Monday, 20 June 2016

Reformer

It was tucked away in the second hand shop with a pile of junk precariously balanced on the top. Nobody would have noticed it.  Nothing special, it reminded me of my Nana's flat - musty smelling and covered in dust.

But I saw it.  Beneath the brown veneer, I saw purpose.  I saw beauty and I saw something I needed.  So, I surprised the staff by asking for it to be dug out from underneath the pile, obviously not been moved for a long time.  And they very kindly deposited it into my car.

You see, I needed a particular sized cabinet for our television.  I wanted to create something that would be my 'statement of intent' for the way I wanted our new lounge decorated.  And I saw huge potential in this hidden gem.

Taking it home, I sanded it down, ripping off the veneer and taking it back to the bare wood.  Painting it again, I remembered my friend's words to me a few weeks ago.  Words I had doubted in the weeks following our mugs of camping coffee.

"You are a reformer." 

And as I painted over the bare wood, breathing life into dry bones, I realised that those words are true.

I AM a reformer.  I see things that others don't see, and I have chosen to spend my life bringing those things into being.

My heart has been wrecked for those who are invisible to others, cowering under the pile of their shame, hoping nobody sees them.  My prayers have become unutterable groans for those who, stripped back to nothing but their pain, are ignored by the rest of the world - a world who wants shiney and new.  I find myself sobbing at the extent of the death-stories that I read and hear. I weep in Nandos with my friend telling me about Yazidi women pleading to be killed because of the shame they feel. I weep in the local cafe thinking about my new friend so devastated by abuse.  I weep for terrorists and the terrorised.  I weep for the abused and the abusers.  And I have to pull over in the car because I can't see where I'm going anymore, my tears have become so violent and my stomach feels as though I have been kicked hard.

But where others see death and shame, I see hope and beauty.  When I feel the deep pain and mourning belonging to someone else, I also see the bright future that could be ahead of them.  When I hear about sadness that never goes away, I see a deep well of joy that can never be quenched.  When I see the pile of those dry bones, so strangely written about by the prophet Ezekiel, I see life and action.  When I see illness, I see healing.  Where others see something dirty which shouldn't be touched, I see treasure.  When I hear about people locked in their own prison, I see freedom flinging wide those prison doors.  When I listen to my friends' stories that cause me to so weep, I know without a doubt that there is hope.

So, I make my choices.

I choose to dig out the potential, the beauty, the joy, the purpose and see lives reformed.

I choose to treat the 'nothing special' like royalty.

I choose to take the pain I so violently feel and turn it into action.

I choose to speak life and truth over dry bones.

I choose to look for hope.

I choose to find the treasure.

I choose to do all I can to change the world.

I choose to be a reformer,




Tuesday, 24 May 2016

Consumed?

I try hard not to live with regrets.  I don't allow myself to regret, for example, the tough years of post-natal depression and the way I parented during that time.  I don't allow myself to wallow in the 'what ifs' of decisions we have made about where to live or jobs to take.

But I do sometimes wish things had been different.  I do sometimes live with sadness for the way some things have turned out.

I feel sad about the ones I love who are hurting.
I feel sad about the outcomes of choices made by those who are precious to me.
I feel sad when I see the consequences of those choices.
I feel sad when I realise that I can only control myself and I can't control others.
I feel sad when I read the news on my phone (thankfully I don't have to watch it on TV) and there is yet more violence, hatred and death.
I feel sad when my beautiful friend, living with the horrors of war, tells me stories that are almost too painful to hear and cause me to sob in the middle of Nandos.
I feel sad when I think about the lives of millions turning into ashes because of an evil system of slavery which causes fear at best and destroys at its worst.

Sometimes this sadness threatens to overwhelm.  I find it hard to focus on the boys playing in the sunshine.  I can't smile when they bring me picked daisies in a plastic cup of water. I linger just a little bit too long when they hug me and have tears in my eyes as they pull away.  I function on automatic because that's the only way to get through.

And then I remember this.

"My soul is downcast within me.
Yet this I call to mind, and therefore I have hope.

Because of the Lord's great love, we are not consumed,
for his compassions never fail.
They are new every morning:
great is your faithfulness.
I say to myself, 'The Lord is my portion;
Therefore I will wait for him'."

(Lamentations 3:23)

So, I google what 'consumed' means and I find this:


consume
kənˈsjuːm/
verb
past tense: consumed; past participle: consumed
  1. 1.
    eat, drink, or ingest (food or drink).
    "people consume a good deal of sugar in drinks"
    synonyms:eat, eat up, devouringestswallowgobble, gobble up, wolf down, gorge oneself on, feast on; More
    • (of a fire) completely destroy.
      "the fire spread rapidly, consuming many homes"
      synonyms:destroydemolish, lay waste, wipe out, annihilatedevastateMore
    • use up (a resource).
      "this process consumes enormous amounts of energy"
      synonyms:use, use up, utilizeexpendMore
  2. 2.
    buy (goods or services).
    "accounting provides measures of the economic goods and services consumed"
  3. 3.
    (of a feeling) completely fill the mind of (someone).
    "Carolyn was consumed with guilt"
    synonyms:absorbpreoccupyengrossMore
Origin




And I speak this truth to myself.

I am sad, but I am not devoured by sadness.
I feel sadness which threatens to overwhelm, but I am not completely destroyed by it.
My sadness does not 'altogether take up' my life.  It does not need to fill my mind totally.
I may feel 'spent' and 'used up' but God has promised to be my enough so it doesn't matter if I use up all my resources - His are utterly limitless.
When I begin to wallow, he whispers his I'm-not-going-to-let-you-down-promises into my ear and I begin to take tentative steps towards hope.
My heart might be hurting, but his compassions never stop loving, never stop feeling the hurts and never stop pouring out mercy.  

I am not consumed.

So instead of having my mind blown by the sadness, I choose to have it blown by the truth.  
A truth which sets me free, every single time.




Saturday, 9 April 2016

Better Is One Day....

There are many times as a mum when I would rather be somewhere else. 

When a toddler is screaming in the middle of the supermarket, for example. 

Or perhaps when the teacher calls 'Can I have a word?' at home-time and points in your direction. 

Or when everyone wants to watch yet another action film full of banging and shooting.

Or when you can't even lock yourself in the bathroom without a little hand working its way underneath the door.

Or when the arguments and bickering never seem to stop.

Or when you find yourself playing musical beds in the middle of the night (often with vomit involved).

Sometimes, anywhere is better than the present. 

And over the years I have used this verse as mantra to get me through the difficult days and the long nights:

"Better is one day in your courts than a thousand elsewhere." Psalm 84 v 10

I have held on to the hope-filled promise that being in God's presence is always better.  In those moments of desperation when I have wanted to run away (ok, I have actually escaped several times only to realise that I'd run from the ones who loved me), I have clung on tightly to the promise of one day being in a place where there are no tears or pain.  When depression has threatened to pull me beneath swirling waters, this verse has been my last gulp of air. 

And then last week, I lay on a beautiful beach under blue skies having slept well and enjoyed a lazy morning and I realised this was what I had been longing for.  It was peaceful (when I blocked out the noise of the arguments over SAND) and I felt happy.

 
And I suddenly became aware that even my best, most joy-filled, peaceful and perfect moments do not even compare to being in the presence of God.  It eclipses them every single time. 

Perhaps this is not a shocker of a revelation to you.  Perhaps this has always been obvious.  But for me, realising the depth of God's goodness, grace and love for me in allowing me to hang out with him was a game-changer. 

I don't just need to cling to this verse on dark days.  It's not just a promise for better days to come, it's an invitation for the now.  It's an invitation to do life, every-day-good-and-bad-life, in God's presence.  It's knowing that everything I do now, comes out of being in the refreshing courts of God.  It's being replenished so that I can keep giving.  I don't have to 'hang on in there' for God's presence.  Jesus made a way for me to walk straight in - the doors are opened and there are welcome signs everywhere.

I'm heading straight through that open door.  Want to join me?

Thursday, 17 March 2016

When giving seems impossible....

A few weeks ago I found myself visiting the '2pm club' at the local Baptist church.  Members of this club are well beyond retirement age and they enjoy a speaker, a cuppa and a cake.  I was asked to speak about our house and human trafficking.  Not quite knowing how to pitch my talk, I explained what we are doing and why it is so important.  I was pleased to have engaged them (only one person fell asleep).  During the question time at the end, one lady spoke up and told me she had been thinking of a story in the Old Testament that she thought was relevant for us.

Elijah, one of the prophets of Israel and seemingly an all round nutcase, visited a very poor widow.  He asked her for something to eat.

"I haven't got anything left," she replied.  "I'm just making one more meal for myself and my son before we starve."

"Give me what you have," Elijah promised, "and you will never run out again."

And guess what?  She gave Elijah her very last meal.  This hungry widow who felt death by starvation tapping her on the shoulder.  She just gave. 

And she never ran out.  The flour and the jar of oil always had more in them.

At the time I was feeling emotionally dry.  I felt like I had nothing left to give.  I thought it an encouragement to keep going.  Little did I know what was really meant by it...

The very next day, looking at our finances, Jared explained to me that we wouldn't be able to give our usual monthly amount because by doing so we would have nothing left two weeks into the month.  Nothing to live on to feed our constantly hungry boys or to pay the bills.  We had also paid out a huge amount of money to fix the many leaks in the house over the last few months.  We were at the very end in every possible way.  I remembered the story of the widow and, after thinking and praying it through, we decided to give anyway and trust God to provide for us to scrape through to the end of the month. 

And for two weeks the anxiety built.  I tried not to panic.  Each bill we paid brought us closer to zero.  So, we told our boys and we stood together in the kitchen, reminding God of his promises to provide for us.  I think at that point the boys had more faith than me.

Two days later, we had a deposit in our bank account of £50. 
Three days later, we had a deposit in our bank account of £250. 
Six days later, we came downstairs in the morning to find an envelope filled with £300 on our doormat.
Ten days later, we had a payment for £368.
Eleven days later, we had a knock at the door at breakfast and someone handing us £250 and then a deposit of £450 in our bank account later that day.

This is more than scraping through!

Every single time, we have thanked our faithful God and asked him to bless those who have given to us.  He has given back to us more than six times the amount we gave at the beginning of the month.  It has truly been an awesome rollercoaster of trust.  Not only has he provided for us, but he is depositing enormous faith in the hearts of my boys.  Their foundations will not be shaken for they have seen with their very own eyes the real answers to their prayers.

Faith exists in the realms of the impossible and we are certainly living in those realms.  There is nothing in what we are doing with our home that we can do by relying on our own strength or abilities.  It is impossible but we choose to live this way because we serve a God for whom nothing is impossible.  And it's a pretty exciting way to live too!

The '2pm club' gave me far more than I gave to them on that chilly Wednesday afternoon a few weeks ago.  And I am more grateful than the words my fingers can type.

And our story continues....

Thursday, 25 February 2016

The View From Here (Teenage Boy Tales)

If I had a sticker chart, I should deserve a little prize by now.  Just to keep me going.  I have now been the parent of a teenage boy for 18 months.  Yes, feel free to applaud.  It's a definite achievement.

It's also been one steep, long upward climb of a learning curve (and I can't even see the top yet).  But I thought I'd share the view with you, so these are some of the things I have learnt in my mothering a teenage boy journey so far.

1.  One day, you will walk into their bedroom and you will find yourself gagging on the smell.  Even a clean boy, it seems, can create this stench.  With window firmly shut and curtains closed, the whiff has plenty of time to become a stuffy, 'hold-your-breath-or-you-will-pass-out' stink, occasionally masked by the over the top spraying of Lynx.  I have no idea where this smell comes from, but it certainly lingers. 

2.  It's not ok to use the same jargon as your teenage son.  Ever.  So, you will find yourself using it more and more just to have a little giggle with yourself.  I know, right.  I'm so down with the kids blud.

3.  As his crackly voice wavers up and down, you must resist the temptation to copy.  And do not, under any circumstances, encourage his younger brothers to copy too.  This can have devastating consequences. 

4.  Talking of his voice, here's a small note (can't resist) of interest.  The deeper it becomes, the less able he seems to be of controlling his volume.  You thought babies were loud?  Expect booming and you won't be disappointed.

5.  Food.  Make sure your cupboards do not become like Old Mother Hubbard's.  A hungry teenage boy is a grumpy one.  And he is hungry every five minutes or so.

6.  You will long for the days of the 7pm bedtime.  Evenings are no longer your own.  The remote control is no longer your own.  Peace and quiet is no longer your own.  Not in the evenings anyway.  That big booming voice will reverberate around the house for HOURS until you plead with him to put away his phone, his tablet, his homework, his music and his x-box (all at the same time - who said men can't multi-task?) and go to bed.  (Actually its not this bad in my house, but I shudder at the thought of how it would be if we had no boundaries).

7.  Grunts and noises.  There will be times when you have concerns that your boy is losing his ability to speak.  Your once little chatterbox of a boy will sometimes be totally unable to speak in human language.  You need to be able to interpret the grunts.  Failing that, ask him to speak properly.  (I let the gruffalo noises go unchallenged in the mornings but later on in the day he needs to use the language we all understand.)

8.  He actually becomes quite useful.  In physical terms, he can now do lots of things that an adult can do.  So, when heavy baskets of wood need collecting in or bathrooms need cleaning or little brothers need looking after, you have another pair of hands.  Sometimes that pair of hands might need a small amount of encouragement, but the basics are there and ready to be manipulated helpful.

9.  He is fun to be around.  The jokes and banter are actually enjoyable.  He is good company and you can laugh together about the same jokes rather than pretending you find armpit farts hilarious. (Anyone else have to do that?  Or just me?)


10.  He still needs a mum.  There may be lots of friends and even girls to contend with, but at the end of each day (or even during the day) he needs to be able to snuggle up to his mum.  If you keep the physical affection going and don't let them stop (see my previous post on the wisdom of friends for this http://letboysbeboys2.blogspot.co.uk/2013/08/the-wisdom-of-friends.html), you will find that the hugs become even more precious.  And when you are having a bad day and they pick just the right time to give you a hug and say 'its going to be ok mum'?  That is the absolute best.


One day, when I have survived three teenage boys, I may be able to dole out wisdom.  Until then, I just have to laugh.

Wednesday, 10 February 2016

Sackcloth and ashes for lent?

It's all about the 'giving up'. People are giving up chocolate, social media, sugar and anything else they think is a bad addition to their lives.  

I've always struggled a bit with lent. Apart from the fact that giving up chocolate would not work for me (or my family), I've always wondered just what the point of it is. I know it's about stripping back and preparing our hearts for Easter. It's about making room and repenting.

But I wonder why I need to do this only in the 40 days run up to Easter. My heart is pretty ugly most of the year round. And I am constantly in need of God's mercy. It all seems a bit 'woe is me' and in our individualistic society it feels like we are being told that if we give up Facebook for 40 days then God can forgive us.  Maybe it's the new sackcloth and ashes.

Surely that defeats the whole point of Easter.  The truth is that we can't do anything to earn God's forgiveness. Even giving up sugar - and that is hard! Jesus died so WE DON'T HAVE TO. There is nothing we can give up for lent that will change this.

And so as I ponder lent this year, my heart is drawn to the type of fasting that God himself recommends. You'll find it in Isaiah 58. This kind of fasting isn't centred on one person giving stuff up. This kind of fasting requires action on our parts to think about the world around us. It involves a heart response that leads us to actively loving those around us. And,
amazingly, it comes with awesome promises.

So, this lent I'm going to enjoy my chocolate knowing that God doesn't mind. He's more interested in my heart.

Monday, 18 January 2016

Dog Attack!

Apologies to all you dog lovers out there, but I am not one of you.  I do not like dogs and I find the fascination with them completely unfathomable.  I'm also a teensie bit scared.

Walking to school a few weeks ago I was leapt upon and viciously attacked by a fearsome wolf.  Ok, it was an Alsatian who jumped at me and bit my coat.  Had I not used my well practised super-ninja-mother-of-boys-moves, those sharp teeth would have sunk their way into my leg.  I was shaken up and arrived home to have a good sob on Toby's shoulders.  (It was one of those rare moments when you see a glimpse of the man they are becoming.  It was a good glimpse.)

Time travel forwards a few weeks (you mean you don't time travel?) and you will find a puffed out me half running behind Jonah on his new bike.  Just beyond us on our path is another Alsatian.  

Jonah looks at me as I wonder how to navigate this drooling obstacle.  I decide to be brave and keep walking.

But my sweet and thoughtful boy surprises me by climbing off his bike and pushing it so that he is between me and the dog.

"I'm protecting you, Mum." He explains as my heart melts just a little bit more.
"Well thank you," I reply. "But really I should be protecting you."
"Oh no," he smiles at me, "if the dog is going to bite someone's leg off then I would rather it was mine than yours."
"I don't think it is going to bite anyone's leg off, but if it does then really I would rather it was mine." I know I'm right - that's what a good mother should do.
"Yes but if your leg is bitten off then you won't be able to cook my tea or make me snacks or do my washing or any of the other jobs you do."

Ah.  Now we get to the crux of the matter.  He wasn't protecting me, after all!  

Eight year old boy logic at it's very best.

And this, dear readers, is one of the many reasons I love boys.