A life well-lived

Right.

'If any of you lacks wisdom, you should ask God, who gives generously to all without finding fault, and it will be given to you.'

James 1:5

Good old Charles Spurgeon once again summed this up for me:

"'If any of you lack wisdom.' There is no "if" in the matter, for I am sure I lack it ... for I know I may do very stupid things, even in plain matters, unless Thou dost keep me out of mischief'.

I know that feeling. I have a knack of saying the wrong thing, saying nothing when I should say something (not as often, that one) and putting my foot in it in a dramatic manner on some occasions by doing or saying something stupid.

I want to be wise. Here am I asking you to give me wisdom. The only thing is, I'm not really sure what it is I'm asking for, so I'm not really sure when I'll know if you've given it to me.

What is wisdom then. Here is what I know about wisdom:
Wis-duh'm.
The dictionary definition is 'the quality or state of being wise; knowledge of what is true or wise coupled with just judgement as to action; sagacity, discernment or insight'. Sense, understanding. The opposite is stupidity or ignorance.

Sounds good, then. I'll take all you have of that, please.

It isn't that simple, though. Is wisdom a lifetime thing? Can a middle aged person who has a long way to go in the Spiritual Maturity stakes be wise? Is wisdom a constant thing, as in 'so-and-so is a wise person', or is it something that comes and goes? Do you equip people with wisdom for a specific situation, and then take it away again? That doesn't sound likely. Is it a gift that you give that requires exercising and thus grows?

Is wisdom a combination of spiritual gift and intellect? I know that you've given me a brain to use, and words to express myself, and the ability to consider things rationally, or else I wouldn't be here now wittering on. Can one achieve wisdom by thinking enough?

Surely not, or it wouldn't be a gift. Can people who don't ask you for wisdom not be wise, then? Or is there a sort of spiritual wisdom that is the hallmark of a child of yours, who has been blessed with wisdom of a different nature?

I think wisdom is something that helps with life. I would like to be able to make good choices. I would like to be able to advise people who ask for advice (and refrain from advising those who don't ask for it) and advise them well. I would like to trust myself, insofar as I am sure as I can be that what I am doing is what you would have me do in a given situation. And yes, if I'm honest, I would like people to think, 'Oh, Helen Murray? She's a wise lady'.

Why do I want all that? Oh, I don't know. Loads of reasons. I want a measure of confidence that I can cope with what life throws at me. I want not to feel baffled by life's dilemmas. I want to be more decisive. I want to make good decisions. I want to be sensible. I want to worry less. I want to help more. I want to offer something to my family and also my church family. I want to be in tune with you. I want to understand. I want deeper knowledge and perception and discernment. All those things.

Hmm. Some of those reasons sound like reasons not to give it to me. When I say I want to trust myself, to be confident, secure, decisive, that sounds a bit like my need to be self sufficient sneaking into the equation again. That's not what I meant. Or I didn't think it was. But if I were wise...

Michael Card says: 'Wisdom is not the ability to be correct all the time. Genuine wisdom is concerned with a life well-lived. Wisdom isn't something we know as much as something we become'.
Joy in the Journey

So that bursts my bubble. I would quite like to be right all the time. Just ask my husband. Even with the children I find myself on occasion correcting them and arguing over a ridiculous point of inconsequential trivia because they are wrong and require to be put right. At this point I have to remember something I read once, 'Excuse me, who's the grown up?'

Genuine wisdom is concerned with a life well-lived. I like that idea very much. I only have one of these life-things. I want to do it right.

Aha.

The penny drops.

That's it. I want to be wise because I want to do it right. Being right is one thing, but getting it right is what I long to do. I am desperate not to waste what I have; what I am. This year is an amazing journey into who I am and who you would have me be and I want to get somewhere with it. I want to understand you as much as my limited little human brain can. I want to be what you want me to be, do what you want me to do, achieve what you want me to achieve and live as you want me to live. I know that I can't do any of that without something extra; something from you. I need you to guide me. Make me wise, Lord God, so that I can see with your eyes.

I want to get it right.

I'm actually afraid to get it wrong. I so often feel defeated by life and I know that I would be utterly so if you were not with me. The closer I walk in step with you the closer I know I will get to living my life as you want me to. I guess I'm always going to get it wrong because I am only me, but with you leading me along, I can get through, can't I?

I'm afraid of so many things, and many of them come down to the fear of getting it wrong. I fear being out of control. I fear not reacting the right way when I need to react quickly. I fear trying something and failing. I fear humiliation and embarrassment, and people seeing my inadequacy. There are things I know I don't do well so I don't do them at all. This is why I long to be wise. I sort of hope it might protect me from some of this. Is that wrong? Is my motivation all wrong, then?

But you don't say that I have to be all sorted out and clear about why I want wisdom before I can ask for it; indeed you're probably sitting up there right now smiling to yourself at the heavy weather I'm making about it, aren't you?  Oh alright then.

Yesterday I had half an hour and I sat in a beautiful churchyard on a hillside and drank a cup of coffee (that I just happened to have) and the sun was shining and it was peaceful and quiet. It was a little oasis of calm. I sat with you, Lord, and although I didn't hear you in any clear sort of way - thunderous or still and small - I asked you about wisdom. I asked you what it was about, and whether I could have it. I looked at the graves all around me, old and new and read the names of so many people who have been and gone. I saw the grief of those who inscribed the headstones: 'in loving memory', 'much missed', 'dearly departed'. It made me think about life and death.  And in typical manner it made me realise how much I want to get it right.

Time is short. I don't want to coast through life and realise I wasted it. Spiritually speaking I've already done enough of that. I want my life to mean something and the only way I can make that happen is by listening to you and doing as you tell me. So I need wisdom. More of it. Every day. Because like my friend Spurgeon says, without it I get into so much trouble.

Please, Lord, give me wisdom. Whether I deserve it or not. You are wise. You are the fount of all wisdom, and you have said that you will come to live in me, and so you have. Let the seed of wisdom that you planted grow into something, Lord, so that I can stand in front of you one day and you will say that I have led a life well-lived. Make me grow wise as I grow up in you. I want you to be proud of me.

'If any of you lacks wisdom, you should ask God, who gives generously to all without finding fault, and it will be given to you.'

Amen. Thankyou. 

You've done the big thing...

Charles Spurgeon pointed out a very simple thing to me. This is it:

Bearing in mind that the Son of God has already done something huge for me - died for me - why would he not do a little thing like help me when I struggle?

He put it more eloquently than that:

'I will HELP thee. That is very little for me to do, to Help thee. Consider what I have done already. What! Not help thee? Why, I bought thee with my blood. What! Not help thee? I have died for thee; and if I have done the greater, will I not do the less? Help thee, my beloved! It is the least thing I will ever do for thee. I have done more, and I will do more. Before the day-star first began to shine I chose thee. "I will help thee". I made the convenant for thee, and exercised all the wisdom of my eternal mind on the plan of salvation. "I will help thee".


You've done the big thing. Why do I doubt that you'll do the little thing?

You died for me. You died to save me from my sin; you paid the price, you were the only sacrifice good enough. You gave your perfect life in a hideous way so that I could be free in this life and the next. I believe that. You are my God and you died for me.

So then why do I have so much fear and anxiety and worry? Why do I accept with such gratitude and awe the Big Thing you have done and yet doubt you over the trivia? You died for me, but you might not help me cope with the day to day troubles of my selfish little life. You died for me, but you might not listen to my prayers. You died for me, but you might choose to let me suffer.

It makes no sense, does it? I make no sense much of the time.

Lord God, my Father, forgive me for being so inconsistent. Forgive me for doubting. Forgive me for trying so hard to sort it all out myself and not trusting you with it.

Thankyou that you brought us through this morning at the hospital where Katy had her dressing changed once again and the stitches out. Thankyou that she didn't need to be sedated. Thankyou for kind, kind nurses and strong, supportive friends, and thoughtful brothers and sisters in Christ who left flowers and chocolate biscuits for when we got back. Thankyou for my Mum who quietly helps with day to day things big and small that I seem to be forgetting at the moment. Thankyou for my wonderful husband who is managing to be all things to all people at the moment and now has his Uncle's funeral to go to later this week.

Lord, I lift before you my family and friends, each and every one of them, because I value them all more than I can say. These last few months when my world has been a complicated and scary one at times you have surrounded me with love and wrapped us up in prayer. I want you to bless them all, Lord God, for they have allowed you to work through them. I see you in the flowers on the doorstep, the pressure of a friend's hand on my shoulder as I hold Katy still for the nurse with tears in my eyes. I see you in the friend who brought a meal round one day because she thought that when we got home from the hospital we might not feel like cooking. I see you in my thoughtful little Elizabeth who made Katy's tea and some pink milk tonight to cheer her up. I see you in my brave little Katy who has no idea how much she comforts me when we hang onto each other after the dressing changes.

I see you in the sun that lifts my heart and the rain that waters my plants. I hear you in the music I sing to in the car and the voice of a wise friend who listens to me and then speaks your word. I feel you as I lie in bed and offer you my day in the too-short minutes before I nod off, exhausted.

I give you such a tiny amount and you give me so very much.

I know all this. You died for me, and every day you help me live. Help me more and more, Lord. Help me to open my fists and allow you to take control of all of me. Help me to see you more and hear you more and feel you more.

Help me to trust you more. You've already done the Big Thing.

You give and take away

Well, today is the sixth anniversary of the day my Dad died. If ever I hesitate about how long it's been since Dad passed away I only have to think of Elizabeth's age, as he died nine days before she was born. I don't like that her birthday marks out the years as it's an annual reminder that he never got to see her. He saw the pictures of the ultrasound scans, he tried hard to feel her kick in my tummy but she'd always go still when I said, 'Dad, now! Here's a kick!' 

Dad had bought a cigar to give to Bryan when the baby came as a joyful Father-in-law/son thing. He bought me a CD of classical music suitable for babies that I used to play to my bump in the days when I had a chance to lie around in the daytime and play music. He and Mum bought us the cot and a host of sweet baby outfits, but he didn't get to say hello or hold her in his arms. I was always a daughter to Dad; I didn't get to show him I could be a Mummy. 

Tomorrow is Bryan's birthday. On the day Dad died it was a Saturday too, and Bryan's birthday a Sunday. It's the first time it's been the same days of the week; I suppose that's no surprise - six years and a leap year. Six years ago Bryan and I celebrated his birthday on the Saturday as he was due to go back to London on the Sunday and he unwrapped his presents and phoned Mum and Dad to say thankyou, so we got to talk to Dad about three hours before his death. We made arrangements to meet for lunch the following day. 

We had a nice day that Saturday and so did Mum and Dad. They went to an art show where Dad represented the Photographic Society that was such a big part of his life. He talked about his photographs, looked round and bought a painting that Mum has on the wall now. They went home, had his favourite meal for dinner and he watched one of his favourite films. He was in his armchair, with a glass of fine malt whisky at his side, his hand on the TV remote control as he checked the cricket scores on the TV. He died. Nothing the paramedics could do could help him, but they tried and tried. Mum was sending me an email at the moment he died. I still read that mail and look at the time stamp. Mum phoned us and we drove over in record time. Bryan took the call and witheld the information that Dad was already dead as he needed me to be able to drive, as he hadn't passed his test at that point. 

The ambulance was still here when we arrived because Mum had asked them to stay in case I was so upset that the baby came unexpectedly. I said goodbye to my Dad and the image of him lying on the floor in the sitting room where the paramedics had been working is with me still. He didn't look as if he was sleeping; he looked dead. If I am ever again in the position of deciding whether or not to go and see someone I love who is dead, I will decline. I like the image of him in his chair better. 

Dad died quickly and after a lovely day. All that could be done was done - there was never any doubt that he might have lived had things been different. He didn't suffer. 

The rest of us did. It was such a shock. We were reeling. It turned out as we spoke to the doctors who had looked after Dad that he had been aware for some years that he was 'on borrowed time'. He knew that he might die at any time, but he didn't want us to know. I'm sure that he didn't want us to worry, but perhaps he didn't want us to try to take special care of him, to wrap him in cotton wool. Maybe he enjoyed life more that way. 

Today I remember all that. I remember the last things we said, the film he watched on telly, the cigar that he'd put away for Bryan. The suit that we chose for him to wear in his coffin had papers in the inside pocket - souvenirs that he had kept. One of them was the programme from my graduation. Another was a sheet of notes for the speech he made at our wedding. I'm so glad he was there for those things. He was proud of me and he loved Bryan. He would have loved his granddaughters if he'd only been able to see them.

Today it all comes back. I remember the weather, where we were, the exact time the phone call came through and the drive over to Mum. I remember saying anxiously to Bryan, 'The paramedics will look after Dad, won't they? They won't let him die if there's anything they can do, will they?' He was already dead. 

We've marked this day in past years; we bought another painting by the same artist that Mum and Dad had liked that day but didn't buy and put it on the wall. We planted roses of the same type that Mum had in her wedding bouquet and they are in bloom today. Family members and neighbours have sent messages to say that we are in their thoughts today.

Today we knew all this and we decided to celebrate Bryan's birthday a day early again. We had a barbecue that started and ended bathed in warm sunshine, but the heavens opened in the middle. We rushed to put up an awning and wheel the barbie under cover and we laughed and giggled and ate our food huddled underneath it with the ran dripping down our necks. We toasted marshmallows, laughed at Bryan in his new Man's Barbecuing Apron brandishing his new Barbecue Tools and we sang happy birthday and shared his chocolate hedgehog birthday cake after he'd blown out the candles. 

This afternoon it was Messy Church and the children were beside themselves with excitement as usual. We spent time with our lovely church family and so many people asked after Katy and her surgery and let us know that we were in their thoughts and prayers. The girls made things, sang, danced, prayed, ate and chased around with balloons. As I write this Bryan and I are waiting for a Chinese takeaway to arrive and there's a bottle of champagne chilling in the fridge for when the girls settle down. 

I loved my Dad and I miss him every day. I still think of things I want to tell him, things I'd ask him if he were here. At Christmas I see the perfect present for him. I'd love him to see how Katy loves her soft toy that plays Mozart, and I'd love him to know that she can name a few of the tunes. I'd love him to meet my Elizabeth who was just a bump when he died, who arrived three days after his funeral. 

There's still a gap when we're all together. He and Mum would have been married for more than fifty years by now. He would have liked that we now live in this house and that Mum and I take care of each other. I can still hear his voice. 

So it's a sad day, but it's been a happy one. After the tumult of the last few weeks today was a day when Kate didn't need a dressing change, where we didn't have to do anything except be all together and have some fun. Even the pelting rain didn't spoil our barbecue - we were in the right frame of mind; we dashed to get out of the wet. It was funny. We got the awning up in record time, the children were rescued from their little tent where they were panicking as the rain was coming in on them, bread rolls dried off, toys hung up to dry and the sausages didn't suffer a bit. 

I love my family, Lord. I love that we are all together and that we can have fun spontaneously in daft circumstances like rain on a barbecue. It's been a good day. I love my church family too; that we can have fun, that they care about us enough to pray and keep praying, to ask and hug and be a comfort when things are hard. 

Life is good. How blessed I am in so many ways. Today has been a good day. June 11 2005 was one of the worst days of my life. Today I'm just happy that we had some laughs and the rain didn't stop play in so many ways. It doesn't mean that I'm missing my Dad any less, but I love my Mum and my husband and my children. The sun was out today, my brothers and sisters at Church welcomed us for an afternoon celebrating the Good Shepherd and tonight I am sitting on the sofa with my husband watching a film with a glass of bubbly and finding reasons to celebrate. 

You give and take away. I can't get my head round it. I miss my Dad. I hate that my Mum is sad. Maybe one day I'll understand.

But for now, thankyou that we had a good day.

Looking for level ground

I woke up to these words this morning. I went tap tapping on my little iphone to find my daily reading and there it was:

Let the morning bring me word of your unfailing love...Show me the way I should go, for to you I lift up my soul...Teach me to do your will, for you are my God; may your good Spirit lead me on level ground.

Psalm 14:8,10

Level ground indeed, please. I've been climbing mountains and falling over cliffs for ages and I want to walk a little while with you feeling the sun on my back and your hand in mine, please. If that would be alright.

I read it three or four times and smiled (which is an achievement after a bad night where Katy shouted piteously at 2am because she'd got herself wedged down the side of her bed and took some extracting and consoling) and then I opened another reading:

Blessed is the man who perseveres under trial, because when he has stood the test, he will receive the crown of life that God has promised to those who love him.

James 1:12

Well, I feel less confident about this one because I am not so much persevering as getting on with it because I have no choice. But nevertheless, I know that you are there, even when I can't feel you. I know that you are caring for me even when you don't physically lift me out from where I'm stuck down the side of the bed. I know you will never leave me because you said you wouldn't and I believe you.

You are good to me, Father God. By the end of every day I am so tired and discouraged and worn down by it all that I get grouchy with you as well as with my family, but I do know that you are good. I know that I need to grow up in so many ways and it's hard work. I suspect deep down that you are teaching me something, or changing me, or hammering out the metal so that it's stronger and more useful but when I'm in the middle of the hammering I have to say it's not much fun.

CS Lewis put this idea so brilliantly. Why does anyone else ever try to write everything when he has expressed things so perfectly?

'Imagine yourself as a living house. God comes in to rebuild that house. At first, perhaps, you can understand what He is doing. He is getting the drains right and stopping the leaks in the roof and so on; you knew that those jobs needed doing and so you are not surprised. But presently He starts knocking the house about in a way that hurts abominably and does not seem to make any sense. What on earth is He up to? The explanation is that He is building quite a different house from the one you thought of - throwing out a new wing here, putting on an extra floor there, running up towers, making courtyards. You thought you were being made into a decent little cottage: but He is building a palace. He intends to come and live in it Himself'.

CS Lewis, Mere Christianity

Come and live in me, Lord God. Make me a house fit for a King. Just be gentle when you can be, and if there's any way of explaining it to me as you go along so I don't feel so bewildered, that would help no end. Help me get over the fear. All the fears, including the fear of being worked on.

I do want to be of some use to you, Lord. I don't want to be mediocre. I don't want to live life on a nice even keel with no troubles at the expense of any progress closer to you; I don't want to arrive in front of your throne one day and have you say, 'Oh, there you are. Well, alright then, come in.'  I don't want a place in your Heaven on a technicality, I want you to be there because I was faithful.

Thankyou for moments of insight. Thankyou that we saw the consultant this morning at the hospital and Katy's dressings are every other day now rather than every day. Thankyou that you have given me some wise, kind, friends who love you. I have so much to thank you for.

Please can we stop now?

Lord, here I am again asking you please will you heal my little girl. We've just got back from the latest in a distressing line of dressing changes and she's fragile and quiet and not wanting her tea and I'm just exhausted. 

It's been less than a week since her surgery and we've had very sympathetic nurses, slightly sympathetic nurses, brisk nurses and one mean nurse and Katy is thoroughly spooked and she screams and shouts and breaks my heart with things like, 'Mummy don't let them hurt me' and 'Please make it stop, Mummy' and I've had enough. Today's (brisk) nurse said that the wound was still deep and would need packing for some time further though I'd hoped and hoped that after tomorrow's clinic appointment it might not need so much digging and probing. 

Please stop all this, Lord. She's been so brave but she's worn out and so am I. Each dressing change takes so long because she kicks and writhes and she's strong. It takes every ounce of strength I have to try to allow the nurse to do her job. She's got a perfectly reasonable fear of being hurt - and it does hurt I'm sure - and she's only four. Maybe some four year olds are unnaturally brave and stoical but my Katy is just normal. Does this really have to go on so long?

I feel so miserable. I hate putting her through it and I hate coming back from the hospital/surgery and snapping at Lizzie because she greets me at the door with her list of woes and injustices or wanting me to play some energetic game in the garden when I just want to curl up and cry. 

What's it all about? Is this adversity deepening my faith or something?

Huh. 

If you want me to reflect on this and understand more about how you feel as our Father, then I have to tell you that I've got it. I think I have, anyway. If it causes you pain to see us hurt and grieving and suffering then I understand.  It causes me such pain to hold Kate still while someone hurts her. It causes me physical pain to see her terrified face with eyes wide with dread, and hear her begging me to make it stop when all I do is hold her still so that it can go on longer. Every time my eyes fill with tears and I'm kissing her and shushing her and saying pointless unhelpful things that she isn't listening to. And then we pick ourselves up and leave and she dutifully says goodbye to the nurse and I have to hold myself back from giving her treat after treat to try to cheer her up. Today's nurse stuck the dressing too far back so it's got hair under it so tomorrow is going to be a nightmare. 

Is it to show me how terrible it was to watch your beloved Son endure unspeakable things on our behalf? If so I can understand why you turned your face away. My heart breaks every time Katy asks me to make it stop. I would if I could. I'd so much rather it was me. 

I don't know if there's anything positive in this; I know you can bring good out of the worst situation. I know that it will end, that children heal quickly and that in comparison with some her situation is very minor. I used to work with children who had major burn injuries - 60, 70 or even 85% of their body horrifically burned. They and their parents had to endure skin grafts and months or years of reconstructive surgery. In comparison this seems nothing. I am quite sure that when I worked there, before I had my children, I had absolutely no idea how appalling it would be to go through that. I would have a better idea now. 

Give me strength Lord. I could sleep for a fortnight. I don't want to have to do it any more. I know children are resilient. I know that she seems to bounce back. It's me that feels that every time I'm damaged a bit more. Ah I know I'm being melodramatic.

This is my life, Lord; I think I've done an awful lot of moaning recently. How come such a lot of trouble is coming my way for such a long period? It's alright, you know, you don't have to keep sending stuff to give me something to write about in my blog. I could be perfectly happy and sufficiently prolific just burbling on about the garden and the birds and songs I've sung. No need to keep me topped up with adverse material.

I love my girls Lord and I'm struggling to give Elizabeth the attention she needs because of all Katy's appointments and medicine and phone calls and attention she needs because of it all. I'm short of patience (shorter than ever, and that can't be good given my usual level of patience) and even after a decent night's sleep I still feel tired. I'm feeling sorry for myself. 

That's it for now. It's home group tonight and my dear friends are coming round. I'd better go and read what I'm supposed to have read and have a coffee with caffeine in it. I'm sure I'll feel better in a while. Where two or three meet in your name, you said you'd be there, so I'll expect you in the sitting room in about twenty minutes. Not that you're not here now, but you know what I mean. You can have the comfy end of the sofa. I've forgotten to buy or bake any cake though. I made a banana cake last week then forgot it and when Elizabeth found it, it had gone blue. Imagine, me forgetting a banana cake. Usually it's in my mind pretty much all the time. 

Don't leave me, Lord. How good it is to know that I'm not alone, even if it feels a bit that way sometimes. Hold me close and help me to keep on helping Kate and Liz as best I can. Please protect us all from anything else. I can't manage anything else.

PS.  Just had home group. If I had read the chapters of our book that I was supposed to have read I would have read about growing up as a Christian. About character building. About spiritual maturity. About being transformed to be more like Jesus. About life not being a) about me and b) meant to be easy and about you not being a spiritual genie who is here to solve my problems and make life comfortable. It's in adversity that I grow.

I am not sure what to make of this. I am, however quite sure that I will have something to say about it when I've had a chance to lie awake thinking about it tonight.

Character building? Ha.

Lord, just let me off the hook for tonight. Make the hours before morning magically go more slowly as already there aren't enough left to make me into a nice person when I get up at the crack of dawn, even if I nodded off right now, and that's unlikely.

I haven't got anything left, Lord, so I'll come back to this another day. Just let me be a baby Christian for now and sleep in your arms. Is that ok? 

The Lord, the lifter of my head

Well, you take your time, don't you?  I know that your time makes more sense than my time, and your timing is certainly better, but sometimes I'm here, waiting for you, and you just seem to take your time.

Waiting, waiting.... then bam, there you are and you make me smile and you make me cry and you make me worship you and you make me think 'Well, you took your time'.

Church, just over a week ago and I was shattered. Fragile. Low in mood. It was just after I'd spent a week not knowing if I had breast cancer or not and it'd been a long, hard week. I'd been hoping that Katy's surgery was going to be postponed or even cancelled and just learned that it was definitely going ahead. Other smaller troubles were occupying me too, and I went to church on Sunday evening (a treat, since Bryan puts the children to bed and I am on my own) and I waited for you. I was weighed down and miserable. I felt sure you would speak to me, comfort me, give me a quick hug. It was a 'good' service. The talk was excellent, the music good, the chance to chat and worship with my church family was great. But I didn't find you in a personal way. I suppose what I meant was that I didn't feel you.

Nope, you thought you'd wait until I got a bit lower, didn't you?

A week later and Bryan's uncle is ill, Katy has had her surgery and we are in the middle of the nightmare of dressing changes, broken nights, irritability, poor communication and headaches. I am in church again with all the family, barely the energy to look around for you and there you were. Smiling at me.

You were in the music, you were in the prayers, you were in the talk, you were in the people who spoke to me, you were in some very special friends with whom I prayed after the service.

What have I to dread, what have I to fear
Leaning on the everlasting arms?
I have blessed peace with my Lord so near
Leaning on the everlasting arms


Leaning, leaning
Safe and secure from all alarms
Leaning, leaning
Leaning on the everlasting arms.

We sang that, and I thought, how appropriate that is. I have been overwhelmed with fear recently. Fear that I might die, fear that my little girl might die, fear that my Mum might die. Bryan's uncle really is dying. I have found sleep difficult, felt near despair last week when everything seemed to be happening at once. I've felt distant from you, and although I haven't doubted that you're still right there, I've not felt as if I've been in your arms. Only a couple of nights before I'd cried as I wrote this and said, Lord, I'm leaning into you, just as Katy did into me in the hospital. Leaning. I knew you were holding me up.

Safe and secure from all alarms.

The music on Sunday changed to the old favourite of mine which is loaded with meaning. It could have been written with me in mind.

My troubled soul
Why so weighed down
You were not made to bear this heavy load
Cast all your burdens upon the Lord
Jesus cares, he cares for you


Jesus cares, he cares for you
And all your worrying won't help you make it through
Cast all your burdens upon the Lord
Trust again in the promise of his love.

What can I say? You reached down and touched me. You said 'You're safe and secure. You have me to lean on. You weren't made to bear this burden, so give it up to me. Trust me. I love you.'

I will praise the mighty name of Jesus
Praise the Lord the lifter of my head
I will praise the rock of my salvation
All my days are in his faithful hand.

My Lord, I was choked up and tears were running down my face but I praised you because you are so merciful to bother with such a pathetic specimen as me. I am so full of doubt and mistrust and so quick to forget the wonders that you do for me.

My anxious heart
Why so upset?
When trials come how you so easily forget
Cast all your burdens upon the Lord
Jesus cares, he cares for you.

So quickly I become discouraged and start to wonder what you're playing at. Why don't you do things my way? Why don't you take away all the duff things that are happening in my life? I start to mutter and scowl and complain. It doesn't take much to knock me off my perch and then I am wanting more and more. And you always find more for me, just not on my terms. You are patient and forgiving and keep helping me to my feet even when it's my own fault that I'm on the floor. When trials come how easily I forget; and yet you are the lifter of my head. I love this image - I hang onto it. I am downcast, head bowed, tears on my face and you reach down and tilt my chin with a gentle hand so that my eyes look up and see you again.

I will praise your mighty name, Lord Jesus. I will praise you. You are my loving God and I praise you.

The talk on Sunday was vivid for me. When I reach the end of myself, there you are. I need to keep walking even when the path is invisible because you will not let my foot slip. I am so limited; limited in so many ways. Limited in my energy, my good temper, my patience, my wisdom, my understanding, my vision, my faith. You are the ultimate resource. You never run out. You are never exhausted. Never too tired, never beaten, never vulnerable, never confused.

You reassured me and you held me and you loved me and then you challenged me. You want more for me than this, don't you?

St Paul said:

'...for I have learned to be content whatever the circumstances. I know what it is to be in need and I know what it is to have plenty. I have learned the secret of being content in any and every situation, whether living in plenty or in want. I can do all this through him who gives me strength.'
Philippians 4:11-13 (NIV)

Oh my Lord, I want this so badly. How do I learn that secret? I know that you offer peace; I know that in you is found peace. Sometimes I have it, but as the song says, when trials come how quickly I forget. That peace seems out of reach of my fingertips then. Elusive. Something that other people have, but me? I'm in turmoil. I'm lying awake worrying about things I over which I have no control. I have this fear.


'For God has not given us a spirit of fear, but of power and of love and a sound mind.'
2 Timothy 1:7 (NKJV) 


This was one of my daily readings last week when I was at rock bottom and I laughed in a mirthless sort of way and disputed that I had any of those things - power, love or a sound mind. I felt weak and pathetic and resentful and angry and with a mind full of confusion and doubt and anxiety. I didn't have any of those things, but definitely the fear. It seems about fear to me. Not peace. Though I'd like peace better.

It's always been fear with me; I remember at university it used to grip me, sometimes, that if I wasn't careful people would see through me, that they'd see that despite the qualifications there was nothing to me. Nothing there. I can remember sobbing to a bewildered, much less intense flatmate one day that I knew that I was good at some things, I knew that I could do things, but it didn't matter, because there was nothing there. I wonder if this was a prod from you back then, Father. It was certainly a fallow period in my spiritual life, despite regular Sunday lunches with the vicar of the local church I rarely darkened the door for a service. I felt so empty. I don't feel that way any more; I know that it's wrong to say that there is nothing there because you are there. I am your child and I am precious and gifted and valued by the only One who matters. I know this, but the spirit of fear? I think he lurks still.

Fear that people won't like me. Fear that I'm inadequate. Fear that I'll fail. Fear that if I take my eye off the ball then something awful will happen. Fear that it's my responsibility to hold everything together. Fear that it'll be my fault if it does fall apart.  Fear that I won't cope when I lose someone I love. Fear that people wouldn't cope without me. Fear that I'll live my whole life not knowing the peace that is being held out to me.

It's tiring, you know.

I need to work on it. Life is too short to keep doing things this way. I just don't know how to take the next step. I just don't know.

The glory of the Lord

So help me with this will you, Lord? I want the peace, the power, the love, the sound mind. I want to know the secret of being content even if my health and my family's health is not so good. I want to banish the spirit of fear and leave room for the things that you want to give me.

I'd better get some sleep. The girls were so tired tonight that they were asleep early, which is good for tonight but doesn't bode well for the morning. I need to think more about these things. Or perhaps not; need to think less and pray more?  As I write this it's sunny and it's raining and there's a beautiful rainbow. Look at you, Lord. Your beauty shines through the rain. I'm sure there's a mighty symbolism there somewhere.

Lord thankyou for Sunday. Thankyou that you care so much that you showed me how much you understand me, how much you love me. You put it in terms I could understand. Thankyou for such good friends. Thankyou for my church family who have wrapped us up in prayer recently. Thankyou for the wisdom of Matt and Ruth and those that teach us and the skill and perception of those that choose the music. Thankyou that you had your hand on my little life on Sunday and always.

I will praise the mighty name of Jesus
Praise the Lord, the lifter of my head
I will praise the rock of my salvation
All my days are in his faithful hand.

Lord, you are faithful indeed.

My brave girl

I'm absolutely exhausted.  I'm physically and emotionally and any other way so tired. I'm quite sure that this is why I feel so down and pessimistic today. It doesn't make much sense really as things went as well as could have been hoped for yesterday and today has been a bright sunny day of the kind that usually lift my spirits up.

My brave girl

Yesterday Kate had her operation and I have so much to thank you for. She didn't shed a tear all day, which is more than I can say for me. I got to stay with her and cuddle her as they gave her the anaesthetic and it was only in the moment before she went to sleep that she looked confused and afraid and she turned those big big eyes to me and said, 'Mummy?' 

Up till then she'd been telling the nurses about Scruffy Barney and what he'd been up to and then it was all over, her eyes rolled back in her head and she reached up to push the doctor away and then she was asleep and I had to leave. I can't think of many things in my life so far that have been harder than walking away from my tiny and vulnerable little girl yesterday and trusting other people who don't love her as I do to take good care of her. 

I suppose I wasn't so much trusting the anaesthetist or the surgeon as much as trusting you. Why is it so hard to trust you, Lord? I give my worries to you, then I take them back. Then I give them to you again, then I take them back. I don't even know I'm doing it, half the time. 

So Katy was fine. I sat with her all day as she recovered, then was sick, then slept, then was sick a few more times, then recovered and eventually came home with her just before ten o'clock when we were both absolutely exhausted. By that time of night she seemed perkier than me. I am so, so proud of her, Father God, you created a little masterpiece. I have such respect for the way she handled the whole day which must have been frightening, unnerving, unpredictable, painful, unpleasant and boring. It was most of those things for me too, though I didn't throw up. Lord, you have made my daughter a very special person. She is only four but she was polite and co-operative (when conscious, anyway) and friendly and brave and beautiful and sweet and so, so small. 

On the way to theatre

Even thinking about it my eyes fill up. I walked away from my sleeping daughter and it felt as if someone had cut a limb off. I thought my heart would break. It just wasn't right; it was against nature to leave her on her own. Her surgery had been pushed back a few times and by the time she went up to theatre we were all starving (even more so Katy, I imagine) and yet after I'd left her in the anaesthetic room I felt sick. I think you don't have any idea before you have children how much you could love another person. How protective you feel. How that selfishness that is so part of you can sometimes be pushed aside effortlessly by someone else; I'd never have thought it possible. 

The doctors still don't know what the lump was on her neck. They've taken swabs, they're doing a biopsy, they took tissue away and her lump is no more. They've put in some stitches and an area that's packed with something and a district nurse came this morning to change her dressing.

And that's where we came unstuck. Katy has a phobia about anything stuck to her. She won't even have a plaster on a poorly knee. Or at least, when she does have a plaster, she won't let anyone remove it. So there she was this morning in her pyjamas with a mepore dressing on her neck and a remarkable, breathtakingly brisk and unsympathetic district nurse removed it without any wasting any time in  reassuring a fearful four year old. After the wonderful inspiring courage of yesterday, Katy was beside herself. She screamed and writhed and kicked and it took two of us just to hold her still for the nurse unceremoniously to put on a new dressing. She then announced that she wouldn't be coming back to do it again because 'there's no point' and left us in complete disarray. 'She's got a problem, she has,' she announced. At one point she said that Katy would have to manage without a dressing if she wouldn't let her put one on, and when I asked anxiously what I should do in that case if Katy scratched it or caught it, the nurse laughed and said 'Well, she'd know about it; she'd only do it once'. Then she said, 'Come on, Mummy, take control'. 

It didn't go down well.

It's the only time Katy has ever refused to say goodbye to someone when they left, whether medical personnel or not. I felt like that myself. 

So now we have a problem; the dressing is going to be undisturbed till Thursday despite the doctors requesting daily changes. On Thursday we're off to see the consultant again in clinic and at some point they need to take out the stitches (which are clearly nylon, not dissolvable) and they need to remove the packing in the wound and irrigate it etc. I have no earthly idea how that is going to be possible without another anaesthetic as Katy is now twice as scared of anyone going near it as she was, and that's saying something.

Arnie the Aardvark post op

Why are some people so unhelpful? Why did this woman come into my house and make no effort to soothe my little girl, who after all, has a perfectly rational fear of being hurt? It really didn't help. It made things worse. What am I supposed to do? Pray for those who hurt you. Lord God, bless that district nurse. (She says through gritted teeth). 

Ah, Lord, it looks as if I'm just looking for something to be worried about, doesn't it? Maybe I am. Today I feel exhausted and irritable and impatient. The worst is behind, I think (I hope); she had her surgery yesterday and her nauseous response to morphine, and today within the hour after the nurse's visit she was happy and playing again. So here I am overlooking all the positives and concentrating on the negatives again.

My beautiful daughter is alright. She had her anaesthetic and she woke up again. She has antibiotics and painkillers to take and they seem to be doing the trick; she doesn't complain much about her neck. 

Lord, I've spoken about it with you before and I need to sort it out I think. This anxiety thing of mine. This strange uncomfortable need to have a focus for my worry all the time. The Fear that people I care about are going to be taken from me. The way that my imagination takes over and takes me to places that I'm afraid of. 

Isaiah 66:13

As a mother comforts her child, so will I comfort you.

I found this today, Lord. The day after I spent ten hours with my youngest daughter hugging, holding, clinging, cuddling, squeezing, kissing, inhaling, weeping, hand holding, stroking and loving while she felt everything from excited, worried, afraid, bewildered and disorientated to nauseous, bored, tired, happy and sad. I held onto her as she was sick, wiped her forehead when she was sweaty and carried her to the toilet when she didn't want to try to walk. I am her mummy and I'll do it all for her because I love her more than I can say. 

Are you going to do that for me? Is that what you do? Do you really love me as much as that? More? The strength of my own love for my girls amazes me. The idea that you love us more than that is beyond my imagination. Katy leaned into me and held onto me and got comfort from me; she believes in  me and my ability to be the wonderful, problem solving, safe thing that a Mummy is - yet I am powerless in so many ways. You are our divine Daddy and you are not limited by operating theatre rules or selfishness or weakness of any kind.

Why should I be so anxious when I believe in you as my Daddy?

The blackbird has been around today. We had a nice barbie in the sun at lunchtime and the children have played in the garden all afternoon while I did some much needed gardening. We're about to open a bottle of wine and have a nice tea; life is good. You are still where you always are. It was never out of your control, I know. And so it follows that it isn't right now. I know that you won't abandon Katy and I as we go back to the hospital to (I hope) find out what was wrong with her neck and sort out the dressings and so on. Yesterday she had surgery and you brought us through that, so you can be trusted with the rest of it. 

Forgive me for doubting you. It's just that I love my daughter. I know you understand. 

I'm leaning into you, Lord. I'm hanging onto you and I won't let you go. I trust you to make this alright. Hold me, please. Make the bad feelings go away, will you? Make it alright. 

Lord, just make it stop, please? This merry-go-round of events that I'm on this year? I could do with a break. I could do with a whole series of consecutive nights of good sleep, I could do with a period of good health myself and the same for all my family. While I'm putting together a list I could do with a summer of sunny days and rainy nights, two new tyres on the car and for the back door to put itself right, the kitchen cupboard to reattach itself, the front window to be miraculously mended and to have the energy to get back to the gym and the swimming so I can lose some more weight. And there's a troublesome spot on my chin that needs divine intervention too. Did you get all that?

I'm pouring some wine now. Here's to my brave Katy, to skilful doctors and (ahem) compassionate district nurses. Here's to my God, who held my daughter in his arms when I couldn't. I can never thank you enough for that alone. Cuddle me too. 

Bring on the next thing. I am weary but still standing. Only because you're holding me up.

Hmm. 

Alternatively, don't bring it on. I'm sure you appreciate the brave sentiment there but I fancy an uneventful few months a bit more right now. Alright?

By the way, Kate still has one of the three sticky electrodes on her chest that were put on to monitor her heart in theatre. That can stay there till the cows come home as far as I'm concerned. Not Worth The Aggro, as they say. 

I will yet praise him

Why are you so downcast, O my soul

Why so disturbed within me?

Put your hope in God

For I will yet praise him

My saviour and my God.

Psalm 42:5

I will yet praise you, my Lord. I feel so miserable and afraid tonight but I will praise you because you are the Lord of Heaven and you are everything. I have nothing without you. 

I'm sorry that sometimes I think that somehow the world needs me to keep it turning and I don't allow you to be you. I know that you love me and you want the best for me. Forgive me for not trusting you with my family. 

You hold the world in your hands; you created everything that is. You are the Almighty. There is nothing you can't do, and yet you love me. You made me. You delight in me as your child. You know my every thought and you still love me.

Here's the thing. I know all that but when I manage to open my clenched fists and place the people I love in your arms I am afraid that you'll drop them. I'm afraid that somehow you don't care about them as much as I do. I'm afraid that somehow you'll do something bad and claim that it's 'good for me'. I'm afraid that I won't like your plan for my life so I try to hang onto the steering wheel myself, as if I can find a better route.  I'm afraid that deep down sometimes I don't believe in the depths of your love for me.

I'm sorry. 

Lord I will praise you because you are worthy of praise.
I will praise you because I am made to bring you praise.
I will praise you because I do love you and my heart still has praise in it.
I will praise you because the little blackbird has been hopping about outside my kitchen window as I've sat here tonight and cried.
I will praise you because you are you and you won't let me down.

Please don't let me down.

Why so downcast, O my soul? 

The God of history loves me. Who can harm me? What can harm me? I am His. Amen.

I haven't the energy to fight tonight, my Lord. I just lay it all down once again, all over again. Here is my heart and all the fear in it. Be gentle. 

I put my hope in you, Lord God. There's nowhere else to put it. 

Bring the sunshine out tomorrow, please. 

I will yet praise you

My Saviour and my God. 

Clouds in front of the sun

Lord, I'm getting really sick of this. Nothing is right. So much is happening and I'm starting to struggle. I know you're not causing it, but why are you not stopping it?  I'm not seeing the funny side any more.

Bryan's uncle is dying and it would be a good idea for Bryan to go to see him as soon as possible. His family have been on the phone asking when he can be there, but it's Katy's surgery tomorrow and he can't be in two places at once. Today Katy is a bit withdrawn and snappy and hasn't been sleeping well (so no-one else has been sleeping well) and so I am sure that she understands more about tomorrow's events than she lets on. She knows she's sleeping at the hospital and she knows that she'll go to sleep and when she wakes up her bump will be gone, so what she's concluding about the middle bit I don't know.

My Mum is poorly and I'm worried about her. She is trying to pretend that she's fine but it's clear that she isn't. What's happening to everyone round me?  I feel as if I can't look after everyone at the same time but I have to. Things are bad every way I look at the moment.

I don't know what to do if Mum is ill. She has been such a prop to me these last few weeks. In fact always, she's been there. She always has been. She is my best friend in so many ways; if I can be to my girls what my Mum is to me I will feel that I have done alright. She's been wonderful at holding the fort throughout all the rubbish these last few weeks; she's looked after whichever child hasn't been at an appointment, she's looked after both when it's been me. The washing miraculously gets fetched in when I forget (and put out as well, quite often) and the plants in the greenhouse get watered when I've not had a chance. 

I have no idea what I would do without her. Since my Dad died suddenly nearly six years ago, just before Elizabeth was born, I am paranoid that other people I love will die unexpectedly too. I always worried about my parents as they are getting older but until Dad's death I assumed that when the end came I would see it coming. Now I have a huge fear of losing people. I have dreams about it, I worry about it and the slightest thing starts off my anxiety.

I worry that if I take my eye off the ball for a few seconds everything will come crashing down. Tomorrow I have to take my eye off the ball as I need to be at the hospital with Katy and focused on her. I might be gone all night. 

Lord, I feel so anxious now. Help me. My husband's uncle is gravely ill and not expected to last the weekend, my Mum is poorly, and my youngest daughter is having a general anaesthetic tomorrow for the excision and biopsy of this strange lump that's been confounding the doctors for two months.  Over the past months we've been to more doctors and hospital appointments between us than I could count. I'm not sure I can take another thing. I can't handle one more thing going wrong. Please lighten this load a bit, Father God, because I've kept going and kept going and now I feel as if I'm sinking.

I feel as if I have to keep my grip or else I'll be lost. This morning I sat out in the sun first thing with a cup of coffee and tried to gather my thoughts and say hello, how are you to you. The sky was blue, the little blackbird was around somewhere but I couldn't see him, and it was a good five minutes before the children came to find me. That little oasis of peace was lovely.

I didn't really chat with you for long but I smiled at the warmth of the sun on my face and I took a photograph of some flowers next to me and then I pointed the camera up at the sky and photographed the sun. Seconds later it went behind a cloud - and the girls burst out into the garden and the peace was shattered.  How symbolic was that? Little did I know that things were going to get worse later. 

Every time I get a glimpse of the sun a bloody great cloud blots it out again.

Every time I rally after some disaster has befallen our family, something else comes along. When is it going to end, Lord? Stop it please. I don't know what your game is but I've had enough and I don't want to play any more. Please, please, just stop all this crap from piling up round me. I can't do it any more. I just want to go to bed and pull the curtains on and sleep and sleep and sleep and when I wake up all this will have gone away. Please make it stop, Lord. 

In the garden the little blackbird is sitting on the ground basking in the sun. He has his wings outstretched to feel the warmth of the sun and he is just relaxing. He's picked a fairly duff spot to bask in as it's right in front of a flower bed that the numerous local cats seem to love; I hope he doesn't get picked off right in front of me by that ginger tom that hangs around all the time. That would just make my day. 

Maybe he trusts you, Father. Maybe that's a little message to me. 

Or maybe its just a stupid blackbird. 

Praying my prayer

Praying Hands by Albrecht Durer

The other day in church we had an amazing talk about prayer. It has been in my mind ever since. The talk was based on the prayer that you taught your disciples, Lord Jesus, and my attention was drawn to the fact that you didn't tell us that this was what we must pray, but this was how we should pray. We shouldn't just chant the Lord's Prayer and not think about the words because it's so familiar. We shouldn't say the Lord's Prayer, we should pray it. We should think our prayers. We should be personal. We should talk to you as if you are right next to us, because you are just that.

So I've written my own. I'm hoping that you don't think this incredibly presumptuous, and I must tell you that I believe very deeply that you did it best. Your version sort of draws things together in a way that can't be improved upon. Your version is much snappier than mine. I'm not exactly known for being concise and I do have a tendency to go on. The Lord's prayer has such a beautiful simplicity.

Well, here it is.

This came from the heart, Father. I haven't written it and rewritten it and tinkered with it and rephrased it; I offer it to you now just as it came out of my head. Please accept this prayer from a daughter who loves you.


God Almighty, 
I bow before you now and give you my praise because you are my Lord, my Daddy and my Friend
You reign on high.
All of creation sings praise to your holy name.
I long for the day when the whole earth joins the angels in worship. 
I rely on you for every breath; please give me what I need to live each day for you.
I'm so sorry for all the times that I let you down and wound you in so many ways; forgive me.
Help me, please, to forgive those that hurt me.
Show me how to keep my eyes fixed on you and not go my own way as I so often do.
I know you have won the war but the battle is raging round me and I ask that you would protect me from the Enemy because I am your child.
You are the One who made the universe and everything in it. 
You are great.
You are the beginning and the end.
You are my God.
Everything that is belongs to you and I give you all the glory, my beautiful Lord; now, as long as I live, and for all eternity as I kneel at your throne.
Amen