Letter to little sister

To my littlest girl

How I love you. I'm not sure that either of you will understand how enormous that love is until you have babies of your own, but until then I will keep telling you.

Does your Mummy love you?

Yes.

That's right. How much does she love you?

All round the world and back again. 

More than that!  Why does Mummy love you?

Because I'm Katy. 

That's right. When will Mummy stop loving you?

Never, not ever.

That's right. Never, not ever, not no-how. 

I won't stop telling you, because I want you to keep that knowledge really deep down in your heart, somewhere that is safe where you can reach for it whenever you need to, because you are the little sister.

Comparisons are inevitable. Everywhere you go, your big sister has already been there, done it and got the T shirt. We can't help that because you've been to the same nurseries, schools and clubs. In many ways she's a formidable act to follow because she's good at so many things, and because she's good at them, you long to be good at them too.

Who knows? you might be. But you're very hard on yourself. When you find that you can't do something she can do, always remember that she's almost two years older than you; it might be that at your age, she couldn't do it either.

But that doesn't solve the problem. It just reinforces the fallacy that you are both on the same path, just that you set off a little later than she did, and that's not how it is.

You are different in so many ways. You don't look the same; people sometimes don't realise that you are sisters. You think differently, you have a different way of looking at things. You speak differently, you laugh at different things, you respond to people in your own individual way.

You are both unique. You are both special. And, my little love, you shine just as brightly as she does.

You are you; you're not her. You're the only one who can do Katy. Oh, my lovely, you do it so well. That's because you didn't come off a production line, you were hand-made by the Master Craftsman.

Your heavenly Father lovingly made you just as you are; that's how He wanted you. He didn't make a single mistake. He was careful, thoughtful and thorough when He designed you, and when He had finished, He looked at you and smiled with delight. I bet He said something like, 'Well, look at this beautiful daughter of mine!  A masterpiece. She's exactly right,' and the angels all cheered and clapped and admired you.

God never makes mistakes. He never gets things wrong - He doesn't make a Mark 1 version and a Mark 2, with improvements. No, He knew what He was doing when He made you. You have a totally unique set of characteristics, my beautiful girl. There is no-one like you.

This is true of your big sister too, of course. She is put together with the same care, the same attention to detail, the same joy.  She's different, though. He didn't mean to make you identical. He wanted you to be different.

And one thing that you can be sure of: when God gave out talents and gifts, He was even handed. There is no-one fairer than God. There's no way that He'd favour one of his daughters with more gifts than another, no matter how it might seem at times. He gave each of us a different set of skills just as we each have our own personality.

It's hard it is to follow in someone's footsteps. It's hard to follow someone who does well, who wins things, who attracts attention for being great at something. It's hard not to look at them and wish you were the same. And when you envy someone their gifts, you start to overlook or undervalue your own.

It's a lie that some gifts are worth more than others. This world perpetuates the myth that some people are better than others because they are faster, stronger, louder. Look at the politicians, the athletes, the celebrities. Some people have gifts that are very obvious; they're there right in front of your eyes. Some people are breathtakingly beautiful, skilled and articulate and the world adores them, and other people have gifts which are much more subtle, but no less important. The world is not a reliable gauge of what is valuable.

For example, Princess Diana and Mother Teresa of Calcutta died on the same day. Diana, famous for her beauty and scandal, filled the front pages for weeks and the world grieved extravagantly. Mother Teresa, who devoted her life to caring for the poorest and weakest, was mentioned briefly on page 8 of the newspaper I saw. For whom, do you think, was the biggest party in Heaven?

Sometimes we have to look past the limelight and the adoration of other people to see the truth of what gifts really mean.

I love that your big sister is good at sports, and I cheer her on with all my heart, but my pride comes from how hard she tries, how determined she is, how gracious in victory and defeat, and the spirit in which she takes part. Make no mistake; I cheer just as loudly whether she comes first or last.

And the same is true for you. I cheer for you, my darling. I cheer for you in my heart every morning when I watch you walk up into the playground of the big school you've just started. I cheer for you in your new role on the school council. I see you growing up into such a beautiful young woman, inside and out, and my heart swells with pride. Trophies and medals and mentions in the school newsletter won't change that.

Who you are is the most important thing, not what you can do.

You will find more gifts as you get older; you don't get them all at the same time. You'll try things, and sometimes you'll succeed, and sometimes you'll fail, and sometimes, strange as it sounds, it's through the failures that you grow the most. Some of your gifts are easy to see already, and others will be ready for you to unwrap when the time is right. Right now I can see kindness, warmth, generosity, the ability to make people laugh, the desire to make people happy. Your quick wit, your ideas, your ability to point out things that no-one else has noticed. Your courage, your determination, your thoughtfulness, your tactile affection, your enthusiasm.

These are powerful, precious things, beautiful, never to be underestimated. This world badly needs people like you.

Don't compare yourself with anyone. Have confidence in yourself, because you are enough. Know how loved you are. By me (and lots of other people) and the One who made you. If He'd meant you to be good at the same things others are good at, He'd have made you that way, but the place would be very boring if we all excelled at the same things, wouldn't it?  You are in this world for a very special reason that's specific just to you, and He's given you all you need.

So cheer on your big sister with me, and celebrate who she is knowing that you are celebrated just as much. Don't wish you were someone else, or try to be like them. Put all your wonderful energy into  making the most of every opportunity, discovering more and more about yourself as your life unrolls in front of you, full of potential and promise.

Be yourself, my treasure. 

There is nobody like you.



With my love - all round the world and back again

Mummy

A word fitly spoken

(This is the text of a talk last week at a Ladies' event at church: An Evening of Encouragement)

Have you ever had a moment when you realise something about yourself, something deep inside that’s been hidden for a long time, and it gives you a shock? Sort of like a wake up call from God?  Well, this evening for me is the end point (or maybe it’s not the end point at all!  Who knows what He has planned from here onwards?)  of a thought process that started with a bit of a shock a few years ago. It was one of those moments where the penny drops, and makes quite a thud.

I was surfing the internet, as you do when there’s housework needing doing, and I read a blog post about women and friendship. It was a beautiful post celebrating women and sisterhood and the support and encouragement and sort of connection that is specific to women. The special bond between a group of female friends. Maybe you can imagine that. Maybe you know exactly what the author meant. To illustrate her point, she’d taken photos of women at a local conference that she’d gone to. There were groups of twos, threes, fives, big happy, laughing, hugging ladies having a good time together.

You know what came into my head?

It’s not true.

Emphatically. The voice in my head was loud and angry.

It’s not real.

I surprised myself with my cynicism. It came from somewhere deep inside me that I hadn’t been aware of. These women had done nothing to me except stare at me from the screen looking as if they were having a great time enjoying each others’ company and being the best of friends, and yet I looked at them with a resentful suspicion that unnerved me.  I just didn’t believe any of that picture perfect friendship stuff – in fact it annoyed me. I studied their faces and tried to work out who was faking that happy smile, what they were really thinking beneath what was surely a facade.

I’ve no idea how this is going to sound to you – you might well wonder what’s been wrong with me - but the truth is that until these past few years, I’d never had a close female friend. As I was growing up, I had a few so-called friends, but they weren’t all they should have been. Maybe I picked the wrong girls, or the wrong girls picked me, and I was grateful to have been picked by anybody, but they were full of hurt and betrayal and unhappiness and they sapped a lot of confidence from me.

One day she’d be my friend, the next she wouldn’t talk to me. On the way to school I’d never know what day it would be. On the on-days she’d link arms with me and all would be well. On the off-days she’d tell the other girls mean things and laugh at me.  She’d do mean things, but the worst, it turns out, were the things she said. On the on-days, for my own good, she’d tell me that I was fat and ungainly and she’d advise me on who I should avoid standing next to because they were so much slimmer and prettier than I was. She told me that I’d never get anywhere, be anyone. She criticized the way I walked and the way I laughed.

Another she, years later, my tutor at university. I stood up to her when she made my friend cry, and she took me on one side and told me that my friends had told her bad things about me, but she wouldn’t tell me who, or what. I looked around at the people I shared the lecture room  with in a different way after that. I didn’t trust anyone any more. She told me that I had no integrity, that there was something wrong with me that other people could see.

Sticks and stones may indeed break our bones, but whoever said words can’t hurt was talking rubbish. Words can demolish people. They can chip bits off us and leave us fragile and wounded.

The more chipped-away-at we are, the more closed off we become. If we do recognize what we’re doing - and we might well do it all subconsciously and not think about it at all - we rationalize that we’re becoming more self-sufficient, saving ourselves hurt by keeping people arms length.  It seems a sensible solution, and it even seems to work.  

So I read this article about the wonderful miracle of women and the power we have to build up and I realized that I felt as if I had only really seen the power women have to bring each other down, and this had an escalating effect on my whole life. I would walk into a room, and be immediately intimidated. I have to say, it’s a bit better, now, but it’s still a challenge for me. The voices that tell me the lies about those women are still there, and I have to work hard to shut them up. (I’m a work in progress).

I would walk in, and assume that everyone was looking at me and criticizing me. What I was wearing, my make up, my face, my words. They would noticing every flaw that I’d tried so hard to conceal, physical and emotional. My bad hair day, the spot on my chin, the fact that my jeans were a little bit tighter than they were last month, my confusion and lack of confidence. They'd look at me when I walked in and talked scathingly about me when I left. Something inside me was programmed to believe that this is what other women do. To each other.  My default position was one of apology and defensiveness. All that because of words spoken to me years earlier.

If I’m honest, I was afraid of other women. I was fully aware of their power. Women can destroy each other with a look, a remark, an expression. We can crush. We may not do it with our muscles, but the devastation is complete.

The thing is, God can do amazing things. However, it’s a bit uncomfortable when He starts operating on an area of your life that you never knew needed surgery. The wake up call for me was when I saw this article, but He’d already been working lots before that. I do know what friendship is, now. It’s taken me this long. I know what it’s like to have friends who are gifts from God.  People who know me and stick with me, keep my secrets, comfort, inspire and encourage me, and talk sense into me when I don’t have any of my own. People who speak truth to me.

People who’ve helped God counteract the lies spoken to me over the years.

Words from my childhood and university days had caused fairly deep damage to my fragile self-worth, my image of what friendship could be, and even my view of other women.

It comes down to the power we have and how we use it.   We have the power to change people’s lives, and we need to realize that and use it to change them for the better, and not for the worse. You can chip away and undermine, or you can do quite the reverse. The girls and women I’ve been talking about used their power deliberately to damage, but we can learn how to use that same potential to build someone up, and the results can be just as dramatic.

Encouragement is a wonderful term that has inside it a whole host of possibilities.

It means to inspire with courage, spirit or confidence – to help someone needing courage to find some. You can do it. I believe in you.

It means to stimulate by assistance, approval – to boost someone, to give them something that they can use to find more inside themselves. To let them know that you’re on their side, that you’re cheering for them. To lift someone up, to take them higher, to remind them of how far they’ve come, how well they’re doing. To embolden, hearten, reassure, urge, support, help.

Aren’t they wonderful words?

Words are endlessly powerful, and a personal word of encouragement in the right place can have a huge effect.

It can make the difference between someone giving up or carrying on. The difference between winning and losing, hoping and despairing.  Something you say might be just the confirmation someone needs to make a decision, or try something new, or make a change. It could simply something that makes them feel a little better about things.

Encouragement comes in all shapes and sizes, and we shouldn’t dismiss the things that seem insignificant. Something that seems quite small can be quite powerful in God’s hands. A while ago I was walking up Chatsworth Road behind a lady. It was one of those awkward situations where you find yourself walking at just the same speed as someone in front and so it looks a bit as if you’re a stalker – you have this dilemma - do you speed up and overtake, thus having to continue to walk at a faster than normal pace all the way up a straight road, or do you hang back and dawdle, only to catch up again… maybe that sort of thing just happens to me.

Anyway, I was walking behind this lady, and I admired her haircut.  Is that familiar? You stand in a queue at the post office or somewhere, and admire someone’s jacket, or outfit or shoes or anything,  but you never say anything for fear of being thought odd or invading personal space. Well, I was walking up Chatsworth Road, staring at this lady’s hair, and it came into my head that on this occasion I should tell her how nice it looked.

Seriously?

I decided that if she turned right up Quarry Lane, I’d say nothing. 

She didn’t. 

If she turned up Vincent Crescent, I would say nothing. If she carried on, I’d say something.

We got to the junction with Vincent Crescent, and she didn’t turn off.  So, as we approached my turn onto Chatsworth Avenue, I accelerated slightly, drew alongside and said to her, ‘This might sound a bit silly, but I’ve been walking up the road behind you, and I’ve been thinking how nice your hair looks.’

I smiled at her, and made to walk away, and she stopped me. She said,

‘Do you really think so? Oh, thank you so much. I’ve just had it done at a different hairdresser, and I wasn’t too sure if it suited me. I’ve been worrying. I don’t think my daughter will like it. She liked it how it was, but I fancied a change. Thank you so much.’

It made a difference to her. I don’t kid myself that I did anything profound, but I believe that God nudged me to tell that lady that she had nice hair. He knew she was feeling anxious and insecure and through my words He helped her with that. She walked off a little straighter. 

I hope it helped her face her daughter with a bit of confidence, but even if her daughter didn’t like it, at least she knew that there was a strange woman stalker on Chatsworth Road who did.

God is in the business of encouraging. He cares about details like angst over haircuts, and He cares about the big whopping life choices that won't grow out in four weeks. He doesn’t want us to be closed off solitary individuals struggling alone in a crowd with our own neuroses and problems. He never meant it to be that way. He told us that we’re family, and we should be caring for one another. Helping each other with battles. Cheering for each other. Willing to be honest with each other about life and pick each other up when necessary, in a big way or a little way.

 Anxiety in a man's heart weighs him down, but a good word makes him glad.

Proverbs 12:25

Small encouragements are all about the pleasure of being noticed, thought about. That someone cared enough to consider me.  We all long to be approved of, affirmed. I have had several compliments about a particular shoulderbag of mine and I love it when someone says something. I always say, ‘Thank you. A friend made it for me.’  It gives me pleasure that someone shares my impeccable taste in accessories, but also that I have a friend who is so skilled and also that cared enough to make me something so beautiful.

There are big things, too.  Just now and again we get an opportunity to speak simple words into a person’s life, even if we might never know that that’s what we did. I think God gives the gift of prophecy to some people, but I think that much more widely He gives opportunities to speak words that find a home deep inside someone’s heart.

A few people did this for me: they spoke into the dreams that I have for my life, and I have never forgotten their words.  When I was nine, a teacher at junior school wrote in my autograph book, 

‘To the Daphne Du Maurier of tomorrow: keep on writing!’ 

My Dad had several books published and we were so proud of him. He inscribed one of them to me with the words, 

‘To Helen: may she write more and better books than this.’  

There are people in this room who have encouraged me who have no idea how precious their words were – and are – to me. I filed these things away in my heart and they continue comfort and motivate and inspire me.  I dream of writing something one day and these encouragements keep me going when the little voices in my head tell me that it’s been said already and said better than I could say it and I should just give up and open a packet of biscuits.

These are raw things; to reveal your dream to someone is a scary thing because they might tear it down. Again, it reminds me of the girl at school in whom I confided the same dream. She laughed and said, ‘Dream on, Helen.’ It hurt, but that's exactly what I did. I dreamed on. Because on that occasion the positive words of my teacher were more powerful than her bitter ones. Without that specific encouragement like a stake holding steady a vulnerable sapling, she might have uprooted my dream. 

 Gracious words are like a honeycomb, sweetness to the soul and health to the body.

Proverbs 16:24

Someone believed in me. Some days I feel able to take on the world, others completely defeated, but those words stay solid for me. When my teacher wrote that lovely line in my autograph book, I bet he had no idea of the impact it would have on me.

We have no way of knowing what God might do in the future to join up the dots and make our innocuous comment into something huge and powerful for someone.  The thing we say, the little tiny dot that we add – might be just one in a long chain that God is adding to a person’s life that will one day join up and become something amazing.

 A word fitly spoken is like apples of gold in a setting of silver.

Proverbs 25:11

Encouragement counteracts the vulnerability that we all feel when we fall prey to comparisons. Someone noticed something positive and affirming and bothered to tell me. My self worth takes a little boost. Someone once said that we are like buckets and life punches holes all over the buckets and our self-esteem pours out of the holes. When we encourage each other, we fix some of those holes, and we refill a little of the self-esteem that leaked out.

I think we’re doing a vital part of God’s work in encouraging each other. Encouragement is listed by St Paul in Romans 12 as one of the separate gifts in the Body of Christ, and maybe it’s true that some people have a special ability to discern an opportunity for encouraging someone, but I think there’s no doubt that each one of us is able to do it. It's what God told us to do.

Therefore encourage one another and build one another up, just as you are doing.

1 Thessalonians 5:11

Prayer: 

Father God

Thank you that you care about every detail of our lives. There’s nothing too small or too big for you to be interested in and there is no wound too deep for you to heal.

Maybe there is someone in this room who feels that they have more experience with cold and painful words spoken over them in their lives and not so much hope and encouragement. Lord, we know that it’s not too late. We know that you can heal and make new. Reach into the depths of us, will you, and mend the bits that are broken?

We know that you are the Healer. That we don’t have to settle for wounds that won’t heal even if we’re used to them being there. We don’t have to tell the story of the way those wounds were inflicted and shrug and say, ‘That’s just how I am.’ Thank you that you are a God of restoration. That you want far more for us than this.

Teach us how to be encouragers, Father. To listen for your voice when you prompt us and be obedient to speak if you ask us to. To notice people, really notice them. To take opportunities to build up and point people to you, for you are the answer, whatever the question.

Teach us to want the best for each other, and always be on the lookout as to how we can encourage each other to keep going in pursuit of your best for us.

Lord, teach us more about the power that we have to change each others lives, and teach us how to use it wisely. Let us only bless, and never harm. Let us love, inspire, nurture, comfort and encourage each other.

In the name of Jesus Christ

Amen.

After this we made 'Encouragement boxes' where we decorated our own little box, and then wrote on small cards words of encouragement for each other. People were encouraged to pray for an individual and wait on God to see if there was anything specific that He wanted to say. We used scripture, wrote prayers, told anecdotes and gave thanks for each other. Everyone went home with a box of cards to read through and be encouraged by. 

Fuzzy Felt and chainsaws

Evening, Lord God. 

You know how you tell me things, and I don't get it? Well, I want to understand. I don't want to miss the point. It seems important. 

The other day, I was in a prayer meeting praying for the ministry among women at our church. There is already a women's ministry at our church; lots of things are already going on, but it has felt for a while now that a time was coming to bring all the strands together somehow. To become a team, maybe.

I'm not really sure why, or how - I'm just sure that it's what we're supposed to do. 

So anyway, a group of us, praying. Over the months there have been a surprising number of words and pictures given to us that seem to be relevant to women in church, and women in general.

• We have had pictures of climbing a mountain enveloped in fog, clinging to each other, and getting to a high place where the view is clear and beautiful. 
• An oasis in a desert, ladies laughing and having fun together, uninhibited and unselfconscious. 
• A lion confined in a cage, pacing back and forth as we eat a picnic from a red and white checked cloth, perfectly safe. 
• A tree, firmly rooted in you, stretching tall and strong, bearing fruit of every type. People coming from far and wide to choose and pick fruit from the beautiful tree. 

So, there I was. Trying to make my mind blank like a black Fuzzy Felt board so that you could draw me a picture.

Sometimes I think I try too hard, and I know that you're not dependent on me creating the perfect environment for communication; you are just as capable of grabbing my attention in the supermarket frozen foods aisle with a six year old in my trolley as when I am trying to empty my mind of everything.

So, suddenly on my Fuzzy Felt mind was an aerial picture of a church. Not from straight above, but the sort of view you'd get from a hot air balloon looking sideways over a town. Neither was it our church, for this one had a tall steeple. Indeed, all I could see of this church was the roof and the steeple, because all around it were trees. Big, mature trees. So close that the walls of the church were obscured. It must have been very dark inside. I couldn't see a door in the church, or any ground around it. It was a church totally crowded with trees.

I knew that there were people in the church. I don't know what they were doing, but they were in a huddle in the middle of the building. There weren't many.And then, I suddenly became aware that the trees need to go.

They need to be chopped down.

There was to be a row of tree-stumps around the church, allowing light to stream in through the windows. 

So people could find it. Anyone passing by on the nearby road might have missed the church, unless they glanced up high and saw the spire pointing heavenwards out from the canopy of trees. Surely this church was hidden. 

Choked. 

The church needed to breathe again. The people inside needed light and air. They were going to come out of the church doors and rejoice at the sense of space. They could see the sun. They could look into the distance where before they could only see the trees.They would be able to see the area around the church too. They could see the passers-by, the people who hurried by without even knowing that the church was there. 

What does it mean, Father?  Is this some sort of sign? What can I learn from this? 

There's a bit more. 

Another day I was sitting quietly in the garden and a neighbour began to cut down a tree in his garden. This tree is on his side of the fence, completely his to cut down, but I wish he hadn't. I liked it there. And because he's cut that one down, we'll probably have to cut down one of ours, as the missing tree had enveloped it so completely that it's unsightly and stunted.

I began by having an internal moan about the noise of his chainsaw, which shattered my peace and destroyed concentration. I don't like that he's cut down the tree because now we have less privacy in our garden - it feels much more open now.

I also went on to develop my grumpy feelings by reflecting that the tree in question has been there all my life; and so no wonder I liked it where it was. I am very used to it.

I scowled for quite some time. 

It got me thinking back to the church choked with trees. I love trees, and I've never really thought of them as being restrictive, or unwanted, but in this picture the trees were suffocating. Pressing in. Swamping. 

They need cutting down to enable the people inside to breathe, and the people outside to take notice. They might even come in and say hello, if they could see the way in.

Quite separately, someone who isn't involved with the women's ministry at church passed on a picture she had to my friend, because she thought it was relevant. She said that it was an axe, at the base of a tree.

Hmm.

I'm forever asking you for clarity, Lord, and I think the message loud and clear has to do with trees and the cutting down of trees. Correct me if I'm wrong...

I've started noticing trees being cut down all over the neighbourhood. I came across a clearing in a wood not far from my house the other day and in it was a huge pile of logs and tree trunks. A patch of dense woodland had been cleared and the sunlight streamed in  - it was a beautiful, peaceful place. 

 It's not the first time that I've had a picture from you about trees being cut down.

There's a special place in my mind that we go, sometimes, Jesus and me, and one day a long while ago you showed me a formal garden there, and a row of what had been large trees, now just a row of stumps. I knew that these trees had been hard to cut down.

It had taken a lot of work, a lot of emotional effort and had taken a long time. I knew that the clear view from that garden had been hard won. 

But what a view. Now, from that lawn, I could see across an expanse of cliff-top to the glittering sea. The sunlight sparkled on the waves and the sea birds soared above. Endless sky, vast ocean.

Openness, light, air. I could breathe.

This is my spacious place.

You cut down the trees - or you are in process of cutting them down, so that I could see further and not have my view limited by the leaves and branches.  By anything standing in my way.

The tree that the neighbour cut down today definitely enables me to see further, but I feel more vulnerable too. The trees in the church picture clearly need to come down - they're oppressive. The trees in my cliff top place are gone and that's a source of joy. 

Are trees things that block a clear view of you? 

Things that maybe have been there a long time, like the one in my neighbour's garden, or the ones on the cliff top, which had left stumps wide enough to sit on?

Do the trees represent stuff that is deeply rooted and obscuring the truth? Things that get in the way?

Things that choke and suffocate, and need to be removed so that light can flood in and illuminate the shadows?

So that people can breathe again and find a way out, and people can see the beauty of the building and the people inside and find their way to the door?

Will you cut them down? Do we? 

Oh, God, I'm trying to make sense of all this, but I can't seem to see the wood for the trees. Ha ha. 

I need a bit of help. A wise person, someone skilled in interpreting Fuzzy Felt creations from the Creator. Or a bit of insight.

A nudge. 

Thank you so much for talking to me. So often I wonder that other people seem to know what you want but I am still in the dark; and then you talk to me and I look puzzled and ask you if you'd mind repeating that, more slowly this time? 

The funny thing, Lord (not funny to you, I'm sure, and I mean funny remarkable rather than funny haha) is that ladies from every different corner of our church are coming together and contributing words of scripture, things that they've prayed about or pictures that have come from you. The number of times someone has said, 'I'm not the type of person who gets things like pictures, but...' 

It has to be from you. 

So, Lord, I have no agenda. I want to hear clearly. Give me ears to hear and eyes to see and a mind that doesn't add two and two and come up with eleven. This is about you, not me.

What's with the trees?





Image credit:  axe pic (plumb axe.jpg) by taliesin.  Courtesy of Morguefile.com.  Used with permission.
Other images mine. 

Linking with Tania Vaughan's Monday Ministry (better late than never?)
Also with Jennifer Dukes Lee on Tell His Story