Postcards from God #2 - Mona Lisa

Postcards from God - #1

I believe

There are times in our lives when the world seems to be crumbling around us, when like Chicken Little we think the sky is falling, when it feels like if something can go wrong it will. Feeling like this, it's been hard to think of something positive to write. But I know it's not just me. Every day, people live with personal, community, and national struggles. The war(s) at home and abroad, unrest in the Arab nations, the fight for political transparency in Malaysia, and now the UK riots which for some of us have brought real fear to our doorsteps for the very first time - how sad it is that this isn't an exhaustive list of all the suffering we live with.

When we feel trapped in a downward spiral and are perilously close to dangling at the end of our rope with a fast-numbing hand, fear often takes hold of us. Fear persuades us that an improvement is next to impossible, that we are ensnared in a trap from which there is no escape. Fear fills the void left by hope. It doesn't matter how brave you are; fear somehow finds a way in. Feeling fear does not make you weak; facing it makes you strong.

On my bedroom wall, I have a post-it with the following verse:

"I believe in the sun
 Even when it does not shine,
I believe in love
Even when there's no one there,
And I believe in God
Even when He is silent."

Many of you will know, this is from the poem of belief, scrawled on the wall of a Nazi concentration camp by an anonymous Jewish prisoner. In response to a rant from me, my friend Bex sent me the full text of the poem as a source of support, encouragement and inspiration. So with thanks to Bex for the idea for this week's post, I'd like to share the poem with you here.

"I believe in the sun
even when it does not shine,
I believe in love
even when I am alone,
and I believe in God,
even when He is silent.

I believe through any trial
there is always a way,
but sometimes in this suffering
and hopeless despair
my heart cries for shelter,
to know someone is there.
But a voice rises within me, saying hold on
my child, I'll give you strength,
I'll give you hope. Just stay a little while.

I believe in the sun
even when it is not shining.
I believe in love
even when I am alone.
And I believe in God
even when He is silent.
I believe through any trial,
there is always a way.

May there someday be sunshine.
May there someday be happiness.
May there someday be love.
May there someday be peace."

(For those of you who look to the Bible for solace and guidance, Psalm 27 offers the same hope. "The Lord is my light and my salvation - whom shall I fear? The Lord is the stronghold of my life - of whom shall I be afraid?")

Whatever you believe, keep hope alive.

May you be happy, and may you find peace.

The church playground

There is a church on a hill, about five minutes from my childhood home. If I stand at the front gate, I can see the madonna who gazes down from under the eaves, watching over the neighbourhood. This church sits on a sizeable piece of land, and behind the main building, there used to be an absolutely enormous playground. My grandfather took me there pretty much every day when I was little, carrying me up the hill on his shoulders; he's been gone for 19 years now, and I still miss seeing certain places from that 6'2" elevation.

That playground was amazing. Half of it was in a giant sandpit, and the other half was cushioned by a lush, velvety carpet of emerald grass dotted with baby's breath and some tiny purple flowers whose name I don't know. There were ladders and slides, a rope-plank bridge, swings, turreted towers and even a drawbridge. I was a bit of a tomboy and a bit of a princess and in that playground, I could be both. Or I could be Tarzan, a knight on a quest, the queen of the pirates and a princess strolling along the battlements - all in the same day. When we'd been going to the playground for a while, my grandfather started serving at mass - which meant that now I could play up on the altar as well! Those patient priests didn't seem to mind a 3-year-old crawling under the table while they were preparing communion and told the altar boys to take care not to knock me out with the incense burner. 

My playground was demolished a few years ago, to make room for more parking, but there's still a prayer garden in one corner. I was sitting there for the first time in years one day when Father A came and sat on the bench next to me. I hadn't seen him since my grandfather's memorial service, a year after his death, when I was still a child. But Father A had seen me from the vicarage window and somehow recognised me. 

All those years ago, Father A would come play a game or two with me in my playground, then sit and talk with Papa for what felt like ages. Now, he told me what they had spoken about - God, mainly. Then, Papa wasn't Christian. My grandmother would take me to church every Sunday, but he wasn't interested. He'd been married in church, and he'd come to my baptism, but that was it. Suddenly, he found himself talking to a Catholic priest every day. Then he was baptised and confirmed, started serving in church, and became a man of stronger faith than anyone else in the house, all of whom had lived in the church from the cradle. Just before he died, Papa told me that his faith had saved his life.

Father A told me he didn't think Papa would have been open to those conversations about God in any other context. He came to that playground because of me, he kept going for my sake, and he liked trusted Father A first of all because I did. Finally, Father A said, "He believed because he could see Christ in you."

That is a huge thing to hear, and I made a decision not to analyse it and talk myself out of believing it, only because I know that whatever I think or feel about myself, God's love for me is perfect. The point is, I didn't have to do anything to bring someone to God. All I had to do was be. And if that was my entire purpose, if that is all I ever "achieve", maybe that's ok. 

A very wise friend of mine, Zainab A, puts it this way: Everything counts. Just be, because you never know what small act you do is pleasing to God. As another wise friend, Emma C, reminded me: God knows what He is doing! 

And that is the point of the church playground. God really does know what He is doing. The thing is, we don't always see it, even if we are a part of something wonderful. This life we have been given is so beautiful, intricate and complex; we are always a part of something bigger, whether we are conscious of it or not. All we have to do is be whom we were made to be. 

You

First of all, my apologies for the radio silence. Most of you who read this will know that it's been a tough few months, and at times it's been physically impossible for me to update this blog. There have been other times however, that I haven't written because there's been too much going on in my head or heart, or it's been too intense. And that has been a mistake. The whole reason I started this blog was to remind myself, and others, that when things are looking down, even when your life seems like it is in teeny tiny little pieces and you can't see how you can ever put it back together, there is always something to be thankful for. I stand by that, because I genuinely believe it. That said, knowing that in your heart and really seeing and feeling it for yourself are two different things. 

You would think that the darker it is, the easier it should be to see even the faintest glimmer or light. But there are places where the darkness feels literally all consuming and the light seems to have less of a chance than a snowball in hell. To accept that is to underestimate the light. There is nowhere it cannot shine. And before I write about any of the myriad other blessings that have continued to turn up even when I thought the darkness was winning, it is imperative that I say thanks for the most important one. 

You. In no particular order:

Emma C, who has been praying and texting and loving me every single day - and letting me know. 

Tim D and Jane S, who it is not an exaggeration to say saved my life. 

Nadine G and Narissa R, who have been faithful, loving friends for quite a while now, and whom I know will always be there for me. Thank you for standing by me. 

Egle, my darling, multi-talented, fun, loving, loyal, amazing friend. Thank God for you.

Zoya, endlessly patient with me and so giving. Hooray for the scary meeting! You and Hassan are generous and hilarious :) And please tell Hassan I want another sing-along. 

Marcus S, nothing can replace the weekly coffees and putting the world to rights, and I hope we can resume them soon! But that's the least of what a good friend you've been. 

Rupert S, my fellow foodie, you might be the most entertaining person I've ever met, and that's helped a lot in the past couple of years. Your discipline and talent are an inspiration.
Zainab A, my soul sister. You have helped me grow in my faith so much.

Siobhan G, you have the biggest heart, and how you make me laugh :) And thanks for coming to church with me. 

Shanon S, omg, where to start? Possibly with the day we took a bus to Denmark Hill?

Amy M, I'm so glad we found each other :) Tea, prayer, long chats, a good laugh and so much more. You're beautiful, outside and in. 

Liz W, so intelligent and so caring. You and Amy will make wonderful lady-vicars! Coffee, hugs, scandalising men at the next table trying to have dinner, Knitterati...the list goes on. 

Bex W, you've been a star. All the sharing helped me work so many things out, and I'm sure BT was v sad when we switched to Skype!

Till A, thank you for the music, and the friendship. You know, I hope.
Rosie W, for lunches by the river, chats with horsies, and a very special weekend at Wantage. 

Elizabeth S, how wise you are. 

Robert C, isn't it lucky you didn't mind that a strange woman randomly insisted on hugging you? And you may be the most naturally talented knitter in the world. Ever. 

Jack D, my brother in Christ :)
Rowan A, you are so gifted, and so giving. And you appear to have a hollow leg...

Polly P, one of the v v v few people who talks as much as I do!

Adam and Hubert, whom I know will always be there, any time, no matter what. Even though I hardly see you!
Wendy T, thanks for reminding me that if DHS can't kill you, nothing can!
Tracey C, you are such a strong woman, and I am SO glad you are on my side. You're the best thing Welsh Boy ever did for me! And Tina P-J is a nice bonus :)

Alyshea K, guaranteed giggles, need I say more?

Sister Barbara Claire and all the amazing sisters at Wantage, who bless everyone they cross paths with so much love, prayer and such a safe, peaceful space.

I've probably missed out a load of people, but that doesn't mean I don't love you. It just means I'm a ditz. 

It ain't no crystal stair, but you've got to keep climbing

Well, son, I'll tell you:
Life for me ain't been no crystal stair.
It's had tacks in it,
And splinters,
And boards torn up,
And places with no carpet on the floor—
Bare.
But all the time
I'se been a-climbin' on,
And reachin' landin's,
And turnin' corners,
And sometimes goin' in the dark
Where there ain't been no light.
So, boy, don't you turn back.
Don't you set down on the steps.
'Cause you finds it's kinder hard.
Don't you fall now—
For I'se still goin', honey,
I'se still climbin',
And life for me ain't been no crystal stair.

                                                            -Langston Hughes, "Mother to Son"-

Giving up, and taking on

At the beginning of this Lent, like so many Lents before, I thought long and hard about a) whether I should give something up, and b) if so, what? Now I don't have that conversation with myself because I don't want to give up something I enjoy, but it has always seemed hollow to me to, for example, give up chocolate for the sake of giving something up for Lent. Not that I take any decision involving chocolate lightly! The presence of chocolate in my life has probably been a major contributing factor to my not whacking someone over the head when they enraged me, and chocolate is definitely part of the glue that helps to mend a broken heart. In my world anyway. 

But the point is, if I am giving up anything for Lent, why am I doing it? Like so many Christians around the world, I have done it in the name of fasting - almost without thinking about it. We sacrifice something as part of the process of remembering the sacrifice Christ made for us. But there came a time when that, in and of itself, began not to sit very well with me. It was not going far enough - by which I do not mean that there was not enough "suffering" in the equation; it was simply that I felt there was another step which I needed to take for this to be a meaningful exercise. 

And I think what was making me uncomfortable was this focus on giving something up, as if that was where the buck stopped. I give something up, I've done my bit? No. I give something up to remind me of Christ's sacrifice - yes. But what does His sacrifice mean? Why did He do it? What implications does that have for how I live my life? Now we're on to something. 

So, what is really important, to me, is my relationship with the living God. That sacrifice was made so I could live, which means for me, Lent is about taking a good hard look at what God really wants us to be doing, how He really wants us to be living. 

"Is not this the kind of fasting I have chosen: to loose the chains of injustice and untie the cords of the yoke, to set the oppressed free and break every yoke? Is it not to share your food with the hungry and to provide the poor wanderer with shelter - when you see the naked, to clothe them, and not to turn away from your own flesh and blood?"

                                                                                     -Isaiah 58:6-7-

So, I am giving things up in order to make room for something else. I am trying to give up the things that are getting in the way of my relationship with God, and to take up things that bring me closer to Him. 

I will give up chocolate that is made on the backs of the working poor, that enslaves children and puts them in dangerous working conditions. And I will take up Fairtrade chocolate. 

I will cut down on Facebook time. And I will take up a pen and a piece of paper, and write a note to someone I love, to an old friend, to someone sick or someone lonely. 

I will cut down on TV or whatever else I use to distract myself. And I will talk to my granny with more attention, take up stronger relationships, give more time to prayer. 

I will try to give up resentment, and I will take up love. 

I will try to give up shame and guilt, and I will take up my inheritance as a child of God.