Easter holidays

 

When the school break happens leading up to Easter it’s a little tricky in our house!

A lot of patience was required from B, A & T as Andrew & I worked and prepared different services and events. A lot of patience was required by Andrew & I as the kids needed help relaxing, finding things to occupy themselves with and completing work.

In the end we began the holiday fortnight digging out a new pond in the back garden, with A designing and directing, me digging when I could and finishing other things when I could, and T with a trowel & paint brush checking for archaeological finds! Andrew mostly in the study or out for work, and B also working.

We found some fairly recent broken house tiles and the remains of a garden brick wall we think – and perhaps some pieces of a not-so-old plant pot! We also finished a pond.

As you can imagine it was a lesson in ‘I am simply not good enough, I can’t do all this without help!’ My patience has limits, each day has limited usable time, and lets face it washing clothes (and people!), cleaning, tidying, food (though Andrew handles that thankfully) and time together all still have to happen – sleep is apparently still fairly optional in our house but that’s another blog! Where does my help come from??!

I look to the hills!
Where will I find help?
It will come from the Lord,
who created the heavens
and the earth.

The Lord is your protector,
and he won’t go to sleep
or let you stumble.
The protector of Israel
doesn’t doze
or ever get drowsy.

The Lord is your protector,
there at your right side.

Psalm 121 (CEV)

There’s a limit to how far you can dig deep into your own resources, or at least that seems true in my experience. I’m finite. I’m not brilliant at everything. I’m tired – genuinely, mentally, physically and emotionally tired. I’m not enough many days. My faith in a faithful God is where I go for resources that go beyond my own; like walking uphill on a hot day and finding a well overflowing with cold pure water.

There’s no limit to how far you can dig deep into God’s heart finding love bigger, greater, stronger than you can ever imagine; patience that can outlast eternity; peace – real peace; forever new beginning forgiveness; mercy; being known, heard, understood; home…

 

It was I suppose a good context for Easter celebrations in the end. I went into Good Friday knowing I desperately needed help and forgiveness, knowing I couldn’t make it on my own. And found as if for the first time, as always, surprising mercy and love flowing from the heart of our full of life God.

 

 

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seeing in colour: how do we experience life in all its fullness?

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Jesus told this simple story, but they had no idea what he was talking about. So he tried again. “I’ll be explicit, then. I am the Gate for the sheep. All those others are up to no good—sheep stealers, every one of them. But the sheep didn’t listen to them. I am the Gate. Anyone who goes through me will be cared for—will freely go in and out, and find pasture. A thief is only there to steal and kill and destroy. I came so they can have real and eternal life, more and better life than they ever dreamed of. (John 10:10 MSG)

“It’s so sad Mummy”, “what is T?” – “they don’t see all the colours.”

We were chatting about our two lovely, cuddly kittens. We’ve been busy in T’s bedroom, new curtains, some bigger shelves and a good sort out. We’ve also been making a house together for her dolls, and have so enjoyed the colours and fabrics and papers we have been playing with. And Jaffa loves it as you can see – on this visit to the house he found the bedroom and decided to settle in for a nap tucked in by T, too cute!

Cats apparently only see in black and white, or only a very limited range anyway. Of course we talked about how they had only ever seen things this way which meant that the shades and densities of black and white and all in-between were what they were used to, they could still have favourites and enjoy the differences (Jaffa seems to love pink for example, but we don’t know that pink looks the same to him as it does to us).

Recently someone reminded me of John 10:10 – life in all its fullness, life in abundance is what Jesus gives us as he comes into our lives. And I thought back to this little conversation. Spiritually we have got so used to seeing only in black and white, and we are very comfortable with that. But God sees in technicolour! And in Jesus it is as if he opens our eyes to catch glimpses – not too much or we’d be overwhelmed – of the dazzling colours of real, full, life. I expect we each get to see and experience different glimpses too. The abundant life of God splashes into our lives in different places and in different ways. One of my go-to phrases about my life as a disciple is that ‘my joy looks different from yours’ (or swap in peace, or hope etc). I don’t mean that God’s truth is relative – not at all – I guess I’m meaning that the expression of it, my experience of it as it splashes into and through my life here on earth may be very different from yours. We are unique, and God’s revelation of himself is personal at the same time as being the same truth for all, across all time and cultures.

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We each see and experience in a different way. Some much more differently than most. My girls see and experience the world around them differently from most and sometimes I wonder if that means they see very different shades, depths and brightness in the colourful splashes of God’s abundant life that break into ours.

Wouldn’t it be wonderful to understand more of what they see, what their faith experience feels like? Wish I could be a fly on the wall. But it’s their personal friendship with God, their story with him. I only walk alongside, hoping to encourage and enable. But I’m also walking alongside ready to listen and learn, and rejoice when they share with me. I am learning (still!) to listen when T starts to sing in the garden or as we walk – it’s in these songs that she often describes her friendship with God, or her wonder at him and all he’s made. When I chat with B about a faith experience of my own, I’m learning to be braver and gently ask how she sees it, or if she’s experienced anything similar – and am learning to wait for her answer (which may come days later!). When I am planning something for a church group I’m enjoying asking B, A & T what they think, what they would choose to do to explain, or what craft or activity it makes them think about. Drawing and doodling together continues to be a great way of talking and sharing faith experiences together too.

What are the times your kids are able to share an insight about their faith?

In what ways does God’s abundant life splash it’s colour into your family life?

 

Snowdrop moments: unexpected breakthroughs

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Love, love, love snowdrops don’t you. Little nuggets of resilience and pioneering spirit. Humble simple beauty when it’s least expected and looked for, when everything is cold & hard, and just when it’s needed to lift the spirits and urge us forward. I carefully divided and replanted some clumps of bulbs last autumn, and am enjoying watching them fight their way into flower in their new homes around the garden. For me they are a reminder of the fact that God is in the business of making everything new – and that begins now, in the unexpected; against the odds; tenacious; fragile and simple yet miraculously powerful breakthroughs that God allows to spring up ready to be found and rejoiced in. They remind me to rejoice with God in the small significant ‘newnesses’ that happen in our family life.

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A sewing birthday party attended despite huge anxiety and thoroughly enjoyed. Huge sense of achievement. The photo shows fluffy the bear, designed and sewed by T alongside a great group of girls from her class.

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T had homework this week to cook a healthy tea for her family!

Andrew helped, I provided emotional support! And T cooked chicken pasta. Exhausting.

Hidden in this amazing event was an equally amazing moment as T sat with B & A and a friend at the kitchen table and all ate some – a new recipe tried by everyone – don’t try & tell me God doesn’t break into our everyday, that’s definitely miraculous.

 

This morning A allowed T to sit in his room, and they peacefully ate breakfast alongside each other. (I know!!!)

College work, a very new way of presenting and handing in, is being completed.

We have had a visit from a good friend, who helps us in ways she probably doesn’t realize. And, in the same few days another friend came round so that Andrew & I could go out for a meal. I know, sounds so ordinary yet never ever taken for granted.

img_20190122_102331_045I am pressing on with the editing of another book – the one that sparked all the others – about time I focused on it again and got it ready to share with you, think you’re going to love it.

Last week I also travelled (not far, but even so, out of my little comfort zone) to help deliver a disability (or diffability as I like to think of it) awareness training session for the diocese and had the chance to share a bit about ‘sense of space’, our accessible worship at church and our experience. And we juggled school pick ups successfully between us.

All of these small, significant, moments – snowdrop moments if you like – can be moments to recognize God is at work in our midst. He is drawing us forward, revealing his faithfulness, his humour, his joy in who he has created each of us to be; leading us into his life – his overflowing, never ending aliveness that he pours into our lives. Tough circumstances, worries, lack of sleep, diffability; none of it stops God in his busyness of recreating. His aliveness is powerful enough to break through the hardest, coldest places of our lives in ways unexpected; against the odds; tenacious; fragile yet powerful.

 

 

Sugar free January??? No chance

Everything on my news feeds at the moment is about clean eating, getting fit, ‘new year new you’, sugar free, dry January. I read them with my chocolate bar open next to me, and take them with a pinch of salt! There’s no chance, not for me this year! With sleep still a constant battle, and worries every which way I turn these types of resolutions are a battle I can’t take on (even if I wanted to – and actually I don’t, chocolate & I are good friends!). I haven’t made any resolutions at all really. I guess I’m in survival mode most of the time, taking each day (or on a bad day, each 5 mins) at a time.

If I did sit here for a moment (my first moment like this in a while, Christmas has been (mostly) wonderfully full on as usual) with time to reflect and dream what would my resolutions be I wonder?

There are many things I would like to improve in family life, or sort out in the home. Yes my diet (and over reliance on chocolate) does need an overhaul – despite Andrew’s best efforts to get me eating good, home cooked, balanced meals in the evenings. And my hair & skin need a fairy godmother! But are these the things I want to resolve to focus on this year? Probably not.

I would love to remember more than I forget that God’s presence is with me – all the time, in every minute of the day & night. I believe he’s with me; Emmanuel – God dwelling with us; yet somehow in the middle of family life’s complicated and stressful day to day it’s something that seems to slip my mind and I don’t want it to! I believe his presence is with me and that I don’t have to work hard, or shout loudly to conjure it up. It’s his promise to me as someone who trusts and loves him. He’s here, right here, closer to me than the breath I take in. His loving, under-girding, kind, powerful, gentle, wise, leading presence is here ready to help and save, comfort and restore.

Oh yes, people of Zion, citizens of Jerusalem, your time of tears is over. Cry for help and you’ll find it’s grace and more grace. The moment he hears, he’ll answer. Just as the Master kept you alive during the hard times, he’ll keep your teacher alive and present among you. Your teacher will be right there, local and on the job, urging you on whenever you wander left or right: “This is the right road. Walk down this road.” (Isaiah 30:21 The Message)

I’m an open book to you;
even from a distance, you know what I’m thinking.
You know when I leave and when I get back;
I’m never out of your sight.
You know everything I’m going to say
before I start the first sentence.
I look behind me and you’re there,
then up ahead and you’re there, too—
your reassuring presence, coming and going.
This is too much, too wonderful—
I can’t take it all in! (Psalm 139:1-6 The Message)

“I’m telling you these things while I’m still living with you. The Friend, the Holy Spirit whom the Father will send at my request, will make everything plain to you. He will remind you of all the things I have told you. I’m leaving you well and whole. That’s my parting gift to you. Peace. I don’t leave you the way you’re used to being left—feeling abandoned, bereft. So don’t be upset. Don’t be distraught. (John 14:26 The Message)

Maybe I’ll draw out these verses and put them in places I will see as I go about my everyday here in this house.

I need reminding, I’ve been far too good at forgetting, I am not alone.

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Looking at it it seems a rather simple resolution. But I have a feeling that if I were to succeed it could change pretty much everything else – my perspective, my responses, my feelings. So my prayer for myself for 2019 is simply this, ‘my Father God, open my eyes and heart up to your presence even more as we walk through each day of this new year together…’

 

He made his dwelling place among us

I have a fun task this afternoon – creating some palace scenery for King Herod in our Christmas Eve family service this year. True panto style I’m imagining going big, bold and dramatic… he was known as Herod the Great after all…. ‘Oh no he wasn’t!, Oh yes he was!’. We even have a panto camel waiting to join in this year, can’t wait.

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Looking back into history it’s hard to grasp just how vulnerable a baby was, even born into a palace with guards for safety; servants to keep fires going and wood stores full; money for blankets, clothes, and beds; well educated advisers to help; it must have been precarious for the newborn and the Mum. Harder still to imagine the dangers for a baby born outside a palace in an ordinary home, or less. Imagine the dangers of having a newborn at a time when the kings whims were law. Of course Herod the Great could order that all baby boys under the age of two be killed in and around Bethlehem so he could keep a tight hold on his power.

When I think of the vulnerability of how Jesus came to us it astounds me. That the Son of God should hold so loosely to his home in heaven and come to earth in this way (as a baby born into a situation with little political and material security and minimal life expectancy, on top of the innate vulnerable dependence of being a baby) is unbelievable, isn’t it? It fills me with wonder and astonishment that he should be born among us like this, just the same as us, just the same as the least of us – us at our most vulnerable.

While they were there, the time came for the baby to be born, and she gave birth to her firstborn, a son. She wrapped him in cloths and placed him in a manger, because there was no guest room available for them. (NIV Lk 2:6,7)

Christmas with all it’s excitement and busyness, with it’s celebrations, family gatherings, feasts and presents seems a far cry from the moment Mary gave birth to Jesus. We had a card this year with a poignant and provocative picture of the manger in the foreground of a merry-go-round scene, busy with people and noise. It brings home to me the seemingly stark contrast between Jesus’ birth and what Christmas today seems to look like.

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Yet perhaps emotionally it’s not dissimilar. Christmas seems to bring into sharp focus our feelings of insecurity. Will the money stretch, can we get the gifts we want/feel we need to get? Will family all get along when we meet up or will it feel fraught with tension? Have we got enough food in, have we got everything we need? Is my house big enough, good enough for visitors? Are my relationships secure and content? Am I safe? Am I alone? Am I seen? Am I understood? Do I belong? Why does life feel so hard when everyone else’s life looks like a party? Christmas can make us feel our vulnerability. We yearn for home – the home that’s perhaps in our imagination, where there is harmony, peace and love, where every little detail is perfect and safe and cosy. That’s certainly not our real experience. Even putting up our tree this year triggered a meltdown that took a good couple of hours to calm.

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Difficult family dynamics, hard to manage meal times and bed times still happen despite Christmas and feel worse because of it! Meltdowns and shutdowns don’t stop for the holidays, in fact they tend to increase in frequency because of the bombardment of sensory input, and lack of routine – not to mention the number of people coming and going and the demands of increased social interaction. The stresses of the logistics of family life and church life seem to be at their worst at these times as we juggle all the extras that we all throw in because it’s Christmas. The pressure we put on ourselves to make it all amazing and good enough for everyone presses our I’m-not-good-enough buttons. And we keenly feel the losses; loved ones who have died, traditions we always hoped for that are simply impossible for us, family moments we have imagined but have yet to realize.

Jesus came into the midst of all that. The uncertainty, the sadness and grief for what’s lost; the insecurities within us and around us; and into the midst of the hopes and longings. He came and made his dwelling among us – not at a respectable distance where he was less vulnerable but right there at the heart of real, everyday, ordinary human experience. He came into it to reach us, to meet us where we are, despite the dangers, despite taking on vulnerability because of love. He came as a baby to be one of us and died our death to break it’s power. His love was strong enough to come to us, strong enough to free us, strong enough to gather us into his family through the new life he offers. The story of the baby born, fully God fully human, God making his dwelling place in the midst of our everyday is a story of hope. He entered into the insecurity and vulnerability of our existence to find us and love us all the way back home to him.

He was supreme in the beginning and—leading the resurrection parade—he is supreme in the end. From beginning to end he’s there, towering far above everything, everyone. So spacious is he, so roomy, that everything of God finds its proper place in him without crowding. Not only that, but all the broken and dislocated pieces of the universe—people and things, animals and atoms—get properly fixed and fit together in vibrant harmonies, all because of his death, his blood that poured down from the cross. (MSG Col 1:19)

In all the moments of insecurity, worry, stress, and difficulty this Christmas the story invites me to see again the truth that Jesus gets it, he understands it; he faced it too so he could have the chance to whisper ‘I love you, you are so precious to me’. (Even when everything is a muddle;when children don’t appear to listen when you read the stories about me; when people get along – and when personal space gets invaded, again; when you stay in with one child who doesn’t want to be out in the snow, and when you’re dealing with the over cold children who did go out to play; when there’s a meltdown; when you worry about the child hiding in their room; when the food’s just not right…. I love you, you are so precious to me.)