Mercy {Five Minute Friday}

I have to confess, I'm not quite all there today. Focussing on anything creative for 5 full minutes is a challenge, not least such an abstract concept. I'm feeling empty, but here's what's left:

Mercy

A lifeline
A hope
A dream not crushed
Love that can't be broken, even though we try so hard
A helping hand
A second, third, hundredth chance

Mercy is what rescues us when we've lost our way. Mercy given is what inspires us, no compels us to go out and rescue others. Mercy by its definition is not deserved, it is entirely unfair but it is just and right.

 STOP

Red {Five Minute Friday}

I have a confession to make... I may have set the timer to 5 hours instead of 5 minutes before I started writing today! So I actually wrote for 10 minutes before I realised my mistake. Here goes anyway:

STOP. DANGER. NO ENTRY.

These are all Red words. They are a barrier, a warning to all who would consider taking the risk. They are the wall between us and an almost certain death... or at least a little challenge.

I am one to heed warnings. As far as I am concerned, there is no need to reinvent the wheel. If I am facing a problem that someone has faced before, my first instinct is to go find out how they solved it. I don’t think it’s laziness; more like efficiency. And generally, it has worked well for me and provided me with some good advice.

But what if sometimes, things are different? What if all those warnings (Oh, I tried that and it was a disaster, don’t even go there) didn’t apply to me? What if I was to step right out onto the edge and then dive off of it? I’ve done that once. Young people will be climbing on the roof if you go there, they said. Don’t get me wrong, it’s been hard, but had I listened to those red words I would never have had the relationships in the community that I do. Young people wouldn’t have the space to come to, the positive role models, that they do.

Maybe I’m not so bad at crossing the red words after all.

Reconciliation is my Heritage

My mum's parents met at war. I'm sure many people of my generation could say the same. But my grandparents didn't meet at a dance, or as they served valiantly alongside each other; no, they were supposed to be enemies. My Grandma was German and my Granddad was British.

I don't actually know any details about how my grandparents met or fell in love. I know that after the war they lived in Germany for some time and my two eldest aunties spoke German before they spoke English. I know that when they did come back to England, it still wasn't cool to be German in the working class north east. Unfortunately their relationship did not last the many challenges that were thrown at it, and my mum knew what it was like to grow up in a broken family before such a thing was common.

But something must have been there; some spark of love or passion that would not be ignored in spite of its impropriety or inappropriacy. I can see those traits coming through in my mum- she feels things deeply and has a conviction in what she does, even if it is not popular with those around her. She has a rebellious compassion that I love.

I know that I often find myself caught in the middle of conflict where I'm inconveniently affiliated to both sides. Like when a couple, whose relationship was as solid as the orbit of the earth around the sun, split up. Or when some best friends left my church under a cloud. Or when I just happen to like two people who don't like each other!

Growing up I loved church; the Sunday morning format of singing and worshiping then sitting and listening worked perfectly for me. But I found myself an oddball amongst the oddballs, drawn to those on who struggled to relate whilst relating perfectly well myself. Always the awkward one, standing in the gap.

Not to say that I have always loved easily; I have carried hurt on others' behalf but felt no rest until I gave it up. I could not deny the hurt that I saw, but neither could I deny the love of Jesus that I knew. I have chosen not to take sides, but to embrace the awkwardness that comes with being on both sides.

I am a product of my history: Reconciliation is my heritage.

I've recently discovered the 'sheloves' magazine. It is full of beautiful stories, and each month invites its readers to join in on a particular theme. This months theme is 'Heritage' and it has really got my imagination going! I'm going to try and post something each week on the theme, just to keep my creative writing juices flowing. There's so much to be drawn from looking into the past.

Finding Funds

I don't know if I ever mentioned it on here, but I do have another blog called 'take a talent'. I started it in response to a challenge set by some friends of mine to take an investment of £10, and combine it with my talents to grow that money into more, in support of a charity they were setting up in Zambia. We've gotten off to a bit of a rocky start (business was never my strong point) but I thought I'd point any readers over there. Any advice or offers of help gratefully received!

Newest post here: Re-launch

Worship {Five Minute Friday}

I lay down and close my eyes. The world spins around me, ears ringing, head full of a thousand thoughts that shout for my attention. Fears and worries, memories, things I forgot to do in work, things I must remember before tomorrow, fears and worries, memories, things I forgot... Round and around in circles, never resolving.

 Somewhere deep inside, there is a quiet place. Though the mountains may fall and the city is desolate, still my child will rest in in disturbed places of peace. That's what you said. As the world quiets around me, so do my thoughts. I prick my ears for the still, small voice.

 And again, I know. I know the rock on which I stand.

 STOP.

Small {Five Minute Friday}

It's Monday, but I'm sure it's still allowed. I need all the practice I can get!

Small

“From a tiny acorn, the mighty oak tree grows”.

The smallest things are the most powerful. My favourite film is Horton Hear a Who. It’s silly and it’s about elephants so it gets marks for that. But it also tells the story of something tiny, and how that made a huge difference to two worlds. An elephant hears a cry coming from a tiny ‘speck’ and discovers that a whole world of people live there. It changes everything for him; he goes from being a happy-go-lucky take-it-or-leave-it spirit to somebody with determination and purpose. He changes a whole community, and rescues another.

I have started small things. I launched a youth group that saw 2 young people to 4 leaders for a whole term. Less than a year on it is still not huge, but I’ve heard people talk about it on the street. Could we change a community?

STOP

Destination Domestication

I'm not sure what's in the air; whether it's my impending wedding, cabin fever from having time off and commitments slimmed down, or if I'm just becoming old. But I have become increasingly 'domestic' over the past month. 'Domestic Goddess' is a wild exaggeration and the thought of Proverbs 31 is enough to bring me out in cold sweats, but I'm giving it a good go. I have picked strawberries and made jam; I've baked cakes for birthdays and just because someone was coming round; I've made stock from old chicken bones. 

On Tuesday my brother came to stay, so with all of these conquests in mind, I decided to try something new for dinner. Chicken pie sounded nice and easy, and in one of Jamie Oliver's 'everyone can cook' books, there's a recipe for a quick and simple recipe. Great. Monday night I caught Morrisons just before closing time (and had to run home for my purse, but that's another story) and bought a kilo of chicken leg & thigh, various veg and some pastry. I was up early in the morning ready to go. 

The meat needed to be skinned and de-boned, so somewhat hesitantly I set about trying to separate the component parts. I have yet to meet anyone who enjoys dealing with raw chicken, but this was a task apart. Ten minutes and a couple of morsels wrestled off, it was too much. Into a boiling pot it went, and soon the cooked (and very hot) meet was being gingerly picked apart as I burned the nerve endings off my fingertips. Asbestos fingers don't just happen: you have to work on them! Suffice to say the pie mix wasn't ready before I left for play scheme that morning.