It's you

You are the whisper after rolling thunder
You are the spark of light in the dark
You are the flash of silver in the raindrops
You are the gleam of gold in my heart

You are the brightness in the dullest of days

You are the colour in the black and white
You are the breeze when there's only stillness
You are the stars in the sky at night

You are the rain in a parched landscape

You are the warmth when the north wind blows
You are the safety of a Father's arms
You are the flower pushing through the snow.

You are the harbour that my soul longs for

You are the signpost on the longest road

You are the safety on the storm tossed ocean

You are the carrier of the heaviest load.

You are beauty amid all that's ugly

You are the answer in a confused world

You are the focus when all seems blurry

You are the first and the final word.

You are the sunset reflected in water

You are blossom on a tree in spring

You are the rainbow in a rain-filled sky

You are the eagle on its outstretched wings.

You are strength where there's only weakness
You are sunlight after days of rain
You are healing where there's bitter hatred
You are peace after all the pain.

You are power where there's indecision
You are love amid all the fears
You are the song in the heart of the blackbird
You are the One wipes away all the tears.

You are the Lord, the King and the Author
You are my Saviour, my God and my Friend
You are the Father, the Son and the Spirit
You are the beginning and you are the end.

Yeah, yeah, yeah yeah yeah...

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

Joan Osborne: One of Us

'If God had a name, what would it be

And would you call it to his face

If you were faced with him in all his glory

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

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

And would you want to see

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

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

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

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

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

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

If God had a face, what would it look like

And would you want to see...'

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

CS Lewis said:

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

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

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

'Love so amazing, so divine

Demands my soul, my life, my all.'

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

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

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

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

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

'What if God was one of us?'

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

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

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

Hebrews 4: 14-16

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

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

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

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

Amen.

Old friends, new friends and forgotten friends

Today Elizabeth found out what class she will be in next year. She's going to leave the safe, warm, comfortable, nurturing environment of her year one class and spread her wings into year two. I'm hoping, of course, that her year two teacher might offer a safe, warm, comfortable and nurturing environment too, but leaving the classroom she's been in for the past year will be a huge wrench for me as her teacher has been exceptional and wonderful. Lizzie has come on in leaps and bounds, hasn't she? When I think of the diffident, fearful child she was a year ago it is a truly magnificent change in her. I must write a nice letter. 

But... they've split her class up into different classes and she isn't with any of her friends. They've done it by age, and so by an accident of birth my Elizabeth is off to Red class when all her close pals are off to Blue class. Down the corridor little sister Katy will be settling in to Purple class, but that's by the way. 

I have mixed feelings about Lizzie's segregation from her buddies; there have been some incidents this year that have upset her so it might be that away from certain children she might get a chance to be herself a bit more and not be in anyone's shadow, but at six it does seem hard to split them up from the childish alliances that they've only really recently managed to make. 

I can remember my friend from infant school. Her name was Tara. I wonder what she's doing now. I imagine you know. Does her nose still run all the time? Funnily enough I remember thinking she was great and being in awe of her, but I can't remember for the life of me what she looked like. I don't have the first idea what happened to her, but I do know that our age six friendship didn't stand the test of time. By junior school it was long gone.

So maybe I should learn from this not to allow Elizabeth's friendship ups and downs to worry me too much. Today she is a bit subdued because all her mates are in Blue class and she's in Red, but she's not devastated. She likes her new teacher and is feeling all grown up as she is in Top Class now. Next year she'll move to a different school completely, so she is indeed at the moment a Big Fish in a Small Pond. Her excitement is greater than her disappointment. It's my anxiety, then, not hers. Why do I put myself through it?

You should have seen the looks on the faces of the mums outside school as they compared notes on who's little darling was in which class and with whom. (Well, alright, you did). There were tears and scowls and smiles and jumping up and down (and from the grown ups too). We all just want them to be happy. It's just that we think we know best how to make them happy, not the teachers, not the headmistress, and in my case, not you. If you'd just consult me a bit more, maybe we'd all be happier? Or maybe not. 

Lord, you know how far Lizzie has come since last year. Please rain blessings down on her wonderful teacher who has been so encouraging, perceptive and loving this year and who took me on one side this morning to ask me how Elizabeth took the news and to explain that she'd watched her at a playtime in her new group and thought that she would be OK as she seemed happy and was mixing well. Lord, be close to my little girl and help her to know that she is so beautiful, so clever, so bright, so vivid, so interesting, unique. Very, totally, completely unique (ha ha). 

Thankyou for her brain and her vivacity and her curiosity. Help her to grow more and more in confidence in her own abilities and also in her own attractiveness. Help her to see that she is worth knowing. Help her to shake off some of the inevitable cruel comments that have wounded her. Let your flame burn in her so brightly that she lights up the room with all that she is. Help me to encourage her and not undermine her. Help me to rein in my critical nature and let her blossom, even if it does mean a lot of clearing up afterwards. 

Father, as we go into the school holidays, give us all peace and anticipation of the new school year, not dread. As Katy leaves nursery in a few days, help her to look forward to being at Big School and not fear it. Give Lizzie kindness and tenderness as she talks about school with her little sister and, please, Lord Jesus, in your mercy let Lizzie play with Kate once or twice at playtime because Katy is counting on it so much. 

And me. Lord, you know how far I've come this year in my battle with my inferiority complex in the gaggle of gorgeous mums at the school gates. I am so much more relaxed (though I do still a) feel more comfortable in sunglasses and b) try to arrive just as the children are coming out and dash off as soon as I've grabbed Lizzie). Thankyou for some lovely friendly people that I've met, and one friendship from twenty years ago that has been rekindled because of the school run. As I prepare to meet a whole host of new mums as Katy starts school, Lord, again lift me up so that I can rise to the occasion and not run away and hide. 

Don't let my girls be lonely, Lord. Show them how to be a good friend so that they might make good friends. 

You are the best friend anyone could have. Show us all how to be more like you. 

Microscopic but annoying

I'm emotionally drained. I know that's a bit of a cliche but the phone rang a while ago after a day full of appointments, intense conversations, good news, bad news and confusing news and if it had been just one more thing that required concentration or detailed consideration then I would have been forced to arrange to call back tomorrow.

Katy had another appointment at the hospital today with a new consultant (General Medicine) that we hadn't met before and weren't expecting to meet, as we didn't know till 11.25 this morning that we had even been referred to General Medicine. We were expecting Paediatrics, Phlebotomy, Ophthalmology, ENT or Maxillofacial consultants, but General Medicine was a new one. Still, any doctor is a doctor worth seeing in the pursuit of a diagnosis for Katy and so we were at the hospital within half an hour from the phone call  despite having to collect Kate from nursery. She was about to have her dinner, poor little lamb, and it was something she liked too.

Anyway, the Gen Med Consultant told us that he knows what's wrong with Katy, so that makes him a very nice man indeed. It turns out that they have finally isolated the bacterium that's causing her bump to recur and it's not any of the enormous list of nightmarish conditions and diseases that it might have been. It's a germ. Not a condition or a syndrome. She could have picked it up anywhere as it's around in the environment. It isn't contagious. She was just unlucky. A bug. Microscopic but bloody annoying.

Thankyou.

It is, however, rare, and the little clutch of doctors that know Katy's bump inside and out are now discussing what to do about it. Apparently it doesn't respond well to treatment and they need to consult current research. (I've googled it and there's precious little available to the layman so I do hope they have more helpful stuff in their library). Now that they have identified it they know which drugs they need to prescribe for her but she would need to take them daily for two years, and there is a theoretical risk of permanent damage to her eyes.  She's got such a little body; how can they know what big drugs might do to her if she's taking them for two years? I'm not liking this option that much.

Alternatively, they could operate again and this time (I hope) remove all of the offending tissue, not leaving any to grow back, and avoiding all nerves and other valuable structures in her neck which are perilously close to this growth. Sigh. I'm not wild about that option either, to be honest.

We're waiting and seeing. In the meantime I'm fielding a deluge of appointments for a wide range of different clinics that are arriving thick and fast in the form of telephone calls, text messages and letters and trying to work out which of them were made pre-diagnosis, and therefore are still exploratory and thus now unnecessary, and which are post-diagnosis and still relevant. I am on first name terms with the ENT secretary.

So where are we up to? I'm saying thankyou so, so much that my little girl doesn't appear to have any of the scariest diseases and conditions that she was being tested for. Thankyou that someone worked it out. Thankyou that something eventually grew on one of the little petrie dishes in a lab somewhere and that they could identify it. Thankyou it isn't life threatening. Thankyou that it seems as if her other organsa re not affected. Thankyou that people have got better from this before and treatments exist. Thankyou that we have doctors who can do all this.

Ahem.

I'm coming up to some 'please's now, did you guess?

Please can we have Katy getting better in an uneventful sort of way? Please no more complications, side effects or further disaster or distress? It's funny that in the light of drugs that might poison her or make her go blind, another operation seems preferable, when a few short months ago it seemed the last resort. Now I feel as if I just want this lump excised, efficiently this time, and with an appropriate margin, causing no lasting damage and minimal scarring.  The dressing changes scare me quite a lot, but even so...

Just make her better, Father. Give the doctors wisdom, confidence and skill. Give them compassion on a little girl who is only four and afraid of pain, sticking plasters, needles and nurses. Give them compassion on a Mummy who loves her little girl to the end of the world and who would do anything to keep her little girl from being afraid.

I'm hoping that this might be dealt with before her start at Big School in September, though I really haven't got an idea if that might be the case. It might be that they convince us that the drug therapy is the best bet and so we just plod on. Still too many unknowns for me to feel peaceful though it is a huge relief to know which little brute of a bacterium has been making our lives so miserable for the last four months.

Lord, thankyou for some progress.  Thankyou that Katy is so brave and that I have been surrounded by wonderful people at church and home who have prayed, chatted, hugged and prayed some more. Thankyou that you do listen to me even when I go on and on and get boring. Thankyou that you care about us and will never let us down.

Stay with us on this one a bit longer. Could do with a bit more of you, please. 

Bedtime battles

Every day is such a battle. 

Here's an example.  Every night I go and look at my children when they're asleep. I've said before that some wise soul once told me to do this because it presses a 'reset' button after the day and indeed it does. On a pretty much daily basis bathtime and bedtime deteriorates in to a struggle; a battle of wills between me and the girls, and by the time I tuck them into bed there have, more often than not, been raised voices and harsh words.  I come downstairs with nerves jangled and temper wearing thin. That time of the day is such a difficult time for me. I'm tired and looking forward to bed, or I need them to settle so that I can prepare for home group or something else, and I'm just a mess of frustration and impatience. 

So I come downstairs and I do the evening things like set the washing machine, start the dishwasher, water the plants, put toys away and peel sticky tape off every surface (my girls are obsessed with sticky tape. You wouldn't believe the things that can be made with sticky tape). 

If left alone, these chores have a sort of therapeutic feel to them and by the time I have a cup of coffee and an opportunity to sit down, two things have usually happened. One, the sun has gone in, and it's no longer worth sitting outside, and two, I am feeling much more well-disposed towards my daughters. This is when The Guilt sets in.

My lovely Lizzie

On occasion I've even gone back upstairs at this point to say goodnight again in a more friendly manner and this has mixed success. Sometimes I'm too late with my peace mission and they're already asleep - too late. The Guilt has the upper hand. Alternatively, they might be still awake and subdued because of the palaver earlier and the dire imprecations that if they made so much as a whisper the wrath of Mummy would descend on them all over again. If this is the case, with a cuddle and a snuggle we can be happy with each other before we go to sleep. I like it when this happens.  

The third possible outcome is that I mistime my reconciliation visit with disastrous results. I enter the bedroom just as Lizzie or Katy is drowsy but not yet asleep and my arrival wakes them up again. With Elizabeth this means she will be cross and grumpy, compounding my guilt at being a Bad Mummy. With Katy this means that she will wake up again completely, launch into varied boisterous activities and require settling from scratch, a process which could once again reduce me to Snappy Mummy and start the procedure all over again. 

Beautiful Katy.
NB Barney by left ear

So I maybe don't go back upstairs and it waits until my bedtime before I go in and perch on the edge of the bed (trying to avoid a leg or a hand or a knee or something) and I kiss them and inhale that wonderful wonderful aroma of warm sleeping child. I whisper things to them and I sit with my hand on them and I pray for them. Sometimes it's a 'Lord, just look' sort of prayer full of wonder and gratitude, and other times it's a smidge more involved. I know that you know that it's nothing epic. At that time of night I don't have much in me. Recently, if Katy's been lying the right way I've put my hand on the bump on her neck and screwed up my eyes tightly and begged you to heal her. 

But that's another issue altogether.

What I wanted to say, Lord, was that I wish I could do better, I really do. I end every day looking at my girls and promising myself that tomorrow will be a better day. Tomorrow I will be much more patient, considerate, smiley, encouraging. Less critical, shouty, irritable. Usually I've blown it before breakfast. Katy hates having her teeth brushed. Lizzie has a wobbly tooth and is so incredibly protective of it that I have to brush her teeth through a gap the size of a keyhole. Neither of them want to get dressed. Katy can't have milk on her cereal because of her drugs and of course, the only thing she wants to eat in the world is milky cereal. Elizabeth doesn't want her hair brushed, Katy won't find her shoes. Throughout all this, of course, Mummy didn't want to get out of bed and wishes she were back there so isn't exactly the postergirl for a.m. affability. 

I know what I want to do but I don't do it. I know what I ought to do but I can't seem to control myself. I regret what I often do and resolve not to do it again but do it again I do. With discouraging regularity.

St Paul (himself) put it like this:

'So I find this law at work: Although I want to do good, evil is right there with me. For in my inner being I delight in God's law, but I see another law at work in me, waging war against the law of my mind and making me a prisoner of the law of sin at work within me. What a wretched man I am!'

Romans 7:21-24a

There are so very many parts of my life in which this is true, but none so painful to me as this one. I hate that I am crabby to my kids so often. I dread that they will grow up thinking back to their tiny days with me as an impatient, critical, nagging mother who was constantly making threats and stalking off disgruntled at bedtime. Remembering me as the Mummy who shouts rather loudly when Barney goes missing at bedtime for the hundredth time, and then throws him at the wall in a temper when he turns up (under the pillow on which she was lying, grr). I blame tiredness (all the time) and their naughtiness or disobedience or a million other things but I need to be more patient. More giving. To let them be children and accept that they're not perfect, as I am not perfect. I do try to apologise, to say, 'Mummy shouldn't have said/done that; I'm sorry I upset you' but there's a limit to how many times it'll make things alright. 

I need to get a grip.

Paul finishes off:

'What a wretched man I am! Who will rescue me from this body that it subject to death? Thanks be to God, who delivers me through Jesus Christ our Lord!'

Amen and amen. 

Forgive me for all the times that I make a mess of it all, Lord. Thankyou that you will indeed deliver me from all the bad things that I can't seem to help doing.

You need to help me with this, Lord, because I am just too short of sleep, short of tolerance, short of love, short of patience to do it myself. I want to look at my girls tonight and marvel at their beauty, their smallness, their innocence; resolve to do better tomorrow, and actually do better tomorrow.  Help me to stop doing the things I hate doing. Help me stop the anger, the impatience, the temper, the harshness and the criticism.

'But the fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, forbearance, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness and self-control.'

Galatians 5:22-23

I need all those things, Lord.  I can't seem to do it on my own. 

 

Installing a hotline

I'm feeling confused. I'm wondering what to do. I have a couple of decisions to make and I keep asking you what you think but you don't seem to be committing yourself. 

Other people seem to be guided by you but  I'm not hearing you. I know people who seem to have some sort of hotline to your Divine Ear, and seem to chat with you in a talking/listening sort of way but I don't. Well, I know that you do communicate with me; I know that you do let me know your thoughts sometimes, but I've never asked you a question and felt that you gave me an answer.

Now, I am aware of my lack of insight here and this may very well be one of those Daddy/child moments where you are shaking your head in amusement at my failure to grasp how very much you do for me. Is this like my daughter saying to me,

'Mummy, you don't listen to me!' ?

I have my suspicions but the more I think about it the more I can't think of a time when I said,


'God, what should I do? A, or B?'

and you actually told me.

Is it always me asking the wrong question? Is it your modus operandi to simply stay quiet until I realise that the real question is something completely different? If so, can you let me know so that I can back off a bit and stop pestering you and stop myself from agonising about it? I have time sensitive decisions to make (or at least they seem time sensitive to me) and if you don't think that I should be concerning myself with either of the possible outcomes, then you could, if you were so inclined, save me the waking up in the night and wondering?

Go on. You know you want to.

I'm just not by nature a decisive person. I don't find decision making easy. You made me that way! I need to explore options, check out alternatives and have all the facts before I feel comfortable making a decision. If I have to make a decision quickly I invariably make the wrong one. But this time, like so many others, I'm asking you, 'Should I do this, or this?' and you're maintaining a dignified silence. Or some sort of silence, anyway. A wise silence. Is it that you think I can make this one on my own? Do you have confidence in me to do the Right Thing? Or are you testing me to see if I choose the Right Thing? Or is there no Right Thing and you don't mind which direction I go? Or is it all irrelevant and you know something I don't?

Now there's a daft thing to say. Of course you know something I don't.

Look, I know you do a good line in the hindsight thing. I know that so many times in my life I have seen your hand in the way things turned out, the decisions I made, the people you put in my way - but most of those are years down the line when events have played themselves out already. I don't want to be looking over my shoulder in a decade's time and saying, 'Ah. So that was what God wanted me to do, ' because quite probably, with my confidence levels right now, the next sentence would be, 'Pity I didn't do it.'

I'm floundering around throwing down fleeces, ('If such and such a person says such and such to me tonight in church I will do such and such') and waking up in the small hours wondering what to do for the best. I'm wondering what will happen if I just avoid making a decision at all; how many people will I let down, what will I miss out on, what will I do wrong? If I make the wrong decision, how difficult will it be to undo? I realise I'm dwelling on the negative, but what do you expect? I wouldn't be me, otherwise, would I?

I understand that the world will go on turning if I don't get it right. I understand that I could make a complete mess of the next year of my life and you would sort it all out without shouting at me. I know that I can rely on you whatever the outcome. I just want to get it right, is that OK?

Teach me to hear your voice, Lord God. Not just to see your majesty in the rainbows and sunsets and your creativity and beauty in the birds and the scenery, not just your comfort in the sleep you send for me and your love in my friends and my family. Help me to hear your voice of guidance. Give me more faith. Give me more perception. Give me more wisdom. More discernment.

More whatever it takes to install that hotline.

You remain the same

Nothing has changed and so much all at the same time. This week I have been at the very end of my tether; just feeling so hopeless and miserable, and then since then there have been some little sparks of joy that can only have come from you.

I have had the chance to talk to several wise and supportive friends this week and I know that I have friends who are praying for me. Nothing has changed; Katy's lump is still there and growing, the doctors haven't got any closer to making her better; she still isn't eating properly and her tantrums grow more frequent every day, but today I am feeling better about things. And it's not because of the mystical Good Night's Sleep either as I was late in bed last night and early up this morning as war broke out in Elizabeth's room before 7am as Kate decided it would be a good idea to wake Lizzie up to tell her that she was making off with her Lego plane to turn it into a swing for Barney. 

So, here I am. Someone recently said to me that if you're going through hard times, find a song and hang onto it. This was easy for me as I have a song that chose me only a few days ago.

You are the voice of hope
The anchor of my soul
When there seems to be no way
You make it possible
You are the prince of peace
Amidst adversity
My lips will shout for joy
To you the most high

You are indeed the voice of my hope, Father God. I don't know where I'd be without you. For every time I ask where you are when I need you, or wonder with frustration why you aren't performing miracles to make Katy better or solve my problems, there are two occasions where I know that I wouldn't want to be where I am without you. I know that you are the prince of peace, and where you are there is peace, so today I know that you are in my heart.

Where there seems to be no way, you make it possible, Lord. On Monday I was feeling so defeated that I didn't know how I was going to make it to the other end of the week, and yet you have blessed me with friends who have hugged and listened and advised and pointed me back to you. You have blessed me with spookily relevant Bible readings in my daily notes and you have comforted and challenged and spoken sternly. You have given me sleep and cuddles from my girls.

And through the storm, yet I will praise you
Despite it all, yet I will sing
Through good and bad, yet I will worship
For you remain the same, King of Kings

This is undoubtedly a storm in my life; the wind seems to have been blowing hard for a while and some days I've leaned into it and made progress forwards and other days I've let it blow me away. It's raining hard and I'm soaked through but on days like today I'm looking for a rainbow. I know that you won't leave me without one.

You remain the same. You are the same God who touches me to tell me that you love me. You are the same God who sent his Son to die for me. You are the same yesterday, today and forever. You are the beginning and the end. You hold history in your hand and you don't age or forget. You are eternal and you are everything. You are the same God who delights in me and won't let me fall. Why do I doubt it?

You remain the same; it's me that changes. You are constant, unchanging; it's me that blows this way and that and forgets and remembers and gets confused and jumps to conclusions. You don't change.

Through good and bad, yet I will worship. I will keep on praising you when the sun is out and when the clouds are low and threatening. I will hang on to you and evil will flee from me. I will trust you because you love me.

Thankyou for the little seed of joy you planted in my heart this week, Lord. Help me to water it and make it grow and not starve it until it shrivels up. Help me to take it with me so that I can keep myself going with it. Thankyou for my friends, my song and my family, even though they drive me mad at times.

I am blessed indeed to be your child, and I'm so grateful that you have endless, endless patience as my Daddy.

A steadfast heart

This morning there was a fox in our garden. A few weeks ago there was a badger. On a regular basis there are cats. As I sit here I can hear the birds singing and Streaky the blackbird has been around this morning as I hung out the washing; he even came for a look at the spectacle as I tried to calm Katy down in the middle of a tantrum. I was trying to remember what the tantrum was actually about but it escapes me. There are so many that they sort of merge into a blur at the moment but with Katy having all these investigations into the mystery lump any ideas of tackling problems in the behaviour arena are on hold. 

Beautiful sunny day. Today our new neighbours visited to advise us that they planned to cut down two trees and a hedge that separate their house from ours. They are perfectly at liberty to do so, and indeed, the trees in question are conifers that are a bit out of hand, but still, we're used to them being there and I'll miss them. They provide our wheelie bins with a bit of modesty and give some shade on the patio. And Lizzie tends to park her bike underneath out of the rain... sigh.

The dustbin men didn't empty our bin today. It seems that the rubbish didn't come out when they turned the bin upside down so tough luck us. That was probably because Bryan jumped up and down on the contents of the bin to try to squeeze some more stuff, but either way, we are left with a bin still half full of rubbish that has already been there a fortnight.

These things may in themselves not be particularly troublesome but today I'm not feeling like taking things in my stride. I have too much going on and too much in my head to cope with mean-spirited bin men and the loss of trees that have been there all my life. Bless the bin men, Lord. Bless those same bin men who a few weeks ago refused to take it away since I left it slightly further away than arms length up the drive. May they never experience the feeling of impotent frustration that they leave me with.

As you will be aware, Katy has been given some medicine by the consultant at the hospital. He was clear that he didn't know what was wrong with Katy but he felt that they had to start some form of treatment. The drugs are heavyweight antibiotics in a large dose that everyone has so far queried; the pharmacist at the hospital and since we got home a GP and two more pharmacists.  There's a hotline to the hospital to ask about Katy Murray's prescription. Two drugs, one to be taken once a day and the other twice. The once a day one is horrible - even in the explanatory literature it advises having a drink of fruit juice ready for the 'bitter aftertaste'. My brave Katy is getting round this by demanding chocolate. Ah well, needs must...

Apart from the regular administration of the medicines, apart from the fact that they interact with milk so she has to have her breakfast cereal dry at the moment, and no yoghurt for her tea; apart from the fact that they taste horrible and the side-effects list runs to three sides of A4, apart from the fact that they're upsetting her tummy so that her appetite is way down and her poo is bizarre in appearance and incredibly offensive, she's doing really well. No change in her bump but then a) she's only been on the drugs for five days and b) they don't know if these particular drugs will have any effect at all since they don't actually know what's wrong with her.

Could you give them a clue? A little hint?

Just to add an extra dimension of confusion to all this, one of the medicines expires after five days, the other after seven days. Every five days I need a new bottle of one, and every seven days I need a new bottle of the other. Not having the sort of mind that automatically multiplies dates by five and seven, taking into account Sunday closing for pharmacies and the length of time taken to generate a prescription, this took me a while with the calendar, a pen, a marker pen (to write on the boxes) and the phone, to try to get some help from the GP and local pharmacy. An agreement has been reached involving a sheaf of prescriptions and lengthy discussions with a variety of health professionals. The pharmacist told me that he had never had made up a prescription for one of these medicines before. Of course, it being so unusual they have to order it in specially, so the very first time I tried to put the five day repeat prescription in action it hadn't arrived. And it was a locum pharmacist and so I had to start from scratch with the whole story.

I'm so tired of all the phone calls and the explanations and the things that I have to remember. How do parents cope when they have little ones who are seriously ill?

I'm realising all the things I can't do at the moment. I'm trying to hold things in my head and get things done and be involved in things, and I can't do it. I'm forgetting birthdays, going to the supermarket and coming back without the most important things. I'm forgetting to send in money for school trips and missing appointments and the one thing I hate is unreliability. I hate it when other people are haphazard with arrangements and I don't know where I stand and all of a sudden the flaky one is me.

A couple of weeks ago I dashed back in to the house for my shopping list. I waved it at Mum as I sprinted past and said, 'Forgot this!' She replied with the wisdom of her generation, 'There's a surprise.' I stopped to ask what she meant and she told me I had too much on my plate at the moment. It's taken me a few weeks to stop bristling and accept that she's right. Could you not have given me the heads up on this a while ago, Lord, when I was Making Plans?

There's a Yiddish proverb, isn't there, that goes, 'We plan, God laughs.' Am I making you chuckle?

It's taking me all my time to get up in the morning, shoehorn the kids into their clothes, feed them (or at least place food in front of them) and get them to school or nursery in the right order. Add into that the hospital appointments, pharmacy visits and phone calls to field and I'm about done, since under all this is a backing track of worry and anxiety. My internal processor is pretty much maxed out.

So, I realised last night, that I've got to let it all go for now. If things are right, then I will have other opportunities to be involved in stuff that's going on that seems so interesting. If not then I can save my limited energy. There is a season for everything. A season for doing and a season for stopping; a season for being dynamic and a season for dropping everything but the most essential things and concentrating on putting one foot in front of the other.

One day, this is going to be me:

'He will have no fear of bad news; his heart is steadfast, trusting in the Lord. His heart is secure, he will have no fear; in the end he will look in triumph on his foes.'
Psalm 112:7-8

How far away from this I feel at the moment. I do fear bad news. I fear bad news about Katy, about Bryan's job, about my Mum, about me. I fear that your Plan won't be like my plan, and my life is going to be difficult and painful. I do trust in you but how quickly and how often my trust fails and I start to doubt. I start to wonder if you really do have my best interests at mind. My heart is weak instead of steadfast and secure; I'm easily frightened, easily worried, easily exhausted. I do fear; I fear everything, and occasionally in the middle of the night I feel consumed by it. Will I one day manage all this, and look in triumph on my foes?

And are my foes the bin men?

Lord I'm sorry for all the times I fear when I should trust, and all the times I turn to friends for consolation and advice instead of you. Give me a steadfast heart, secure in you and help me not crumble under pressure. Mighty Healer, make Katy better. I don't need to know what it is that she has; just one day let's wake up and it's gone. Resolved, in a miraculous sort of way. Why not? I would tell the world. I would give you all the glory! Honest.

I'm just laying it all before you, Lord, because I'm fed up with chasing my tail trying to keep up with all the possible diagnoses as the doctors think aloud and speculate on what Katy might have. Some think that her organs are involved as well as her neck; some think that she might have some systemic disease. Some think that her eyes might be involved, some think that it might originate in her lungs. Every time I hear a new theory I find out about it, frighten myself and achieve nothing. They need more blood and it was so absolutely awful last time that I'm dreading it. There was blood all over, she struggled so much. Blood on the floor, on the nurse and doctors, on Kate. She was beyond terrified during it and shattered afterwards. She's been referred to an ophthalmologist to see if anything is amiss there. God, just take all this and help me cope with it. Don't let her get any worse.

I know you have a special place in your heart for children. Please bring healing and peace to this household again Father. I can't do this on my own.

Running the race with a limp

Lord, I would like to ask for your protection all around Streaky, my little blackbird friend, who is sailing close to the wind these days. Or a better metaphor would be flying too close to the sun, I suppose. Icarus-like. I don't want him to come to a sticky end.

To start with, last time I had close up dealings with Streaky, which was possibly the day before yesterday, he seemed to be limping. The second thing is that Streaky seems to be playing some kind of dangerous game with our neighbours' cat, Mo.  I have it on good authority that Mo is a seasoned veteran in the small-animal-and-bird-catching department and coupled with Streaky's possible infirmity I am somewhat alarmed when I see him advancing in a menacing predatory manner across the lawn towards a small scruffy-looking blackbird with a white smudge on his tummy.  All Streaky does when he realises the proximity of impending death is squawk at him in an angry sort of way and hop a few feet out of range until Mo gets closer. Perilously close. Within pouncing distance, actually, until I intervened and flapped around a bit to scare him off.

How come that little blackbird is so fearless? He's either daft or incredibly brave. Maybe he knows that he's loved by you and you won't let anything bad happen to him. Not while I'm watching, anyway.

Lord, heal Streaky's leg, please. It's not a level playing field at the best of times but he's got a gammy leg and I'm worried about him.

So here I am sitting in the garden in the sun and for now the children are playing beautifully and two loads of washing are drying on the line and I am going to plant out some more little plants in a minute but for now I have a glass of orange squash with an ice cube in it and five minutes with you while the going is good. I am carpe-ing the diem. 

Please help the doctors find out what is wrong with Katy. We're waiting for a referral to a paediatrician now. The maxillofacial people and the ENT people have poked and prodded and aspirated and extracted blood and scanned and operated and hypothesised and tested and come up with nothing. Oh, and they prescribed too, but the consultant was keen to explain that it was because they needed to start some form of treatment but they don't actually know if it will work as they don't yet know what's wrong. So a new doctor in a week or two and then... who knows. Surgery is apparently very likely but without a diagnosis, we don't know. 

Katy is still running about as charming and sweet and volatile as ever. Elizabeth seems quietly concerned about Katy and asks insightful questions that show that she's worrying about Katy's bump. I feel so tired at the idea that this whole palaver is far from over and we might have to do the awful operation thing again. It's hard with Bryan being away; on him and on me. It's hard for him because he can't come to every appointment and he knows that his little girl is poorly yet he isn't around all the time. It's hard for me because I can't talk too much about it because it makes it worse for him. I'm aware that it's very easy for our little house of cards to come tumbling down when communication falters. Things get tricky. 

On a lovely day like this everyone should feel happy. On a rainy day in November or February it's easy to look outside at the weather and feel depressed, and on a warm sunny day when the sky is blue and the flowers are at their most beautiful I should feel happy and peaceful. The neighbours don't have music on too loudly, the children are harmonious, the birds are singing. We had a wonderful dinner (with roast parsnips and a breathtakingly delicious dessert of my Mum's involving butter and brioche and baked apricots and ice cream) and there is no party to take the children to this afternoon. It seems such a waste not to be on top of the world on a day like today. 

All around me people are finding life hard. So many things are going wrong. I feel I'm in a loop at the moment where each day brings something else to make sure that my level of anxiety doesn't slip below a certain level. Rick Warren told me this morning that it's a test of faith.

'You may be facing some very real, discouraging challenges in your life. But what you are really going through is a test of faith.'

The Daily Hope

I don't know if it is or not, but I do know that for some reason that I can't explain I still want to be on this journey with you. I know that you're in control and so even if all is not as it would seem, you'll one day explain it to me and I'll understand. I am discouraged. I'm discouraged that Katy's bump is back after we said to her that the doctors would operate on her neck and make her better. It's discouraging that I look about me and see friends with huge mountains to climb and I don't know how to help. It's discouraging that I can't seem to get the better of my battle with anxiety. It's discouraging that the shower is still leaking and even after I clean the house it needs doing again in a few days time. 

If you're testing my faith I hope I'm doing OK because I don't doubt you. I know that you are good and that you are good all the time. If you're testing me to see how I respond to troubles then I feel less secure because I know that I whinge and I moan and I get grumpy and ask lots of questions. 

Rick Warren:  'Will you endure? Will you persist? Will you make it to the end? Will you be disciplined? Will you finish well?'

Will I endure?  Yes. Do I have a choice? Will I endure silently and stoically? Hmm. 

Will I persist?  Yes. I am going to keep badgering you until Katy is well again. Then no doubt I'll badger you till you pick me up at the pearly gates to find out what meaning you want me to find in all this rubbish.

Will I make it to the end?  Yes. Because you will help me. I can't do anything without you.

Will I be disciplined?  Ah. I nearly edited this bit out. Not sure. Discipline is not my strong suit. Since last August I've lost two and a half stone in weight but in the last two months it's creeping back on. Do I do the chores I need to do regularly? No. Do I read the Bible and have a quiet time with you regularly? No. Discipline needs some work I think.

Will I finish well?  Who knows, apart from you? I will keep putting one foot in front of the other and I will get there, I am certain. I will hold your hand, or get a piggy back, or tuck myself under your wings. I will dance with you, cling to you, shout at you, sing to you and give you all the love that I can. 

Maybe I'm like Streaky; I'm running the race with a limp. When I approach the finish line I will listen for St Paul and the others and your good self cheering me on and maybe then I'll find the strength to run. 

Free indeed

I've just had a thought that has stopped me in my tracks. Not literally, as I was on the way to the bin with a large bag of smelly rubbish and was motivated in an olfactory kind of way to keep going, but in terms of my thought processes, I stopped in my tracks.

Sometimes I have a thought that I've had lots before and yet this time it seems special. This thought was one of those. This time it seemed to mean something more; have a new dimension. A glimpse.

I'm free.

I'm free in so many ways. I'm free in terms of not being in captivity. Nobody turns a key and prevents me from leaving. I can go to the supermarket, and I have a wealth of different food to eat. I can stay at home; I have a home to stay in. I can travel; I have a car and can buy a plane ticket to the other side of the world if I choose. I can sit in the garden and I can see the beauty of nature whenever I look out of the window. I can go for a walk; my legs and my heart and lungs work and on my doorstep is the magnificent Peak District. I can use the telephone and choose who to talk to.  I can sing and I can shout without anyone telling me to be quiet. I can choose what to do with my time, what to read without someone censoring me. I am free to say what I like without fear of someone coming to arrest me for my opinions. I can vote, I can abstain from voting. I can worship my God in public, in a comfortable church with a crowd of fellow believers. I can wear a symbol of the Christ who died for me round my neck without being persecuted or killed for it.

But tonight's revelation was more than those things, infinitely precious though they are.

I am free because nothing can confine me again. I could lose all the above and still be free. I am free. 

Nothing can separate me from your love. Nope, nothing.

'For I am convinced that neither death nor life, neither angels nor demons, neither the present nor the future, nor any powers, neither height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation will be able to separate us from the love of God which is ours in Christ Jesus our Lord.'

Romans 8:38-39

So all those years ago when I saw you for the first time and really saw you in your glory, when you tapped me on the shoulder and said, 'Helen, there's something you need to know...' from then on I was free. For so long in my life I've ignored you and just done my own thing, and I've had happy times and duff times, but underneath it all I have known where I'm going when I die. Nothing can take that away from me.

It doesn't matter what's going on in my life. St Paul called the nightmares he lived through '...light and momentary troubles' and he was beaten and stoned, shipwrecked, kept prisoner, starved, homeless, robbed and persecuted. In the context of eternity, of what was to come, he saw that the rubbish all around him was nothing.

'We do not lose heart. Though outwardly we are wasting away, yet inwardly we are being renewed day by day. For our light and momentary troubles are achieving for us an eternal glory that far outweighs them all.' 

2 Corinthians 4:16-17

I am not going through what Paul went through, and yet I am going through it with so much less grace, less faith. I do not think that the things on my plate are 'light and momentary troubles' because they weigh me down and worry me. They seem pretty big to me. I can't grasp the 'eternal glory' thing; maybe it takes a holier sort of person than me, like Paul. But the wonderful, amazing, breathtaking, stopping-in-my-tracks thing is that this doesn't matter because I know where I'm going when I die.

Bill Hybels said:

'If you knew that in fifteen minutes you would have to stand in judgment before the Holy God and learn your eternal destiny, what would your reaction be? Would you pace nervously? Would you say to yourself, I don't know what God's going to say - will it be "Welcome home, child," or will it be "Depart from me; I never knew you"?

Or would you drop to your knees and worship Jesus Christ?'

Behold, He comes, riding on a cloud...

I know what I would do. I would fall to my knees and I would worship you. There are days when I look up at the clouds and imagine you arriving back in glory and triumph; the whole earth would stand still and stare and then fall to it's collective knees and I would fall on my face in awe - but I would be smiling because I know that you would call my name because you know me. Everything I have done and not done has been forgiven and that will never change. I am your child and you will not forget me. 

So I am free. All the things that limit me here and confine me and stop me from feeling free; they are all a mirage. They don't matter in the eternal scheme of things. I have moments where I understand this; like today where I got a glimpse of what's important. Mostly I am so caught up in the world and my troubles and worries that I forget. I am holding my anxieties so close to my face that I can't see past them. I can't pretend that I am St Paul who rejoices in his hardships because of the payoff in the life to come. I'm far from being that saintly. 

But deep down I know that I am free. A friend said to me recently that even though life is hard and there are many things going wrong, she could not imagine going through these things without you. I can never hit the bottom because you will catch me. Your arms are waiting to stop my fall. I have no understanding of why life is difficult or why a specific prayer appears unanswered but I know that you have it under control. I suppose in that small way I'm with St Paul. I can't imagine going through all this without you. I'm glad you are there. 

John 8: 36

'So if the Son sets you free, you will be free indeed.'

Amen and Hallelujah! I am free indeed.

On the days when I feel free and the days when I don't, I am free indeed. Just because my mood or circumstances change, that fact doesn't.  There are times I feel free - like when I can escape from the children for a couple of hours and go to Curbar and stand on top of the world, or when I  play music very loud in the car and sing along, or when I am so wrapped up in you in worship that I feel as if the angels could appear around me and all I would do is sing - but there are many many more times when I feel weighted down by my worry. Far, far from free. 

But I am. Whether I recognise it or not, I am free. 

Help me to grasp that freedom and take my eyes off my troubles now and again so that I can see your gift more often. Help me to feel that freedom so that I can lose the fear and anxiety. The Son has set me free, and I am free indeed.

Thankyou for setting me free.