Commissioned Moments

Today I'm joining up with a community at #SheReadsTruth. We've been challenged to write from the following reflection: 

Why do we live in the tension of worship and doubt that disables us to share the truth of God’s love? 

You and I are commissioned – authorized by God – to “therefore go and make disciples” who will know Him and live for Him. This is a commandment from Jesus.

Lots of other people have also written, have a look at their thoughts here. Here are mine:

Growing up, I learned to worship God in dance. I learned all the theory; what different parts of the body symbolised and how we could move prophetically. I grew up expressing my praise with my whole being.

I grew a bit older and discovered some people found that a bit weird. I learned that my friends and I had been labelled 'the flag girls' and watched more than one less-than-complementary impression of our 'actions'.

Now I'm older still. I've learned that I can praise and worship my God without having to move at all. I can reflect, I can be so full of awe that even to put on that worshipping face is distracting from what is happening on the inside. But sometimes, I just want to dance. I want to use all my limbs, my body, my balance to express my heart. Then I remember about the flag girls and wonder what that person sitting at the back might think.

Last Friday I encountered Jesus in a way I haven't done since I was a child. On Sunday, I burned on the inside with a conviction that I had a God-given dance. Movements rose inside of me that I knew would inspire and lead others. 'Flag girls' shouted from the back of my mind, urging me to cling to dignity. The song rolled on. How could I ask Jesus for a commission if I wouldn't follow such a simple command? How could I take a step of faith at work if I couldn't take a step in front of my family?

Every step to the front felt like lead. Every movement felt shaky. The chorus rose and fell. The verses came around, and that chorus again. My whole life was laid out in that moment, surrendered. All my pride, every promise, everything I knew and didn't know. That was my commissioning moment, a tiny obedience that broke through the lies of the past and fears of the future.

Since then? Life is busy, and normal. There was no bolt from the sky, but a foundation in my heart that I can follow my commission, one step at a time.

Time on the Train Track

Married life has brought lots of changes with it; one of the more pre-meditated changes is that we've become a one-car household. My little Cora was on her last legs for a good few months before the fateful day just before Christmas when she went for her last ever drive to the breaker's yard. She might have had a larger price on her head if there hadn't been a number of football-sized holes corroded through the floor.

My bicycle has never seen so much action! Well, not since it took me from Leeds to London in two days, but that's another story. I'm not quite that fit though, and rather than the full 16-mile ride each way, I head into Leeds, hop on a train and cycle up the hill at the other end to work. It's been enough to wake up these lazy legs but is getting easier by the week, thankfully!

My train journey is approximately 22 minutes. It's lovely to have that protected time at each end of the day where there's nothing I can do but wait to arrive at my destination. One of my highlights in the morning is taking a flask of tea and pretending I'm camping. My iPad comes too and therein lies the challenge. How do I spend those precious moments, when I have a choice? My options are many and varied:

• Reading blogs, News bulletins, other great things inspirational people have posted.
• Listening to an album I haven't heard in a while
• I have a couple of ebooks on there too
• Occasionally I even try and write something interesting!

All the while I'm desperate for time to re-connect with my Maker, the One who inspires me to do all the other stuff that keeps me so busy the rest of the week. But still it's a challenge to not 'do' and just 'be'. The blogs are inspiring; the music is beautiful; and my own writing intends to reflect all that I have learnt and all that I do. I toyed with trying to get this blog much more frequently updated; to be an example of a busy Christian woman and try to connect with others, to find a way through this maze. But then I realised that if I spent all my time writing, I would never have the time for that presence. 

It's a constant tension between doing and being. One is no good without the other; but I'll leave it at that for now. There's another post brewing.

I think my solution is to mix and match. I'd like to write on here more often, just for the love of writing. I'll probably join in a couple of monthly link-ups, and try to scatter some more personal bits in than I have done previously (like, did I mention I got married?!). I'm getting into reading more blogs and discovering that it's okay to just write a little bit about everything. It's okay to just write once a week, or even less. Everything doesn't have to be polished and perfect, but it helps if it's real.

So that's my new goal.

Mixed up and real. 

Jane {Hope}

Jane* is a young lady that I met 3 years ago. That label is perhaps a little grand for her just yet; she is still a child, not yet in high school. My first impressions of Jane were that she was the original Wild Child. She could not stay still, she was always shouting, she had no internal checkpoints to tell her what was appropriate. 

Jane comes from a huge family: 13 siblings and counting. Many of her older brothers and sisters have been through the care system, and I have been involved in supporting one of them as she made the transition back home. Last time I visited the family, I heard that two of her older brothers are currently in prison. 
Jane has caused me some trouble over the past few years. She has disobeyed adults who care about her; she has bullied children who wanted to be her friend. She's been rude to a police officer when he challenged her behaviour in the street. Periodically, her behaviour improves dramatically and she tells me proudly that she has received 'star of the week' in school. Mum comes out and tells me how proud she is of Jane's hard work. But there's always something to upset the balance and send things off course again. Once it was when her little sister was born. Once when the kitchen ceiling fell through, inches away from mum's head. It was months before the council found another house for them to move into. 

On the surface, it's a hopeless situation. I can't fix Jane. I've tried, but I'm not enough. All of the signs and role models around her don't offer much hope either. The circumstances seem hopeless, but I've been learning something new. Hope in circumstances is not the same as hope in God**. Our hope doesn't come from what we can see. Our hope comes from above. 

For in this hope we were saved. Now hope that is seen is not hope. For who hopes for what he sees? But if we hope for what we do not see, we wait for it with patience. (Romans 8:24-25, ESV)

Just two streets down from Jane, there is a gentleman who moved to this part of the city as his family grew. He was so shocked by the lack of any provision for young people in the area that he started taking his piano out onto the street for singalongs with all the neighbours. The whole street comes out to join in and make requests. There are many pockets of tangible, real-life hope that can be seen and reported in these places, and I would like to believe that the hours I have poured into those streets will be counted among the examples in years to come.

It would be easy to hold onto these stories as examples of hope for my city, for our world. But if our hope is founded on what we see, then how do we respond to the stories of sickness, unemployment and abuse that also abound? Where will my strength come from as I walk through the dark valleys?

Though an army encamp against me, my heart shall not fear; though war arise against me, yet I will be confident. I believe that I shall look upon the goodness of the Lord in the land of the living! (Psalm 27:3, 13 ESV)

Let's hope in something that won't disappoint.

*   Not her real name
**  This is a brilliant, grounded article that you should read.

One Word for 2014

At the beginning of every year I usually spend some time reflecting on the year gone by, and deciding what I'd like to do in the year to come. Last year my main resolution was, 'get married' which I have quite successfully achieved! Not two months into being married and it is wonderful, best lifestyle choice I've made so far. Pete is my hero and coming home to him every night, waking up with him every morning really is amazing.

Having had such excellent success last year, it seems a shame to taint the record with another long to-do list that I may or may not achieve in the next 363 days. Instead, I'm jumping onto the bandwagon of people who attack each year with just one word.

I like it because it's so much and so little all wrapped up together. I'm discovering lots about myself at the minute(!) but one thing I've caught myself saying more than once over the past two months is, 'it's not about ticking it off the to-do list, it's about the process of getting there!' One word allows that.

My word for this year is LIGHT. It's a bit of a cheat because it's really two words in one, but that's why I've chosen it.

Light is finding the glimmer in the dark place
Light is bringing joy to the hopeless place
Light is not being weighed down by the pressures of life
Light is not being weighed down by my own expectations of myself.

In my mind it's so much more but just now I can't find the words. It's a feeling, an inkling, a hope that I won't feel like I'm drowning much longer.

For it is you who light my lamp;
   the Lord my God lightens my darkness

Let's see how well I get along with documenting it. 

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.