All my ways July 31, 2008

“You know when I sit and when I rise, You perceive my thoughts from afar. You discern my going out and my lying down. You are familiar with all my ways. Before a word is on my tongue, you know it completely, O Lord.” Psalm 139:2-4.

You’re there, in my waking moments. There, as I stumble, semi-conscious, rubbing sleep from my eyes. You watch me, awkward and uncoordinated as I am, and you love me. Even if I forget to think of you, your thoughts still turn to me.

My thoughts don’t escape your attention: the excitement of future plans, the uncertainty of relationships, the yearning to see things more clearly; you see and know it all, from the trivial to the complex. You know my most noble intention and my most selfish desire, and yet your delight in me does not shift.

Whether I feel brave or frightened, surrounded or alone, thrilled or desolate; you are Lord of my emotions, and you are constant. My uncertainty does not unnerve you, and you hold on, whether I am trusting resoundly, or doubting nervously.

When I rush around, filling my days with busyness, drowing out the cry of my heart, you’re there too, nudging me towards stillness. You understand the complexities of schedule, you weave in and through my appointments, breathing life into my to-do list.

You call me to sabbath, leading me to places of calm and rest. You minister to me in the solitude, bringing your touch of peace. I sit beside you and we muse together, comfortable in the silence. You watch over me as I sleep, protecting and refreshing me. You dance into my dreams, infusing my imagination with holy colour.

When I am travelling, you’re there too – my constant companion. You stand at my side through long hours on crowded trains. You whisper, “Look up, look out of the window.” And I see you in green hills and golden fields.

We laugh together, you appreciate my humour completely, you crafted it and you love to see my joy. You speak correction too, gently pointing out aspects of my character I need to submit to you, placing a loving arm on my shoulder when I go to step off course. You rescue me when the night draws in and the thunder rumbles, you hold me when tears overtake me, you are faithful through every season of my life.

You preside over my vocabulary. You formed the words on my toungue, marvelling as my gurgling and babbling became coherent speech. You hear the phrases forming in my mind, and you infuse these with your ideas, your thoughts, your truth. You use my story for your purposes, to glorify you. I am awed and amazed by all you are and all you do.

Water Snake Days July 25, 2008

This week has been festooned with intercessory delights. I figured between my allegorical musings I would write about some of the different prayer events I have been to this week, just because I’ve enjoyed them all lots and it reminded me why I love prayer so much.

Can’t remember if I’ve explained the water snake thing before, but Lyndall explains it beautifully in her post here: http://lifeoflyndall.wordpress.com/2008/07/23/mustnt-grumble/

Anyway, so the water-snakery began on Monday, when I was faced with the task at work of sending out our monthly prayer diaries. In the past I may have been heard to grumble, because stuffing 850 envelopes can sometimes feel a little repetitive, and cannot be called the most exciting part of my job! Anyhow, I surprised myself this time by being quite excited by the task. As I handled the envelopes I found myself praying for those who would receive them, imagining how God could move through each of those people, praying that they would be challenged and inspired in their prayer lives. It didn’t feel like mindlessly stuffing envelopes, it felt like putting ammunition into people’s hands.

The next water snake moment was on Tuesday. We have a community meal and then a prayer meeting every Tuesday. It’s one of the highlights of a Wandsworth week. For a number of reasons it’s felt like I’ve missed a lot of those over the last few weeks, so it was wonderful to join in with that again. We had a beautiful meal, followed by waffles. Then we prayed. There were only three of us left, by that point, but it was one of those prayer meetings that just seemed to take a life of it’s own and flow without us directing it. We each got to pray for some of the things God’s been putting on our hearts, so it was a good space.

Wednesday’s Water-snakery was in the guise of department prayers. On my floor at work, each unit takes turns to head this up each week. This week was the turn of the Mission Development Unit. We all gathered, not altogether sure what to expect. I was unprepared for the direct challenge that came accross through this time. We looked at the passage in 1 Corinthians which talks about God using the foolish things of the world to shame the wise, the things that are not to nullify the things that are, etc. We then had to think of the times that God had surprised us over the past week or so, and then write them on small cards and thank God for them. Then we were challenged to pray for more opportunities for him to do that. It made me think a lot.

Thursday was a busy day. We have whole-office prayers each Thursday at 9am, so we all trooped downstairs for that. We started by singing, ‘Praise my soul the King of Heaven’, which is always a good, rousing beginning to any reputable prayer gathering. Then we spent some time looking at Psalm 147, considering the faithfulness of God, and praying for the strength to trust in that. I love this passage because it contains one of my favourite verses: “The Lord heals the broken hearted and binds up their wounds.’ We then sang a song called, ‘If your presence’, which is taken from Joshua and Exodus, which asks how can we do anything, how can we move from this place, how can we minister love without God’s presence. I felt it was a really pertinent challenge for us all, and went back upstairs to my seat with that uncomfortable feeling that accompanies God’s conviction.

Then last night a couple of us headed to the house of a friend for more intercessory capers. I didn’t really know many of the others in the group, but it didn’t matter, and it was nice to meet new people. We prayed hard for Wandsworth, each taking an area or aspect of community. I had to pray about business, which was an intrigue as it isn’t something I find myself praying about a lot, but it was good discipline. At the end of the meeting we chatted some more about some of the stuff God is doing here, and generally just hung out with each other a bit.

However tiring it sometimes is, bouncing from prayer gathering to prayer gathering, I realise that I wouldn’t swap it for the world. I remembered how much I love just getting my teeth into some praying, just showing up where there are a bunch of people with a common goal, listening to words and pictures that people have had when praying and then using them to guide how we pray. I do love the water snake lifestyle!

I Am July 21, 2008

I have beem amused, over the past couple of weeks, by an advertising campaign ran by a well known mobile phone company. Billboards have been popping up everywhere, emblazoned with the phrase: ‘I am who I am because of everyone’. On their website you can read more about this (http://www.i-am-everyone.co.uk/home.php).

This amused me for a number of reasons; firstly, I have to admit, because if you now type the words ‘I am’ into a search engine, on some great quest for spiritual enlightenment, you will first find the option to upgrade your mobile, rather than encounter the God revealed to the Israelites. That strikes me as quite funny.

The whole campaign got me thinking though, I think because of the utter truth in it and the utter falsity.

It is true that our experiences mould us and shape the life we lead. The website above features Rose Tremain, the winner of the 2008 Orange Broadband prize for fiction, and a list of the people and experiences that make her who she is today. I scribbled together one of my own:

• I am who I am because my Dad took me trainspotting.
• I am who I am because my Mum taught me to read.
• I am who I am because: ‘Having asked God for forgiveness, I will be his loving and obedient child, because Jesus is my Saviour from sin, I will trust Him to keep me good, and will try to help others to follow Him. I promise to pray, to read my Bible, and by His help, to lead a life that is clean in thought and word and deed.’
• I am who I am because of Mrs Mason’s card, asking for a signed copy of my first book.
• I am who I am because of a church holiday camp.
• I am who I am because we wanted to know if prayer worked.
• I am who I am because of an Oxford summer school, with lectures on archaeology and anthropology
• I am who I am because of Eden Oldham.
• I am who I am because of the youth rally in 2004.
• I am who I am because of Katie and Christine.
• I am who I am because I leapt into the ravine.

The statement is false though, in as much as I know, with increasing certainty, that it is not our experiences that make us who we are. It is not our relationships that are the fundamental driving force for our existence. When it comes to the bottom line, I am who I am because of I AM, the real expression of those words. And I am because He dreamed me up, he breathed life into me, He drew a blueprint for my life that was good, was about hope and joy and adventure. I am because of Him, and in Him.

I think it’s a really good thing to be able to recognise the events, both the positive ones and the less-positive ones, that have been key in shaping the paths our lives have taken. I’m also convinced that none of these events, whatever their nature and consequence, have the power to define us.

I am determined to glean all the good I can out of every experience life throws at me, but ultimately my hope comes from the fact that who I am is deeper and is untouchable, indelible by any human experience. I’m thanking God for that truth today.

Flummoxed by Mercy July 21, 2008

Praise be to the LORD,
       for he showed his wonderful love to me
       when I was in a besieged city.

In my alarm I said,
       “I am cut off from your sight!”
       Yet you heard my cry for mercy
       when I called to you for help.

(Psalm 31:21-22) 

I’ve been thinking a bit over the weekend about mercy. About how the way God meters it out doesn’t seem to make a lot of sense, and about how I think we so often don’t account for it or expect it.

I was reading 2 Samuel 24, where David has sinned by taking a census of the number of fighting men available. It’s not the most cheery story, but I was struck by a number of things in it.

Firstly, it struck me that God’s mercy didn’t depend on the Israelites not messing up. That seems like an obvious thing to say, but so often I think we fall into the trap of thinking that God will be merciful if we somehow manage to convince him that we are worthy of it. So often my prayers for mercy come from a place of ‘God, I’ve done all you said, now please help me.’ It’s like God is some fluffy, yet unpredictable figure who needs me to put on a good front. God in this passage is so not like that. We’re told his anger burns against Israel, he sends a plague where 70,000 people die. He doesn’t skirt round their sin and even though he acts in mercy, there are still consequences. Even in this mess, David still affirms a key truth – ‘Let us fall into the hands of the Lord, for his mercy is great, but do not let me fall into the hands of men.’ It seems that, even in his wrath, David knows that God is ultimately just and righteous. At the end of the story, David prays and humbles himself and takes responsibility for the sin. God hears his prayer and stops the plague.

In some senses, the story leaves me with more questions than it answers. Why did God wait until 70,000 people had died – that doesn’t strike me as particularly merciful? Surely counting some men isn’t that bad (after all, we all like to know how far our resources will stretch, don’t we?) And what would have happened if David hadn’t done the repenting thing? Surely decimating his chosen people was going to create problems down the line?

As I was musing over all of this, I thought about situations today. In many of them, we’ve been taught that we have a loving and merciful God, but the evidence doesn’t seem to back that up. Maybe we haven’t lost 70,000 mates to a virilent plague, but there are so many situations where we cry and we plead for mercy and yet those cries seem to go unheard. Even more frustratingly, often there isn’t even a traceable reason for this, unlike in David’s story. And then, we hear about people becoming Christians on their deathbeds, after lives of crime etc. Surely we’d be justified in the odd ‘that’s not fair.’

I was musing about all of this, and I kinda came to the conclusion that I’m glad it doesn’t make sense to me. I’m so aware that I can only ever see a situation from a 2-dimensional perspective, whereas God has the whole picture, the whys and hows and whens. He sees all the possible outcomes. On reflection, I’m not sure I’d like that role.

Trusting that he is merciful is hard, especially when it seems we’ve been waiting in that beseiged city for a long time. But if we don’t have that hope, what do we have? What’s the point in keeping going at all?

It’s at times like this that I remember one of my favourite verses in Hebrews:

“Now that we know what we have—Jesus, this great High Priest with ready access to God—let’s not let it slip through our fingers. We don’t have a priest who is out of touch with our reality. He’s been through weakness and testing, experienced it all—all but the sin. So let’s walk right up to him and get what he is so ready to give. Take the mercy, accept the help.” (Hebrews 4:14-16 MSG).

I guess we just have to work the rest out as we go along?

To Completion July 15, 2008

“I am convinced and sure of this very thing, that He Who began a good work in you will continue until the day of Jesus Christ [right up to the time of His return], developing [that good work] and perfecting and bringing it to full completion in you.” (Philippians 1:6 AMP)

It’s true. I am certain of it. There is no doubt in my mind, that the God who got me started on this journey, who kicked me off, set me on the starting line and encouraged me to run, who nudged me to look forwards and strive for what is ahead, who birthed this irrepressible hope in me; is willing and able and strong enough to finish what he has begun.

It wasn’t my doing. It wasn’t my idea. I was satisfied enough with my half-built happiness and cobbled together contentment. I thought I’d done well to construct something resembling survival out of these ashes. I was surprised at His suggestion that there was more to life than this. I was unnerved by His promises of life in abundance. I wondered if it was better to ignore His incessant whispering and make do with what I had. Putting myself in His hands was one of the scariest things I’ve ever had to do.

But I believe what He says, now. I believe that He won’t give up on me half way through, that He won’t leave me flailing and floundering around in the deep waters. It is not His character to taunt me with rumours of redemption and then abandon me without rescue.

His idea of wholeness, His grasp of completion are so much more perfect than mine, like comparing a complex mechanical drawing with the scribbles of an angry toddler. I see in greyscale 2d, while He sees in colours the human eye could not perceive, and in wondrous multi-dimension.

There’s little point in worrying about how long this journey will take, and when and where completion will come. I do not need to question His faithfulness, His knowledge of what is best for me, the purity of His intention. All I can do is keep walking.

The ultimate completion is in Him, when I see Him face to face. Until then, however, I know that gradually more and more will be revealed. Each day I’ll see more of His colour, His fragrance, His hope spilling into the places that were barren and dry, and that is enough to encourage me to keep going.

Demarcation Zone July 13, 2008

God, I’m done with my independence and distance, it’s such an effort keeping my dreams secret and my desires seperate, holding everything and everyone at arms length. Will you take my clenched-fist stubborness and replace it with open-palmed vulnerability, Bare skin openess. I’m laying down my armour.

God, I’ve been fighting so hard, but only now do I see that you never ask for inpenetrable, invincible stoicism. You don’t call me to grit my teeth and keep my distance. I’m not supposed to battle on through brave-faced but internally bruised. You embraced brokenness and you don’t hide your face from mine.

God, for so long fear has kept me bound. A tight bud flower too frightened to risk the light. Thankyou for your gentleness, never forcing me to bloom. Thankyou that you wept with me, all the days I hid my true colours from the world.

God, I need you. I need your Warrior strength and your Mother comfort. I need your King victory and your Almighty hope. I need your Father love and your Spirit wisdom just to get my through these days.

God, I need these people. The fragile and fallible you have wrapped around me. I need their friendship and direction, their humour and correction. I need to bounce off them and grow alongside them. They refresh me and protect me. We share your light. They repeatedly show me a love I have never known, and in its safety I learn to trust.

God, I’m opening up the gates of this closely guarded heart. I’m tearing down the shrouds and letting in the light. I’m digging out the paints and splashing bright-hued boldness over shades of grey. I’m breaking down the fences of this demarkation zone.

God, will you enter in?

Ruthless Trust July 13, 2008

Continuing on my theme, I’ve been reading the above book by Brennan Manning over the last few days. I’ve been challenged and inspired so many times, and I’m looking forward to getting to the end of the book and musing over all the things it has led me to consider.

For now, though, I just wanted to share a few quotes and some of the reflections I’ve been having around them. Last week God gave me a word about activating trust. I didn’t really get it at the time, I guess trust is one of those things you think you take for granted when you’ve grown up in church, but I’ve been realising it’s something that I’m not especially good at, and in some cases it is something that I actively avoid.

Anyhow, enough psychoanalysing! Here are the quotes:

“To be grateful for an unanswered prayer, to give thanks in a state of interior desolation, to trust in the love of God in the face of the marvels, the cruel circumstances, obscenities, and commonplaces of life is to whisper a doxology in the darkness.”

“Scarred and screwed up though we are, an appreciation of our greatness as Abba’s beloved child, vibrantly alive in Christ Jesus, overcomes the sleazy sense of our own seedy self and elicits the grateful exclamation, “I thank you Lord, for the wonder of myself.” (Psalm 139:14)

“There are only two choices,: integration and acceptance of our whole life-story, or despair.”

I think what these quotes reminded me of, once again, is that I must continually choose a path of grace and gratitude. Sometimes it is hard, in the moments when work and life are hectic, or when there are those prayers that seem continually unanswered. If, however, I make the effort to keep saying thankyou, it means I am keeping trusting God for those answers, for the strength to work though the busyness, for the extra resources I need.

I also realise that trust and gratitude mean looking out for and saying thanks for the little things. Moments that I could easily gloss over or take for granted. Things like a couple of days away, the opportunity to walk along the sea front, a vase of beautiful flowers, a picnic in the sun with friends. I see these all as little indicators of God’s love for me, his caring about the small details of my life, and the coming true of the promises that he brings life and hope and joy to our lives.

I guess forgiveness and gratitude are two qualities that fuel trust, and qualities that are clearly evident in the life of Jesus I read about in the Bible. My prayer is that I can use each experience of my life as an opportunity to praise God and that, as I grow in the grace and favour he has poured out in my life, that this will spill out in my responses to the challenges I face.

Trust – the illogical choice July 7, 2008

I know I’ve written about this before, but I’m feeling so excercised at the moment with the way that so often God chooses seemingly the most round-about, upside-down ways to teach us things. When you’re in the middle it looks like he is in it just to extract some cheap laughs, like some cosmic game of happy slapping… but then there are those beautiful moments of clarity that make the struggle and the heartache and the journey worthwhile.

I think, growing up in the church, that I ended up with some pretty boxed in views about what success and happiness were. I thought public worship was a place for hiding emotion. I thought I had ‘made it’ when I learnt to keep my feelings wholly seperate from the role I played in God’s church… no-one wanted to see the messiness, right?

And then, I got involved in prayer. Suddenly I couldn’t cost through without emotion. Suddenly the stories of my friends and the plight of others and the awesome story of a God who could cut through every chain, undid all my clever masquerading. Worse still, it seemed that God wanted to dig up and heal up all the areas of my own heart that were broken and bitter – not particularly my idea of fun.

I’m a logical person. I like to have my life mapped out. Right now I could give you a pretty accurate run-down of my appointments for the week ahead, unpredictability scares me. And yet I find myself in relationship with this loving, creative, unfathomable, surprising God, who doesn’t fit into any of the boxes I sometimes wish he would.

He messes up the plans I make that are founded on appearance and illusion, he roots out the threads that seek to weave lies into the tapestry of my identity, he breaks down the walls of self-protection and indepedence that I start building each day afresh.

He points me to stillness in the moments I am frantically rushing to fill the silence, and he speaks consistently when I long for that silence to numb me. He appreciates my messy scribbling, and simultaneously has enjoyed the novel that they create. He knows every contradiction that rages in my heart and he loves me fiercely.

My world convinces me to do anything but trust. My past screams that it is illogical, unwise, foolhardy. I glance at the alternatives proffered in my direction: Pretence, superficiality, denial.

I know that trust is the only option.

It’s like that moment when the rollercoaster has creaked to the top of its rickety rail, and you know in a moment you will be helplessly flung down and round and over in loops. Excitement and anticipation and dread and thrill fight for precedence in your mind, you wonder what if the bolts are lose or if your shoes fall off or if you get stuck upside down, but there is no turning back. That’s where I find myself.

Some mornings I wake up breathless in anticipation. This morning I woke up chuckling over a dream I wasn’t able to remember. Other mornings I lay in bed frightened about what the day will entail. Mostly it is somewhere in the middle, and somewhere between stumbling to clean my teeth and bouncing out of the front door I find myself thanking God for the adventure I find myself in.

On Saturday I was walking to our local charity shop. I found myself musing about the heavy bag I was carrying, thinking that it felt too weighty, wondering if I prayed God would be able or willing to send someone to help me carry it. Then I moved on, thinking these thoughts were trivial compared to some of the situations I’m navigating at present. And then, probably only 30 seconds later, a christian guy seemed to pop out from nowhere… I didn’t know him, but he offered to carry my bag. I took him up on his offer, marvelling at God’s provision. It seems like a tiny testimony, it could be brushed off as coincedence, but for me it was a beautiful example of the God who cares about the little situations of my everyday life, the second-hand clothes bag moments, while at the same time guiding me through the complex, challenging stuff that life brings.

Trust is illogical. Hope is seemingly pointless. Some may call this a rose-tinted view. But I believe that I am part of something bigger than I can see. I believe that God is working the weeds and the mud of my life into something wonderful that speaks of him. I am learning to trust that the narrow, difficult roads that look like diversions are often the ones of greatest glory. I am finding that when he says he is constant and unfailing, he means it.

What better journey could there be?

Scanning the Horizon July 6, 2008

It’s still early, as I slip out of bed and plant my feet on the cold stone floor. I wrap the crimson and gold coverlet around my shoulders, wishing last night’s fire was still burning in the grate, filling the room with warmth from its friendly, dancing flames.

I walk over to the narrow window. My room is high up in the castle walls, and through the slit I can see for miles across the landscape. The sky is yet pale, the sun hasn’t yet managed to break through the morning haze, and a mist hovers just above the ground. It is very, very quiet.

Scanning the horizon like this is a very strange sensation. After months out there, fighting through thick forest, fording deep rivers, creeping through silent caves, and crawling through arid deserts, part of me can’t yet believe I’ve reached this destination. My first thoughts when waking are still how to survive another day out in the open, wondering what enemies I’ll encounter along the way, how I will fight, where I could hide if they were too strong. I still find myself thinking where to scavenge food, or find fresh water, or herbs to treat the battle wounds picked up along the way. I had become adept at survival, and it feels a little odd now I am in a place of such safety and shelter and provision.

My mind wanders to some of the sights I saw along the way. From this height, everything looks serene, but even from here, signs of the state of the land are visible if I just focus my attention. Along the journey I saw such devastation, as if disaster upon disaster had stolen all beauty from this place: There were forests razed to the ground by blazing fires, rivers that once teemed with life now parched dry, gardens that were once tended lovingly, now overrun with weeds.

I saw deep pools that had become stagant ponds, towns that were ravaged and looted and left as skeletal monuments to destruction. Worse than that were the wandering orphans of war I encountered along the way. Horrified by what they had seen, they never spoke; desperate for food and water, they had been stripped of hope and dignity. The years had been cruel, the landscape was gouged by conflict, the marks of chaos ran deep.

Along the way, there were many skirmishes with the enemy, the forces of the dictatorship that had exerted itself over this land for many years. They fought cruel, with no gallantry or nobility. Domination, humiliation and death were their only goal. Many times I ran from them, seemingly losing more battles than I won, often wondering if I really was getting any nearer to the place of safety I had been tasked to search for, or whether this too would have been subjugated by their tyranny.

I remembered the intensity of the last battle, when I realised that this fight was not mine, but that my journey was part of a bigger war, the clashing forces of good versus evil, of the King, the One True God against the powers of darkness. I remembered the noise and chaos of the confrontation, the pain of hope seemingly lost, of wondering whether surrender was the only option. I remembered the tables turning just when it looked like the darkness would win, the golden light that flooded the battlefield with blazing purity, the howls of the retreating forces, realising their hold on this place had finally been defeated. I remembered the silence of the aftermath, laying there dazed, exhausted in my armour, wondering if it truly was over. I remembered the love of the King, carrying me into the castle, whispering that victory had been won and good had been established, His voice soothing me and saying well done.

I remembered sleeping, resting for a long time; the rigours of battle and the exhaustion of this journey finally catching up with me. I remembered Him sitting by my side, waiting as my wounds healed and rest calmed my soul. I remember waking and knowing I was safe, knowing peace for the first time in years. 

Standing there by the window, I marvelled at all the things that had been done, and the difference that living in the King’s castle had already made. My heart uttered a silent thankyou, and I felt the swell of joy that came from knowing the stories had been true – this place did exist, He really did choose to fight for me, there really was hope for this ravaged land.

My thoughts turned, then, to the months ahead, to the plans the King had spoken to me as we dined together the night before: Plans of restoration, plans to rebuild ancient ruins and make safe the ancient paths, plans to gather the orphans and place them in families. Plans to open the dungeons and rescue those hidden there, plans to liberate the tiny villages who had not yet heard that redemption had come, plans of hope, life, love and joy. Plans to find and rout any remaining hostile forces, wandering in isolation through the land. Plans to make sure destruction could never again enter this place. Plans to return it to its former glory, and beauty that was even beyond what had gone before. Excitement floods my heart as I stand there, overlooking the place that has been redeemed, and will continue to be transformed in the weeks ahead.

It’s time to stop thinking for now though. All this will come about soon enough, for now I will join the King for breakfast, listening to His tales of great victories, revelling in the light that exudes from His presence, drinking in the love and purity and hope that fills the very atmosphere of this place. All is well, all is going to be well, this is a good place.