christian' badge and went to University where I was put in touch via contacts at CYFA with a good church that welcomed students.  I joined the Christian Union, but it wasn't very inspiring.

I went to work for the same church after I graduated and found it a very testing time for one reason and another, but I did learn a lot about church politics (the internal manoeuvrings of a very big and growing Evangelical Anglican church). It wasn't always a warm and fuzzy place to be.

I had a few ups and downs; well, largely downs, actually. I broke up with a longstanding boyfriend, the flat where I lived (alone) was broken into in the middle of the night and I met the three hammer-wielding burglars in the sitting room; a good friend of mine who'd stayed on after university moved away. I wasn't happy and to be honest, at that time, working for a church was turning me off church-related things. 

Then three things happened.

I hadn't been sleeping.  On the night of the burglary (which happened at 3.14am, I remember very clearly), I had colleagues from work coming round in the middle of the night, friends from up the road who I called in a panic, and a couple of police officers who eventually arrived 45 minutes after my 999 call and 15 minutes after the burglars had left.  When they had secured my broken door and done their paperwork, everyone left, and I started shaking.  I had assured them that I was alright, but I wasn't. It was so, so cold, and no amount of hot water bottles and blankets got me warm. I sat up all night. 

I went to work the next day and everyone was solicitous, the door was speedily replaced and people forgot about it. But I couldn't sleep.  I was alarmed at every tiny noise, and I started sleeping in the sitting room as my bedroom at the back of the house seemed particularly creepy. This went on for weeks, until one day I was desperate enough to go for prayer after a healing service at church.  I told a lady something of what had happened and she prayed for me.

That night, I climbed into my bed (well, sofa) and picked up the Bible in a Year that I'd been reading, day by day.  If the truth be known, I was about a month or more behind.  So I picked up the Bible in a Year and I opened it where the little ribbon was, which wasn't the correct day.

Psalm 4, verse 8. 'I will lie down and sleep in peace, for you alone, Lord, make me dwell in safety'.

And I did, and You did.

It was the first good night's sleep I'd had since the break in. You had my attention.

The second thing also happened in that flat (I know, it probably wasn't the most sensible place for a girl on her own to live) was that one day I was standing washing up at the kitchen sink, and in front of me was a huge window. It opened onto a little road - an alley, almost, dividing two long rows of gracious four storey Victorian terraced houses. The window was about ten feet tall, with thick obscure glazing in a swirly sort of pattern. It was divided in two - you know, the sash window sort.  A friend of mine was in the sitting room, and we were talking and laughing about something. She said something, and I took a step backwards and sideways with my wet hands dripping on the floor to answer her. At that moment, a brick came through the window and the whole bottom pane smashed.  Five feet by three feet of thick glass. There was so much broken glass that six and eight inch shards of it were sticking out of the cupboards on the opposite wall of the kitchen.  

Not one bit touched me. I had stepped out of the way just in time. Thankyou God.

'Thing number three' was perhaps the last thing that happened before I left that job at the church.  There was a University Mission.  My job had not really been to work with students and neither was it my strength; my responsibilities were really to the Mums and Toddlers, baby groups and visiting teams and I didn't spend much time in the universities, but it was all hands on deck, so I was made an assistant missioner. I was responsible for encouraging and working with a CU small group as they planned and carried out Mission events at the University. I didn't enjoy it very much and I fear I wasn't that good at it.

Eric Delve was the Missioner; the primary speaker and leader of the whole shebang. It was good to see him again. I sort of felt the significance of it, even though I was mixed up and feeling very low about my faith. I knew I would leave my job as it didn't seem to be right for me, but listening and talking to Eric helped me separate a negative experience of church from my experience of God. He sort of changed the points so that my little engine wasn't derailed. Him again.

You weren't about to let me go. 

I went travelling, then went to a different university to study Occupational Therapy. I had a Christian boyfriend (for a while) and was excited about a new direction. This experience of university was veryf different. I had a whale of a time. I made some great friends, got involved in things in a way I didn't have the confidence to do at university the first time round, and in my first year met the lovely man who would eventually become my husband. We didn't start to see each other until my final year. Things went well for me.  I had fun. I had confidence. It was a great time.

I didn't join the Christian Union. I never even looked to see if there was one. I never found a church to go to, though somehow my flatmate and I wangled regular invitations to lunch with the vicar of our nearest church; though we only darkened the door of the church itself a handful of times. Mind you, I do have a memory of singing a song to the tune of 'Match of the Day' at one service.... funny, that. So my years there were pretty dry, spiritually.  Intermittently I kept a prayer diary, which I still have, and reading it back makes me cringe.

My boyfriend broke up with me, but I had pretty much got used to being without him as he couldn't visit very often.  I was much more resilient and managing pretty well on my own.  Bryan and I started seeing each other, I was captain of the archery club and I won a National Tournament, I loved my course, was doing well, life was good.

Somehow I learned that Eric Delve had moved to be vicar of a church on the other side of the city and I went out there one Sunday evening to a service because it seemed an incredible co-incidence that we both found ourselves in Liverpool. I can't say that a bright light shone on me that evening, or that he said something that struck me like a thunderbolt, but nevertheless I remember that evening clearly. I remember his inner-city church with metal grilles on the windows, and I remember it rained heavily and there was a cold, cold wind.  I remember that I couldn't find a bus back and ended up spending a fortune on a taxi, but I remember feeling that it had been worth the effort. This man seemed to crop up as a reminder to me that you were there. Still there. Unwilling to let me turn my back on you. 

Waiting. 

Fast forward a few years, and things had happened.  Bryan and I got married, we lived in London, I worked my way up the ladder in Occupational Therapy and Hand Therapy, moved house and had babies.

My first little girl, Elizabeth, was born nine days after my Dad died and two days after his funeral; we moved house back to Chesterfield to be near my Mum three months later and I was struggling. On top of the usual new baby exhaustion came depression and guilt and frustration and grief and a whole host of other, largely negative emotions; I hadn't managed to grieve for my Dad and I hadn't managed to celebrate the arrival of my daughter. I felt as if I'd messed up both events. I couldn't do anything properly. I wasn't able to be there for my Mum who needed me and I needed her in an unprecedented way. My little Lizzie was a terrible sleeper for the first six months (who am I kidding, for the first year) and when she was awake she insisted on being held all the time. I mean, all the time. I was at the end of my tether.

We were planning to get Elizabeth baptised, so we started going to the same church that I went to as a new Christian and where we'd got married.  Someone perceptive from the congregation saw a pale, desperate, struggling Mum and invited me to the Mums and Toddlers group on a Monday. Uncharacteristically, I plucked up some courage and started going. Another mum asked me if this was my church - did I come here regularly?  Embarrassed, I said no, not really. 

Things went slowly. We came to church occasionally, but it was hard work with a baby who wouldn't be quiet and demanded feeds at awkward times. Other people's babies lay sweetly asleep in their car seats but mine never did. I would jiggle and rock and cajole and whisper and snuggle and all to no avail - I'd end up going outside or attempt to feed self consciously at the back of church. 

To cut a long story shorter, over the next few months, Elizabeth was baptised, I started going to a home group that met weekly and I made some wonderful friends. Twenty-one months later my Katy came along and although life was hard getting to grips with two small people to look after, things got better.  Nothing dramatic, just things got better as they tend to do as your babies get a bit older.

My closest friend gave me a pile of 'Christianity' magazines to look at and I opened the top one at random. Before me was an article about Eric Delve. I'm sure you smile when you do little things like that, don't you, Lord?  All of a sudden the years disappeared and that afternoon from 1987 was back in my mind. The feeling that Jesus went through all that for me. He died for me. I was reminded of 1991 in Newcastle upon Tyne. I was reminded of 1997 in Liverpool. I have no idea why you chose this particular guy to reach out to me, but it seems as if you did. 

You weren't going to give up on me.

There was one day in particular when a new friend came to visit me, and conversationally she asked questions that are quite normal in a Mum to Mum sort of way. To my horror, out of the blue tears came and wouldn't stop for ages; it was quite embarrassing. But you were at work again and a sequence of events began that led to much more talking and healing and a wonderful display of wisdom and compassion from some special people.  It was a very precious experience for me of your tenderness and forgiveness that has freed me from the past and opened up a future that I thought could never happen for me.

You really do love me no matter what, don't you?

Over the last two years wonderful things have happened to me. Little incremental pieces of love and encouragement have built me up so that I can say now, at 41 years old, I feel happier being me than I ever have before.  I've had enough confidence to get involved in some things at church and those have given me a feeling of belonging. I have never felt part of anything before, really; I've always felt on the outside looking in, the first one too late, not in the popular crowd, not chosen for the netball team; but now I feel that I occupy a place that is valuable, because you value me.  I don't feel so apologetic for being me, like I used to.  This feeling sneaks back sometimes but it isn't the way I identify myself any more. I know deep down that it isn't true, whereas I used to believe it completely.

I have a large and wonderful church family on whom I can rely if I need to, and I'm sure that the year ahead has challenges that mean I'll probably need all the help I can get. I have several wonderful friends who love you, who care about me and we build each other up, come together to learn more about you and hope to become more like you.

I have one particular friend without whom I'd be absolutely lost; you introduced us at a life stage where we are going through the same things at the same time; from life events to celebrations to disasters and even tricky dental appointments.  I've never had such a friend before, Lord, and I really believe that you brought us together for a purpose.  She is a woman of God indeed.  I've learned so much, leaned so much, laughed and cried so much. What a blessing she is.

I am part of a team of people who work for you, Father God, and the job you have for me is one that only I can do. I don't really know what it is yet, in full, but I am looking, learning, trying to listen, and excited about the next chapter. I have such a long way to go but I do feel that I am for once on the right track.

I didn't think I had much of a story. I've listened to people whose testimony consists of something dramatic; rescued from gangsters or healed from addiction, saved from a life of crime... but reading this back I can see that through all the ups and downs there is You running through it all like a pattern with a thread of gold right from the beginning.

The very very best thing for me though is to see that you never left me through all those years when I wasn't paying attention to you at all, when I was steadfastly looking the other way, making my own plans. You were patient and compassionate and faithful. Even when I wasn't looking for you, you were looking out for me. You were loving enough to remind me periodically that you were still there, still waiting, still loving me. - I know now that you keep your promises. You never leave me.

My Lord and my God.

I know that you have a plan for me. You keep showing me the next step when I need to see it and there are days when I think I'm getting better at trusting. Better at handing my life over to you one day at a time. There are days when I think I've taken big strides backwards as well, but let's focus on the positive, hey? 

Lord, I know that you have a plan for me. It's a part to play in your magnificent screenplay for the whole of humanity, and only I can play me. Nobody else can do what I can do. Nobody else is meant to. If I don't play my part, then nobody else will. I am unique.

I am loved by the true and living God. His Spirit lives in me.

I don't know what you have in store for me, but I know that I will only be where I should be if I'm following you. I want to follow you. 

Bring it on.

***

I've got a postscript to add to this. It's a year later and I can add that a few months ago I was having a conversation and someone recommended a book to me. I looked for it on Amazon and the author was Eric Delve.

I decided to email the man himself with a (don't worry - heavily abbreviated) version of this narrative (really, I distilled it down to just a few lines) and I told him the story of one of the multitude of people whose lives you have touched through him.  To my delight, he mailed back. He said to me:

'I think that God's dream for you is only just beginning.'

Amen.

Unshakeable

Afternoon, Father God.

I've just had a thought. 

There is only you, isn't there? Only you who is forever. Nothing else.

Everything is subject to change. We have absolutely nothing that could not (and will not) be taken from us, except you.  All the things we hang onto, all the things we think of as precious, living or inanimate - nothing is permanent. Only you.

All the people I love will leave me, one way or another. Young or old, they will drift away, move away, pass away. All the things I hide behind might disappear; my home might be lost or destroyed, my bank account might shrivel and dry up, my job (if I had one) might be taken from me, the diamond in my engagement ring might be lost or sold. The food in my fridge will perish. The plants in my garden will die. The flowers in the vase next to my computer are wilting already. 

Memories fade. Hopes and dreams evaporate. Energy is spent. 

How depressing is that? 

Sigh. 

For someone like me, who hates change, it's a scary thought to consider that everything that I arrange around me to create stability and routine and familiarity might disappear without a moment's notice. 

Charles Spurgeon didn't mince his words:

'We have many things in our possession at the present moment which can be shaken, and it ill becomes a Christian man to set much store by them, for there is nothing stable beneath these rolling skies; change is written upon all things.'

CW Spurgeon, Morning and Evening

Oh great. If my husband updates the operating system on my computer I moan for days until I learn how to use it again. If I change my mobile phone I whinge incessantly since I don't like new things. Every last stage of child development has brought delight and despair in different measures as I always wail that just when I know what I'm doing, it all changes. Is there nothing I can rely upon to be the same always?

You. 

Spurgeon:

'Whatever your losses have been, or may be, you enjoy present salvation. You are standing at the foot of his cross, trusting alone in the merit of Jesus' precious blood, and no rise or fall of the markets can interfere with your salvation in him; no breaking of banks, no failures and bankruptcies can touch that. 

Then you are a child of God this evening. God is your Father. No change of circumstances can every rob you of that.'

You are my Father. You will be my Father whether I have much or nothing. Whether I am healthy or sick. Whether I am happy or sad. Whether I am surrounded by loving family and friends or completely alone. 

Nothing can take you from me. People and circumstances can take everything else, but not you. 

When I have fallen and can't get up
Still you are there.

Take Job for instance. He lost pretty much everything, except his trust in you. He lost his family, his home, his health and reputation and his friends, but you - you stayed unchanging. I'm not one hundred percent sure that I get the book of Job; I have a few questions I want to ask you about it, one day. Like why? and How come? and Wasn't it a little unfair? But that's for another day. 

'The patience of Job'.  I wonder how patient I'd be if you stripped everything away. I'm hoping that you don't listen to me here and decide to give it a try. I imagine I'd be a mess. It would hurt me more than I can imagine. Would I waver and collapse under the strain? I don't know. But I do know that the only thing left would be you.

Quite often I get to feeling a little desperate with the way things are going - poorly children, disturbed nights, headaches, colds, worries, time management problems - and I wallow and whinge and wonder why me?  But I am blessed with so much. With my home, blossom on the apple trees, blackbirds singing in the garden, sun and rain and supermarkets and taps from which clean water comes. I am far from having nothing. 

But all those things are ephemeral in comparison with you. They sometimes get in the way; I sometimes focus on the mountains of things rather than on the things that matter. 

I wonder if the people we see on television who sit on the floor in aid camps waiting for food or waiting for death - I wonder if they see with any more clarity. I wonder if you reach down and lift their heads and make them know that there is one things that cannot be taken away? Where are you with people who have nothing at all? I don't know. Blind because of disease and malnutrition, blind because we can't see past the insignificant to the truth. Which is worse? 

'Our best portion and richest heritage we cannot lose. Whatever troubles come, let us play the man; let us show that we are not such little children as to be cast down by that what may happen in this poor fleeting state of time. Our country is Immanuel's land, our hope is above the sky, and therefore, calm as the summer's ocean; we will see the wreck of everything earthborn, and yet rejoice in the God of our salvation.'

Ouch. I don't want to see the wreck of everything earthborn. I like it here. I like it like this (mostly, except when I'm complaining). It's very hard to imagine a place where everything is so much better since I can only process wonderful as being like the best thing that's ever happened to me. My frame of reference is only this world; I cannot imagine something far superior. Forgive me for being too comfortable here.

So often I don't 'play the man'. Here I take it to mean woman as well, of course. I don't square up to disaster and loss so much as whimper under it. And whilst I know that you are mighty and undefeated and unmoveable, I confess that I sometimes don't find the joy that he speaks of. 

I don't look for it. I look downwards and inwards and I lick my wounds and I exclaim about how hard life is and I feel defeated and hard-done-to and resentful. Joy?  Yeah, right. Yes, I am quite often cast down by the things that happen, fleeting or not. 

The only thing worth hanging on to after a shipwreck is the thing which won't sink. The only thing that won't die, or rot, or fade, or disappear is you. We live in Immanuel's land. I like that. It all belongs to you. It points to you. The very best that we have or perceive down here on earth is a glimpse of what heaven will be like. I need to hold onto what I know.

A friend today asked me some deep theological questions about suffering. I didn't have any answers. I've read a few books by clever people on this subject and they don't know either. All I could come up with is that we need to hold on to what we know. And what we know is that you love us. Very much. Enough to die for us. If you'll do that for us, just because you love us, then why would you not do the little things? If we think that it's out of your control, it isn't. If we don't understand, or don't have the answers, then it's because our brains aren't big enough to understand. 

And in the absence of understanding, I just need to hold on to something solid. 

You.

Lord, help me with this. And by help me, I don't mean give me lots of opportunities to be brave in the middle of trouble, please. I once made that mistake when I asked you to give me patience. What I mean is help me to get things in the right order in my head. Not only with time management, about which I've been bleating lately, but with the importance that I attach to the things in my life. Let me strike a balance between appreciation and dependence, and involvement in the world without wholesale immersion in it. 

'"Though the mountains be shaken and the hills be removed,
yet my unfailing love for you will not be shaken
nor my covenant of peace be removed."
says the Lord, who has compassion on you.'

Isaiah 54:10

Let me hold onto what is unshakeable. When the wind blows and the rain comes and the plagues of boils descend, let me hang on to you. I am standing at the foot of the cross and I am a child of God.

I am holding on to the fact of your unending, unchanging, unparalleled love, and my salvation. 

To the fact that you love me so much that you died for me, so that I will live with you forever. 

To the fact that nothing on earth or in hell can take that away from me. 

To the fact that this is not forever. 

The best is yet to come.

Why would I ever think that anything else in my world might be more important than that? 

The twelve trolleys of Christmas

So, Lord, Christmas is a-coming.

Ask me how I know? Well, it's partly the feeding frenzy that's going on at the supermarket; a cashier was telling me ten days ago that it was getting busier and busier and likely to be unrelenting elbow-brandishing, trolley barging, turkey-grabbing mayhem from now until the New Year. (On reflection I'm not sure that you can brandish your elbows but you know what I mean).

Ooh. Spoiled for choice.

So people start stocking up for Christmas in November. Why? Perhaps we think that the supermarkets will run out of food before 25 December and so we'd better stockpile the essentials ahead of time. By 'essentials' I mean vast tubs of chocolates, biscuits for cheese that we only buy in bulk at Christmas, every last variety of alcohol known to man just in case someone asks for an exotic drink over the festive season and we only have red wine or half a bottle of leftover rum destined for the Christmas Pudding. Perish the thought that we might have some comestible unavailable to us in the Closed Shop period, which is, after all, smaller every year and set to be only an hour and a half on Christmas afternoon before long. 

On 26 December there we'll be back with the car boot open loading in more festive multipacks in time for the New Year's Orgy of Eating. 

That sounded very scathing, didn't it?  Sorry about that.  I'm as bad as the next person. We have family to stay over Christmas and I love to have lots of treats to eat. I am very much a fan of eating. I like to have things to nibble, nice meals to linger over, good wine to celebrate with. I just need to remember that there are only so many meals we can eat; only so much that we are physically able to consume. Common sense. I've bought my Christmas Pudding already, and have to brag about a (rare) moment of insight where I realised that we don't actually like Christmas Pudding that much, so we bought a small mid-range one, rather than a Best/Finest/Superior/Luxury whopper that we've had (and kept on reheating) in previous years. It's enough to set fire to and then have a token mouthful of. Does that count as great restraint?

Now. Where to start...

Not really. As I sit here my kitchen stool will testify that I am heavier than I was in the middle of the year and as I gaze at the oncoming juggernaut of Christmas in the same way as a small rabbit, wide eyed and immobile in the middle of the road, I realise how bad I am at self-control. On many levels. 

This year things are likely to be leaner than previous years for everyone because everyone is short of money, or so we're hearing on the news anyway. Doesn't seem to be any sign of that in the supermarket. All that's going to happen is that we spend too much, eat too much, then whinge too much in the New Year when we step on the scales and open the credit card bills. It's not very impressive, really, is it? It doesn't honour you that much, does it?  I imagine you look at us and wonder how far from a stable in Bethlehem it's possible to get. 

You came to earth with nothing. You gave us the best, most breathtakingly generous, priceless gift we will ever have, and Christmas is about celebrating your Birthday. The day when the Word became Flesh. The God With Us day. The day when heaven and earth met. You didn't split the sky with explosive magnificence and announce your presence in glory and majesty as you will one day, you were born in the usual way with blood and amniotic fluid in a smelly old stable and you lay surrounded with scratchy straw and grubby animals. 

Don't mind if I do...

How does that translate itself over the centuries into a few days of excessive eating and drinking? How come we now thrust presents at each other that we've bought with money we don't have? We wander the shops grabbing inconsequential items that'll do for someone's present - we don't often shop with love and consideration because there's just too much of it. Too much spending. Too much giving of token gifts. We give with one hand and collect with the other and sometimes we're delighted and sometimes we pretend (and if you're a small child of the kind we have in this house, sometimes you discard with obvious disappointment) and this year for me it just seems silly. More than silly, it seems somehow obscene. 

No doubt I'll still do it. No doubt I'll drown my qualms in a glass or three of mulled wine and comfort myself with a mince pie with brandy cream. I haven't made my Christmas shopping list yet but my cards are ready to write and the cupboard is filling with items towards an extravagant Christmas menu. I am very good at eating and drinking and I like a nice present to unwrap as much as the next person (unless the next person is either of my two girls, who just go crazy at present time. More on that no doubt later). 

I'm not about to announce a Christmas of Austerity where we don't decorate the house, we don't eat until we need antacids and we don't end up with a bin bag full of wrapping paper, so I suppose there's an element of hypocrisy in any conversation that I start on this subject. Just now and again, I stop in a sea of consumerism and I think about you and the people and trolleys and elbows swirl round me and I stop - and then I start again. Like a mackerel swimming with the shoal.

Oh go on then. Maybe just one.
Or two.

Sigh. What can I say, Lord?  I'm sorry we've made your birthday something different from that you intended it to be. If we offer you heartfelt carol-singing and an honestly meaningful church service or two, does it make up for the selfishness and madness and conspicuous consumption? We have so much and yet we insist on even more. When I think about the immense tracts of the planet who won't be celebrating Christmas with food and drink and gifts and then turn back to our shopping centres it makes me feel a bit sick. But if I'm honest, I squash that feeling and go back to making lists and flexing the plastic, don't I?

I love Christmas. I love the decorations, I love the lights, I love the joy and the fun and the family and the laughter and preparing the food and sharing silly jokes in crackers and watching someone I love open a present from me. I love the children's faces when they see their stockings and I love carols and I love that you actually laid aside your majesty, as the song goes, and came to meet us here on this beautiful, broken planet. I love all this. I just wonder if we can't have all that and still not miss the point?

Show me, this Christmas, the meaning of it, Father God. Help me curb the worst of my excesses because it's not good and it's not going to be a happy January if I make my weighing scales situation any worse than it is already. 

Show me Jesus in Christmas. All that 'the reason for the season' stuff.  We've even managed to make a cliche out of that, haven't we?

Show me the angels singing, and the star shining and the shepherds realising that the tiny baby in front of them is the Son of God. Show me Mary, cradling her newborn baby with some realisation of who he is but no idea of the magnitude of what lies ahead. Show me the baby in the manger who is somehow helpless and totally dependent but God as well. Show me the wonder and the beauty and the truth of Christmas and help me keep my eyes on you to see it, rather than just focusing on the bit that says, 'Please enter PIN now'.

The ninth commandment and me

I was lying in bed a while ago sleepily reading my daily bits of Bible on my iPhone and, I suppose, looking more for inspiration than conviction, when something Bill Hybels said in one of his incredibly perceptive pieces stopped me in my tracks.

He said:

'The ninth commandment makes it clear: don't give false testimony. In other words, don't lie. So the only reasonable choice for an of us is to stop lying. Now. Completely. If we have even the slightest tendency to distort the truth - and who amongst us doesn't? ..... Enough. No more half-truths. No more exaggeration. No more verbal twisting of reality. No more lies!'

Ah. I'm not liking this. I read it through a few times, even pressed the button on the iPhone that puts a little bookmark in it so I can find it again, and then I got on with the day and didn't do anything about it.

Here's the thing; I don't feel as if I have a big problem with lying. I haven't!  I'm not a liar. I don't habitually invent things, mislead people or practice acts of deceit. Generally speaking, if asked a question, I come up with an honest answer.  I like to think that my yes is yes and my no is no. Or at least mostly.  And there's the rub.

What about all those occasions where you don't want to hurt someone's feelings, so you skirt around the truth?  What should you do then?  What about the little white lies that seem so inconsequential but sort of smooth over those tricky situations?  These are the occasions that I have in mind when I find myself using words and phrases like 'generally speaking' and 'mainly' with reference to my own truthfulness. But there isn't much you can do about those times, is there, Lord?

And then there's the story telling aspect of it. I suspect I am prone to exaggeration. Just a bit. If it makes a story funnier, more dramatic, more interesting, which of us isn't?  It's very hard. And it's hard not to try to justify it.  Or those times when you just sort of re-interpret something to make it what you want it to be - maybe more comfortable, or more in keeping with how you see things?  I love words and it's usually easy to make them do what I want them to do; and sometimes things come out slightly differently from how they might have technically, actually been ... is that lying?  Maybe it is.

What do politicians say - they are 'economical with the truth'?  As if there's only so much truth to go round so cutting corners and skimping now and again is ok. Frugal, in fact. Virtuous, in some ways. You make things fit if it helps you make a point.  Now when it comes to journalists and politicians I'm definitely critical of such manoevrings but I bristle when I read that Bill Hybels might think that I do the same thing. I'm not a liar.

I don't want to be a liar. I don't want people to think I'm a liar, and I don't want you to think I am. But it is unavoidably true that only you are the source of all Truth.  Being a liar seems a sort of binary position if you think about it in those terms; you either are, or you're not. And since you are the only one who isn't, by virtue of the fact that you are God, and thus perfect while the rest of us fall short, then perhaps it's time to face up to the fact that I'm not perfectly honest, one hundred percent of the time, so that makes me in the other camp.

Feeling disgruntled about this. Feeling a bit reluctant and narky about it in the same way I felt when I started to realise that you wanted me to give up Facebook for Lent. I was lying in bed not properly woken up and feeling comfortably complacent and I don't want to be challenged about something like this. My reaction is a negative one - can you tell?  I don't want to think about this, much less do anything about it because I don't particularly want to change anything.  Not anything that will make me feel less comfortable, anyway.  But look how you blessed me in my Lent efforts and look how I've been so sure that it was the right thing to do. Sigh.

That was a heavy sigh. A resigned one. I'm not grasping this new awareness with alacrity and exclaiming in eager anticipation of the next lesson you have for me. Hooray! Turns out I'm not as honest as I thought I was.  Hmm. I've got to think some more about this. Be gentle, please. I don't like being criticised. Show me what you want me to do, Lord. What you want me to think about. Draw my attention to the bits of me that you want to change.  Help me to think more about what I say so that I speak the truth.

I want to be worthy of people's trust. I want to be an honest person. I want it to be known that if I say something, then it's true. I've always assumed that this is the case with me but perhaps it's not. I don't want to be the one whose words are taken with a pinch of salt, or examined for alternative meanings or motivations. I want to be honest. Trustworthy. Even if everyone else in the world believes every word that comes out of my mouth without question, you will know if I bent the truth, or exaggerated, or played with words in order to mislead.  I want to be worthy of you. I don't quite know how this will pan out in those delicate 'white-lie' situations that crop up so often, but I'm hoping that you'll show me how to get it right. And while I'm at it I realise that I need to say sorry that I let you down so frequently. Just another one of the ways, hey.

So, here's what Bill Hybels says I should say:

'From this day forward I purpose in my heart, with the help of God, to speak only the truth, always and in every situation, for the rest of my life.'

That sounds quite a claim. I feel as if I might be messing it up right now as I say this with doubt in my heart that it's possible, but I want to be better at this. I want to get it right. I have no doubt that getting this right will improve my relationship with you so I want to do it. I'm just going to need your help.

What a surprise.

Two types of co-incidence

Lord, I'm thinking about co-incidences.  

How they seem to happen more when I pray.  Is that just a co-incidence, God?  Ha ha. 

Now, I want to run something past you.

It strikes me that there are two kinds of co-incidence. 

One.  This is the co-incidence that happens when I pray; when I read my Bible, when I talk to you, when I talk to other people about you, when I read books about you.  When you're on my mind more, when I feel as if I'm taking steps towards you, when I think that I can tell that you're smiling; when I feel your Holy Spirit in my life. That's when things happen.  Co-incidences!  Answered prayers, amazing things, good things.  It's as if more You brings about More You. 

And then there's:

Two.  This also happens when I pray, when I read my Bible, read about you, learn about you and the place that I have in your family - all those things above, only this co-incidence is when things crash down around me and I find myself struggling with bad things, new anxieties, things going wrong.  It's been happening this week.  How come?

Now, I'm wary about mentioning The Devil. I reckon people start to turn off when you mention the devil, even if you sneak him into the conversation by using a different name - I don't mean Beelzebub or Wormwood or Lucifer or something from CS Lewis' book, 'The Screwtape Letters' - people refer to him as The Enemy, The Evil One, The Deceiver; and those names always sounds sort of dramatic.  Feels like there should be spooky music in the background when you're having a conversation like that. To be honest I'm never that comfortable when I find myself in a conversation about the devil.  I don't really know why.

It's not as if I don't believe he exists; you've told me that he does and I believe you.  I can read about him in many many places in the Bible. It's clear that you know him and although he might prevail in the odd battle, you have won the war. I just need to clear up one or two things, I suppose. I don't want to be one of those Christian folks who puts every bad thing down to the work of the devil. I don't believe that every loose paving stone I trip over is down to him, or every sore throat that I get just before I want to go to the church acapella group is an attempt by the evil one to scupper my worship. 


Or is it?

On the other hand I don't want to be someone who falls into the trap of discounting him entirely. You've warned us not to. In 'The Screwtape Letters' (I know it was written for children but it's about my level) the devil gloats that one of his best plans is to make people believe that he doesn't exist; that's when he has lots of power. You say we need to fight him, to be on our guard.  So I'd best be, because Co-incidence Type 2 seems to be happening a lot at the moment.

It took a friend to point it out to me, actually.  I'd had a terrible day on Sunday with this and that going wrong, and as I walked to church I knew that I was feeling emotional.  I arrived five minutes late (nothing new there) and so I really took my seat just as people were standing up for the worship bit. Imagine my horror (if not surprise) when the tears just came and wouldn't stop even before the introduction to the first song was done.  I did one of those dramatic and, dare I say it, feminine, dashes out of church while fumbling for a handkerchief, and went for a sob in the ladies'.  I missed the whole worship section and I know it included some of my very favourite songs. Grr. Several people have been very kind and thoughtful and it's wonderful to feel so cared about.

But to get back to the point, it took someone else to say to me, 'Read Ephesians 6, because it sounds as if you need to put on the armour of God'. So I did.


Ephesians 6: 10-18

'Finally, be strong in the Lord and in his mighty power. Put on the full armor of God, so that you can take your stand against the devil’s schemes. For our struggle is not against flesh and blood, but against the rulers, against the authorities, against the powers of this dark world and against the spiritual forces of evil in the heavenly realms. Therefore put on the full armor of God, so that when the day of evil comes, you may be able to stand your ground, and after you have done everything, to stand. Stand firm then, with the belt of truth buckled around your waist, with the breastplate of righteousness in place, and with your feet fitted with the readiness that comes from the gospel of peace. In addition to all this, take up the shield of faith, with which you can extinguish all the flaming arrows of the evil one. Take the helmet of salvation and the sword of the Spirit, which is the word of God. And pray in the Spirit on all occasions with all kinds of prayers and requests. With this in mind, be alert and always keep on praying for all the Lord’s people.'

So there it is. St Paul wasn't backwards in coming forwards on the subject of the devil, so maybe I should be a bit more switched on. He's pretty dramatic; 'the authorities...the powers of this dark world...the spiritual forces of evil'.  Whoa. It also seems as though the 'armour' he's talking about is pretty heavyweight too. Truth, righteousness, readiness, faith, salvation, the Spirit. Are they really for me?

I'm looking at this passage and thinking that there must be many a sermon there.  There's enough material for books and books I imagine. All I want to know is, how do I go about putting that lot on, so that I'm not completely knocked over and sent flying next time it happens to me? (note slightly squeamish about mentioning the devil just then). 

Here's my take on it, and I'm more than game if you want to put me right, Lord.

1. The belt of Truth.  I know the Truth.  You are the Truth.  You are the way, the truth and the life, and when I confess my faith, I am speaking the Truth.  You died in my place so that I could be forgiven and have eternal life. Blows my mind every time I write it. I love writing it. Thankyou Lord. Why a belt? Well, lots of metaphors available, but I reckon simply put, a belt holds my trousers up and without one, if my trousers fall down I'm not going anywhere, let alone being ready to fight an enemy. Anyway, moving on. 

2.  The breastplate of Righteousness.  Bit more difficult.  I struggle to see myself as righteous in any way because I mess everything up on a regular basis.  From what I understand, however it's the same as above; you bought my righteousness for me - I didn't deserve it but because I am in you, I am righteous. And also I think it's an ongoing thing - as I try to be more like you, I learn to be righteous. So it's two fold. Must be important if this is the bit that protects my heart.

3.  The Readiness that comes from the Gospel of Peace. Hmm.  Readiness? being in tune with you? Ready to spread the word of God? Ready to follow where I'm led? I'm going to google this in a minute and see what I can find out. I know it refers to the feet, and I can understand an analogy about needing decent footwear to go anywhere but I'm not getting to grips with this bit. 

4.  The shield of Faith. Easier. I have faith.  I believe in you more every day. As you show me new things, as you challenge me to go deeper and wider and higher and look for you in different places, I find you. You've given me faith as a gift and I have planted it and I want to see it grow and grow. I need to learn how to use it as a shield, maybe... I need to hold it high and let everyone see it. I need to hold it firmly, so that I don't drop it. It will stop things from hitting me. 

5.  The helmet of Salvation. Wey hey! I am saved. Simple as that. It's a single, completed action; I am your child. When it's all done, and the dust is settling I'm going to get to come and see you face to face, and the only thing left undecided is how much use I am to you in the meantime.  The helmet protects my head. My brain. My mind. My thoughts. This is a prime area for attack. If I think I can't do it, I probably won't. If my mind is not on the job, then the job isn't getting done. And I need to protect that knowledge that I have of my salvation because the other guy is going to try and convince me that I'm mistaken.

6.  The sword of the Spirit. Now here's a discussion for another time. Is there anyone who really gets to grip with the Spirit?  I mean, Jesus, who came to earth as a man, is a concept we can easily get our heads round.  God, even, is an idea that we're familiar with from an early age. The Spirit is more difficult to get a handle on. I know how often I say that I want to be filled with the Spirit, or I ask that you send your Spirit...when I stand up for what I believe; stand up for you, or write this, or pray or worship, is it the Spirit that enables me?  The power behind the button, so to speak?  

Well.  Here's me thinking I'd have ten minutes waffling with you and then get an early night. So much for that. I'd better stop now or I'll be Snappy Mummy when the little ones pounce on me at silly o'clock tomorrow. 

Let me draw it all together.  Lord, give me all those things.  I want them all, so that not one bit of me is left unprotected. Show me where to find them, the right way to put them on, how to use them.  And help me to see when to leap into action, too.  

You've told me that the closer I walk with you, the more likely it is that stuff will happen. I'm not prepared to back away from you, my Lord, because I've come too far and it's taken me too long and I've had one too many glimpses of your glory. So you'd better show me how to be ready to defend myself.  I really don't want to spend too many more worship sessions sniffling in the toilets if that's ok with you.

Thanks.