Wayward Locks

Some-how there is a life lesson to learn, even in 'enduring' the unpredictable growing phase of wayward locks?!!

.... I so often try to keep the confines of my life, safe, short and 'manageable' - so that the outward expression is predictable and 'acceptable'. I am naturally vain when it comes to the appearance of my life - I want to 'look good' and seem like I've got it all together' (Ha!). This façade is easier, if I only reveal a tiny bit to others and 'cut off' all the rest. But this stunted, closed off person - is hardly the person God created me to be.

In contrast; growth and transformation is risky. People may witness the new wayward wisps that manage to make their haphazard way to freedom, ... and it is so easy for me to want to hurry, in chopping these off to a 'safe', predictable length - instead of allowing time to see what beauty and purpose may come out of the new vulnerable growth.

In fact the 'bad hair days' of life, where we have managed to get our brush completely tangled - and we cry hot childish tears of frustration ... these, are often the days when we finally realise the truth -that we cannot control our life. In our inability we cry out to our heavenly Father (who knows each one of us SO intimately, that even the very hairs on our head are numbered!). We realise He is the only one that can really see the whole picture of our life and who we are. We muddle and struggle, grasping at the loose ends - the deep roots of which we have never seen! Only He (like a patient Dad on a school morning), can truly sort out the 'birds nest' and untangle the knots. And it is in His gentle gracious hands that we realise we are accepted and loved despite stubborn cow-licks and unruly bouffant.

Can I dare to let go of the control I cling to so tightly and instead trust God, even when He is holding the scissors to cut away the 'split, dry and broken' in my life? Can I trust him to manage, style and transform me, in my 'growing out'? Will I be willing for him to use ALL of me for His glory?

... even the curly bits.

Amy Carmichael

I was reminded of this book ('His Thoughts Said, His Father Said' by Amy Carmichael) by a friend who shared about having a blow-fly buzzing around her head. I will have to track down another copy, as I have lost mine along the way ... Amy's writing has been such an encouragement to me in the past.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Amy_Carmichael

Leave that book

Her thoughts said, “I have been reading a spiritual book and I am confused and tired with trying to understand.”

Her Father said, “Leave that book and read the Book that thou lovest best; thou wilt find it much simpler.”

Flies

Her thoughts said, “When I would seek Him whom my soul loveth, confusions like flies buzz about me.”

Her Father said, “Press through these confusions as thou wouldest press through a swarm of gnats. Take no notice of them. Be not stayed by them. Be not occupied with them. Be not entangled by them.”

Ye shall be trusted

The daughter knew that if she came to serve the Lord she must prepare her soul for temptation; but she had never expected the particular temptation that confronted her now.

Her Father asked her if she had expected to choose her temptations. The daughter said, “No,” but she longed to have done with temptation for ever!

Her Father said, “One day it shall be so.” “As a dream when one awaketh, so it will be… But thou must learn to endure and to conquer. Blessed is the one who endureth temptation.”

And He told her of hidden manna prepared for the overcomer. “Watch for the hidden manna,” He said, “It will come in hidden ways.”

Then to the daughter it was given to taste of the manna hidden in a word she had not found before: ‘Put your trust in the Lord God, and you shall be trusted.’ The daughter was greatly delighted with that word, and she prayed that she might be made worthy of so great a thing as the trust of her Father!

A breath may be a prayer

Her thoughts said, “Suddenly a question is asked, suddenly a decision must be made. The answer and the decision affect the lives of others. In me is no wisdom at all. Sometimes it is as if I could not even pray.”

Her Father said, “A breath may be a prayer; I hide not Mine ear at thy breathing. But be a simple child with Me. Ask for the thing you need most. I will not upbraid you. [I will not criticize you.] If any lack wisdom, let her ask. And as thou goest on thy way thou shalt do as occasion serve thee; for God is with thee. Do you lack strength? The Lord of hosts will be strength to them that turn the battle at the gate.”

Wearied with Her journey

Her thoughts said, “I could do better work for my Lord if it were not that I'm tired. I am tired of being tired.”

Her Father said, “Jesus, being wearied with His journey, sat thus on the well. Are you not willing to be wearied with your journey? Many are wearied in the service of self, the world, earthly glory -- you are loosed from that bondage. Rejoice in the liberty to be weary for God's sake, the One who loved you and gave Himself for you. Abide in His love, and you will learn to give as He gave, even in weariness; to live as He lived, more than conqueror over the flesh.”

The age-long minute

Thou art the Lord who slept upon the pillow,

Thou are the Lord who soothed the furious sea,

What matter beating wind and tossing billow

If only we are in the boat with Thee?

Hold us in quiet through the age-long minute

While Thou art silent, and the wind is shrill:

Can the boat sink while Thou, dear Lord, art in it?

Can the heart faint that waiteth on Thy will?

What We Need is More Life - by George MacDonald

Let us in all the troubles of life remember that our one lack is life - that what we need is more LIFE - more of the life-making presence in us making us more, and more largely, alive. When most oppressed, when most weary of "life", as our unbelief would phrase it, let us remember that it is, in truth, the inroad and presence of death we are weary of. When most inclined to sleep, let us rouse ourselves to LIVE.



Of all things, let us avoid the false refuge of weary collapse, a hopeless yielding to things as they are. It is life in us that is discontented. We need more of what is discontented, not more of the cause of discontentment. Discontentment, I repeat, is the life in us that has not enough of itself, is not enough to itself, so calls for more. He has the victory who, in the midst of pain and weakness, cries out, not for death, not for the repose of forgetfulness ... but for strength to fight, for more power, for more consciousness of being, more God in him.



The true man trusts in a strength which is not his, which he does not feel, does not even always desire. He believes in a power that seems far from him, that is yet at the root of his fatigue itself and his need of rest - rest as far from death as is labor.



To trust in the strength of God in our weakness; to say, "I am weak; so let me be. God is strong"; to seek from him who is our life, as the natural, simple cure of all that is amiss with us ... power to do and be and live, even when we are weary - this is the victory that overcomes the world.



To believe in God our strength in the face of all seeming denial; to believe in him out of the heart of weakness and unbelief, in spite of numbness and weariness and lethargy; to believe in the wide-awake reality of his being, through all the stupefying, enervating, distorting dream; to will to wake, when the very being seems athirst for a godless repose - these are the broken steps up to the high fields where repose is but a form of strength, strength but a form of joy, joy but a from of love.



"I am weak," says the true soul, "but not so weak that I would not be strong, not so sleepy that I would not see the sun rise, not so lame but that I would walk! Thanks be to him who perfects strength in weakness and gives to his beloved of his very life even while they sleep!"



What Life Might Be!



If we will but let our God and Father work his will with us, there can be no limit to his enlargement of our existence, to the flood of life with which he will overflow our consciousness. We have no conception of what life might be, of how vast the consciousness of which we could be capable.



If every sunlit, sail-crowded sea under blue heaven flecked with wind-chased white - filled your soul, as with a new gift of life ... think what sense of existence must be yours if he, (whose thought has but fringed its garment with the gladness of such a show), were to make his abode with you ... and while thinking of the gladness of God inside your being, let you know and feel that he is carrying you as a Father in his bosom!



'Discovering the Character of God' by George MacDonald



Jesus said "I have come that they may have life, and have it to the full.' (John 10:10)

Dreams

It was an interesting time in my life for me to be staying at Saint Andrews Hall, a place I always thought I would one day go. All my hopes and dreams had pointed in that direction for so long.

 In my final years of school I had a strong sense of call on my life. I felt God was calling me into ministry and to become a missionary. Passion and zeal would rise within me when I heard talks and read books about working overseas in mission. I felt God was calling me to a ministry ‘on the edge’. I didn’t know what this meant, but I was excited. I was probably filled with many romantic notions of what the missionary life would be like. But my heart was on fire for God and it would break for the people who didn’t yet know him. ‘How can they call on the name of one that they have not heard, and how can they hear unless someone is sent’- ‘Here am I, send me!’, was the cry of my heart. And I meant it with every fibre of my being.

When I finished school, I went to the UK for 10 months and during this time attended a YWAM Discipleship Training School in Scotland, with an outreach to Mozambique. I had a very sure sense that this was where God wanted me to be. It was exciting, passionate and completely honest. I felt very close in my walk with God and sensed his guidance and hand upon me on numerous occasions. It was during one of these times, when I was praying to God, that I felt he presented me with a choice. I stood on the ridge of a hill, on one side were grass, flowers and an easy path. This I knew was the path of continuing in ministry opportunities as they arose in the UK and leaping with faith and enthusiasm from one thing to the next, it seemed so exciting…. but perhaps not very useful in the long term. On the other side of the ridge was a rocky ravine, with a difficult path, but the promise of an occasional lily growing out from the hard ground, to encourage me along the way. I knew the rocky path was going back to Australia, to my relationship with my boyfriend and to beginning the arduous journey of studying Nursing and then eventually Bible College, in preparation for long term mission service.

I chose the difficult path.

It has proved extremely difficult and nothing like what I imagined. On many occasions God has felt like a distant whisper. I have screamed, ‘Why?!!!!’, I have pleaded for him to rescue me, and the whole way the path has seemed unclear, rocky and difficult. The difficulties of my marriage relationship have felt at times to have completely destroyed every ounce of my being. The things I was once so passionate about have had to be laid aside, merely to survive, to stay above water and to live to see the next day. I had imagined living a life of active ministry to others, of having a home open and welcoming to all, of being someone to guide and mentor others, of immersing myself in another culture and getting alongside people – sharing with them the good news and hope we have in Jesus. But in the end, I have done none of those things and my faith has become nothing but a desperate attempt to cling to Jesus, despite the odds. The cracks and weaknesses in this pot are glaringly obvious and I have become at times disillusioned by the treasure that is supposedly within. 

So, when I finally got to live in Saint Andrew’s Hall. It was humbling. I wasn’t there training to be a missionary, I was there because our life had almost fallen completely apart and we needed my parents to help hold us together. I realised my dream of being a missionary wouldn’t be happening the way I had always imagined. The issues in our marriage would not be going away any time soon and even if we were to separate, our children would need to see both parents, which meant staying, wherever their dad was living. I would not be heading overseas as a missionary in the foreseeable future.

 Slowly as I watched each group go through to do their training, I realised that God had taken away the longing and dream in my heart. It was painful at first, I was grieved and bitter for a time, but eventually I was able to let it go. 

So now I stand, in an unknown place, with no clear direction. Not sure where God will lead. It seems most weeks are still just surviving. Being a single mother is a full enough task a lot of the time. I often struggle to see the meaning in it - the mundane chores, the games, the wiping of noses, the lessons, the songs, the love and discipline … But some-how it would seem that these two children are the ones God wants me to start ministering to first. Every now and then I am carried by dreams of mentoring women, of getting involved with overseas students, of working with refugees, of having an open home… But, then I go back to surviving. I can’t figure out how God is going to take my brokenness and use it for his purposes and glory. There seems no clear path or direction right now. Just waiting… and doing the arduous task of healing -like the Israelites as they found themselves in the desert on the other side of Red Sea. No promised land yet, just tired, bewildered and rejoicing in Gods deliverance. 

What will I do with the freedom God has given me? How can I wait and trust, without grumbling? He has provided for my every need, overflowing with generosity - like the manna from heaven. Who am I to grumble? Who am I to questions God and his plans for my life? Or the way that he brings about those plans? I, in my falleness, cannot fathom how or why, all I can do is try and trust in his steadfast love and mercy.

Lord, help me to trust in you.

Poems of Brokeness

The Jungle
So much inside, wanting release.
So many words and thoughts and feelings unsaid.
They jumble around,
they swarm and attack -
with confusion, with pain

... with a weight so heavy it is hard to bear.

I strain my face, my heart toward heaven.
My hoarse throat tries to speak.
But the words don't come,
they stick to the roof of my mouth,
they coil around into tight circles -
that I haven't the strength to undo.

This feels like madness.
Can I place at the cross this mess? How?
Where can I find sense? Where can I find meaning?
I search and search, but end up more entwined.


Incline your ear to me O Lord.
Unravel the confusion.
Let me walk with you in this jungle,
until I can see again,
the beauty of the garden.


Psalm 69¹
Save me, O God,
for the waters have come up to my neck.
² I sink in the miry depths,
where there is no foothold.
I have come into the deep waters;
the floods engulf me.
³ I am worn out calling for help;
my throat is parched.
My eyes fail,
looking for my God.
(Psalm 69 Looking for You - Sons of Korah)

China Cup
I remember joy.
I remember the tenderness of my heart.
There was so much room to love many.
Things were so simple.
I was so free.

How did it come to this;
this self loathing?
This fear?
No longer able to trust.
No longer able to love freely.
Like a china cup full of cracks
- it won't take much to break me into pieces.

Desperately trying to hold things together.
One harsh word and I am scattered.
Pieces lost along the way,
I can no longer gather them all up.

Pieces of me are missing,
this china cup leaks.
Faulty.


Maybe
Maybe it is my fault.
Maybe it is me.
Maybe if I didn't point the finger, didn't stand up for what I believe.
Maybe if I kept my mouth shut, if I kept quiet and still.
Maybe if I just let things lie, didn't rock the boat
and swallowed down the bitter pill

Maybe if I had loved more.
Maybe if I had complained less.
Maybe if I had just let things slide and worked harder to forget.
Maybe if I had been perfect, if I had worked harder and passed the test.
Maybe if I had asked for nothing and expected even less.

Maybe it was my fault,
Maybe it was me.
Maybe I deserved it all,
who would want to live with me?




'Kindness'
Your 'kindness', is like salt and vinegar rubbed into my weeping wounds.
Your 'gifts and flowers', a cruel display of a love not mine.
Your 'thoughtfulness', has all the cunning of a bribe.
Your 'openess', a sick game.
Your 'dreams', a twisted unreality.
Your 'affection', a slap in the face.

This perfect charade, so well played,
even you're believing in your charm.

This foolish heart softens.
My mind is carried on the fragile wings of hope ...
I settle in your hands.
Poisoned darts fall thick and fast,
Bewildered, I find myself crushed again by the sick reality of ... abuse.

Coming to terms with Abuse

"It is hard for me to admit that my relationship is abusive. It seems somehow too harsh a word to use - but since I have started using it and started to look back on my marriage for signs of it - it seems to rear its ugly dark head, where-ever I look. It scares me. It is ever so subtle and ever so overt. It is confusing, because it is mixed up with happier memories and feelings of love. It feels somehow disloyal and unkind to point it out. There is also the fact that there are degrees of it to a certain extent probably in every relationship.

It also seems as though I am somehow avoiding my own faults - by focusing on his. It becomes a giant in my mind- also confusing, am I making more of it, than I should? Or have I spent a huge amount of time covering it up, hiding it, ignoring it, placating it, avoiding it, denying it - to myself? Why? You have to survive and keep living somehow.

Is there any hope that things could ever change? I find myself feeling sorry for him -as though it is some illness, or something he can't help. It is certainly the symptom of his own misery - again, this makes it confusing. Makes me feel bad for making an issue of it, or expecting him to be accountable. How can I hold it against him? I feel guilt - for the grief and misery I will put him through, now that I am no longer prepared to live with grief and misery.

Weird. How did it get so mixed up? Why can I not see this clearly for what it is? For when I look - it's everywhere, pervading every part of our relationship. The mix of terror, confusion, deep piercing hurt, anguish, grief, uneasiness, fear, mistrust, humiliation, determination to survive - make it work. All this mixed with moments of love, joy, hope - tentative hope. Feelings of 'this is how it should be', 'why isn't it like this always?', 'He does care', 'he doesn't really mean those things', ‘he does admit he was wrong'. 



Then the hope and trust is shattered - again. The roller coaster ride continues. Nothing has really changed.

Gradually the trust is eroded. Gradually not all the pieces can be put back together. Gradually a taller, thicker, wider wall is built, to protect.


Vulnerability is no longer possible.


Words of love, affection, affirmation - gradually lose their meaning as the hypocrisy becomes clearer and clearer. They can no longer be believed, trusted. As hope is proved false again and again. There is nothing left but despair. The most laughably trivial things will bring back that stupid spark of hope. A cup of tea, a kind word, a shared dream. Maybe it's possible? Maybe things will be better now? Insidious- hope. The eternal optimist. Willing to hide the obvious reality.


Yet somehow not so obvious. How could I have let this go on and on? I thought I was being loving, forgiving, full of grace. Pretending it isn't there has only made it worse.




There is for some reason great shame attached. When someone else talks about the abuse, I immediately feel my marriage and he are under attack and I want to spring to the defensive. It also hurts to admit it. And someone else pointing it out, makes me face this hurt. That is scary. If it is faced up to and brought too much out into the open - I can't carefully package it away. It makes me concerned for him and I want to protect him and hide his faults from the judgment of others. Whether the other is right or not.

Such a weird mix of jumbled feelings."