After the fall

It is amidst the post Christmas fall-out of being away from whence I find myself playing the familiar game of catch-up.

Thankfully, I was challenged last week, listening to someone suggest we concentrate on the essential issues in life, rather than just those we personally attach the label of importance to.

And also to take time out just to relax and be the person God made me to be, not the one I think I ought to be.

With that thought uppermost in my mind, I have turned a blind eye to major domestic chores, admin and the plethora of other things vying for my attention. Instead, my husband and I are making huge efforts to meet up with people we haven’t seen for ages, and take time out to do things we actually yearn to do, instead of the usual run of obligatory tasks. I’m not too sure how long I can resist the urge to do an overdue ‘Spring clean’, though I am in a new place of understanding the urge is there, and I can choose to ignore it, though I may just hoover tomorrow!

If you still count us in your circle of friends though have not seen us for far too long and would like to rectify that, now would probably be a good time to press us for a date! Please make contact. For those of you no longer wishing to see us, or think we have forgotten you, watch out – we know where you live!

Since Great Britain won the bid for the 2012 Olympics back in 2005, we have been exposed to much spoken in favour and against that event. Whichever camp you choose to be in, it would seem that hosting the Olympics here in Great Britain will have a huge effect on all our lives. Not least of which, our sense of patriotism that is aroused during such happenings as Royal weddings and state and international sporting events. Communities are being encouraged to get involved in supporting the Games and we will, no doubt, be told we can look forward to a summer of unity and harmony.

Though is that a true reflection of our country and its cosmopolitan inhabitants? Sadly, we live in a society now largely rejecting God, where culture encourages us to do whatever we want and feel is right for us as individuals, not caring about our neighbours or the consequences, and tragically perpetuates man’s inhumanity to man.

I watched with keen interest, the latest outcome of the court case into the Stephen Lawrence murder, and find myself thankful that there are people willing to investigate something until it reaches a conclusion, and those who seek justice, (Ref: Daily Mail Headline in 1997) sometimes at great personal cost.

With hindsight, for this and many other cases, one of the most important decisions Jack Straw made in his role as Home Secretary for the criminal justice system in this country was to repeal the double jeopardy law, thus allowing previously acquitted suspects to be tried for the same crime, due to new evidence becoming available. I pray this case may be pursued to its absolute conclusion and justice is done. It will not bring Stephen back, nor make amends for this abhorrent waste of life, though it may go some way to effecting changes in this race-torn country of ours.

Listening to the comments made by Stephen’s long-suffering parents, I could not fail to hope this development will help them achieve clarity and closure on the tragic death of their son, even though they may never understand so obvious a blatant and unprovoked racist attack.

I was similarly shocked and saddened recently, to watch a film entitled The Whistleblower. It is based on true accounts, reported by police officer Kathryn Bolkovac whilst serving as a peace-keeping officer in post-war Bosnia, and exposes compliance with human trafficking uncovered at the highest level of government agencies, including the UN. Were it not for a small dedicated group of people being assisted by this insider, the appalling crimes against women, young girls and children in that situation, would maybe have eluded the attention of the ordinary public.

Some of the abuse uncovered in the research was so abhorrent that Director Larysa Kondraki actually had to exclude some evidence as being too shocking to air. The tragedy is surely that it should be necessary to soften the horrors of what man is capable of doing to his fellow human being from those of us who are ignorant of this level of abuse. Why should we not be shocked by atrocities and injustices that go on outside our peripheral vision? Why should we ‘look away’ if the visial evidence becomes uncomfortable and disturbing? Equally shocking as the discovery of this level of sexual enslavement of young girls, is the revelation that some UN peacemakers and private contractors were major customers, and beggars belief. Given diplomatic immunity by the State Department when hired on, the men were never punished for their complicity in the criminal enterprise. By contrast, Bolkovac as the whistleblower was excoriated and blackballed for exposing the scandal.

Nonetheless, expose it she did, despite all efforts to thwart her. However, the price she paid has been huge. She now lives in the Netherlands working at a desk job, unable to get work with any humanitarian organisation. It’s a small community – she is infamous. I pray she may ultimately achieve meaning, clarity and closure for her selfless efforts. The alternative human condition can threaten to engulf us in remorse, bitterness and a feeling of inadequacy.

Not all injustice is weighted on one side of the coin. Sometimes we become aware of systems and protocols that disallow consideration of each individual on their own merit, merely to push through what governing bodies believe to be the best and safest solution to a social problem. In a recent drama on BBC, entitled Public Enemies, by a miscarriage of justice, and a coercive confession, a released prisoner, erroneously convicted of murder, is forced almost to the point of compliance with a lie and madness, or a return to prison, for a crime he did not actually commit, all because the probation service labels him as high risk because he attempts to proclaim his innocence only after serving 10 years for a crime he did not commit.

Finally, his probation officer takes a decision to believe him and offers help, risking her job, relationship, and reputation because she realises she is not providing a solution, but rather creating another problem. It provided a contrastive look at difficulties faced by ex-offenders, whether guilty or innocent, during their so-called rehabilitation into society. The cards are heavily stacked against them, even when they show remorse and have served their sentence. Please understand, I am not condoning acts crime, merely discovering there are major miscarriages of justice.

I have recently had the privilege of coaching a young man, who has spent time in prison for crimes committed through bad choices he made, and who sincerely wants to change the direction his life has taken. He takes responsibility for his past actions, and desperately wants to be given a new start. It has not been easy to convince organisations he has approached for further education and possible employment, of his change of lifestyle, and a sad indictment of society’s attitude towards anyone caught and punished for wrongdoing is they are often made to wear the label ‘ex-con’ for an indeterminate amount of time.

Mankind, it seems, has made noticeable distinctions between what it considers to be wrong-doings and God’s original game plan. Lies, adultery, jealousy, disrespect and malicious gossip – are just as capable of wreaking havoc, yet our culture seems to overlook or actually encourage such damaging behaviour.

So, where’s the application for my life? I’m working on seeing things from all perspectives and not just taking information on face value – I’m researching more before I make decisions or choices. Having been made aware of the plight of victims of human trafficking, I am resolved to use the internet more and do whatever small thing I can to offer help to those who are providing a voice for the abused.

Also, I am asking you, reading this, perhaps to read more and get involved. By reposting this blog to your circle of friends, it might inspire someone else to get proactive. Watch The Whistleblower, if you haven’t seen it. The least we can do is treat others the way we would like to be treated ourselves: to love our neighbours as ourselves, as God loves us; to love our world, as God loves it. We live after the fall but that doesn’t mean we cannot understand our priceless worth as human beings, or encourage others to appreciate theirs.

There is the Good News …

Picture this …

30th December 2011

I picture you the moment I first saw you, pink and newborn, our longed-for son.

I picture you the moment you spoke your first word, in the back of the car, you said “JUICE!!!”

I picture you walking to school, pretending to be Buzz Lightyear, protecting your mum and saving the world.

I picture you swimming on holiday, fast and strong as a dolphin through the water.

I picture you standing alongside your friends, chatting and smiling and sharing your lives.

I picture you smiling, hugging me tight.
If the world were to end then it would be alright.

If you were here, you’d be celebrating your 23rd birthday with us on this earth.
I wonder how old you really are.

I picture you hanging out with Jesus, understanding the universe, seeing it all.
I picture the next time I see you and joy fills my heart, for I know that picture will go on and on and on …

Can you see I’m smiling at you?
Happy Birthday here on earth, my darling Matthew!

Tiddlywinks

Well, Mark has just completed his latest triathlon, at Chichester, West Sussex.

The weather could have been better. Cycling on main roads in driving rain with frequent traffic sending back a spray of water, like being soaked with a hose, can’t be the conditions of choice. However, it didn’t dampen the spirits of our brave biker, who confided that he kept an image of Matt’s smiling face in his mind’s eye all the time. Although Mark didn’t beat his best cycling time over the distance of 20 km, he did perform well on the swimming leg, and managed to do a best on the final 5 km run. Congratulations, my sporting hero! Well done for raising valuable funds for the charity and thanks to all his sponsors.

I have to take my hat off to Mark. Despite being quite keen during my school years, I was never a natural athlete, preferring a knitting marathon, or a friendly cook-off, to anything vaguely resembling physical exertion. If there were a gold medal offered for reading books, my cupboards would probably be full of them. I am now reaping the harvest of that, in as much as I have to exert real effort to maintain a sustained and healthy weight, whereas Mark usually eats and drinks what he likes without too much fluctuation, the odd exception, notwithstanding. Such are the injustices I have to bear!

In attendance last Sunday to support his valiant efforts, I watched the diverse participants in relative comfort from underneath my waterproof hooded jacket. Whether male, female, young, old, fit or not, everyone was focused on each section of the triathlon, and especially on the final finish line. They’d made a commitment, signed up, paid their fees, and whether they were doing it for personal achievement, to raise money for a worthy cause, or just for the fun of it, all sought the prize of self satisfaction, to be able to say, “I did that, I finished.”

One chap had to run quite a distance, barefoot, steering his bike, with puncture, in the pouring rain, so as to complete the official route and not risk disqualification by taking a short cut. He made it, his focus and determination paid off.

Whether our commitment is to undertake a sporting event, a degree, a training course, read a book, or just complete a task we have set ourselves, it is so often the doing of the task that speaks volumes to us of our character. Are we starters and finishers, or are we only starters?

I have realised that it suits my personality to have more than one commitment on the go at a time, much like the pile of books on my bedside table that I read simultaneously. With several things to dip in and out of, I like the diversity and the feeling of finishing several tasks within a short space of time. A bit like when, as a child playing Tiddlywinks, I preferred to have all my counters chasing each other closely around the board, rather than concentrating on getting one home and dry, before focusing my attention on the next.

That’s all very well, as long as I do commit to finishing all the tasks, otherwise I am in danger of being drowned in a sea of uncompleted projects, whilst being tempted to get involved in just ‘one more thing’. I have spent the best part of a year doing accounts for the Trust and publishing company. A lengthy and formidable chore for one such as I, who would far rather be writing, knitting or painting; or cooking, even cleaning, anything but figures!

The truth is, had I spent more time planning, prioritising and focusing, I may not have had to endure such a protracted time of all things admin now. A hard lesson, and regretfully, not the first time I have had the opportunity of learning it.

While I was chatting to God the other day, He dropped the question inconspicuously into my head, “If I asked you to come home with me today, would you?” My immediate, knee-jerk response was, “Yes, of course”, thinking – “great, a win-win, I see Jesus and Matt today!” However, a few uncomfortable moments later, all my ongoing projects flashed across my mind. I suddenly felt quite embarrassed about leaving such a pile of tasks, started, though not finished. I wanted to ask God if I should just complete them and then go on home with Him.

It was at that point I realised I can do that anyway, everyday, whether the promise of going home is imminent or not. I can focus and finish whatever I set my mind to. I can complete so much if I plan, prioritise and stop procrastinating.

So before I embark on another new thing, I am resolved to work my way through my collection of tiddlywinks that are all bunched up together and cluttering up my house, because you never know when the opportunity will arrive to actually cross the finishing line. I can’t promise not to peek into more than one book at a time, though I will limit the numbers. After all, when I go home, I will be travelling light, and I don’t want to leave a mess for someone else to clear up after I’ve gone.

What are your tiddlywinks, and where are they? All bunched up, unfinished, or evenly spread out, with the majority home and dry?

Pilgrim’s Progress

Trying to action being kind to myself, I thought I’d take 30 minutes out from office work today and write something – a pastime I love to do, though sadly push to the bottom of the pile all too often.

It’s been an interesting couple of months since I last wrote. Lots of frustrations, challenges and tantrums as I attempt to get our admin house in order for the publishing company and trust. The clear learning from that particular journey has to be setting proper systems in place at the beginning of projects. It is by far the better way!

Though, all in all, it seems to me this pilgrim is heading onwards in the right direction. Having sloughed-off Obstinate and Pliable, I’ve firmly grasped the hand of Help to lay some burdens down, and find myself striding forward with an air of enquiry and anticipation.

Last year, Mark and I reached an impasse in our marriage. Despite there being a great deal of love, there were also dangerous offences, taken up by both of us, that settled themselves into our psyche and there, nurtured by our belief systems, rampantly spread like noxious weeds.

We agreed to live apart awhile, to see if we could address the sad situation without constantly bickering, and Mark made arrangements to leave the marital home. Due to a pre-arranged business meeting in connection with our publishing ventures, he returned a week later for the appointment. We had not communicated during his absence and so it was with an estranged air that we welcomed the visitors into our home.

I’m still not quite sure what the (intended) purpose of that meeting was, except to say that our desperate prayers and God’s purposes were unequivocally addressed that pivotal July afternoon. After two questions and four and a half hours of coaching (for that is what it was, though not discernible to either Mark or myself), our marriage was re-ignited from the ashes and given an opportunity to move forward. And not just any old move forward. We were both invited to attend a year’s course that would re-educate and re-wire our brains, change the way we lived our lives, and equip us with the accreditation to pass those new tools onto others.

Miraculously, we were both offered places for free. The only drawbacks: we’d missed 6 days of the 24, meaning we’d have to work doubly hard to catch-up, and our attendance was required in two days time, Saturday and Sunday, in London! Due to our rather fragile relationship, neither of us had anything else planned for that weekend, and to make it even easier to accept, the gentleman heading up the course, offered to give us a lift from and to his home, fifteen minutes away, on those, and all future days of the course.

Both Mark and I were rendered speechless when our guests left the house. Finally Mark spoke: ‘I think we really need to be on this course, Lynette.‘ For the first time in ages – we agreed on something!

The rest, as they say, is history. Though that’s not strictly true, for the rest is the future – our future – together. We have now completed the course, and as well as having achieved very respectable passes, we find our lives and belief systems considerably changed, our marriage injected with new mutual love and respect, and a whole new way of treating ourselves and each other with kindness. We are learning how to walk with our loss, on the days when we cry as well as those we don’t; how to give each other the space to be ourselves, without weighing each other down with unrealistic expectations, and how to listen instead of judge.

It’s interesting to remind myself that kindness is one of the nine visible attributes of the Holy Spirit that hopefully sums up the Christian life in each of us. Kindness does not necessarily mean ‘being nice’. Nice is defined as being agreeable. In contrast, kindness is acting for the good of people, no matter what they do. Kindness is doing something and not expecting anything in return. Kindness is respect and helping others without waiting for someone to help one back.

Treating ourselves with kindness can often be overlooked. We can often blame ourselves for perceived wrong actions and hold onto guilt for our behaviour, or lack of it. These feelings, in turn, can chip away at our self-esteem, the worth we attribute to ourselves. It can misdirect us into confusing what we are with what we have or what we do.

Being kind to myself is realising that I was not responsible for being unable to heal my son from cancer. It is reminding myself, despite all the times I messed up, I did the best job I could do as his mother. I gave him all the love I could, all the care and attention I was able to at the time, and to be content in the knowledge that Mattie grew up in a home, surrounded by love, cared for, appreciated and valued for what he was – our precious son.

Being kind to Mark is realising that neither was he to blame for the tragic events that happened ten years ago. He did the best job of being Matt’s dad as he could do. Despite what inner agonies he endured, he never faltered being a supportive, loving husband and dedicated dad.

Being kind to our marriage is acting for the good of our relationship, no matter what, not expecting anything in return. And to keep on doing it, even if it seems hopeless, even if it hurts my prideful ego.

Please do not think in the writing of these thoughts that I have arrived, nor think myself so.
I fall flat on my face almost every day; and even by saying ‘almost’, possibly implies my ego thinks I get it right sometimes. I have come to a place in my life where I am happy to be in a place of not knowing – a place of enquiry, as my coach would say.

This pilgrim is happy to consider how far she has travelled, and even happier to focus on where she is headed towards. This pilgrim is learning to be kind to herself, and others. This pilgrim is allowing herself to have a life post-Matthew, without the sorrow and guilt. It is a daily laying down of pain and taking up of joy. And yes – I do miss him, with all my heart. And I do not know when I will see him again – though of that I am sure – I will see him again.

This pilgrim is progressing.

If you are interested in learning more about the coaching we have experienced and studied, please get in touch.

On Purpose

From an early age, I’ve always loved movies, from disjointed black and white images, down the decades to the amazing state of the art special effect offerings we now enjoy. My range of choice is too varied to list, but suffice it to say, it has to be good, in content and message and worthy of more than one viewing.

My earliest recollection of the movie theatre is being awoken, in what seemed the middle of the night, (and probably was, for a four year old who had been put to bed at an early hour) and taken, clad in pyjamas, dressing gown and overcoat, to the Gaumont cinema at the end of our road in North London.

With my mother and grandmother and clutching my teddy, I watched as master artist, Charlie Chaplin wove his magic into the lives of his captivated audience. The film – Limelight, the music – unforgettable, the theme – timeless: love, self-discovery, sacrifice and redemption. Even then, something in my young child’s mind assured me there was a bigger picture, telling a greater story than we could ever commit to celluloid.

Many years later, and an eager recipient of 3D glasses offered at Saturday morning pictures for kids in the 1950s, I am still captivated and inspired by the stories I see on film.

The Blind Side is based on the true story of wealthy couple Sean and Leigh Anne Touhy, who take in homeless teenage African-American, Michael “Big Mike” Oher. Oher has no idea who his father is and his mother is a drug addict. He has had little formal education and few skills to help him learn, but with the Touhy’s love and help, becomes an All American football player and first round NFL.

It is both a moving and challenging film. But for all that I want to live my life with meaning and purpose, I am challenged by the prospect of such a gesture. It is one thing to donate money, to give of my time and skills to others less fortunate, and to get involved with street pastors and the homeless, but do I have the bottle to open my home to someone living on the streets? Big question, big implications, big challenge! I’m not there yet, but I am less hesitant to get my hands dirty.

When a friend of the Touhy’s observes “You’re changing that boy’s life Leigh Anne, she quickly responds, “No, he’s changing mine. Look, here’s the deal, I don’t need y’all to approve my choices alright, but I do ask that you respect them. You have no idea what this boy has been through and if this becomes some running diatribe, I can find overpriced salad a lot closer to home.”

Spending time with a very young and disadvantaged couple yesterday, made me realise how difficult it is to get an even break once you fall foul of the system. He has a criminal record for petty crime. She was made to choose between parents, and partner and baby. They find themselves one small step away from homelessness. I’m not implying they are innocent and squeaky clean, but distressingly, their daughter was taken away from them shortly after birth, and offered for adoption because they have no money, no jobs, and live in a tiny bed-sit with little hope for a future for them or their child.

I’ve no doubt the child will be loved and cared for and given the chance of a decent life with adoptive parents who long for such an addition to their family, but that knowledge in no way appeases the acute pain these biological parents feel at their loss. Nor will it fully explain to a curious child, why they were adopted. Decisions like these by social services cannot be easy and have to take into account worse case scenarios. Child neglect and abuse are always tragedies, and even one case is one too many.

Not yet twenty, the young man is still labeled by society as an ex-con. Even though he has served his time, he is still judged as being a ‘bad apple’ because of his actions. Strange how we don’t pin labels to adulterers, fraudsters, those who lie, gossip, bully, and undermine with their words. All equally capable of damaging countless lives.

The couple have an interview for a job today as sales reps for a well-known, delivered-to-your-door, cosmetics company. Not a quick road to riches and security, but they are so excited to have the opportunity in this ailing economy. It won’t bring their daughter back to them, and no amount of future children they may have will make up for the daughter they cannot see grow up. However, a job will give them a practical way of providing for themselves, rather than relying on benefits and handouts.

I explained to them that their worth – what they are – is not dependent on what they have, or what they do, but what they are: priceless human lives, worth 10 out of 10. I hope they remember that; I pray I have another opportunity to speak encouragement and affirmation into their circumstances. I pray the single photograph they have of their daughter will comfort them through the coming months and years. And I pray they will be given opportunities to change their lives – and take them.

I saw The King’s Speech at the cinema yesterday. Another inspiring film of triumph over adversity; of honour, loyalty and duty. Magnificent performances, production and direction. Though I can’t help thinking how privileged George VI, or Bertie, was to be surrounded by people who loved him and did everything in their power to assist him to rise above his disadvantage, his disability. And all because of his position of birth, because he was King. But was his human life worth more than anyone else’s?

Donald Miller, in his book, A Million Miles in A Thousand Years, writes:
“If what we choose to do with our lives won’t make a meaningful story, it won’t make a life meaningful either.”
We all seek meaning in our lives, whether we acknowledge it or not. We all seek acceptance and we all live differently when we understand our real worth. Many born disadvantaged do manage to do something positive, make the right choices and go on to lead honourable, inspiring lives, but many do not. It is a pity if we paint all with the same colour from the same brush, without taking the time to understand their individual circumstances and use a level playing field to tell them their true value.

I have been challenged in the past by what my purpose is in this life (and I know there are many distractions to assail us on the path for purpose). But I have come to understand my purpose is to show love and acceptance in any and every situation, without judgement. It is to do the will of my heavenly Father, because He has assured me of my priceless worth. It is the very least I can do to share that empowering knowledge with others.

The young mother, aching for her baby daughter, recalled how she could not stop looking at her after the birth, afraid to go to sleep, in case it was all just a dream. She lay beside her in the hospital bed for hours, drinking in every minute detail of the breathtaking creation of life.

I know exactly what she meant, and how she felt.

I will not lead a life of quiet desperation. It is my purpose to reach out, with love, to a mother who cannot hold and kiss her child. It is my purpose to tell her of a King’s speech and a coming Kingdom that will wipe every tear from her eyes. She’s changing my life.

What is your purpose? What does that look like?

For goodness sake, be still …

I am, unequivocally, a busy person. A human doing as opposed to a human being!

There is always some perceived situation or task requiring my effort or attention. Brought up by my maternal grandmother who spent many years ‘in service’ in the early 1900s, I was trained and influenced by her in my formative years to believe that idleness is the root of mischief.

There is a degree of truth in that statement as King David illustrated when he hung around in Jerusalem instead of joining his army in battle, as kings did in spring. His lack of gainful employment resulted in his adultery with Bathsheba and the killing of her husband, Uriah.  You can read the details in the Bible – 2 Samuel 11 – a real-life story, more gripping than any soap-opera script.

The older I get, the more I appreciate another of my grandmother’s sayings, ‘all things in moderation’ and realise a healthy balance is the key.

Friday tea-time in my grandparents’ house in Islington, North London provided a much-loved treat. I was dispatched to the local bakery to purchase a large bloomer loaf and after tea, was rewarded with the crusty end, or nobby, as we called it, lavishly spread with best butter and accompanied by a saucer holding a couple of teaspoons of sugar. The delicious ceremony involved upending the crust onto the sparkling crystals and savouring the sweet decadence of a sugar-rush as each granule dissolved on the roof of my mouth. Only one slice was permitted though, and only ever on a Friday.

Felled by a suspected bout of influenza, I find myself slightly less feverish and recovering, in bed, for what seems like an unnecessarily protracted time, well 3 days so far, to be precise. There are countless things I keep reminding myself need doing now – or do they? Will life go on if the washing isn’t done today or tomorrow? Can the Trust accounts be completed next week?  The answer, of course, is, quite likely. And as I while away the inactive hours thinking, I realise that God has an open line to talk to me, if I care to listen. For instance, He reminded me how pleasant it is to take time just to be. Not to be concerned about anything except getting well and building my strength.

During the four years we spent in France, I was separated for much of the time from everyone and everything that made up my life. Mark had returned to work with British Airways and I found myself alone for at least 50% of my time. It was torment for someone like me, who thrives on people contact and conversation. I used to walk the dogs every day, moaning out loud that I had no company, no family or friends to talk to. God told me I’d got Him.  I whinged on that I had no one to pray with, cook, do crafts, or go shopping with. He told me I’d got Him.

It took ages for me to stop banging around like a bee in a bottle and realise that when we are still, and empty ourselves of all the flotsam and jetsam that fills our lives, there is a wellspring of treasures and an amazing peace inside. He is there, in the very centre of our being, patiently waiting for us just to talk to Him. About anything and everything, the minuscule, the huge, the inconsequential and the significant.

It took me a painfully inordinate amount of time to understand that He is only ever a breath away, and I just needed to be still and know …

You would think then, that I would continue to balance my life after such a period of learning. Sadly, we are all too quick to revert to our default mode and bad habits.

However, my part isolation in France proved to be the foundation upon which I am able to live a full life after the death of our son. It taught me I can survive without people or material things. It taught me to appreciate the many blessings I have. But with the passing of time, my old self still insists on filling up every second with things to do and places to go. And then I am confined to bed, or solitude, and forced to ponder the things that matter.

I watched an interesting programme documenting the effect on five different people, who were invited to participate in an experiment to teach the value of silent meditation. Although overseen by an Abbot, it was not aimed at people professing any particular faith. What was interesting was, that without exception, each of the volunteers admitted to a profound sense of spiritual awareness and revelation during their times of meditation.

Mark and I have been privileged to receive some invaluable coaching over the past six months. It has reinforced our marriage, opened up new possibilities and given us both a healthy appreciation of our inestimable worth as human beings.

God has blessed us with a lovely house here on the south coast of England, and from my sick bed, I have an uninterrupted view of the English Channel. Steeped in history, this stretch of waterway that joins the Atlantic to the North Sea has been a key natural defence for Britain, halting invading armies that would seek to rob us of freedom within these shores. Watching the ebb and flow of the tides, I believe God is showing me my best defences are formed when I am still – listening to His reassuring words ebb and flow deep inside. Casting out all other things, and resting simply on the knowledge that He loves me with an everlasting love. A love that will repel invading thoughts that seek to rob me of the joy I can have in this life.

If I will just be still …

This is not my home

The beginning of another year encourages us to ponder the past twelve months and look forward to new opportunities.

I am recently returned from a breathtaking flight over the Grand Canyon, Arizona. Flying low over the tilted strata, and applying my newly acquired coaching skills to make friends of the many phobias the trip threw up, I reflected on how far away my life is from where I actually want it to be.

My conclusion is – not a million miles off-course.

Whether a creationist, like myself, or an evolutionist, one cannot fail to be impressed by this visual extravaganza – a breathtaking treat that seems to undulate like a fluid tapestry of colours and shapes. For more than a century, evolutionary geologists have tried to explain how the Grand Canyon might have formed slowly over millions of years. Ideas that the Colorado River eroded the canyon, or that enlargement of streams and gullies caused it, have been shown to be improbable. Both these theories have a difficult time explaining where the products of tens of millions of years of river erosion went.

And so it is with my life – though over a much shorter time span! Events may have affected, strengthened or eroded me, leaving little evidence of their path or disposal, but their effect remains in the shape of what I am now.

In the latest offering of the Narnia tales – Voyage of the Dawntreader – Prince Caspian declines to make the one-way journey to Aslan’s country to be immediately reunited with his father, claiming that he has spent too long mourning something he has lost and not enough time using the gifts he has been given. Wisdom indeed that I shall endeavour to apply to 2011.

I came across the following newsletter we sent out in 2003. As a new year beckons, I am reminded that this is not my home, I am merely passing through, and in the past six months, my perspectives have changed on a daily basis, in preparation for eternity.

This is not my home – September 2003

As we move towards autumn and look back at the stream of visitors we have welcomed to Canaan, it seems that we have been blessed and stretched over the past few months. Visitors have been friends and strangers alike, though all, it would seem, here for a specific purpose at a specific time. We constantly seem to operate on a need and provision basis, with us having a need and God providing for that. Yet still the house in England remains unsold with funds unreleased for proposed renovations and extensions. Despite that we have still managed to pack ‘em in like sardines! Thank you to everyone for your gracious understanding and for blessing us by coming.

For us as for many people, it has been a long, hot summer. Here in South West France, there have been many reported incidents of people dying from dehydration. After weeks of relentless soaring temperatures it is easy to believe. I had the misfortune to have a tyre blow whilst driving back alone from a remote airport in early August. The roadside temperature declared a sweltering 39 degrees as I slowly rolled the car to a halt. My heart sank when I observed a three-inch gash in the front tyre, miles from anywhere, outside what looked to be a distinctly closed restaurant with a shuttered uninviting house next door. The hot air was so oppressive it felt like I was standing in a sweltering sauna.

It is some years since I have had to change a tyre, and I felt panic rising as I realised how unfamiliar I was with this car.  Tears of desperation formed in my eyes and slid down my already hot cheeks. Mark was away working, the dogs were shut up in the stables, I had no mobile phone, no one knew where I was and the language of the country was not my native tongue. I wanted to sit down on the dusty ground and cry my heart out. Instead, going through the motions, I opened the boot and checked the spare tyre and jack. As I lifted them out, I felt my already tired body drained of any remaining strength in the intensity of the hot afternoon.

Since it appeared my first urgent prayer of “please don’t let the tyre be flat” had passed unanswered, I was only able to utter, “please help me God”, before giving way to unchecked sobbing. With no air conditioning, the half bottle of water I had was already warm on the front seat of the car. Feelings of abandonment and despair were vying to overtake me. I walked over to the empty looking building and peered inside the small dark window. A light was on inside.

I walked around to the back of the building in time to see a man and woman bidding good-bye to an older gentleman, shutting their hatchback and driving off. The man disappeared into the building long before my mind could formulate the words I wished to say. I followed him into the interior and found myself in a huge, dark antiques shop. He was on the telephone. I waited, the humid atmosphere unbearable, even deep inside the thick stone walls.

Finally he replaced the telephone receiver and turned towards me. Mustering my suddenly small knowledge of French, I think I explained to him I had a flat tyre and asked if he could help me, or direct me to a garage within walking distance – or allow me to use his telephone. He offered to let me wash my very dirty hands and left the shop. I stood mentally checking what I had said to him in his language with my heart sinking once more as I judged him to be quite elderly and possibly unable to physically assist me. Heart stopping minutes passed and he returned, followed by a tall, strong looking young man, wearing dusty jeans and t-shirt, though to me on inspection, he appeared to be an angel, clothed in shining armour!

In what seemed record-breaking time, the spare tyre was fitted to my car. I vaguely remember chatting away to the young man as we worked and sweated in the blistering heat, though I cannot recall what we said. Fifteen minutes later, forgetting to wash my hands, I drove gingerly away from the lay-by. The two hour journey home took me over three and a half hours. I took advantage of the time to talk to God – to tell Him how thankful I was that He had provided help for me where there seemed only a deserted road, miles from home. To tell Him how sorry I was that I had been so crabby. How fed up I was with being alone. How much I missed Mark and Mattie. How I didn’t want to do this anymore!

I arrived home safe and sound. The dogs were fine. Life at Canaan went on. It was some days before I realised that God was showing me that life does go on. Sometimes scary things happen to us, sometimes we have to endure frustration, pain, suffering, sorrow and loneliness. And as much as we may ask that He removes all the boulders along the way, that isn’t often what happens. But what He does promise is that He walks that road with us. He is always there. We inhabit a world that largely chooses to ignore God who created us. But He never ignores us – any of us!

If we take time, we can see just how much God is in our lives, in the smallest details like blown tyres as well as the daunting hugeness of bereavement. It doesn’t make me understand any more than I did before I knew Him, and it definitely doesn’t answer the countless questions I raise every day, but something deep inside me assures me that I know that I know that He is right there with me and one day, one day … this will all make sense.

I know these newsletters that originated during Matthew’s illness reach hundreds of people all over the world. I also know that whilst many of you share the Christian faith that Mark, Matt and I have, there are also many who do not. I want you to know that we respect your freedom to choose what you believe and I thank every one of you from my heart for standing with us over the past two years. Your faith in us has been mind blowing, your encouragement to us boundless, your love limitless and without barriers. However, I would be failing as a disciple of Jesus Christ were I not to share with you the only reason Mark and I are able to get up in the mornings, indeed function at all after the devastating loss of our beloved only son.

As Christians, we believe in Jesus as the Son of God and the Saviour we need because of the sins of this world. And through reading the Bible we have learned that we will spend eternity with Him, and also be reunited with Matt. Our son has been chosen to go ahead of us and though our hearts literally ache with missing him, we know that he is with Jesus right now and knows no more pain or suffering, thank God. And these days, months and years that we may remain here, though they seem long and important now, will seem like nothing when we join him for eternity.

We have spent a good deal of time thinking about heaven, more so since our son graduated there. I am so grateful to those people who boldly took time to tell me about heaven, about eternity, about what happens after death. Some of what I learned was not what I particularly wanted to hear as it challenged me with choices to make decisions. But at least I have been told. Christianity for us has not become some type of crutch – and escape from reality, but rather it is the foundation of our everyday lives. We believe it and try our hardest to live it, though battling against hypocrisies and failures we daily fall flat on our surprised faces.

There are probably as many variations on what heaven is like as there are Christians.. Writer Adrian Plass says in his poem called ‘Heaven’ “When I’m in heaven tell me there’ll be kites to fly…tell me there’ll be friends to meet in ancient oak beamed Sussex pubs…tell me there’ll be seasons when the colours fly, poppies splashing flame through dying yellow, living green and autumn’s burning sadness that has always made me cry…tell me there’ll be peace at last…” That’s as may be and I cannot say that his or my version is the definitive. Or whether Mark will get to play golf, though he reckons he will!

But I can quote from Christian writer J.John, who says:

“Through Jesus dying and being raised to life, we get our surest glimpse of heaven’s reality. There is no talk of reincarnation, arriving in heaven and being able to choose to be your favourite animal – a unicorn or a hedgehog – there is no airy fairy idea that we become like a little drop in a big ocean or a blade of grass in a field. If Jesus being raised to life is the guide to what our life will be beyond our death, there are some extraordinary consequences for our ideas of heaven. Just as Jesus was the same person after death as before so will we be. Heaven is not about losing our personality or our identity. Heaven is about becoming more the person you were made to be. You as yourself will not cease to exist when you die.

The stories of what Jesus did in the days after He was raised from the dead are so important because they tell us that He ate and drank. He walked and talked, He could be touched and hugged. This is the pattern for what heavenly existence is. Heaven will be physical: we will have bodies, we will talk, laugh and eat. We will recognise each other and enjoy each other’s company. Jesus encourages us not to live as if this life were everything. While this present life is important, it is not all-important. We don’t need to store up things in the here and now, we are freed to be generous and gracious.”

Much of what the Bible foretold has already come about, and much of what hasn’t yet is concerning heaven and the final days of the earth as we know it. Someone once told me not to bother reading the horoscopes or ‘stars’ but rather to go to the Creator of the stars and the Universe! It’s worth thinking about, it’s worth investigating.

Living in these idyllic surroundings I am aware of what a privileged lifestyle I have. It is both beautiful and peaceful here. Everyday wonderful colours, sights and sounds burst in upon me in profusion. And I thank God everyday. I know there are many in this world who do not, nor ever have enjoyed the things that I have counted as commonplace.  There are those who only see the sky from inside a cell, who know a swollen belly only from the ache of abject hunger and poverty, who view the threatening world through the window of mental suffering.

This world does not make sense, unless you see it through the perspective of eternity. And that’s where faith comes in. The faith to trust that God will fulfill the promises He has made to us. I do know that from the moment I began my journey of faith, I became more aware of the concept of eternity and though this world is at present all I physically know, my spirit tells me that I am a stranger in a strange land, on my way to a far better place, a place where I can hug my laughing, funny, darling Mattie and as he has already done, see Jesus, face to face.

This is not my home …