Before I got married I had a dream that one day I'd live in a big house with a fabulous garden. Roses, peonies, lilies, a meadow, possibly a stream and lots of nooks and crannies to sit and read. The lot. I imagined myself in a floaty summer dress (probably from Boden or some other such English institution) strolling through the garden at dusk with my wicker basket and scissors gently picking roses for a vast floral display which I'd artfully design similar to those featured in such heady publications as Country Living.
I married a man who is passionate about gardening. One of the reasons we brought our current home is because we both loved the garden. It is, by town standards, vast. However his understanding of the verb 'to garden' and mine differ somewhat. That is because his is rooted in Reality.
Within a week of moving in any thought of Boden, peonies and wicker baskets had vanished. In their place were wellies (nope, not even pink), mud, rubbish piles, trips to the local Tip and basically Death.
You see much of gardening is about Death (stay with me, I've not lost it). The garden we moved in to hadn't been properly gardened in years. Which meant (she writes, eager to demonstrate her newly acquired Gardening Knowledge) that the soil lacked nutrients, the plants were stunted and there were A LOT of weeds. Some of them even looked pretty. But they were weeds nonetheless. So we spent the first year digging up everything. And I mean Everything. There was many a time when I'd beg my husband, 'Oh please not that one! Look at it's gorgeous purple flower!". To which he'd reply, "Bekah, it's a thistle. Get out of the way."
At the end of the first year our garden looked like.. well the term mud pit is probably too kind. As I stared out at this barren wasteland I thought, "Ah well. At least I can now get planting my flowers."
Nope. Turns out that was Not A Good Idea. "Vegetables!" cried my husband with a slightly terrifying gleam in his eye. "We need vegetables! Lots and lots. They'll help break up the soil, return the nutrients and we can live off them too! Can't say that about roses can you?" For a man who hates shopping, he managed to spend an alarming amount of time and money at our local gardening centres. And the result was a field of potatoes. Different varieties, mind you, but potatoes nonetheless. There's not too much beauty surrounding the common garden spud. I'd like to say I got quite proficient at creating new and exciting dishes using our produce. But that would be a lie. Anyone visiting our house during that time left struggling under the weight of our excess vegetables.
Anyway, whilst this is all very therapeutic for me you might be wondering a) whether we actually have any flowers now and b) what this has got to do with... well, anything really.
Okay, a) we do now have flowers. Lots. And grass. And a very small enclosed space for the odd vegetable. But no potatoes. If Sainsbury's is good enough for the rest of the population, it's good enough for me. And every time I step out into our garden, my spirit soars. And I've learnt so much that I'm now tackling our front garden All By Myself. Yep, there's absolutely no planting going on. Just lots of death and destruction. For now.
b) which is partly what got me thinking. Gardening is hard work. I mean, I had no idea (clearly). Roots go down deep. And it takes a LONG TIME. Digging, sifting, levelling... it's an investment. The easier option would definitely be to leave it all alone. But I have a vision for my garden. Although it's overgrown I can see all it could be.
God is invested in us. He sees all that we could be. And he's not prepared to stop digging and uprooting and challenging and killing stuff in us until we're made more and more like Jesus and growing pretty awesome fruit in our lives (Galatians 5:22-23).
But when God's working on a particular part of our lives it can feel incredibly painful. Stuff has to die. We realise we're not as great as we thought we were. The landscape can look barren and the timescale indefinite. But if you're experiencing that, I want to encourage you. God's not a random gardener and he doesn't get things wrong. He's clearing the ground ready for something far more beautiful and life-giving and fruitful than you could ever imagine.
Thursday 27 June 2013
Wednesday 19 June 2013
Up!
On Monday we visited Anglesey Abbey. It's a great National Trust property (yes, I've reached that age) with acres and acres of grass, trees and even the odd quasi-classical sculpture (which is irrelevant to this post, but I just fancied using the word 'quasi').
My mother-in-law trotted off to admire the gardens. Her knowledge of Latin plant names is vast and she very sweetly asks my opinion every time she's identifying a plant: 'Do you think this could be a platanthera chlorantha, Bekah? Or maybe a cardamine pratensis?' Whilst I'm flattered that she asks, I am wondering when she'll realise that my furrowed brow and 'mmmm' noise actually don't mean I'm genuinely thinking about the puzzle... But I digress. My son and I stayed to play on the grass.
He is still learning to walk and gestures impatiently for my hand whenever he wants to explore somewhere new. So together we trotted through the daisies, played peekaboo round the fir trees and then he discovered a narrow alleyway. On one side was a wall. On the other was a very large, very spiky fir tree. He adopted his 'I am determined to go this way' face and pulled me toward it.
The sharp branches were exactly the same height as his eyes and he very quickly realised that he was In Trouble. Still holding my finger in his vice-like grip he looked up at me and gestured: Up. I want to go up. So I picked him up and we walked through together.
You probably won't be surprised to hear that this got me thinking. The reality of his situation hadn't changed. The gap was still very small. The branches remained thorn-like. But his position and perspective had shifted. He was still going through the gap, but he was being carried. And he could now see that what had seemed like an indeterminate tunnel of pain was actually just a short gateway beyond which lay more green grass.
Recently there have been some things in my life that have very much had the potential to be overwhelming and fear-inducing. And one of the ways I've been trying to deal with them is to remind myself of God's perspective. His plans. His power. And I suppose in a way the root of my prayer has been like that of my son's request: Up! Father, lift me up. Help me to see things as you see them. Carry me through this patch. Remind me that it won't last. Up!
We often cite Isaiah 43:2 when people are in difficulty:
'When you pass through the waters, I will be with you;
and when you pass through the rivers, they will not sweep over you.
When you walk through the fire, you will not be burned; the flames will not set you ablaze.'
It's a comforting verse, but what struck me recently was the picture of being carried. The only way a river is not going to sweep over you is if you are above it, safely being carried by One who has the power to stand in the face of sweeping rivers and all the horror they can bring.
To return to Monday, on our return home I noticed that my son hadn't escaped his trial unscathed. He had several rather large scratches on his face but then, so did I.
God doesn't promise a life free from obstacles and suffering. But he does promise to carry us through them. We just have to ask.
My mother-in-law trotted off to admire the gardens. Her knowledge of Latin plant names is vast and she very sweetly asks my opinion every time she's identifying a plant: 'Do you think this could be a platanthera chlorantha, Bekah? Or maybe a cardamine pratensis?' Whilst I'm flattered that she asks, I am wondering when she'll realise that my furrowed brow and 'mmmm' noise actually don't mean I'm genuinely thinking about the puzzle... But I digress. My son and I stayed to play on the grass.
He is still learning to walk and gestures impatiently for my hand whenever he wants to explore somewhere new. So together we trotted through the daisies, played peekaboo round the fir trees and then he discovered a narrow alleyway. On one side was a wall. On the other was a very large, very spiky fir tree. He adopted his 'I am determined to go this way' face and pulled me toward it.
The sharp branches were exactly the same height as his eyes and he very quickly realised that he was In Trouble. Still holding my finger in his vice-like grip he looked up at me and gestured: Up. I want to go up. So I picked him up and we walked through together.
You probably won't be surprised to hear that this got me thinking. The reality of his situation hadn't changed. The gap was still very small. The branches remained thorn-like. But his position and perspective had shifted. He was still going through the gap, but he was being carried. And he could now see that what had seemed like an indeterminate tunnel of pain was actually just a short gateway beyond which lay more green grass.
Recently there have been some things in my life that have very much had the potential to be overwhelming and fear-inducing. And one of the ways I've been trying to deal with them is to remind myself of God's perspective. His plans. His power. And I suppose in a way the root of my prayer has been like that of my son's request: Up! Father, lift me up. Help me to see things as you see them. Carry me through this patch. Remind me that it won't last. Up!
We often cite Isaiah 43:2 when people are in difficulty:
'When you pass through the waters, I will be with you;
and when you pass through the rivers, they will not sweep over you.
When you walk through the fire, you will not be burned; the flames will not set you ablaze.'
It's a comforting verse, but what struck me recently was the picture of being carried. The only way a river is not going to sweep over you is if you are above it, safely being carried by One who has the power to stand in the face of sweeping rivers and all the horror they can bring.
To return to Monday, on our return home I noticed that my son hadn't escaped his trial unscathed. He had several rather large scratches on his face but then, so did I.
God doesn't promise a life free from obstacles and suffering. But he does promise to carry us through them. We just have to ask.
Thursday 13 June 2013
Pride
If you'd have visited my house yesterday afternoon this is what you would have found: My son eating his dinner with relish and managing to keep most of it off the floor. The kitchen perfectly tidy: washing up done, roast chicken ready to be put in the oven, potatoes peeled and the floor swept. Later you would have seen my son and I engaged in fun, educational play with a hand made toy. Then you would have observed my son happily playing by himself whilst I sent some emails and generally got organised with my life.
And I hope, on seeing all those things, you would have been Impressed. I was. I confess that the thought even popped into my head, 'If only someone would call round now. Just so they can see how competent and together I am.'
However, yesterday morning was a different story. If you'd have come round then you'd have found my son standing up in his cot screaming and refusing to have his nap. You would have seen me still in my pyjamas sobbing that it was all too difficult and that I'd had enough. The sitting room covered in toys and Weetabix. Mountains of washing up to be done. And I suspect that you would have been Concerned (especially if you don't have children of your own).
It can be hard allowing people to see that we don't have it all together all the time. One of the biggest hindrances to me going up to get prayer at the end of a church service is the thought, 'What if people think I have a porn addiction or a problem with self-harming or am just really struggling with life?' Basically what I'm worried is that they'll move me from the category of 'strong and got it together' to 'weak and vulnerable and (heaven forbid) needy'. And at the root of that is pride.
It's humbling to let people see your struggles. It's humbling to admit, 'I don't have it altogether'. But whilst the process of learning humility can be painful, it can have incredible consequences. I've read many different definitions of humility but the one I like most is 'Humility means to think less about yourself and more about others'. When we have the humility to admit that we are far from perfect - no matter how things might appear - it creates a safe space for others to take off their masks and admit that there are areas that they too find hard. As C S Lewis wrote, 'Friendship is born at that moment when one person says to another, "What? You too? I thought I was the only one!"
Demonstrating humility can be costly, but it becomes easier when our identity is sorted. Jesus demonstrated extraordinary humility. In Philippians 2 Paul describes the depths that Jesus was willing to go for others. He put aside all vestiges of his glory and power and became a human in a remote, enemy-occupied, poverty-stricken part of the world. He died an excruciating death. And he left himself vulnerable to misunderstanding, abuse and wrongful judgement - and still does. But the reason he that he could take the menial job of foot-washing - as well as the vast job of human salvation - is because he was certain of his identity. He knew what God thought about him, 'This is my Son, whom I love' - and that left him free to demonstrate humility.
I am God's child. He loves me irrespective of whether my house is perpetually in chaos or whether I raise the next Einstein. And that means I can stop trying to be perfect, start showing humility and hopefully allow others the chance to be free from the stifling expectations that they carry - whether placed there by society or themselves.
And I hope, on seeing all those things, you would have been Impressed. I was. I confess that the thought even popped into my head, 'If only someone would call round now. Just so they can see how competent and together I am.'
However, yesterday morning was a different story. If you'd have come round then you'd have found my son standing up in his cot screaming and refusing to have his nap. You would have seen me still in my pyjamas sobbing that it was all too difficult and that I'd had enough. The sitting room covered in toys and Weetabix. Mountains of washing up to be done. And I suspect that you would have been Concerned (especially if you don't have children of your own).
It can be hard allowing people to see that we don't have it all together all the time. One of the biggest hindrances to me going up to get prayer at the end of a church service is the thought, 'What if people think I have a porn addiction or a problem with self-harming or am just really struggling with life?' Basically what I'm worried is that they'll move me from the category of 'strong and got it together' to 'weak and vulnerable and (heaven forbid) needy'. And at the root of that is pride.
It's humbling to let people see your struggles. It's humbling to admit, 'I don't have it altogether'. But whilst the process of learning humility can be painful, it can have incredible consequences. I've read many different definitions of humility but the one I like most is 'Humility means to think less about yourself and more about others'. When we have the humility to admit that we are far from perfect - no matter how things might appear - it creates a safe space for others to take off their masks and admit that there are areas that they too find hard. As C S Lewis wrote, 'Friendship is born at that moment when one person says to another, "What? You too? I thought I was the only one!"
Demonstrating humility can be costly, but it becomes easier when our identity is sorted. Jesus demonstrated extraordinary humility. In Philippians 2 Paul describes the depths that Jesus was willing to go for others. He put aside all vestiges of his glory and power and became a human in a remote, enemy-occupied, poverty-stricken part of the world. He died an excruciating death. And he left himself vulnerable to misunderstanding, abuse and wrongful judgement - and still does. But the reason he that he could take the menial job of foot-washing - as well as the vast job of human salvation - is because he was certain of his identity. He knew what God thought about him, 'This is my Son, whom I love' - and that left him free to demonstrate humility.
I am God's child. He loves me irrespective of whether my house is perpetually in chaos or whether I raise the next Einstein. And that means I can stop trying to be perfect, start showing humility and hopefully allow others the chance to be free from the stifling expectations that they carry - whether placed there by society or themselves.
Friday 7 June 2013
Stairs
My son's current 'thing' is stairs. Loves them. If a room contains something even remotely resembling a step he's able to gravitate towards it with alarming speed and persistence.
Yesterday I was preparing his lunch in the kitchen. Despite being left in a room full of toys, he gripped the stair gate for 10 minutes and screamed. And screamed. I think he may have even hit the gate at one point - it was certainly Tested. As was I.
'Why,' I thought as I waited for the microwave to ping (because I am a domestic goddess), 'on earth isn't he enjoying all the things he has got instead of the one thing he hasn't? He has toys beyond number. Crayons, chairs, a bookcase that he usually loves to empty and access to the garden. There's a whole world out there! He's missing out and wasting a huge amount of energy. All because he wants the one thing he can't have.'
I ridicule but so often I act in the same way. I so often focus on what I haven't got that I fail to enjoy all I have got. At various points in my life I've wanted the following: to be married; to be married to that boy (and then that one, and then that one....); to be thinner; a job; a better job; more money; for the baby to just arrive because I'm tired of pregnancy and feeling tired all the time... for the baby to be somewhere else because I'm tired of being tired all the time; for the baby to sleep through the night; for the baby to eat solid food... Some of these things became real obsessions for me and I missed out on so much!
Psalm 118:24 says, 'This is the day the LORD has made; we will rejoice and be glad in it.' Today - with all it contains - has been given me by God. Some things are not as I would wish. Others are beyond anything I could have imagined. But instead of focusing on what I don't have I need to focus on and enjoy all I do have.
Getting my son to sleep through the night was a really big deal. I'm basically not a nice person when sleep-deprived. I remember one night when he woke up yet again and I remember the horrible feeling in the pit of my stomach. 'Grief. Why can't he just sleep? WHY???!!!' I pulled on my dressing gown, staggered into his room and picked him up. And then suddenly - and I'm still not really sure why - the thought popped into my head, 'This phase won't last. He'll grow up. And then you won't get the chance for these night-time cuddles. So why not enjoy them?' So instead of pacing round his room rocking him I just took him back into our bed. We sat with him and played together for half an hour. I stopped worrying about his not sleeping and just enjoyed the moment.
And now looking back that is one of my favourite memories. A tiny bundle of awake-ness and his two doting parents, all huddled together in the pitch-dark of 1am giggling away while the rest of the world slept. For the briefest of moments I was able to turn my mind from what I didn't have to what I did. And it was awesome.
Yesterday I was preparing his lunch in the kitchen. Despite being left in a room full of toys, he gripped the stair gate for 10 minutes and screamed. And screamed. I think he may have even hit the gate at one point - it was certainly Tested. As was I.
'Why,' I thought as I waited for the microwave to ping (because I am a domestic goddess), 'on earth isn't he enjoying all the things he has got instead of the one thing he hasn't? He has toys beyond number. Crayons, chairs, a bookcase that he usually loves to empty and access to the garden. There's a whole world out there! He's missing out and wasting a huge amount of energy. All because he wants the one thing he can't have.'
I ridicule but so often I act in the same way. I so often focus on what I haven't got that I fail to enjoy all I have got. At various points in my life I've wanted the following: to be married; to be married to that boy (and then that one, and then that one....); to be thinner; a job; a better job; more money; for the baby to just arrive because I'm tired of pregnancy and feeling tired all the time... for the baby to be somewhere else because I'm tired of being tired all the time; for the baby to sleep through the night; for the baby to eat solid food... Some of these things became real obsessions for me and I missed out on so much!
Psalm 118:24 says, 'This is the day the LORD has made; we will rejoice and be glad in it.' Today - with all it contains - has been given me by God. Some things are not as I would wish. Others are beyond anything I could have imagined. But instead of focusing on what I don't have I need to focus on and enjoy all I do have.
Getting my son to sleep through the night was a really big deal. I'm basically not a nice person when sleep-deprived. I remember one night when he woke up yet again and I remember the horrible feeling in the pit of my stomach. 'Grief. Why can't he just sleep? WHY???!!!' I pulled on my dressing gown, staggered into his room and picked him up. And then suddenly - and I'm still not really sure why - the thought popped into my head, 'This phase won't last. He'll grow up. And then you won't get the chance for these night-time cuddles. So why not enjoy them?' So instead of pacing round his room rocking him I just took him back into our bed. We sat with him and played together for half an hour. I stopped worrying about his not sleeping and just enjoyed the moment.
And now looking back that is one of my favourite memories. A tiny bundle of awake-ness and his two doting parents, all huddled together in the pitch-dark of 1am giggling away while the rest of the world slept. For the briefest of moments I was able to turn my mind from what I didn't have to what I did. And it was awesome.
Tuesday 4 June 2013
Psalm 91
This morning as I gulped down my cereal and made sure my son ate his (rather than throwing it on me) I glanced at Psalm 91. "Very nice," I thought. "Now, what's next on my agenda? He needs a nap, the washing needs to go on, I probably should get dressed and sort tonight's meal and..." All too quickly Psalm 91 and all it's niceness got swept away on a tide of busyness.
But I felt a bit sad about that. It seemed like such a rich Psalm. So later in a moment of quiet I sat in the sun and read it again. Here are some of my thoughts on verses one and two (yes I only managed the first two verses - that was the amount of time I had before the washing was ready to be hung out... but I digress.)
'Those who live in the shelter of the Most High will find rest in the shadow of the Almighty."
- this is not talking about people who occasionally stop by and give the odd 5 minutes to God. This is a promise for those who make a conscious decision to spend the whole of their life in His presence.
- 'shelter' is apparently a reference to the Temple. The place where God's glory dwelt. Again a place where people had to make a conscious decision to visit.
- they 'will' find rest. A promise not just a hope. A certainty which is true irrespective of feelings and circumstance.
- 'find rest'. Something we need to actively seek when in his presence? Rest: stillness, peace, restoration. A state of being where we don't need to do or be anything. And rest, presumably, from all the things which cause our exhaustion.
- 'Most High' and 'Almighty' are both names which remind us of who God is and what he can do. Because he is the Most High and because he is Almighty we can trust him. We can rest.
"This I declare about the LORD: He alone is my refuge, my place of safety; he is my God and I trust him."
- 'I declare' indicates a decision not a feeling. I choose this, again irrespective of my feelings or what's going on in my life.
- 'He alone is my refuge' - not money, not my career or my intellect, not my achievements or my status or my family. My refuge is God. Refuge: a place of safety from danger. No indication that belief in God results in a life free from danger. But rather that within the danger and worry and fear we experience, God stands as a shelter.
- 'He is my God'. This is a personal decision. A decision made and a relationship formed.
- 'and I trust him' and there are consequences to this decision. Trust: reliance upon and confidence in. Trust is a decision and an action.
But I felt a bit sad about that. It seemed like such a rich Psalm. So later in a moment of quiet I sat in the sun and read it again. Here are some of my thoughts on verses one and two (yes I only managed the first two verses - that was the amount of time I had before the washing was ready to be hung out... but I digress.)
'Those who live in the shelter of the Most High will find rest in the shadow of the Almighty."
- this is not talking about people who occasionally stop by and give the odd 5 minutes to God. This is a promise for those who make a conscious decision to spend the whole of their life in His presence.
- 'shelter' is apparently a reference to the Temple. The place where God's glory dwelt. Again a place where people had to make a conscious decision to visit.
- they 'will' find rest. A promise not just a hope. A certainty which is true irrespective of feelings and circumstance.
- 'find rest'. Something we need to actively seek when in his presence? Rest: stillness, peace, restoration. A state of being where we don't need to do or be anything. And rest, presumably, from all the things which cause our exhaustion.
- 'Most High' and 'Almighty' are both names which remind us of who God is and what he can do. Because he is the Most High and because he is Almighty we can trust him. We can rest.
"This I declare about the LORD: He alone is my refuge, my place of safety; he is my God and I trust him."
- 'I declare' indicates a decision not a feeling. I choose this, again irrespective of my feelings or what's going on in my life.
- 'He alone is my refuge' - not money, not my career or my intellect, not my achievements or my status or my family. My refuge is God. Refuge: a place of safety from danger. No indication that belief in God results in a life free from danger. But rather that within the danger and worry and fear we experience, God stands as a shelter.
- 'He is my God'. This is a personal decision. A decision made and a relationship formed.
- 'and I trust him' and there are consequences to this decision. Trust: reliance upon and confidence in. Trust is a decision and an action.
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