“May today there be peace within. May you trust God that you are exactly where you are meant to be. May you not forget the infinite possibilities that are born of faith. May you use those gifts that you have received, and pass on the love that has been given to you. May you be content knowing you are a child of God. Let this presence settle into your bones, and allow your soul the freedom to sing, dance, praise and love. It is there for each and every one of us.”
"Never say there is nothing beautiful in the world anymore. There is always something to make you wonder in the shape of a tree, the trembling of a leaf." - Albert Schweitz -
"He that takes his cares on himself loads himself in vain with an uneasy burden. I will cast my cares on God; he has bidden me; they cannot burden him."
A couple of posts back, I wrote about how it can sometimes feel like God is trying very hard to get a message across. He knows us so well, He knows exactly what speaks to that place within us that wants to hear Him. I think this is particularly true in those times that we find it hardest to hear His voice, or when we don't want to listen in case He says something we don't want to hear. Personally, I find it difficult not only to hear God but to talk to Him when I am in pain, or otherwise in a dark place. It's not that I don't want to; those are the times I want communion with Him more than ever. I just can't. I'm too distracted by the storm. I can't hear Him for the roaring of the wind, I can't see Him for the ten-foot waves between us, I can't feel him for the rocking of my little boat.
So I go away in search of silence, and the first thing I see on walking into this place is a board with these words: "Serenity is not freedom from the storm, but peace amid the storm". It's the message of Matthew 14:22-32, the same one that's been coming at me from all directions lately. Peace amid the storm, stillness in its midst. The world does not have to come to a standstill for us to be at peace. The peace of the Lord passeth all understanding, and it is where God is, which is everywhere. God is always there. We may leave, but He is constant, waiting with open arms for us to come back and be comforted, celebrated, cherished, loved.
Which is all very well, but how do you find this peace when the reality of life as you are living it is anything but? I wish there were an easy answer, but it's complicated. Because we are human, and imperfect. Because it is connected to our relationship with God, and relationships are complicated. Because an ant can only see so much of a mountain at once. So I don't have the answer, and there isn't a magic wand we can wave, but something helpful has come my way. This is what was prayed at evening prayer, the night I had spent the whole day asking God how to find the still place.
You, Lord, are in this place.
Your presence fills it,
Your presence is peace.
You, Lord, are in my heart.
Your presence fills it,
Your presence is peace.
You, Lord, are in my mind.
Your presence fills it,
Your presence is peace.
You, Lord, are in my life.
Your presence fills it,
Your presence is peace.
Help us, oh Lord, to know that we dwell in You and You dwell in us, this day and for evermore.
That's a pretty good place to start, don't you think?
"An infinite God can give all of Himself to each of His children. He does not distribute Himself that each may have a part, but to each one He gives all of Himself as fully as if there were no others."
Do you ever get the feeling God/the universe is trying to tell you something? I spend quite a lot of time asking God questions, ranging from "what am I supposed to be doing with my life?" to "why can't I just eat cake all the time?" - and He never, but never, seems to give me a direct answer. Most annoying, but I suspect God doesn't work that way for most people. What I think He does do is keep open the lines of communication from His end; God constantly reaches out to us, but we don't always see or hear him, because sometimes we just can't or just don't want to. It's scary to listen to God. He might be saying something you really don't want to hear, and what happens then? So we put up walls, or I do anyway - because I am scared, suspicious, stubborn, worried, angry, or for whatever reason have too much internal noise to hear the still small voice of God.
He is always there though. That is the point of Him. He doesn't go away. Not ever, believe it or not, and it can be so hard to believe it sometimes, even if you know it. And while most of us probably don't have daily visions of Him, or hear him a la the Metatron in Dogma or Morgan Freeman in Bruce Almighty (you might, I don't), I do believe He tries to get through to us all the time. He is there in prayer, in the people we meet, in the books we read, the music we hear, the art we create, the world He has made - look at a sunrise or a sausage dog and tell me God had nothing to do with that.
This is all wonderful but not terribly specific. However, now and then I think there is something God really wants us to hear, and then I think He goes all out to make sure we get the message. Now I don't know about you but I tend to be fairly oblivious and usually need to be hit over the head with it before I get it. And that's the kind of week I've had. Everywhere I've turned, every other person I've spoken to, every random moment I've experienced, I've been hearing the same thing.
There's this great story in Matthew 14:22-32: Jesus has fed the five thousand, and tells the disciples to get in a boat and cross the lake at Galilee while he goes off alone to pray. A storm arises in the middle of the night when the boat is far from the shore and everyone panics. Jesus walks out on the water to the boat, and everyone freaks out, convinced he's a ghost or spirit. Jesus tells them not to worry, it's just him, and Peter says, "If it really is you, tell me to come to you on the water." Jesus does so, and Peter start to walk towards him on the water. Everything is fine while Peter keeps his eyes on Jesus, then he notices the wind, panics, and starts to sink. He cries out, "Lord, save me!", and Jesus reaches out to him and catches him saying, "You of little faith, why did you doubt?". And when Peter and Jesus climbed into the boat, the wind died down - at which point the relieved disciples worshipped him saying, "Truly You are the Son of God."
Wonderful, and so apt for me at the moment. I feel a lot like Peter; as long as I keep my focus on the Lord, everything's fine - or at least I feel like it's all going to be ok. I trust. But I get distracted, and panic, and then I flail. It reminds me of when I was learning to play the piano and my teacher used to get me to memorise the music. I'd be playing along from memory quite happily, with the score in front of me "just in case", and it would be perfect until I suddenly realised I hadn't turned the page in ages, doubted myself, and my beautiful Chopin would collapse into a rubble of dischord and missed notes. Oh you of little faith, why did you doubt?
I also feel a lot like the disciples: I'm inclined not to really believe with all my heart until the storm has been calmed. The problem is, some storms keep raging for a lot longer than I can keep my focus.
Anyway, everywhere I have turned recently I have been hit over the head with Matthew 14. I went to the BBC Proms for the first time this year, and randomly chose a performance of Elgar's The Apostles - guess what a big chunk of that was about? My favourite stained glass window in my new church (shown to me by the lovely, intuitive vicar who thought it would speak to me) depicts - you guessed it - Jesus calming the storm. The readings in every other service/bible study/random discussion I've had in the last week or so? Matthew 14. The passage a spiritual director gave me to read on retreat? Matthew 14.
You think He's trying to tell me something? I don't believe in coincidence, but I do believe in a divine plan of such magnificent scale that it's beyond my comprehension. And in the meantime, while my bark is tempest tossed, it's rather nice to know that He will calm the storm and as long as I keep my eyes on Him, anything is possible.
This is really two posts in one, two stories I felt I needed to tell. They are separate, but connected by what they meant to me, and by the loving place they came from.
The Lady and the Cushion
I went away on retreat over the weekend, to a still, peaceful place where beauty lives. It was a gift I decided to give myself, but the giving of it cost me a lot, because I find it difficult to be kind to myself - as I suspect a lot of people do. Anyway, I spent the first couple of days in silence, trying to quiet all the internal noise I put between myself and God. For me, this is a worthwhile exercise, and a necessary once, but it's also emotionally intense and I find it challenging on many levels. The point of me telling you this is to explain that by the time Sunday morning rolled around, I was in a vulnerable place - not that this was a bad thing, but when you make the effort to open your heart, take an honest look at what's inside and turn your will to being receptive, it's going to feel raw.
So that's where I was on Sunday morning. It was a gorgeous sunny day and after breakfast I took myself off to a quiet spot by the lake just to sit and be. It had rained the night before, so the wooden bench I chose was well and truly cold and damp but I couldn't be bothered to move so I was prepared to put up with it. It wasn't conducive to calm and relaxation though!
A few minutes later, one of the women also there on retreat came trotting cross the lawn, lugging an enormous cushion. "Right young lady, you haven't been well and you cannot, you simply cannot, sit there getting cold and damp. Honestly, it can't be comfortable! Now you sit on this, you'll feel much better." And so saying, Eileen hauled me (gently) out of my seat by the elbow, plopped down and plumped this cushion, sat me back down, threw a rug over my knees and strode away again without another word. The whole exchange probably took less than a minute but it touched me to the very core of my heart and changed the complexion of that day for me. This kind woman had seen me from the house, and decided that I couldn't be allowed to sit on a wet bench slowly freezing. She didn't have to do it, and I know it sounds like a small thing, but it was just this pure expression of loving kindness, no strings attached, and it made all the difference to me. Because the truth was that I didn't love myself enough to care for my comfort, and to find that someone else could and did was incredibly moving. God was there, in that moment, in that love.
The man and the tea
This is something that happened a couple of years ago, and I don't know if I've since told the person involved how significant that moment was for me. If not, I hope he'll know now.
My world had been gradually crumbling for some time, and on this day I reached a point of total collapse. There was only one place, one person I felt I could go to and so I did - even though we'd never met and he didn't know me from Eve. I will say until my dying day that God led me there, because I certainly didn't know what to do. This nice man listened to me, and really heard me, and has continued to be there for me, all of which has meant so much to me a little blog post isn't going to do it justice. But you know what rocked my world? He made me a cup of tea. That's it. That's what changed everything. Because I could not remember the last time anyone had done that for me. I'm usually the tea-maker, the care-giver, the organiser, the Martha. To be taken care of in that small way was the most loving thing I had experienced in a very long time, and it did something to my heart. It made healing possible; I felt it, but it took me a long time to understand.
The point of all this is that it doesn't take a lot. Grand gestures not necessary. A random act of kindness, which costs you nothing, can change someone's world. These two blessed mine, and I give thanks for them.
"Whenever the insistence is on the point that God answers prayer, we are off the track. The meaning of prayer is that we get hold of God, not of the answer."
A couple of Sundays ago, I emerged from church to be greeted by sunshine and a glorious blue sky, so I thought I'd go for a walk. Fair enough you'd think, in London in the summer. True, it had been raining first thing in the morning. But I'm a Londoner, so I always have a little umbrella in my bag and even if it did rain I should be fine.
That's what I thought. But what happened as I was strolling along the King's Road was not so much a summer shower as a deluge. My little red umbrella with the pretty white hearts all over it was no match for the downpour. It had developed into one of those horizontal rains that comes at you from all sides, so that all of you is democratically drenched. I gave up and darted into the shelter of the nearest doorway, resigned to waiting it out. I had somewhere else to be but there was no point in even trying to get there if I were only going to arrive looking like a drowned rat (said the vain, vain woman).
Just as I reached the foot-tapping stage of impatience (which took about five minutes) diversion arrived in the form of a man who had apparently decided to share my doorway. This is spite of the fact that he had not one but two enormous umbrellas over his arm - a standard black one and a really pretty one with a pink handle, covered in roses. I was admiring this floral confection when the man held it out to me and said, "Here young lady, this is for you! That dress is too pretty to ruin in this rain." He offered me the umbrella, and I began to protest but he cut me off. "Please take it, I saw you from down the street and popped into this shop to buy it for you. It's a gift, no strings attached, just because it's Sunday and it will please me to make someone's day a little nicer."
So I thanked him, opened this gorgeous birdcage brolly and stepped out into the street, dry as a bone. "Thank you so much, this is so kind, you've made my day!" I said, genuinely thrilled. "Then you've made mine," he replied, and we went our separate ways.
That was it. That man was a total stranger and we will probably never see each other again. He didn't have to do what he did. It was a random act of kindness, a gift given freely; it was a timely reminder of God's love and how we can be an expression of that love, one day at a time, one random act of love at a time.
"People who are in the habit of praying- and they include the mystics of the Christian tradition- know that when a prayer is answered, it is never answered in a way that you expect."
“Forgiveness is the name of love practiced among people who love poorly. The hard truth is that all people love poorly. We need to forgive and be forgiven every day, every hour increasingly. That is the great work of love among the fellowship of the weak that is the human family.”
"Pray the largest prayers. You cannot think a prayer so large that God, in answering it, will not wish you had made it larger. Pray not for crutches but for wings."
"To please God...to be a real ingredient in the divine happiness...to be loved by God, not merely pitied, but delight in, as an artist delights in this work or a father in a son...it seems impossible, a weight or burden of glory which your thoughts can hardly sustain. But it is so!"
"... follow your heart. I know it sounds trite, but it's the only thing to do. Because at the end of the day your heart will stop beating, and it will be too late to regret that you didn't go where it prompted you to go." (Berthea Snark, "A Conspiracy of Friends", Alexander McCall Smith)
God knows what He's doing. It's a truth I find it hard to hold on to sometimes, especially when nothing seems to be going the way I'd like it to, but it's an unshakeable part of what I believe and therefore of who I am. It doesn't mean that bad things don't happen, or that life isn't full of disappointments and unfairness. But it does mean that when I remember to stop being such a type-A control freak, I have the exquisite luxury of knowing that the guy in the driver's seat knows where we're going and how we're going to get there. All I have to do is go on the journey - and try to remember to enjoy the ride.
I have spent most of my life fighting my own heart. I am used to putting everyone else's expectations before my own desires, everyone's wants before my own needs, other people before my self. Not because I'm particularly good or kind, but often because I have felt that is precisely what I am not. I have a terror of being selfish, and so I find it very hard to say "no". I have been conditioned to put duty and responsibility above all else, and certainly above that pesky little ego and id - my super-ego reigns supreme.
Don't get me wrong, duty, responsibility and moral obligation are important. There are far too many people with no sense of how what they do affects the people in their lives - or who just don't care. But how do you take care of the people you love if you won't even give yourself permission to breathe?
Rob Bell, writing in Velvet Elvis, puts it better than I can ever hope to:
"I started identifying how much of my life was about making sure the right people were pleased with me. And as this became more and more clear, I realised how less and less pleased I was with myself. What happens is our lives become so heavily oriented around the expectations of others that we become more and more like them and less and less like ourselves. We become split.
...I had all this guilt and shame because I wasn't measuring up to the image of the perfect person I had in my head.
...I meet so many people who have superwhatever rattling around in their head. They have this person they are convinced they are supposed to be, and their superwhatever is killing them. They have this image they picked up over the years of how they are supposed to look and act and work and play and talk, and it's like a voice that never stops shouting in their ear.
And the only way not to be killed by it is to shoot first."
The very first time I read this passage, a few years ago now, I felt the power of what Rob Bell was saying. It scared me how close to the bone this man, who had never met me and didn't know me from Eve, had come. I read this, and I saw myself, and I knew that he was right. If I didn't stop living this way, I was going to end up dead.
I knew this, and still I could not, or did not, or was not quite able, to stop myself. And so I kept going. I fought it, and I tried, but I kept going. I didn't want to, but I kept going, because that is how I am. I am a perfectionist, and I try hard, and nothing is ever good enough. I am never good enough. Way to miss the point, huh?
And finally, finally, it has almost killed me. It has almost, quite literally, ended my life.
There is a story that's been doing the rounds for years, told as a joke but with a serious point to make:
A religious man is on top of a roof during a great flood. A man comes by in a boat and says, "Get in, get in!" The religous man replies, "No I have faith in God, he will grant me a miracle."
When the water is up to his waist, another boat and rescuer come by but once again the man responds that he has faith in God and God will provide a miracle. With the water at chest height, another boat comes to rescue him, but he turns down the offer again because "God will grant me a miracle." Finally, as the man is almost completely submerged, a helicopter throws down a ladder and they tell him to get in. Mumbling through the water in his mouth, he says - you guessed it - he believes God will come to his rescue. Of course, he drowns. He arrives at the gates of heaven with broken faith and says to Saint Peter, I thought God would grant me a miracle and I have been let down." St. Peter chuckles and responds, "I don't know what you're complaining about, we sent you three boats and a helicopter."
I have turned down several boats, but there is no way I am not getting on that helicopter. It means letting go of a lot, and leaving people behind. It means having to fight a lot of learned behaviour. It means giving myself permission to be the person I really am, instead of struggling to be the person I am expected to be - which, horror of horrors, means accepting that maybe, just maybe, who I am is enough. No, not good enough, which has nothing to do with anything; just enough. It is the hardest, most terrifying thing I have ever done (and this is a lawyer speaking). But it is better by far than the alternative.
It is going to be a struggle, and I am going to need help - most of you will have no idea what it took for me to recognise and admit that, to myself much less to anyone else. But at this point I have nothing to lose. So I choose not to let the floodwaters close over my head. I choose to be free. I choose life. And it doesn't really matter that I don't know what I'm doing, where I'm going or how I'm going to get there, because God does, and I have found, in some of my darkest hours, that I really do trust Him. So, don't worry about a thing, 'cause every little thing's gonna be all right.
“If we want hell, if we want heaven, they are ours. That's how love works. It can't be forced, manipulated, or coerced. It always leaves room for the other to decide. God says yes, we can have what we want, because love wins.”
Some of you may have noticed (and many of you probably didn't!) my absence from the world of Facebook, e-mail, Blogger, and the internet in general. I realise it might be a bit late to say this, but don't panic! Nothing is/was wrong. I was not lying in a ditch somewhere, or in a hospital. I had not lost the will to live, there was no catastrophe - well, not more so than usual :) I was just going to spend a month seeing friends and decided that I would quite like to be with them, right then and there, in the moment. I wanted to be completely present, to be able to give my total attention to the people who are important to me; not sitting at the same table updating some online account instead of engaging with the person in front of me (ps a little phone activity is fine provided one recognises one is stepping outside of the moment and acknowledges that, and steps right back in toute suite!).
No, nothing was wrong; everything was right. We are so used to coordinating our lives online, but I really did not feel I had lost anything by choosing to opt out for a little while. My friends accepted my lack of internet access (almost) without a murmur, and we all adapted fairly quickly! Everyone I wanted to see has my mobile number and I theirs, so getting in touch was not a problem. Where contact details were missing, there was always a mutual friend to bridge the gap. On occasion, we even made plans for future meetings face to face! One friend came to London from Germany (and I will be forever touched and grateful for the 19-hour coach trip he endured each way), and didn't bring his phone. There was me with no internet, him with no phone, and surprise surprise, we managed to coordinate an initial meeting and then several more, and I saw lots more of him than I did of other, technically more accessible people :) We found a way, and I was reminded that when you really do love someone, when you really do want to see them, you will make the effort and you will find a way.
There is something incredibly life-affirming, and love-affirming, about taking the time to slow down for the sake of another person. For no particular reason, just because you want to. Without the instant, constant updates, I spent a lot more time having real conversations with people I care about. We talked, often over coffee/tea and cake, about things we probably would not have "chatted" about. We went for walks, we wandered into the unexpected, we encountered beautiful things, people and places we did not and could not have planned to, but which lit up our world for a moment. I felt, for the first time in a long time, that I was living life and not merely passing through.
I am back online now and glad to be, because this is an important means of communications and it enables me to keep in touch with a lot of people I would otherwise probably simply lose contact with. I don't think the internet is a bad thing, far from it. I just think it's nice to be reminded from time to time that it's a tool, not something that should define us or our relationships. So, while I am glad to be back, I am not going to forget in a hurry that my world, online and off, would be nothing without the communities and individuals that people it, and bless me with the sharing of their love, support, friendship, joys, sorrows, brilliant ideas, laughter, prayer, hugs and so much more. My world would be nothing without you.
"The gift of the Holy Spirit closes the gap between the life of God and ours. When we allow the love of God to move in us we can no longer distinguish ours and his; he becomes us, he lives us. It is the first fruits of the Spirit, the beginning of our being made divine."
