Tuesday, 28 April 2015
Last Saturday we set out in the sunshine for a family day out. Stratford was our destination and we told the boys we weren't doing any packing but were just going to have a fun day.
Little did we know the kind of fun we were going to have.
After an epic stall of the motor boat we had hired, causing us to call the rescue services of the lifeguard and embarrass us in front of all Stratford's public, we nipped to the shops to buy some sweeties.
Outside the shop was a lady sitting on the pavement with a cap full of loose change in front of her. I left the boys to their complex sweetie choosing and sat down next to her.
The town was busy and it felt like hundreds of feet walked past us as we chatted. I ignored the looks of disgust and concentrated on the face of this precious woman.
"What does it feel like to be sitting here?" I asked her.
"I hate it." She replied. "I never wanted to be sat here and I hate having to scrounge off people. Sometimes people kick me when they walk past and sometimes they spit on me. It makes me feel like a real down and out. I feel ashamed."
She then went on to explain how she ended up sitting there that day in the sunshine as the rest of the world enjoyed their ice creams and boat trips. Leaving an abusive relationship left her homeless and waiting for a place in a hostel in the next town.
'We're all only one step away', I thought to myself as I sat next to my new friend who began to pour her heart out to me.
As we were in mid-flow of conversation about kids and pregnancy (it's what us women like to talk about, whether we are homeless or not), a policeman rode up to us on his bike and shouted.
"OI! MOVE! NOW!!"
No chatting. No preamble. No attempt to see us as real people.
We stood up and continued to chat. My new friend had difficulty standing as her legs had become numb from sitting on the concrete. I gave the policeman my best disgruntled look.
"GO ON!" He continued bellowing. "MOVE!!"
In my bravest voice (for in truth my legs were a little shakey by this point as we had drawn a crowd and I wasn't sure what was going to happen) I explained to the policeman I was merely waiting for my family and chatting to this lady.
"If I see you here again, I'll pull you in!" He warned me as he mounted his bike and rode away.
Outraged at the way we had been treated, I explained everything to Jared when he eventually found me.
Seeing the policeman cycling past, Jared stood in front of him and stopped him in his tracks.
"Excuse me," he interrupted him, "But I hear you have just spoken very rudely to two young ladies."
The policeman smiled in a way that didn't reach his eyes. "Oh yes, and what evidence do you have for that then?"
"One of them was my wife."
And the policeman's face dropped.
When I eventually joined them and explained to him what I had been doing he transformed instantly from harsh, rude and draconian to smiles and apologies.
But deep down, I knew that what had just happened wasn't out of the ordinary.
The so called 'undeserving poor' are despised in our country by the very people who should be protecting them. I had faced the injustice that they face every single day, and it wasn't a good feeling. My new friend never wanted to sit on a cold, hard pavement asking for people's spare change. She did not choose to live a life that causes people to spit on her and kick her.
There are people in our society who need our compassion, our understanding and our support. They need a hand up not a slap in the face. They need to be treated like the precious human beings that they were made to be.
Call me naive if you like, but I know where Jesus would have been sitting. And it wouldn't have been on the policeman's bike.
Monday, 20 April 2015
This morning I read about the Israelites' first few months in their Promised Land.
Joshua had led them courageously across the Jordan river, watching it part before their eyes so they could walk across on dry land. He had been commissioned by the 'Commander of the Lord's armies' and promised help from the armies of heaven. He had marched the Israelite army around Jericho obediently for a week until, on last day, they shouted and watched in triumph and the walls simply collapsed in front of them.
And then the good feeling went.
The Israelites lost a battle and everything suddenly seemed to be going wrong.
And, despite all the miracles he had witnessed, Joshua got on his face before God and cried:
"If only we had been content to stay on the other side of the Jordan!"
And as I read those words I realised that I say them too. Even today. Despite the absolutely miraculous provision of our last few weeks, when the owner of our new house told us he wants to wait yet another six weeks before we complete and can move in I have cried "Why couldn't we just have stayed where we are and not tried to do this Hope House thing?"
How often am I content to stay in my safe, secure comfort zone?
How often am I content to stay where I am instead of taking big risks which will lead to seeing the faithfulness, might and power of God?
How often does my fear of taking those risks cause me to pretend to myself that I am content?
Going across the Jordan in my own life is a risk and, like Joshua, sometimes the good feeling goes. My battle is to find my contentment in the God I have chosen to follow and not in my surroundings and circumstances. So, despite the situation, I can choose to be content because of the hope and the promises that are before me.
When I am content in Him, my soul becomes still and I can face crossing the Jordan, even if I can't see what is on the other side.
So, I take a deep breath and I make my choice.
Friday, 10 April 2015
Boys get so much bad press, but there are so many reasons to celebrate them.
Here are the things I love about my boys:
1. I love it that they can spend two hours making 'nettle sting potion' with doc leaves and water.
2. I chuckle to myself when someone asks 'who's farted' and they proudly own up, enjoying being congratulated by the others.
3. I love listening to them whispering secret plans to each other: "Get dressed and I'll meet you outside."
4. I smile watching them spend almost a whole week creating 'defence systems' for their playhouse, complete with water bombs, stinging nettles and elaborate traps.
5. I love watching them eat their food with wholehearted satisfaction and enjoyment.
6. It makes my insides melt when they hug me at just the right time.
7. I love the fact that they can be arguing and bickering and then the cat suddenly sees another cat in the garden and is frightened. Suddenly, the boys square their shoulders, forget their petty differences and go outside to protect their cat together.
8. Their surprised faces when I wear clothes that are different to my usual 'mum' attire and their comments of 'wow, Mum, you look really beautiful' give me a glimpse of the men they are going to become. And it's a good glimpse.
9. I love the way they fight courageously for justice.
10. Their laughter, fun and sharp sense of humour makes me laugh, even when I am trying desperately not to.
11. I love the fact that a kiss from me is the ultimate threat.
They are hard work and exhausting sometimes but I wouldn't have my family any other way. What a privilege to be able to grow these young ones into the men they are supposed to become.
Friday, 3 April 2015
We live in an age where we have to be enough.
We strive to be better. We have to have the perfectly tidy home, children who aren't picky eaters, a satisfying job, dinner parties where we can cook Jamie Oliver's extravagant dishes. We are supposed to be a size 12, or even a 10, and we sweat out that evil fat by doing ridiculous challenges. Our children are meant to be polite, all the time. Young people have to achieve academically or they are deemed failures. Careers are the be all and end all.
We are told that we are good enough, strong enough, courageous enough. We read enlightening memes in social media that tell us we don't need anyone else because we have it all. If we can just summon up all our good qualities from within ourselves, our lives will turn out to be amazing.
And yet, beneath our facade of having it all together we feel like we are crumbling. Mental health issues are on the rise - and I know firsthand what this feels like. Young people suffer from depression, and self harm and eating disorders are increasing at an alarming rate. Women who were told they could have a satisfying career, perfect home and family life are on the edge of sanity trying to hold it all together. Men and women turn to alcohol to numb the truth that they aren't who they are supposed to be. Marriages fail because they've been built on the foundation of believing the other person is enough. Ambition drives us forward at menacing speed.
We wonder why we can't be like Everyone Else who seem to have it all together. And inside we question whether we are good enough.
Good Friday gives us the opportunity to breathe out and realise we are not, in fact, enough.
Good Friday tells us to stop trying, because we can never be enough.
The events of Good Friday point us to the truth that we don't have to do it all because Jesus has done it.
He died so we can live. Not just survive. Live.
He died so we can know what it means to find our fulfillment in God.
Good Friday is so outrageously good because we can stop wearing ourselves out by striving to find the strength from within ourselves when it simply isn't there.
Good Friday is jump-up-and-down-and-dance-round-the-kitchen good because our freedom from guilt and judgement has been bought.
Good Friday is extravangantly good because we can stop. And breathe. And know we are loved so much that Jesus would die in our place.
Good Friday is life-changingly good because our purpose for living changes from 'be it all' to 'you're my all.'
Good Friday is overwhelmingly good because we can be free.
This isn't a platitude or a Facebook meme. This kind of life is offered to us, freely, without any effort on our part. Sound unfair? Ridiculous? That's because it is. God loves us unfairly and ridiculously. He offers us this way of living when we don't even deserve it.
The question to ask ourselves this Easter is will we take it?