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.