V&A

Yesterday I was on my own in London. As a student I sometimes came into the city and felt my smallness against a backdrop of teaming thousands purposefully walking down the streets. I felt so alone. This time older and a little wiser I decided to head for a place that I would not normally visit but have always wanted to. Coming from the Underground you can go down a tunnel and enter easily into the V&A museum and the first thing I saw was Tippoo’s tiger all the way from Mysore India. An immediate link to last years trip and a visit to the incredible Mysore Palace, curvy architecture, elephants, heat and the elegance of one of India’s seven wonders. Strange that I should find one of its most famous treasures inside the most English of museums deep in the heart of our capitol city. What an interesting nation of collectors we are, every country house contains the relics of past years, stored over a life time, books, porcelain or paintings. It makes me wonder what I keep. A few weekends ago the four Millers had a clear out. Joe tidied his room in anticipation of a new life coming quickly as he prepares to marry soon. Katie cleared and discovered her bedroom was bigger than she thought it was! Guy cleared the garage, I cleared our own bedroom and then we marvelled at the carrier bags of stuff to deposit at the charity shop and the pile of things fit for nothing but the tip! William Morris once famously said “Have nothing in your houses that you do not know to be useful or believe to be beautiful” and therein is the problem. Most of us don’t choose something ugly and thrill at the prospect of having it forever back at home! Our taste changes and what was once so desirable becomes old-fashioned or useless and out it goes. How to decide what is pure waste and what is useful, what is ugly but may have been gifted, ah there

is a problem. Which brings me back to Tippoo’s tiger. In my humble opinion it is not beautiful or useful, but it is rather interesting, both comical and macabre. It also has history and there you have it, the real reason we keep so much, a link to the past, a story to tell, a reason to choose to keep it all at home after all!

A study in perpetual motion

I wonder if you like me are tempted sometimes to wish your children were young again? A glance through the photograph album reminds you of their innocence, sweetness, the warmth of their skin and the softness of their hair. A tiny chubby hand which fits so delightfully into yours. The exquisite, to the point of painful love you feel as you watch them sleeping. Your whole life orbits around theirs.

Today I travelled for ten hours by plane from India. All around us were families with babies and small children. Before seat belts were even tightened at least three of them were crying and as we waited for take off their cries turned incandescent, high pitched screams. One young couple with a baby and  toddler have been a study in frantic activity ever since they boarded. As I peep over the top pf my novel and sip my drink slowly I watch as mum feeds baby, wipes his face, gives him a toy and then picks it up off the floor and the checks the toddler who is driving a little car up and down the aisle.  Toddler is rapidly becoming overtired, after all we were all up at four and he is cross and grumpy. By the time breakfast arrives he is yelling angrily. Once breakfast is over he eventually falls asleep and then baby joins the chorus. Mum and Dad are a study in perpetual motion, rock the bouncy chair, shake the toy, pick him up, bounce and jig, sit down, stand up, walk up the aisle, walk back again, sit down. Not for them the quiet book or a short nap, they are always busy. Like a well oiled machine they pass their infants one to another reading, soothing, singing, bouncing, settling, feeding, changing.

Do I miss all this? Yes in a way I do, but thank God babies don’t stay babies forever! Parents I applaud you. All of that effort and exhaustion, constant selflessness and devotion.

“For everything there is a season” and I thank God for the season I’m in now!

Me and fishing

My hubby and I have just returned from a holiday on the Isle of Skye. What a rugged, wind swept, beautiful place it is. On one of the evenings after a particularly wet day spent mostly inside, the clouds parted and we decided to drive to Uig. Guy planned to fish from the pier there and I just fancied some fresh air. He was pleasantly surprised when on a whim I asked if I could join him. Fishing is his thing definitely not mine!

Down by the pier the last ferry of the day slowly departed for the Hebrides, a grey outline in the distance. The people dispersed and we were left alone, a rocky beach to look out on and a few seals languishing on its outcrop. Glasses pinned on the end of my nose it took a while for us to thread the line through the two rods and then tie the feathers on. We were hoping to catch some mackerel for supper. Then we dropped the line into the water and jigged! Within minutes mine started to wiggle and suspiciously I pulled it slowly up. Four little silver pollock were squirming and gasping on the hooks. Removing them carefully I dropped the line back in the water and within minutes the same thing happened. An hour or so later we must have caught 50+ fish between us. Excited and grinning from ear to ear it was easy, I liked fishing! The golden sunset as we drove back was rewarding and a confirmation somehow.

How many times has God asked me to fish and heard my remonstrations of I don’t like it, I don’t know what to say, I can’t do it. I wonder if next time I’ll give it a go and drop the line and see what happens. I may be a novice but even novices catch fish.

“Come follow me and I will make you fishers of men”

I surrender!

I wonder how many of you remember your dad tickling you? My Dad used to tickle me so hard. I would giggle for ages and then all of a sudden it was too much, I squealed for mercy but he didn’t take the hint. It was then not fun anymore, my powerless made me feel angry and I had to lash out before he finally got the message.

Surrender can feel like that too, just the thing to do when all else fails and the struggle has overwhelmed us. Not a happy surrender but a resigned and powerless one. We’re not sure of the outcome either as we surrender to a faceless enemy, one we don’t trust not to harm us.

‘There is no way for a human being to come to God that does not involve surrender’ says John Ortberg, but what a difference. We bow before an omnipotent one with a sense of awe but with security, knowing His love, trusting in His goodness and relaxing into His care. Whatever life throws at you there is a peace in saying:

“Father today I gladly place my life in your hands”

Cowards and a cold ride

I enjoy re-reading the inspiring stories of Laura Ingalls Wilder. Despite being children’s books they contain much to motivate and encourage as they cover the journeys of a settler family in the USA pioneering westwards in the 1800s. Recently I read the cold ride where Laura’s future husband Almonzo takes his sledge and horses six miles through deep snow to pick her up and bring her home from school. Love makes us do strange things and he battles temperatures which break the thermometer at -40 before dropping lower still. Frequently he has to stop to break the ice from the horses noses so that they can even breathe. He risks his life, their lives and then Laura’s as she sits wrapped in skins and multiple layers of clothing nearly succumbing to hypothermia before eventually arriving home safely.

When asked later why he did this he replied “God hates a coward”

That got me thinking, does he? Mercifully no! However it is possible he is disappointed if we use fear as a reason to take our eyes off Him because it betrays our lack of faith in his infinite care, protection and provision. Without faith is impossible  to please him and we lose our way very quickly when fear not faith leads us off at a tangent. With faith it becomes possible  to attempt the impossible and he can give courage in the most stressful of circumstances. As I write this I am aware of many friends who today are facing horrible things with courage and faith and lack of cowardice.

“Do whatever your  hand finds to do for God is with you” 1 Samuel 10:7

Friends

My hubby and I have often said we make lousy friends – not that our friends are lousy but due to our nomadic life-style we find time to commit is challenging! Interesting that on my travels and as I spend time with church leaders wives I am frequently asked about my friendships, do I have any, is my life lonely, how do I manage? Picking up my Bible and scanning its pages I think of how Jesus was described as the friend of sinners and wonder if my idea of friendship is mis-placed. We tend to make good friends with those who are like us or who share a common interest or hobby, make us laugh or are there for us when life is difficult. A best friend is someone who is always there for us, listens to us and who takes a genuine interest in us.

Facebook accounts theoretically tell us how many friends we have, but checking through my account I realised some are more acquaintances than friends, but what does that mean? Is it only me that on a bad day Facebook makes me feel lonely and therefore assume I have no friends?! An orphan spirit creeps in and we believe its lies. Are friends therefore to cover the aching void we feel when alone or lonely? Looking at the lives of others  can lead me to generally assume that everyone’s life is more exciting, more friend filled, more fulfilled than my life could ever be!

I wonder how many of us seek to be a good friend rather than want a good friend?

A Bible verse I often have quoted to me is “he who shows himself friendly will have many friends” which takes the onus back to me rather than putting it on others.

Cats and blue tits

Guy in his wisdom has made a cute little turquoise bird box on our patio. We can see it day by day from the comfort of an arm chair. We were delighted when we discovered blue tits had found it and watched intrigued as they bought twigs and straw to kit it out. They flit cautiously from branch to branch, their heads cocked to one side alert for any danger, their beaks full of construction material. However danger abounds a-plenty in our garden as we have two cats.

This morning we drew back the curtains to see one cat balanced precariously directly on top of the box, her head cocked to one side, hopefully listening and waiting. To her credit she almost looked sheepish as Guy yelled out of the window and she reluctantly withdrew. It is in her nature to kill, she is conditioned, she cannot help it, stop it or feel  ashamed. She can not be talked to, appealed to, made to feel guilty and despite ever increasing barriers of holly, upturned nails, citrus peel she is drawn back again and again. She has no free choice.

Unlike our cats I do have choices despite the times it seems that what I do is not the good I want to do, it is no longer I who do it, but it is sin living in me that does it. How nice it would be to blame our instinct when the truth is we do feel the shame, the guilt and the disappointment when we get it wrong. We do have a conscience, not to condemn us but to help us.

Who will rescue me from this body of death? Thanks be to God-through Jesus Christ our Lord!

Our beach

This morning I popped down to our local beach to pick up a small quantity of sand, shells and little pebbles for a project I’m doing in a local hostel. The sun was shining, the air clear, the sky blue and the cliffs were covered in a blanket of amber gorse blooms with a wash of blue from lingering bluebells. As the beach came into sight instead of the normal swathe of golden sand there were chain fences, digger tracks, porter cabins and workmen. Not far out to sea is the enormous dredger lifting sand and re-distributing it over over the beach to enhance it ready for our summer visitors. Despite all this, it did not spoil the still beauty of the morning.

It reminded me of a conversation I had yesterday with a friend. She is going through a hard time, her faith is being tested. She is daily struggling with the churning up of opposition and criticism. There is a slight sadness to her that was not there before. She is disappointed. However despite this there is a new clarity to her, a new beauty, a softness, a fragility. Her “light and momentary troubles are achieving for her a glory which far outweighs them all”.

My thoughts are with her and others who today are struggling, but still shining.

Perseverance- “you never fail until you stop trying”

We have just returned from visiting our friends in Madrid. A wonderful city with wide tree-lined streets, stately architecture, well-dressed people and a general lack of the traffic of our capitol city. It is our fourth year of visiting them and involved bringing three new frontiers churches together for a conference in the hills outside Madrid . Quite a few of the Madrid church plant have left the security of England, learnt a new language, settled children into a different school systems and taken up a new way of living. Why? Because they believe God has spoken to them and has been with them and wants a vibrant, life-filled church there.

Such folk inspire me. It has not been easy for any of them for so many reasons but they are persevering. They are persisting in doing something difficult where success is hard to measure and takes time to fulfil. They are doing it cheerfully. Their leaders are full of faith but also full of fun and laughter. They are not saints, just ordinary people serving an extraordinary God.

1 Thessalonians 1:3 We give thanks to God always for all of you, constantly mentioning you in our prayers, remembering before our God and Father your work of faith and labor of love and steadfastness of hope in our Lord Jesus Christ.

 

 

 

 

Walking (part 1)

My mum was not able to do vigorous exercise but she loved to walk, slowly, savouring the sights and sounds around her. When I was little, my Mum used to take me for a charming walk around the river Arle in our home town of Alresford. A stroll down Broad Street, past Lady Watts’ house and her beautiful cottage garden, down a steep hill to the river, the cool watery smell still takes me back. Narrow little walls for little feet to walk on between the watercress beds where hidden treasures of stickle-backs and tadpoles were collected in jam jars. The hunt for the first snowdrops involved balancing on a large metal pipe over the river to find them carpeting the grass. Every January is still a time to discover if the snowdrops are out, a legacy from Mum. Celandines also had a seasonal appearance with a particular spot to search for their shiny golden faces peeking up between last years dead leaves. Ducks were fed with stale bread, puddles explored wearing old wellies and trout marvelled over as they stayed still against the strong prevailing current. Walking slows you down and enables you to marvel at the little things, no wonder it has been a vital part of my life for as long as I can remember.