Dual Birthday Fun March 31, 2008

Last week, two of my closest friends had their birthdays. It always strikes me as handy that they are the day after one another, and this year was no exception. We decided to celebrate it with a day out in London. They both had the time they had to arrive, and some information about dress code, but the rest was wholly a surprise.

For weeks up to the event, I had been plotting and planning, booking things online and ordering birthday keepsakes. Friday was the big day!

We met in a coffee shop, and over drinks and cakes, presents were opened. My favourite were the bright red T Shirts I had printed for the day:

After we had all donned the birthday gear, we walked to the Thames, and got on a ‘duck bus’. This was a tour of London, that started off driving around some of the sights of the city, with a tour guide explaining what we were passing. After about 45 minutes of this, the bus drove into the Thames, and became a boat!! It was the strangest feeling, one minute driving and the next floating, but the tour was very good, and we all enjoyed it. It rained a little, but we didn’t mind that much. This is the duck bus in all its finery:

The next stop for our celebrations was Leicester Square, where we enjoyed lunch together. Any lunch involving ice cream has to be a good thing! After lunch we wandered leisurely back to Waterloo. By now the sun had come out, so it was a nice walk back, and we enjoyed walking over the river.

Back at Waterloo, we went to the Imax cinema. I was amazed and astounded by the sheer size of the screen, it really did make you feel like you were in the movie. We saw The Spiderwick Chronicles, which was good, (if terrifying!). Before the show the Imax put on a light and sound show to display some of the capabilities of the cinema, which was really impressive too.

Our last stop for the day was a hotel in Mayfair. (It was very posh!) We had a three course meal and enjoyed being waited on! The food was yummy! It made a lovely, chilled end to a lovely day!

Here the three of us are, in the hotel restaurant:

 

Dancing in the Rain March 26, 2008

The other evening, myself and two of my closest friends from church were sat in their living room. It had been a tough few days, we were all tired and harried, we’d talked earlier, but now even our conversation had petered out and glumness seemed to be taking precedent. In a sitaution like this, I will usually seek to override the circumstances and make everyone laugh, or begin a conversation about marine life or something… but even I was flummoxed.

Then, disturbing the silence, I heard the sound of rain drumming on the metal steps leading down from the flat above. My first thoughts were frustration, that I would have to walk home in the rain, that even the weather was reflecting our moods, that everything seemed to be stacking up against us.

But then, something childish happened, or maybe it was childlike. Without explanation, without asking them to follow, without saying anything, I got up, opened the back door and jumped out into their small concrete back yard. It was dark and tipping it down, the torrent almost deafeaning.

My two friends followed, allured by the sound of the downpour. They too jumped out of the back door, and splashed into the shallow pool collecting under the door. In a moment we were all careering around the yard, jumping in the puddles, flicking water at each other, splashing and stomping and soaking ourselves. We spun in circles, breathless and shivering but driven by adrenalin, shaking off the damp of our circumstances for the exhilerating chill of the rain.

It was such an encouraging few minutes. After we had got it out of our systems we went back inside and had a cup of tea, but something was different. Our emotions were lifted, by those moments of simple pleasure, by the feeling of rain on our cheeks, by the time spent dancing as if it was just us and the elements.

For me, dancing in the rain was an act of worship. It was a moment of choosing that whatever my circumstances, I was going to enjoy creation, enjoy the place God has put me in for those few moments, enjoy being who he has made me to be. In those moments I wasn’t thinking about everything that weighs heavy on my mind, but the playful love of Creator God, and the delight he has in us, his children.

I was reminded of this in a quote I was sent today, via email:

‘Life isn’t about how to survive the storm, But how to dance in the rain.

It’s all too easy to try and work out why things happen the way they do, or to try and strategise a way through them, but God has been consistently reminding me that there is another option. That in trusting God afresh each day, in embarking on those steps he has ordained for the next 24 hours, I can learn so much about his character, and simply fall more deeply in love with him.

I never want to get caught up in trying to hide from, or survive through, the storm. I want to keep dancing and celebrating in the rain.

Hope Blossoms March 25, 2008

Isn’t it weird that just when things look exclusively grim, God steps in with some snippets of hope. Suddenly instead of being frustrated by the constraints of my circumstance, I am excited by the possibilities of what God can do through them.

Accompanied by the most excellent 24-7 spaces devotions/podcasts, (http://www.24-7prayer.com/spaces) I have been thinking about Mary Magdalene’s experience post-crucifixion. I’m amazed by her hope, even when there was totally nothing left to hope for. I am touched by the tender scene when she meets the risen Jesus….anyway, that’s for my sermon on Sunday so I shouldn’t go down that road too much here

Today I was made hopeful by the story of a friend who’d gone into a really tough sitaution today and came out praising.

I was also made hopeful by seeing the first draft of a resource I’ve been working on for a few weeks. It’s lovely in that moment when it turns from being ideas in your head and words in an email to something you are physically holding in your hand. I get such a buzz from the creative bits of my job

Tonight in our weekly prayer meeting my hope was really ignited, as we talked about the miracles we were hoping and longing for. Focussing on that stuff really turns your mind from thinking about the restraints of the present to the thrill of what could be.

Hope is a good thing methinks.

Not my ways… March 20, 2008

Last night I was flicking through the Bible before settling down to sleep, and I was amazed by a verse from Exodus 33. In the Amplified version (why use one word when ten will do?) it reads like this:

“And the Lord said to Moses, I will do this thing also that you have asked, for you have found favor, loving-kindness, and mercy in My sight and I know you personally and by name.”

I must have read that passage before. I know I’ve sat through teaching on it (clearly without assimilating much of it – oooops!). Anyway, last night the words near leaped off the page. God answers my prayers because he loves me and knows me. It’s freeing to realise that it isn’t about what I do. I don’t have to convince him, provide evidence that it would be a good idea, He is interested in who I am.

I guess the biggest evidence I have of this is my own story. So often people ask me how I got involved in this prayer stuff. I think they assume that I was the annoying holy kid in Sunday School, racing to read the Bible passages that day, or that I spent my teenage years holed away somewhere interceding.

It wasn’t like that, so how did I get to be doing what I do? And why do I do it?

Back in 2002, me and a couple of friends from church decided we needed to learn about prayer. It must have been a God-impulse, because we had long-ago learned to avoid the musty, chair-in-a-circle church prayer meetings. So we began, we’d go to our other’s houses, natter for a bit, and then sit down to pray. We didn’t have a formula, we didnt know what we were doing, we just sat down, began to worship, and saw God breaking out in our midst. We started to experience the gifts of the Holy Spirit, we felt impassioned and inspired. It was an exciting time. Gone was our opinion that prayer was some dry routine we were forced to sit through, suddenly we understood that this was powerful stuff.

All of us experienced God calling us to new areas, new things, but for me the insistent nag to go deeper in prayer continued, even as my physical location changed. I spent 8 months reading every book I could find about it, meeting up with intercessory types, experimenting with different ways of prayer and finding out what suited my personality and prayer style. On the surface it looked like the fire and excitement of my earlier experiences had faded, I felt a bit like a fish out of water and missed having people to pray with, but in hindsight I can see that God used this time to deepen my understanding of prayer.

In September 2004 I moved to London. I had no idea what I was doing. All I knew was that God was prompting me to take a leap into the unknown. I will always remember driving away from my home in tears, not knowing where I would live or work, only knowing a handful of people in London, and armed with just a few dreams I’d had about being part of a Boiler Room. It was a crazy move, but God was in it, and it was the start of an exciting new season for me.

Once in London things moved quickly. I started reading more about prayer, going to more training sessions about it. For a year we met as a prayer school in Birmingham, learning about all the different aspects of prayer. These were forming times.

Then I found myself doing a small slot of teaching at Reading Salvation Army. I was terrified and it was far from polished, but I found myself enjoying it. I was concerned! Things moved quite quickly from then, I found myself learning more things, doing other bits of teaching here and there, reading more books!! It has been an exciting learning curve.

Over the last four years, God has taught me things I never thought possible, and I have seen him move in some awesome ways. He has put some great people around me who I have been able to learn from, and I am grateful for all of these opportunities.

Even this retelling lacks detail though. I’d love to tell you how God has transformed me over the last few years, taking someone who was frightened and insecure and changing my whole life. It’s a story of hope and healing. I am so relieved that God doesn’t only pick those who are qualified, competent, confident or have it all sorted. he uses the lowly, the forgotten, the abandoned. His ways are not our ways.

I don’t know where this journey of prayer is going, but I love all the things I am learning about God’s character. And I love it that he doesn’t listen to my prayers because they sound nice (they mostly don’t!), but because he loves me.

One of the greatest privileges of my job is that I get to meet and chat to young people who are just starting out and finding their feet. Their passion for God and for communicating with him in prayer regularly astounds me. I am so excited to be able to see this, and to be able to work alongside them.

At it’s inception, the Christian church was spread by a group of unqualified and somewhat uncouth disciples. It wasn’t about their techniques, but the fact that they had met and been transformed by Christ. At the beginning of the Salvation Army, a bunch of only-just-saved revolutionaries who went out there and made a big difference. Again this was birthed from a passionate living and breathing life with God.

If my story reminds me anything, it’s that I do not need to worry about how or what or when I should pray, what is correct etc, it’s just about doing it, getting on with that 2-way communication, and the rest is in God’s hands.

When The Rubber Hits The Road March 17, 2008

So, Jesus is marching into Jerusalem and the crowds are going mad. They’re praising him, hopping up and down and expecting a revolution. Just days later, he’s hung on a cross – the same crowds are mocking and spitting and enjoying the execution show. I have always been intrigued by the Easter story. Even as a teenager I enjoyed reading through the events, considering the interactions between the characters involved, imagining the emotions and thought processes that are hinted at in the gospels.

I think the thing that struck me most a few years ago, and still challenges me today, is that Jesus didn’t bail out when the going got tough. He could have, but he submitted to the whole thing. He struggled and questioned and sweat blood in the garden, but he carried it through. Right to the bitter end. Right to the extreme of loss and betrayal and rejection and injustice.

This weekend I have been thinking a lot about my love for prayer. I believe in it passionately and completely. I believe that God hears our smallest, most incoherent whisperings. I know that even these are powerful and make a huge difference in our lives and situations. I teach the stuff, I lead prayer stuff in church, I read countless books about it, I am an all-singing, all-dancing prayer administrator.

So what happens when the rubber hits the road? When much of the earthly infrastructure of my life is earthquake damaged? When I’ve lost people I held dear? When grief and confusion and pain crowd in and threaten to block out the sun? How do I cope then?

Do I put my prayer books back on the shelf and decide I have been misguided all this time, that prayer is clearly a waste of time and I would be better throwing my time and attention into a more worthy cause, for example collecting thimbles or collecting train numbers?

Do I sink into despair because God has clearly forsaken me on this one. Maybe I didn’t pray the right things, or for long enough, or using the right techniques. Maybe I am being punished for some long-forgotten sin I neglected to repent for?

Do I decide to try harder, to don sackcloth and ashes and hope that if I just ‘do’ more then God will lift the burdens that weigh me down and restore me to my usual twinkly self. Maybe if I commit to praying harder, then he will be inclined to answer my consistent ‘please get me through this’ prayers?

The truth is, I am not afforded the luxury of any of these options. Giving up and moping, deciding that prayer doesn’t work, or worrying that I’m not doing it right will not change my circumstances. When the rubber hits the road it is time to really live out the things I have been teaching, the theories I have studied, and expounded on, and pointed others towards.

And the great thing is, as I do this, I find that they work. He has not been silent at any stage in this journey, he has not failed to answer my prayers (even though his answers may look different to those I had anticipated). When I have asked for his reassurance it has come – in the form of a word of encouragement, a card through the post or a hug from a friend. When I have cried out for him to sustain me he has – whispering to me that he is my rock, reminding me of the words of one of our songs, speaking quiet promises to me that make all the difference. When it has looked like humanly speaking I am about to hit a brick wall, he has consistently revealed the way over it, through it, round it. I have not been forsaken.

I am learning that prayer works. It really does. And it isn’t about what I say, or how I say it. It’s about communicating with the heart of my Father God, growing in intimacy with Him through situations that would otherwise be unbearable, listening to his guiding, sustaining voice, something inside me swelling with joy as I do, because he keeps talking, keeps sharing his truth, keeps giving me glimpses of hope and a future that is bright in him.

So I will follow this through. Even in the pain of the Gethsemane moments when I want so desperately for Him to take this cup from me. Even in the moments of utter human rejection and betrayal. Even as I am incredulous at each new phase of this journey. He never changes, His plans for good have not been compromised. He is with me even in the darkest places.

 “Weeping may last through the night,
      but joy comes with the morning”. (Psalm 30:5)

 ”He rescued me from my powerful enemy, from my foes, who were too strong for me. They confronted me in the day of my disaster, but the LORD was my support. He brought me out into a spacious place; He rescued me because he delighted in me.” (Psalm 18:17-19)

“Bestow on them a crown of beauty
       instead of ashes,
       the oil of gladness
       instead of mourning,
       and a garment of praise
       instead of a spirit of despair.” (Isaiah 61:3)

Solving the Mystery? March 12, 2008

“God often sends you somewhere you didn’t want to go to teach you something you thought you already knew.”
Craig Groschel

When I was growing up, I spent days and hours reading Nancy Drew novels, and the Famous Five series. I never was very good at predicting the ending or solving the mystery, but I revelled in the complexity of the plots, and I admired the intelligence and perception of the heroes and heroines.

I also enjoyed the sense of unpredictability. You could usually guess that at some point there would be a happy ending, but there was little else of certainty. Sometimes the most trustworthy character turned out to be the perpetrator of a heinous crime, sometimes it looked like everything in the world of the story was irrevocably damaged, sometimes I wanted the author to airlift her detectives out of the danger and uncertainty, and to abandon the plot entirely.

I was always struck by the subtexts and subplots in the stories. They were not just rescuing lost sailors, finding missing gems or thwarting smugglers. Throughout their stories, the Five, and Nancy found themselves discovering much about the world: about human nature, about the consequences of the choices that each of us make, about greed and misadventure.

The other thing that always made me smile as a child was that the children never specifically went looking for situations which needed their detective intervention. These just seemed to, well, happen in their midst. Even if they went on holiday somewhere utterly new, it wasn’t long before they were embroiled in cunning and intrigue.

Anyway, why am I ranting on about my juvenile literary preferences? And what does it have to do with the quote at the top of this post?

When I think about the way God teaches me things, I am so aware that it is often through situations which I would not have chosen. Circumstances where, had I been orchestrating the path of my life, I would have gone out of my way to avoid. When these arise, I sometimes feel a bit like Nancy Drew: facing a mystery with seemingly not a clue in sight. Finding myself scrabbling around looking for a hint, weighing up the options and hoping for guidance. I feel like the Famous five children: I did not seek these situations out, they just seemed to happen around me.

When God leads me into a situation that looks disastrous, I know that there is a bigger picture: more to the plot than meets the eye, the opportunity to learn from the situation, gems to be found amidst the soil and mud of the hard times.

Like the old fashioned mystery stories, often so much is unpredictable. God takes us to places we don’t really want to go, but it is through them we find the greatest and most meaningful truths – how mindblowing is that?!

2 Corinthians 4 puts it like this:

“We’re not much to look at. We’ve been surrounded and battered by troubles, but we’re not demoralized; we’re not sure what to do, but we know that God knows what to do; we’ve been spiritually terrorized, but God hasn’t left our side; we’ve been thrown down, but we haven’t broken.

    

    What they did to Jesus, they do to us—trial and torture, mockery and murder; what Jesus did among

    them, he does in us—he lives! Our lives are at constant risk for Jesus’ sake, which makes Jesus’

    life all the more evident in us.” (The Message Version)

If you had asked me last year if I believed God brought beauty from pain, I would have said yes. If you had asked me whether he had the ability and desire to use all situations for good, I would have agreed. If you asked me if he was my ever-present help in times of need, my answer would have been in the affirmative. 

Somehow though, from where I am standing now, all of those truths sparkle with greater clarity. I feel like I know them in reality, as if they are shape my waking hours at present, rather than just existing as simple truths I have read on a page since childhood. God has truly taken me to places I would never have chosen and used them to show me things I thought I already knew.

One of the things that frustrated me about the childhood stories was their neatness. By the end of the 200 pages, all the loose ends were tied up, the disaster averted, and normality restored. Even as a small child I knew that things were rarely this simple in real life. As I walk this journey with God, I find that rarely are things tied up this neatly. We never really reach the end of our mystery stories, but we move on to the next chapter nonetheless carrying the truths we have gleaned and growing in hope because of them.

Hope March 11, 2008

“Though the fig tree does not bud
and there are no grapes on the vines,
though the olive crop fails
and the fields produce no food,
though there are no sheep in the pen
and no cattle in the stalls,

Yet I will rejoice in the LORD,
I will be joyful in God my Saviour.” (Habakkuk 3:17-18)

‘Hope begins in the dark, the stubborn hope that if you just show up and try to do the right thing, the dawn will come. You wait, you watch, you work: you don’t give up’. (Ann Lamott)

“Hoping does not mean doing nothing. It is not fatalistic resignation. It means going about our assigned tasks, confident that God will provide the meaning and the conclusion. It is not compelled to work away at keeping up appearances with a bogus spirituality. It is the opposite of desperate and panicky manipulations, of scurrying and worrying. And hoping is not dreaming. It is not spinning an illusion or fantasy to protect us from our boredom or our pain. It means a confident, alert expectation that God will do what he said he will do. It is imagination put in the harness of faith. It is a willingness to let God do it in his way and in his time. It is the opposite of making plans that we demand that God put into effect, telling him both how and when to do it.” (Eugene Peterson)

Streams in the Desert March 10, 2008

Camped here, in a small fabric tent, I am at first paralysed. Days pass, made motionlesss by my quarantine, I wait and wait.

Unidentified mornings pass, empty evenings stretch. Sometimes I glance briefly outside, catching a glimpse of my surroundings before retreating back into the safety of what I have come to know. Rejecting the offerings of my surroundings I remain, still, as vacant days pass.

This morning, however, something seems different. Maybe it is my old vigour returning, or maybe inquisitiveness is overruling fear. Maybe I am frustrated by the confines of this tent, maybe I am desperate to feel the sun on my face once more. Whatever the motives, I stretch aching limbs and rise unsteadily.

Hesitating at the entrance I consider stepping back. My legs are unused to movement and my eyes blink in the sunlight. I am surprised that, instead of burning with anger at it’s daring to shine, somewhere deep in myself I am comforted. I am quieted by it’s certainty, reassured that there is still day.

I am disorientated. I have slept long hours at odd intervals. I have lain awake through protracted silent nights. I have whiled away hours staring mutely into space. I have fought to grasp fleeting moments of hope. I have lost track of date and time, shunning the normality of the calendar.

Outside the confined, quiet tent, I am shocked by how exposed I feel away from its speechless cameraderie. The vastness of the wilderness is overwhelming. I feel like a speck, unnoticed, unseen, undetected. I could scream and no-one would hear, I could remain hidden in my tent and no-one would find me, surely I could disspear?

I cannot yet allow myself to consider the circumstances that brought me here, the journey to this battered tent, deserted on this sandy plateau. I have begun to grasp, however, after a hundred tiny signs, that none of this was accidental, that somewhere in all the anonymity is the fingerprint of a loving God. There are moments when I sense him reaching down to his beloved, bringing me to a place of aridity and tears and yet sending angels to watch over me. There have been definite times when I have caught his determined whisper, over the ferocity of a desert storm or the deafening hollering of solitude.

I realise that the sun I thought would burn me, has shone on as a symbol of warmth and hope. The sand that first dismayed me with measureless abundance, has reminded me of His plentitude. This quarantine, instead of orchestrating despair, increasing shows me the reality of grace, the meaning of hope, the all-pervading nature of joy. I am here and I don’t understand it all, but He is more than enough, and there are priceless lessons to be learned in this place.

Pondering all of this, at the entrance to my tent, I notice something shimmering nearby, that I did not perceive before. I hesitate again, to explore will mean to leave the relative safety of this entrance, to abandon the feel of dependable polyester, to trust myself to stand up straight and take a risk. What if there are snakes? What if I get lost? What if it’s a trap?

To not know would be to always wonder, I tell myself. And summoning up the dormant shreds of courage I possess, I take a step. My mind stuttering unsophisticated prayers for help as I walk.

As I walk forward the shimmering increases, as if the sun is pointing towards this place. I wonder if it will be a cruel mirage, and whether I will have the strength to make it back if so. Is the risk worth it?

Rubbing my eyes, the scene remains, and clarity increases as I continue onwards. Soon I can identify the scene, and though shocked by it’s reality,  I am reminded of old promises. I quicken my pace, encouraged by the sight. For the first time in days the hope of a future outside of this place ignites within me, much more than a fleeting spark that dies out before I can be warmed by it’s truth.

Reaching my destination, I fall to my knees, breathless and hopeful, uncertain and thankful, willing this not to be a dream. For a stream has appeared in my desert, cutting a confident path through the desert sands. Not a fading, insignificant trickle, but an abounding, prolific torrent.

Shocked at my own bravery I plunge my hands into the flow. I am refreshed immediately by it’s coolness. I bend downwards, feeling the splashes on my face before drinking deeply from cupped hands. Even after my deep thirst subsides, I remain, transfixed by the gushing waters, enlivened by their singing current.

The stream symbolises so much: the way God’s presence can pervade even the darkest and dryest of places. The reminder that Living Water from him can sate every thirst. The knowledge that I am not unnoticed here, that even from the Valley of Sheol, He brings life and resurrection.

I am immediately aware that the landscape of this place has changed. That, though necessary, my days passed hiding in the tent are over now. There God’s providence came, with raisin cakes and tending ravens. Here, it will be found in new ways. My heart is brimming over with joy I return to my tent and gather the few possessions I entered it with. And then I walk back to the stream, and begin to follow it to the next phase of this journey.

My Week March 7, 2008

It’s been a varied one, this week. So much so that it’s tricky to summarise, so much so that I can’t quite get my head around the fact it’s Friday already!!

On Monday we left Wandsworth nice and early and battled our way throug the marauding commuters. Armed with tea we caught a train up to Liverpool, we spent the journey planning and thinking about some of the events and stuff that are coming up in the next couple of months, so it was a useful time. Upon arrival we ate lunch, which was welcome, and got settled into our lovely pink room.

We spent the afternoon just chatting and praying together, which was great. Then we went to pizza hut. Afterwards we went home and sat up till late drinking tea and working on a few more ideas.

On Tuesday we again spent the day thinking and praying and listening. We had birthday cake, which was a high point. It felt quite intense to spend the whole day thinking, but it was all quite inspiring!!

Wednesday was very cool, we woke up, had breakfast and then had some hours to kill before it was time to catch the train home. So we went into Liverpool city centre and just pootled around for a bit. We looked for some presents for people at home, and then had a yummy coffee. Then we walked up a street where there was a lovely art shop – I could have spent a lot of time in there. On the same street there was a brilliant Fair trade shop, so we wandered round that for quite a while too. Then it was time to get the train home.

It was quite odd to be back in Wandsworth, and we had to run straight out again to a Fair Trade food and wine tasting eve (we stayed off the wine!!). It was a good eve although I felt a little absent and disorientated.

Thursday was back to work and my attempt to wade through piles of emails and paperwork. It was an ok day.

Today I have been taking it easy this morning, but have a busy afternoon, with Womens World Day of Prayer, an appointment, and then a trip to Canterbury and an impromptu baby shower… should be cool!!

Solace March 6, 2008

After many attempts at blogging this week and many abandoned paragraphs, I decided I would stop attempting to write a neat summary of my days and instead just splurge about the way I’ve found God in them. Hope that’s ok!!

Healer of my soul

In place of pain, your balm.

Breathe through the heat of my uncertainty,

The damp of searing loss.

Unconditional

Your touch,

You know me well –

I do not need to speak.

You whisper into changing circumstances

A welcome Constancy.

Your unchanging, all I can rely upon.

Battle sounds rage fierce today.

The clamour of the hours, a deafening cry.

Even in the solitude of night,

It’s surely still too loud for Still Small Voice?

Stepping beneath the crushing weight of all

The things I can’t begin to understand,

You touch the ragged edges of my soul

Beginning to impart the soothing touch of peace.

In stillness,

You know me

And you are enough.

And though these dark horizons still remain,

Though every morning sun is hid away.

You speak with clarity that pierces gloom.

And so we journey on.