A - Z Challenge: P - People

Well, this could have gone several different ways. Given that my blog productivity moves at the pace of a glacier, if I say that it's taken me longer than usual to decide what to write about for the letter P, you'll understand the magnitude of my dilemma. I had a more than a few ideas (P for prolific). Here are the runners and riders:

P for Pain. Hmm. People wiser than me have not got to the bottom of this one. Theologians and philosophers have mulled it over but I've not heard of anyone who has come to any conclusions that actually help the average, normal person who wants to understand why there is so much sadness around. On the road I live in (and it's small) in recent times there have been frightening diagnoses, bereavements, mental health issues, chronic illness, broken marriages, accidents, devastating family news, violence and loneliness. Should I attempt to explore why God lets this happen? 

P for Prayer. Bit like the last one. Where is God when I need him? When I know that he CAN answer prayer, why doesn't he? Is there any point?

P for Purr. One cat post in an alphabet is probably enough for the average person, but I was tempted to mention once again what a delight and comfort my furry family members are. Bean is my special cat. Yes, I love all three, but Bean is the one who has chosen me, and when she curls up in the crook of my arm or on my chest and purrs (as she is right now), I purr back.

P for Progress. Should I ramble on into the ether about the fact that I am doing a bit better these days - getting out and about a bit more after the hermit-like retreat of the last few years? 

P for Painting. In an effort to increase my creativity levels, I decided this year to do something creative every day. This could be writing, doodling, gardening, or indeed, painting. I got myself a water colour set and quickly became frustrated that I couldn't make things look how I wanted them to, and then bought a cheap set of acrylics that seem to be more my thing. I like painting pebbles. P for Pebbles! 

There were more. P is a good letter for inspiration, it seems, and so my P was held up while I vacillated. 

Until today. Today I went back to church, for the second time since pre-covid days. Steady on. 

There are a number of reasons why I haven't been, not all of which I can go into, but suffice it to say that there have been times when I would not have been able to cope with lots of people asking me how I was, how things were, where I've been etc. Habits change, and one of my daughters is now away at university, the other took on a voluntary job teaching swimming on Sunday mornings and my husband works Sundays now to allow him to take time off in the week. Result - not been to church in years, and the longer I was away, the harder it felt to go back. I do want to say that I never thought I'd actually left church, still read the newsletters, felt as if it was my church; it was just the actual going on a Sunday morning that was problematic. P for problem. 

I was quite nervous walking down the road this morning. 

Would I still feel as if I belonged? Would I be left too far behind? Had I been forgotten? Would I still know anybody? This building that I used to feel was home, a safe place: would it still feel that way? 

Oh, my word. What a gift God had for me this morning. Before I'd chosen a seat, a friend came over and invited me to sit with her. Someone on the row behind hugged me and told me how good it was to see me. We chatted as the band warmed up, at the start of the service. Someone waved extravagantly to attract my attention in the first song and gave me a huge smile. Another dear friend blew me a kiss as she came in late and walked past to a spare seat. Someone else winked, another did a double take when he saw me and grinned broadly. 

The sermon was about the promises of God. P for Promises. About God's faithfulness when his people are unfaithful. About his nearness, his patience (P for Patience) and his unfailing love. His willingness to seek us out and bring us home, to bering about restoration. It was about hope. Exactly what I needed, having been lost in my own wilderness for what feels like a long time. 

Afterwards, I had given myself the option of sneaking out during the final hymn so that I wouldn't have to make conversation (and negotiate those awkward questions) if I didn't want to. And then when it got to that point, it turned out that the final hymn was one that was very special to me, with words that have given me hope to hold onto in recent years. When it was over, some people sought me out for hugs and said some lovely things to me. 

'How wonderful to see you!'

'I've been praying for you.'

'I'm so glad you came!'

For the first time in my life, I was one of the last few people to leave the church building. Never happened before. I even have plans! P for plans! I am meeting a friend for coffee on Tuesday, and another on Thursday, and next week another two for a catch up over a glass of wine one evening. You know that feeling where you see someone you haven't seen in years and it's exactly as if you've never been apart? That. 

I walked home in the cold drizzle with a smile on my face, and smiles have been in short supply for quite a while. 

So, this post is about people. P for People. It's also about prayer, about pain, about peace, about God's presence, about a sense of place, and about progress, but most of all it's about people. 

The people of God, and my people. 

Children of God

Hey, God. Listen to this:

'But to all who believed him and accepted him, he gave the right to become children of God.'
John 1:12

You said, '...the right to become children of God' didn't you?

A while ago I was watching my littlest daughter Katy as she made her way into a party she was going to. We were a bit late (as always) and so the room was already full of boisterous five year olds when she went in. There were half a dozen grown ups there as well, and I felt quite awkward making conversation for the short time it took Katy to take off her coat and shoes and locate the birthday girl to offer her the slightly dog-eared gift that had been enthusiastically cradled all the way there. I was happy to kiss her goodbye and retreat to the safety of the car for an hour or so until it was pick up time.

Katy, on the other hand, skipped into the room with confidence despite the fact that a game was already underway and the children were in two teams.

How intimidating would that be for me? Oh dear, whose team to join?  Will they want me? Will I upset the numbers? Maybe I'd better sit this one out. What if I'm not welcome... Nope, none of that. She beamed from ear to ear and she made herself at home straight away.

It didn't cross her mind that she should be cautious or anxious; she just bustled on in and made herself at home. She felt secure. She just accepted that she had a right to be there. She felt safe and accepted and she was comfortable in her belonging.

Every night after school Katy throws her shoes off in the hallway and marches off to demand a snack. She is home.

The other day her big sister was off school (because the day before she was sick on the Deputy Head - but that's another story) and they missed each other badly. All day Lizzie was asking, 'When will Katy be home?' and when she arrived back Kate dived through into the kitchen shouting, 'Lizzie, I'm home! Everything's alright - I'm here!

She is so sure of her welcome. And not just at home, where you'd expect it.

I've seen her do it over and over again. When joining the rest of the group at swimming lessons, or in gymnastic class or with her schoolmates, a classroom situation which could easily be so fraught with angst. For example, a few months ago Katy was off school for a hospital appointment and she missed a day at school. On her return the following morning she took her seat at the table announcing in a loud voice, 'I'm back, everyone. Have you missed me?'

I am in awe of such simple confidence. Long, long may it last. I could never bring myself to ask such a question for fear of the possible answer. Katy has such security in her membership, her equality, her personal value - her right to be there - that she exudes contentedness and enjoyment of her surroundings and people respond warmly to it. She is pleased to be there.

And it made me think.

'But to all who believed him and accepted him, he gave the right to become children of God.'

That's me. I believe, I accept. I therefore have the right to be a child of yours.

I am a child of the living God. I can approach you ('Bold, I approach, th'eternal throne...da dah, da da da...' and so on) and I can say, 'Hello Daddy, here I am!'. I don't have to sidle in the room, or creep, or cringe. I'm not there under sufferance, or just visiting, or by some loophole. I am loved and wanted and encouraged to come in and make myself at home.

I am allowed to approach. I am a member. I am accepted.

I am welcome.

I have the right to be your daughter. Not because of anything I did; far from it. But whatever the terrible and amazing equation, I have the right. You gave it to me, because you want me in the family.

This is my fundamental identity; I might be a wife and a mother and a daughter and a sister and a friend and a...a...whatever else I might be, but most significant is that I am a child of God. This is Who I Am.
That's a membership that beats all others. I need not be intimidated at the school gates, or in a roomful of strangers, or at the grown-up equivalent of the fifth birthday party. My Dad is indeed bigger than their dads.

Chin up, then.

I belong with you. Yes, I am here, for now, because this is where you want me, but I truly belong elsewhere.

My home is with my Father, and my family, and one day when it's time I'll be going home, where I am sure of a welcome like no other.

I will kick off my shoes and walk boldly into that house and I'll find my snack.

Thankyou.