tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-66982163102986019952024-02-06T19:55:31.866-08:00Great AdventureFaith, suffering and the Great Unknown.Liz Carterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13162212365184445560noreply@blogger.comBlogger62125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6698216310298601995.post-38772784818166351942017-06-30T08:15:00.003-07:002017-06-30T08:15:33.911-07:00BLOG HAS MOVEDHello reader<br />
<br />
Please do hop over to <a href="http://www.greatadventure.carterclan.me.uk/">http://www.greatadventure.carterclan.me.uk/</a> - the blog has moved.<br />
<br />
Many thanks<br />
<br />Liz Carterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13162212365184445560noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6698216310298601995.post-8458497906046569562017-05-18T03:21:00.000-07:002017-05-18T03:21:31.003-07:00Ephesians 3 PrayerThis is my favourite passage of scripture, so I thought I'd have a little play with it this morning.<br />
<br />
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
We kneel before you, Father</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
We’re named in your love, our whole family in you</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
In heaven and on earth.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Out of your glorious riches, too exquisite to behold</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
May you restore us with your power</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Through your Spirit in our inmost being.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
May you, Christ Jesus, abide in our deepest hearts</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Through faith alone.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And may we who are rooted and grounded in you,</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Established in the love which never gives up on us</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
May we grasp the power you freely bestow,</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Together with all the saints, now and forever through history
and eternity,</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The power to seize hold of</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
How wide and long and high and deep</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
How immense and immeasurable and boundless and profound</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
How sweeping and towering and soaring and unfathomable</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Is your love, Lord Jesus.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And may we know this great love that transcends wisdom</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
That outweighs knowledge</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
That eclipses learning –</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
That we may be filled to bursting point</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Saturated with copious profusion</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Completed with the fullness of you, our God.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Now to you – to you, our glorious God, to you who is able to
do </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Immeasurably </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Boundlessly </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Limitlessly more</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Than all we could ever ask,</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And all we could ever imagine,</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
All we could even conceive of or envisage or wildly dream
of,</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
According to your power</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
At work within us, around us, without us, in front and behind,
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Dancing with us, all-containing, everywhere we go and
everything we do,</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
To you be the glory!</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
To you be the honour, the praise, the acclaim and the
exaltation,</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
In the church, your bride waiting for you with baited
breath,</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And in Christ Jesus</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Throughout all generations, through history, stretching back
and forth to eternity,</div>
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And eternity.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Amen.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
Liz Carterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13162212365184445560noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6698216310298601995.post-48260811830631976792017-04-22T05:26:00.001-07:002017-04-22T05:26:52.072-07:00A camping life gone by<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiC_rcn5Jp_wFqKTRaDGpwcPQh3576DqzS6tkdGYRgWfIvG59aBTNICZkkh0vDwfvmudW7Wet1Y_AFXevD3P4gNJQMmYC5CT_zRwBP_u7OVZRaqwmkDv9bZl8KlV7VvsDMXjyYZXJuMfyQ/s1600/20170422_130240.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiC_rcn5Jp_wFqKTRaDGpwcPQh3576DqzS6tkdGYRgWfIvG59aBTNICZkkh0vDwfvmudW7Wet1Y_AFXevD3P4gNJQMmYC5CT_zRwBP_u7OVZRaqwmkDv9bZl8KlV7VvsDMXjyYZXJuMfyQ/s320/20170422_130240.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
We're selling our old folding camper and dragged it out this morning, a beautiful sunshiney day, the canvas dense with the scent of happiness and summer and family. Thus please do excuse the self-indulgent I-can't-believe-they've-all-grown-up post.<br />
<br />
Because I'm a bit teary. I'm teary as I pull out the box of old games, piles of sand pouring out between my fingers, lone Uno cards and old drawings my daughter worked so carefully on in the years she danced around campsites in Disney dresses bearing water guns. A small badge lies amidst the debris at the bottom; a New Wine Groundbreakers badge a small person once wore, skipping happily off to their group. A Club Penguin card covered in something I don't want to think about is stuck to the floor, and a ping pong ball, broken Frisbee and half pack of London 2012 playing cards jostle for space in the box.<br />
<br />
None of these things are remarkable, but all of them are ours. All of them say something about sun-filled days and rain-battered nights, of children running free and unencumbered by life and grown-up stuff.<br />
<br />
In the front box, more sand abounds, and a small pile of pebbles along with a jumble of buckets and spades, long since discarded and disdained. Once upon a time we made sandcastles and buried one another in the sand and made water channels for Castle moats. The sight of the buckets and spades makes my heart ache a little bit.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmHxzyr7ePwSy7tLnj9AoP0z6EqhCjvT1IH227IOX3pu69aIXhtQHhyphenhyphentPKPj0cnJCH5quiBFUZNty_HCnMW0Ymcg0x84T2Y2IyjFaCDVSTAwrsriCDMjdHaa5HOYu_SaSjxJkog08CtO0/s1600/20170422_130224.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmHxzyr7ePwSy7tLnj9AoP0z6EqhCjvT1IH227IOX3pu69aIXhtQHhyphenhyphentPKPj0cnJCH5quiBFUZNty_HCnMW0Ymcg0x84T2Y2IyjFaCDVSTAwrsriCDMjdHaa5HOYu_SaSjxJkog08CtO0/s320/20170422_130224.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
There's an old broken kite, and a few cracked water pistols and bits of cricket sets. Once these were shiny and new, and now they're forgotten, left behind as their owners have no more need. Forgive me for going all Toy Story 2 on you, but it's a little bit sad.<br />
<br />
And a lot happy. As I contemplate all the stuff, I think about what made all these family holidays, all these memories, and know that it's not just sand from Dorset circa 2009, but it's the love which cemented us and always will. And them growing up is far from a tragedy, but a wonder-filled season where they come into their own, never losing the joy of what made their childhoods, because it is an intrinsic part of them. Bring it on, I say. Bring on the growing up and the fun we have now. Buckets and spades may have been discarded, but the days still shine with the joy of who they are and who they were and who they will be. Bring it on.<br />
<br />
I'm going to stop, now, before anyone barfs at the sickly nature of this post.<br />
<br />
But I will allow myself a little sadness as we wave goodbye to our camper and sweep up those last little bits of sand and pebbles and memories.Liz Carterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13162212365184445560noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6698216310298601995.post-38346229364824292017-04-15T06:38:00.000-07:002017-04-15T06:51:10.649-07:00The Day of Hopelessness<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhm8FQcLfG9wsuSXps2jrVyI0mtL9BkJurNx0xOOGGgEzjotefLuFdItckzKzGDyAhk3ndgI1gwa0F1vhQFc4JNUGKZphqnrX6YVtlopfhCpZ5AtCZWyUilDJOJYyUEAYtGlCby5cko0_A/s1600/GardenTomb-rocknottherealone-1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhm8FQcLfG9wsuSXps2jrVyI0mtL9BkJurNx0xOOGGgEzjotefLuFdItckzKzGDyAhk3ndgI1gwa0F1vhQFc4JNUGKZphqnrX6YVtlopfhCpZ5AtCZWyUilDJOJYyUEAYtGlCby5cko0_A/s320/GardenTomb-rocknottherealone-1.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
I don't understand.<br />
<br />
Don't get it.<br />
<br />
It wasn't supposed to be like this. The story wasn't supposed to end this way. I thought there would be more, that he would escape, he would show them all who he was. He raised the dead. He bound up the broken-hearted. He healed the sick.<br />
<br />
But he let them murder him.<br />
<br />
I sit here in this garden, watching the place I never wanted to see, the stone sealing the cold tomb, his broken body laid out inside. I saw it all. Saw them take him down, saw them anoint him, saw them place him in there. The scent of myrrh lingers in my nostrils, the smell of death weaves around my body.<br />
<br />
Hes gone, and I don't understand.<br />
<br />
I remember one starry night so long ago, my arms full of this precious load, the knowledge heavy on me of who he was. Who he would be. The miracle of Immanuel. That night, the skies rang out in praise, the moon and stars bowed in homage and perfect peace wrapped itself around my soul. That starry night, hope was born.<br />
<br />
But where is hope now?<br />
<br />
I watched him die. I watched my son, his face wreathed in the most unimaginable pain, so broken, blood running down his face and dripping onto his devastated body. I watched as they mocked him, sneered, sniggered, pointed, hated. I watched with my hands squeezed against my eyes, tears spilling out between my fingers as he spoke words I could not understand but still shocked me with their power.<br />
<br />
<i>It is finished. </i><br />
<i><br /></i>
The disciple he loved stood with his hand on my shoulder, holding me steady as I wobbled, my joy and my light fleeing away and leaving me with nothing but bones like water and eyes red-raw and a heart like a sunken stone. <i>Here is your mother, </i>my son had said to him, ever so watchful of me, pouring his love over me even in the worst of moments.<br />
<br />
Why? Why did this happen?<br />
<br />
It wasn't supposed to be this way.<br />
<br />
I remembered the words which curled through my spirit, one sun-streaked day so long ago. <i>My soul glorifies the Lord, and my spirit rejoices in God my saviour, for he has been mindful of the humble state of his servant. From now on all generations will call me blessed, for the Mighty One has done great things for me - Holy is his name. </i><br />
But they won't call me blessed now, will they? They won't look back on a starry night and grasp the magnitude, the sheer holiness of a tiny baby. Not now.<br />
<br />
Not now he's gone.<br />
<br />
I look up. Two Roman soldiers guard the tomb, mouths set in grim lines as they scan the landscape. They reckon we might steal the body. But we would never do that. Never. He is my son. My beloved. Why would I disturb his peace?<br />
<br />
I am hidden from them as I watch, crouched behind a grove of olive trees. They stand in their finery, spears at the ready, chins held high in the pride of their station. I wonder if they know who they are guarding. Wonder if they know he was the brightest light, the miracle child, the son of God, the man who loved and restored and healed and forgave. Wonder if they know what they did.<br />
<br />
My tears are my food.<br />
<br />
But then I recall a starry night, a night when my arms were heavy with a precious load, a night when angels sang to shepherds and I gazed at the night sky, so pendulous with hope. I recall my heart pounding with fierce love and more; a love so great it overshadowed and overwhelmed and held me so close I could not speak. I remember that love, and I burrow deep into my heaving grief to find it. To locate the hope that never, ever dies.<br />
<br />
And then I remember words he said, walking along a dust-covered road one scorching day. Words about suffering and death. But there was more. There was something about raising.<br />
<br />
I gaze at the tomb, so still in the hushed air of a sultry afternoon. Could it be...?<br />
Surely not. I am looking for something where there is nothing.<br />
<br />
But his weight is in my arms and his love presses down on me.<br />
<br />
On this Saturday of hopelessness, dare I look for light? Dare I gather up my pain and pour it into hope?<br />
<br />
Dare I live in pain-washed expectancy?Liz Carterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13162212365184445560noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6698216310298601995.post-11260560390102476802017-04-13T10:54:00.003-07:002017-04-13T10:54:55.248-07:00The Virtual Maundy Thursday Labyrinth<div class="MsoNormal">
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Many churches partake in a ‘Labyrinth’ on Maundy Thursday.
People are invited to walk through pathways, usually in a church/hall, and
pause at certain ‘stations’ to contemplate on Jesus’ journey through this day.<br />
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Well, I can't always get out to a church, and I reckon a fair few
of you can’t, either. So instead of going to the Labyrinth, I’m attempting to
bring the Labyrinth to you. And to me. I hope that your journey through this
virtual Labyrinth brings you the peace and time of reflection on this Maundy
Thursday that you crave. I don’t know about you, but my Facebook feed makes me
feel sad on days like these, sad because once again, I am on the outside
looking in, I am the excluded one, I am the one not caught up in the busyness
and the creativity and the community of all that Holy Week can bring. <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhvAk02gcPPcIwZMuh1_P9y1FgiIPl_1rPhCZu8uk3jgwLd0uICf3TUizEDmc7_lDgPQGHpDlWsvsh8mPzm7X1uk2j0B55UbovOlTOevhSiYGIAtLh6zbVhqm9_jSvx8iE0YodHz3EktU/s1600/Labyrinth2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhvAk02gcPPcIwZMuh1_P9y1FgiIPl_1rPhCZu8uk3jgwLd0uICf3TUizEDmc7_lDgPQGHpDlWsvsh8mPzm7X1uk2j0B55UbovOlTOevhSiYGIAtLh6zbVhqm9_jSvx8iE0YodHz3EktU/s320/Labyrinth2.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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But why should I be on the outside looking in? I have decided to
turn the perspective around, to no longer dwell on all that cannot be, to find
instead the fullness of what this day can bring. As I experience fairly hideous
chest pain, surely I can turn this round to reflect on the hideous pain Jesus
experienced – not only on the cross, but on that day before Good Friday?</div>
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So, here we are then. The Virtual Labyrinth.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgx2IaGHAIULUbnXHZmMMN1aYewf0Qmb6jJyRVHf4YuNtOC2sUKBIOsD_5fuBR6Ir1Sh4HvX8JgyWMPTsRKmbHIxbRsvgsi2P6RWHKD-Naqe4oRFCiEfKz5ZyiPsqeeNm9t7s1tiHp0zwE/s1600/sdc13519.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgx2IaGHAIULUbnXHZmMMN1aYewf0Qmb6jJyRVHf4YuNtOC2sUKBIOsD_5fuBR6Ir1Sh4HvX8JgyWMPTsRKmbHIxbRsvgsi2P6RWHKD-Naqe4oRFCiEfKz5ZyiPsqeeNm9t7s1tiHp0zwE/s320/sdc13519.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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A prayer labyrinth is not a maze, more of a journey with
twists and turns, and no dead ends. There is only one way in, and one way out.</div>
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<br /></div>
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The winding path symbolizes a journey. As you negotiate the
twists and turns take time to sink yourself into the mystery of Christ and his
last days on earth. Think of the journey inwards to the centre as a time to let
go of anything you need to let go of, the centre as a time to connect with God
and the journey outwards as a time to take on the peace and protection you need
to walk forwards into your life and to share that journey with others.<br />
</div>
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So we walk into the Labyrinth. We pause at the first bend
where we think upon the Noise. The noise, the busyness of life, the fast paced
race all around us (and sometimes not including us). Think about all the
messages and information that fill our lives, competing for attention,
clamouring in every day. Now is the time to turn the noise off, to pause, to
shake it away.<br />
<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqn4okK-osG9oAZyy20-8Zjcji_QtDtREZ5cfdQzFPHD09IFmYpFV7BJFC6sixJk3_cuZJIz9yNL1jUilMLtCocdbi0MMK1borDTltd8x72Yw77ByeAoc9yPSuJWee8YQZ1h-1Y_Hxi9w/s1600/index.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqn4okK-osG9oAZyy20-8Zjcji_QtDtREZ5cfdQzFPHD09IFmYpFV7BJFC6sixJk3_cuZJIz9yNL1jUilMLtCocdbi0MMK1borDTltd8x72Yw77ByeAoc9yPSuJWee8YQZ1h-1Y_Hxi9w/s1600/index.jpeg" /></a></div>
<span id="goog_2084770108"></span><span id="goog_2084770109"></span>We step forwards to another twist. We collect up our
worries, our doubts, our grief, and our pain. Jesus says ‘come to me, all who
are burdened, and I will give you rest.’ We lay our burdens down. You can
visualise taking a bag from your shoulders and putting it on the floor, or taking off heavy shoes, or you
can write down your worries on some paper and fold it up, not necessarily to
throw away, but to put aside.<br />
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<br /></div>
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It may feel strange, this letting go, and not knowing what
the path ahead holds. Try to trust the path, and to trust the God who you are
seeking. We are taking steps, what takes place in our mind and spirit as
authentic as anything our bodies can – or cannot – do.<br />
<br />
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We keep on walking, round corners, round twisting paths.
Perhaps it would be helpful to begin to physically breathe in God’s presence.
Slow down your breathing, and intentionally breathe out the remains of what you
didn’t quite manage to leave behind at the last stop. Breathe out that niggling
voice, that continuing pain. And breathe in God. Breathe out – Breathe in.
Breathe out – Breathe in.<br />
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So we come to the centre. </div>
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<br /></div>
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It’s time to sit down (I am
sitting already, but taking a virtual comfy armchair in my head) and reflect.</div>
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<br /></div>
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Start by imagining a waterfall.<br />
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Psalm 42:7 says</div>
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‘Deep calls to deep in the roar of your waterfalls, all of
your waves and breakers have swept over me.'</div>
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<br /></div>
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Imagine immersing
yourself in the waterfall, the rushing waters being God’s love, pouring over
you, quenching your pain, cleaning your soul.</div>
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<br />
Then, think about a candle.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizfR_2r8qeQg0Ch_LKwGEIJDXQ5zkMYqwAewn8toCJjZ4BxvGE3NUPObrzP9nZTyzcncaVvyszcXqrLvUnbX0X61usTySkWyFgvNoU2t1Sp0NyR0K4JtWvINw_L7Fh41qsS9CdHToFf3I/s1600/candle4514391020_40b17bf313.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizfR_2r8qeQg0Ch_LKwGEIJDXQ5zkMYqwAewn8toCJjZ4BxvGE3NUPObrzP9nZTyzcncaVvyszcXqrLvUnbX0X61usTySkWyFgvNoU2t1Sp0NyR0K4JtWvINw_L7Fh41qsS9CdHToFf3I/s320/candle4514391020_40b17bf313.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
– imagine it’s the only light in the darkness. Live it,
breathe it. You may want to light a ‘real’ candle at this point. Virtual is
good though!<br />
<br />
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We think on these words from John 13.</div>
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<span class="text"><sup>‘3 </sup>Jesus knew that the
Father had put all things under his power, and that he had come from God and
was returning to God;</span> <span class="text"><sup><span id="en-NIV-26635">4 </span></sup>so he got up from the meal, took off his outer
clothing, and wrapped a towel around his waist.</span> <span class="text"><sup><span id="en-NIV-26636">5 </span></sup>After that, he poured water into a basin and began
to wash his disciples’ feet, drying them with the towel that was wrapped around
him.</span>’<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh06zGS9_43MisBcGOcDj4JedOFeoCNXjCT4LXetwJcDjD8agB1RHU5f9egHOHu5McfHXzUvfqKYB4lDs4fhiVOY4iuBDSXVG_FlRcTlRAkfIktkagyiwt7hN4JPVrvECSaozj1Pon6iUk/s1600/washing-feet.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh06zGS9_43MisBcGOcDj4JedOFeoCNXjCT4LXetwJcDjD8agB1RHU5f9egHOHu5McfHXzUvfqKYB4lDs4fhiVOY4iuBDSXVG_FlRcTlRAkfIktkagyiwt7hN4JPVrvECSaozj1Pon6iUk/s1600/washing-feet.jpg" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzZSyam0JCsI3WwNWopF3heiZsd4WUygsyMXYk3CJ_Ul3wv-EYzsxTGqSBXhxnwXuU-gM-tmY_zmwgCIv0ZQMK74rBV3iSinf2IJrTQnbmVZNl2Nt6QeiVulxhTRNthNxW6mIGHP1k5Vk/s1600/8_3_jesus_washfeet.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzZSyam0JCsI3WwNWopF3heiZsd4WUygsyMXYk3CJ_Ul3wv-EYzsxTGqSBXhxnwXuU-gM-tmY_zmwgCIv0ZQMK74rBV3iSinf2IJrTQnbmVZNl2Nt6QeiVulxhTRNthNxW6mIGHP1k5Vk/s1600/8_3_jesus_washfeet.jpg" /></a><span class="text">Reflect on this verse and this image.
Immerse yourself in the scene – in the sights and sounds. In the awe and
mystery amidst the normalcy of the Passover Supper. Jesus is washing your feet.
Perhaps you would like to take a bowl and gently wash your own feet at this
stage.</span><br />
<br />
<br />
<span class="text"><span class="text">There now follows a series of verses from these
Maundy Thursday passages, from John 13 and Mark 14. We can take as much time as
we need over each one, intentionally breathing in God’s presence as we take the
words in. Each section is accompanied by an image to contemplate upon in addition
to the words.</span></span><br />
<br />
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<span class="text"><span class="text"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-16eQkSwebGJKtk64QQWSNC5IDP4NVdgsoQ8158uyaljv6A6h4uMDr3gOvAI96ZEoIN6U6dNeed1KyoJDhkiuu32dUC0bRAixzN5KCMbPtI6zaTN3pRcT44z8h1ms5aQMz4s8TH4Gomg/s1600/350px-leonardo_da_vinci_-_ultima_cena_-_ca_1975.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="162" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-16eQkSwebGJKtk64QQWSNC5IDP4NVdgsoQ8158uyaljv6A6h4uMDr3gOvAI96ZEoIN6U6dNeed1KyoJDhkiuu32dUC0bRAixzN5KCMbPtI6zaTN3pRcT44z8h1ms5aQMz4s8TH4Gomg/s320/350px-leonardo_da_vinci_-_ultima_cena_-_ca_1975.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></span></div>
<br />
<span class="text">When evening came, Jesus arrived with the Twelve.</span>
<span id="en-NIV-24773"><span class="text"><sup>18 </sup>While they were
reclining at the table eating, he said, </span><span class="woj">“Truly I tell
you, one of you will betray me—one who is eating with me.”</span></span><br />
<span id="en-NIV-24774"><span class="text"><sup>19 </sup>They were
saddened, and one by one they said to him, “Surely you don’t mean me?”</span></span><br />
<span id="en-NIV-24775"><span class="woj"><sup>20 </sup>“It is one of the
Twelve,”</span><span class="text"> he replied, </span><span class="woj">“one who
dips bread into the bowl with me.</span></span> <span class="woj"><sup><span id="en-NIV-24776">21 </span></sup>The Son of Man will go just as it is written
about him. But woe to that man who betrays the Son of Man! It would be better
for him if he had not been born.”</span><br />
<span id="en-NIV-24777"><span class="text"><sup>22 </sup>While they were
eating, Jesus took bread, and when he had given thanks, he broke it and gave it
to his disciples, saying, </span><span class="woj">“Take it; this is my body.”</span></span><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqWye2hU62cdqii8OcfkCoHdx1odior3V90UVmrNOUBsrX_H-RxKGsvCzl5DeR62B9LbcVzb1n9rcGO22R13vu3dOP8ojTw08Llr_ZbbqaUsMzmcH01p1oJR0b5qH1tj6I0LEESQrXEcY/s1600/bread.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqWye2hU62cdqii8OcfkCoHdx1odior3V90UVmrNOUBsrX_H-RxKGsvCzl5DeR62B9LbcVzb1n9rcGO22R13vu3dOP8ojTw08Llr_ZbbqaUsMzmcH01p1oJR0b5qH1tj6I0LEESQrXEcY/s1600/bread.jpg" /></a><span id="en-NIV-24778"><span class="text"><sup>23 </sup>Then he took a
cup, and when he had given thanks, he gave it to them, and they all drank from
it.</span></span><br />
<span id="en-NIV-24779"><span class="woj"><sup>24 </sup>“This is my blood
of the<sup value="[<a href="#fen-NIV-24779c" title="See footnote c">c</a>]">[<a href="http://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=mark%2014&version=NIV#fen-NIV-24779c" title="See footnote c">c</a>]</sup> covenant, which is poured out for many,”</span><span class="text"> he said to them.</span></span> <span id="en-NIV-24780"><span class="woj"><sup>25 </sup>“Truly I tell you, I will not drink again from the
fruit of the vine until that day when I drink it new in the kingdom of God.”</span></span><br />
<br />
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<span class="woj"><sup>28 </sup>But after I have
risen, I will go ahead of you into Galilee.”</span></div>
<span id="en-NIV-24784"><span class="text"><sup>29 </sup>Peter declared,
“Even if all fall away, I will not.”</span></span><br />
<span id="en-NIV-24785"><span class="woj"><sup>30 </sup>“Truly I tell you,”</span><span class="text"> Jesus answered, </span><span class="woj">“today—yes, tonight—before
the rooster crows twice<sup> </sup>you yourself will disown me three times.”</span></span><br />
<span id="en-NIV-24786"><span class="text"><sup>31 </sup>But Peter insisted
emphatically, “Even if I have to die with you, I will never disown you.” And
all the others said the same.</span></span><br />
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<span class="text"><sup>32 </sup>They went to a place called Gethsemane,
and Jesus said to his disciples, </span><span class="woj">“Sit here while I
pray.”</span> <span id="en-NIV-24788"><span class="text"><sup>33 </sup>He took
Peter, James and John along with him, and he began to be deeply distressed and
troubled.</span></span> <span id="en-NIV-24789"><span class="woj"><sup>34 </sup>“My
soul is overwhelmed with sorrow to the point of death,”</span><span class="text">
he said to them. </span><span class="woj">“Stay here and keep watch.”</span></span><br />
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<br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="text"><sup>35 </sup>Going a little farther,
he fell to the ground and prayed that if possible the hour might pass from him.</span>
<span class="woj"><sup><span id="en-NIV-24791">36 </span></sup><i>“Abba</i>,<sup> </sup> Father,”</span><span class="text"> he said, </span><span class="woj">“everything is possible for you. Take this cup from me. Yet not what
I will, but what you will.”</span><br />
<br />
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<span class="text"><sup>37 </sup>Then he returned to his disciples and
found them sleeping. </span><span class="woj">“Simon,”</span><span class="text"> he
said to Peter, </span><span class="woj">“are you asleep? Couldn’t you keep watch
for one hour?</span> <span id="en-NIV-24793"><span class="woj"><sup>38 </sup>Watch
and pray so that you will not fall into temptation. The spirit is willing, but
the flesh is weak.”</span></span><br />
<span id="en-NIV-24794"><span class="text"><sup>39 </sup>Once more he went
away and prayed the same thing.</span></span> <span id="en-NIV-24795"><span class="text"><sup>40 </sup>When he came back, he again found them sleeping,
because their eyes were heavy. They did not know what to say to him.</span></span><br />
<span id="en-NIV-24796"><span class="text"><sup>41 </sup>Returning the
third time, he said to them, </span><span class="woj">“Are you still sleeping and
resting? Enough! The hour has come. Look, the Son of Man is delivered into the
hands of sinners.</span></span> <span id="en-NIV-24797"><span class="woj"><sup>42 </sup>Rise!
Let us go! Here comes my betrayer!”</span></span><br />
<br />
<span class="text"><sup>43 </sup>Just as he was speaking, Judas, one of
the Twelve, appeared. With him was a crowd armed with swords and clubs, sent from
the chief priests, the teachers of the law, and the elders.</span><br />
<span id="en-NIV-24799"><span class="text"><sup>44 </sup>Now the betrayer
had arranged a signal with them: “The one I kiss is the man; arrest him and
lead him away under guard.”</span></span> <span id="en-NIV-24800"><span class="text"><sup>45 </sup>Going at once to Jesus, Judas said, “Rabbi!” and
kissed him.</span></span> <span id="en-NIV-24801"><span class="text"><sup>46 </sup>The
men seized Jesus and arrested him.</span></span><br />
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<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="woj"><br /></span>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="woj">Are we able to watch with Jesus, this day
and night? Can we, in the centre of this labyrinth, put aside our wants,
desires, our very lives, to watch, to wait?</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="woj">The centre of the Labyrinth. The centre of
history.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
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<span class="woj">***</span><br />
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</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="woj">When we are ready, we begin to walk out of
the Labyrinth. We take with us our tears, our shame, our peace, all that we
have found and experienced as we journeyed through. We keep breathing in God’s
presence. We take the memory of Jesus washing feet and the waterfall of grace
washing us clean.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="woj">We come to the place we laid down our fears,
our worries, pain, doubt, grief. Perhaps we decide to pick up our folded piece
of paper and keep it with us once again, yet with all that we have contemplated
here superimposed upon it. The pain is with us, and yet so is the mystery. So
is the waterfall, the breakers. So is the agonised Jesus. Where does that leave
our pain?</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="woj">So we take it upon us, and we take it
outwards. We walk to the Noise again. Can we take less of it back upon
ourselves than we came in with? Can we leave some of the messages, some of the
script, shaken off at our feet as we leave? Can we replace it with all that we
breathed in, and with the mourning that comes with the watching and waiting, for
now? Can we see all the ground we walk upon as holy ground, as stepping out
with all we have inside, as taking it with us?</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="woj">We leave the Labyrinth.</span><br />
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<br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="woj">So, who said we’re not able to join in? We’re
far from the outside. We’re on the inside, looking out. We’re watching and
waiting with Jesus, we’re holding our pain and we’re living
in the great mystery of Maundy Thursday, today.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
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<div class="MsoNormal">
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<span class="text"><span class="text"> </span> </span></div>
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Liz Carterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13162212365184445560noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6698216310298601995.post-67858912481846266182017-04-13T05:26:00.001-07:002017-04-13T05:26:09.138-07:00The Upper Room<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />
A man with a jar of water.<br />
<br />
That's who we're looking for. That's who Jesus told us would meet us. Thing is, you just don't see that. A bloke, I mean, with a water jar. It's always the women.<br />
<br />
I sometimes don't get him.<br />
<br />
I glance over at John, who shrugs at me, drawing his hand over his sweat-soaked brow. 'Can you see anyone?'<br />
<br />
He shakes his head.<br />
<br />
We drag ourselves onwards, the heat of the day pounding us, wrapping itself around our aching limbs. It's been a long walk into the city, and its heaving. Crowds everywhere, people yelling and hawking and getting into your face. It's Passover, and everyone's getting ready. There's a hum in the air, a kind of buzz, like an expectation hanging over us. A small bolt of excitement pulses through my belly, but I don't know why.<br />
<br />
<i>Something's going to happen.</i><br />
<br />
'There.' John nudges me, points at someone far ahead of us, a stooped figure with a water urn on his left shoulder. A man<i>.</i><br />
<br />
My stomach flips and my feet speed up to catch him. To follow him. That's what Jesus said, wasn't it? Follow him. To a house. Then go in and talk to the owner. Yep. Go into some random house and tell the owner we're using his room. Of course. I can't help grinning at the thought of it, at how typical this is. Just the other day he had us go and nick this colt. So very random. So very fascinating.<br />
<br />
At the house, we pause at the door, looking at one another. John regards me with a raised eyebrow, and I nod. We're going to do this. We're going to do what he said. I swallow, and call out through the open courtyard: 'Hello?'<br />
<br />
I'm expecting a servant, someone who will tell us to be on our way, but a heavyset chap with a thick black beard walks towards us, and there's a glint in his eye and a smile curving his generous mouth. 'Welcome,' he says, as if he expected us, as if we are supposed to be here. 'Come in.'<br />
<br />
I swallow again, and force out the words he told us to say. 'Um... the Teacher<i>... </i>the Teacher asks...'<br />
<br />
He smiles wider. 'Do spit it out.'<br />
<br />
'The Teacher asked me to ask you where your guest room is? I mean, where the Teacher can eat the Passover meal, um... with us? I mean, with his disciples?' I stumble over my words, and he laughs out loud at me.<br />
<br />
This is it. This is where he throws us out. We can't just go up to a stranger and demand the use of his room.<br />
<br />
But he doesn't. He says nothing, just beckons to us as he turns on his heel and walks towards an arched entrance in the far side of the courtyard. Up some rough-hewn stone steps to an upper room. Inside, he nods to us, his smile unrelenting, and sweeps his arm around the space. A sumptuous room, furnished with a large table and dozens of reclining cushions. This is it. Just like he said.<br />
<br />
Why am I surprised? Surely I know better, by now?<br />
<br />
The owner, who remains silent, summons one of his servants to show us where to find things, and we prepare the meal. The Passover lamb, the bitter herbs, the unleavened bread, the wine. Tonight we will celebrate the liberation of the children of Israel. The freedom God gave us. The knot in my stomach tightens for some inexplicable reason. What? What is really happening here?<br />
<br />
Later, when the rest turn up, the candles are lit and the table filled, and we wait for Jesus to sit. For a moment, he stands, regarding us all, his dark eyes soft in the flickering light. There's a sadness etched on his face tonight, something not quite right. I wring my hands behind my back and ignore the sense of foreboding in the room. There's nothing to be afraid of. Nothing. I mean, yes, he has been saying some odd things lately, but everything is fine. Surely.<br />
<br />
We recline at the table, relaxing into the cushions. There's a quietness to the room, a weighty sort of silence settled upon us. We all look to Jesus, sat at the centre of us, so very still, the peace upon him tangible. I want some of that peace.<br />
<br />
<br />
He gets to his feet, and I start to stand with him. He gestures at me to sit, and I sink back into the cushion, watching him as he removes his cloak and wraps a towel around his waist. Without saying a word, he pours some water into a basin, and the sound of the water rushes through my veins. I inhale sharply as he takes the basin to James and crouches at his feet, then takes his foot and begins to wash it, gently scooping water from the basin and stroking it over James' foot. James sits mesmerised, staring at Jesus, a light in his eyes.<br />
<br />
Jesus does the same with Matthew, then Nathanael, and I can see him coming closer and closer to me. I bring my hands together, squeezing them as he kneels before me. 'No,' I say, my voice a rasp. 'You shouldn't be doing this. Are you really going to wash my feet?'<br />
<br />
'You don't realise what I'm doing now, but later, you'll get it,' he says, and tears prick the backs of my eyes.<br />
<br />
'No,' I say again, but my voice is broken. 'You'll never wash my feet.' He can't do this. I can't let him. It's not right. I should be serving him.<br />
<br />
Jesus smiles at me, his eyes full of sparkle.<br />
<br />
I take a deep breath. 'Then my hands too. And my head.' I want more. I want all he can give. All this life he has for me.<br />
<br />
Later, he tells us we should all wash one another's feet. We should serve one another. Love one another. We glance around helplessly, knowing we can't do this without his strength.<br />
<br />
'I've been waiting for this,' he says, when he is finished and sat with us again, his voice a soft breath in
the hush of the space. 'Having this meal with you, before I have to
suffer.' <br />
<br />
Suffer? What does he mean?<br />
<br />
We wait in the stillness.<br />
<br />
'I tell you this,' he says. 'I won't eat it again until it finds fulfilment in the kingdom of God.'<br />
<br />
<i>What does that even mean?</i><br />
<br />
None of us say anything. It's like there's an unspoken rule, a pact between us, to listen. To be still. The opulent room with its colourful tapestries and floor coverings presses in on me, the herb-scented air almost sucked from the space, and yet there's something at the edges. Not a feeling of oppression, but a spark of something else. Something like light. Like hope. I raise my aching head and look at him. His eyes are on me, something unfathomable lying in the depths, and I tear my gaze away, confused.<br />
<br />
<br />
His voice breaks into the silence, and his words are shocking. 'One of you here now will betray me. That's the truth.'<br />
<br />
An audible gasp runs between us as we catch one another's eyes. My heart thumps. He can't mean me? I would never do that. Never.<br />
<br />
All of them deny it. Say surely he couldn't mean them. Confusion weaves its way around us, snaking through us. 'It is one of the twelve,' he says, and we shake our heads, so vehemently, so assuredly. He must be wrong. But then Judas says to him, 'Surely not I, Lord?' and Jesus turns to him, gazes long into his eyes until he flinches.<br />
<br />
'Yes, you,' he says, and it's barely a whisper. Judas leans back, crossing his arms and setting his face like a stone.<br />
<br />
We are sombre as he does something strange with the bread and the cup of wine. Something I've never seen before. The bread is his body, he says, and shares it among us, and as I take my piece something surges through me like a fire taking hold. The cup is his blood, he says, of the covenant. The promise. We share it among ourselves and a strange awareness catches hold of us, a feeling running between us we cannot explain, and I know I will never leave him. Never let him down. I know something intimate has passed between us. Something otherworldly, that I am unable to put words to. It's changed me.<br />
<i> </i><br />
But then he says the words which fall too hard on me, like rocks on my head. 'I have to go away, and you'll all leave me.'<br />
<br />
I won't. I won't. I say it. 'I will not.'<br />
<br />
He looks into my eyes; deeper than before, and I shrink back. His words are soft but devastating. 'Peter. Before the cock crows twice, you will disown me three times.'<br />
<br />
Horror floods me. <i>Never. </i>I gather up my outrage. 'No. Even if I have to die with you, I will never disown you. Never.'<br />
<br />
Later, I look back at that upper room, the night that changed me. I look back and remember Jesus' eyes, even as he told me what he knew would happen, eyes full of love. Nothing but love. There was never anger in those eyes as he told me what I would do. Only grace.<br />
<br />
Always grace.<br />
<br />
And I did do it. I did let him down. But there was never a question, never a doubt that he loved me anyway, that I need bear no burden of guilt.<br />
<br />
That night, we celebrated the liberation of the children of Israel, and something more. We ate a meal which anticipated an even greater liberation; a freedom for everyone, in every time and every place, a freedom which ran through the meal then through the hideous events of the next day, then burst into joyous life in what happened on the Sunday, streaming through history with resurrection power. And each time we do it, each time we eat that meal we are remembering. Remembering that God's plan was always for freedom. Always for grace. Always for love.<br />
<br />
Always for you.<br />
<br />
<br />Liz Carterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13162212365184445560noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6698216310298601995.post-15330283011286967382017-04-03T02:52:00.001-07:002017-04-03T02:59:24.387-07:00Tale Older than Time<br />
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<br />
Beauty and the Beast? I'm going to do that thing where you say 'Ah! That's a bit like Jesus, that is.' Sorry.<br />
<br />
So Adventure Girl and I finally went to see the new movie version. The 90s cartoon version was her favourite film as a little girl, and the movie took me back to hazy Sunday afternoons slumped on the sofa, catching up on sleep while my little girl with her endless energy spun around the room in her somewhat torn yellow Belle dress, the songs whirling through my dozy, tiny-children-sleep-deprived head. As I watched the new film, some of these words came back to me, conjuring up the taste of yearning the story always left me with. <i>I want adventure in the Great Wide Somewhere, I want it more than I can say</i>, Belle sings to a sweeping backdrop of stunning mountain scenery. It struck me that in our lives we are all longing for the great wide somewhere, we are all looking for the big adventure, all drawn towards the soul-level keening for more, and that every story we tell reflects this hidden truth deep within humanity: We are made for more.<br />
<br />
Jaded cynics' comments regarding Stockholm Syndrome aside, I thought about some of the themes in the film and wondered why they always grabbed hold of me so. I think the central motifs are of redemption and restoration. Here we have a prince, a bit of a nasty piece of work by all accounts, selfish and rude, turning away an ugly old hag begging for shelter and getting something of a shock when she morphs into a fearful - if beautiful - enchantress and curses him and the entire castle in one fell swoop. It's only when and if he learns to love that they will be released from their bonds, she says, but he'd better do it by the time this rose drops its final petal. So we get the rather grumpy beast who can't find it in him to treat people very nicely, including Belle's father and Belle herself when they drop in. Belle, of course, is a poor village girl, shunned by others for being 'different'. Adventure Girl always liked her the best of all the Disney Princesses 'because she has some sass about her'.<br />
<br />
You know the story - Beauty melts Beast's hard heart. You see it beginning to soften, amid the harshness of perpetual winter over the enchanted castle. Love is doing its unique thing, weaving around hearts and minds with transformative power, leaving little room for doubt or fear. And this is where it differs from the norm, where justice is done and the baddies go down: this baddy is changed. This baddy is redeemed. He's given another chance, grace is extended to him freely and gloriously as Belle makes the decision to forget his previous bad behaviour and love him anyway.<br />
<br />
You can see where this is going... <br />
<br />
That unconditional love is something we can all grasp hold of and all be changed by, poured down over us like morning dew. God is all about redemption. Second chances. Lavish grace.<br />
<br />
And then there's the restoration, the dazzling, triumphant restoration. As the beast is transformed, not only back into human form but into something different than before, something softer, something capable of love - so the enchantment is broken and the castle is set free. The imagery is startling; dark grotesque gargoyles utterly remodelled into golden, stunning eagles and angels and cherubs, broken pieces fallen to the ground in the misery of despair and disrepair swept up and re-attached to where they belong, reminding me of a passage in Isaiah:<br />
<br />
<i><span class="text Isa-61-4" id="en-NIVUK-18848">They will rebuild the ancient ruins</span><br /><span class="indent-1"><span class="indent-1-breaks"> </span><span class="text Isa-61-4">and restore the places long devastated;</span></span><br /><span class="text Isa-61-4">they will renew the ruined cities</span><br /><span class="indent-1"><span class="indent-1-breaks"> </span><span class="text Isa-61-4">that have been devastated for generations.</span></span></i><br />
<br />
<span class="indent-1"><span class="text Isa-61-4">The sense of joy as the ruins are rebuilt and renewed is tangible. The castle is set free from its bondage to decay, from its constant winter, and spring comes quickly, flowers opening in delight all over the awakening gardens, darkness fleeing in the face of the light flooding in. Things are put right, restored to their former glory and beyond. The beast is given a garment of praise instead of a spirit of despair. Even the enchantress is redeemed in the new version, breaking the spell herself even when it seems too late, even when the final petal has fallen and the cursed objects lay too still on the battered ground. She observes a love stronger than death and chooses life. She goes against her own law of the curse, and chooses freedom.</span></span><i><span class="indent-1"><span class="text Isa-61-4"> </span></span></i><br />
<br />
<i>Tale as old as time, tune as old as song</i>, Mrs Potts sings over the couple twirling through the larger-than-life ballroom. The truth is, we are in that tale, the story as old as time, the song older still. The God outside time who made us for the great wide somewhere, made us for more than this. Made us for glorious relationship with him and with each other. J.R.R Tolkien said that we’re all searching for an overarching story, a story where things are made right in the end, because that will be our story, where justice will be done and mourning will be no more. That’s why we love stories with happy endings, we want things to be resolved, we’re desperate for injustice to be wiped away and for the poor village girl to get her prince.<br />
<br />
I love that they added some words to <i>Tale as old as Time </i>in the new version, right at the end. 'Winter turns to spring,' sings Mrs Potts, 'famine turns to feast.' How glorious a picture of our faith and the hope it holds, the life in its fullness offered, the transformative power of the gospel. <br />
<br />
May we know our winter turning to spring, our famine turning to feast. May we choose to live in the story which will end with love winning. Even though we're in the battle still, the conflict where the beast is still trapped in his enchanted cage and the village girl is desperate and afraid, we’re trapped in our seasons of pain and mourning and fear, yet may we know times of provision and laughter and hope as we wait for the story to come to its yearned for climax, the ending which carries us through to eternity in a contentment we can’t even conceive of in this life.<br />
<br />
Tale as old as time? Or a story even older. Song as old as rhyme? Or the song which streams through history and beyond, bringing redemption and restoration, hope in the darkness and as many second chances as we ask for. Irradicable, indestructible hope and love which never, ever fails us.Liz Carterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13162212365184445560noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6698216310298601995.post-17185649056646971772016-12-24T05:49:00.000-08:002016-12-24T05:49:04.841-08:00Seen from a Scene<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBrH98n9XQmHckMKS8vhwJGzpcCAVk5mVf_dpqzgetbU7wa2bc1P3fPoutcMdVupY6KHdJYJH7-Q6p6CdodwOiYwZQF1oh6mR7vWGt7c3jlbG3hAAr-ifc_-vJ2g9AdXyhy_2c0SMqGQk/s1600/nativity-manger-scene.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBrH98n9XQmHckMKS8vhwJGzpcCAVk5mVf_dpqzgetbU7wa2bc1P3fPoutcMdVupY6KHdJYJH7-Q6p6CdodwOiYwZQF1oh6mR7vWGt7c3jlbG3hAAr-ifc_-vJ2g9AdXyhy_2c0SMqGQk/s320/nativity-manger-scene.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I sleep fitfully, aware of you close by, so new, so needy,
so I wake quickly to the sound.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
A kind of humming, gaining in volume, a resounding harmony
of resonance. It pulls at my soul, something deep within, a knowledge I didn’t
know of. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And then the light. First a chink of light, snaking down the
mud-packed wall, a crack in the fabric which makes no sense in the dead of
night. I glance around; you are sleeping quietly, making little muffled sounds
and furling and unfurling tiny fists. A rush pounds through me. Beside you, my
husband slumbers, his hand on your makeshift cradle.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The fissure of light bursts into a rift, rending our shelter
apart; we are open to the world. Outside, I know it is silent, dark, so cold it
bites at my fingers; but through the crevasse I see something more.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Something otherworldly.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
A cavernous space, like a palace, lit with a thousand lights
glowing with an impossible brightness. In one corner a tree stands tall and
strange, nothing like the olive trees of my surroundings. Something perhaps
more like a cypress tree, strewn with more light and objects richer than I have
ever seen; silver and gold glinting through inexplicable radiance. Under the
tree lie objects I can only guess at, shapes and colours I cannot comprehend, shining
ribbons twirling around them.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The humming is louder, echoing through the space and
captivating me. I am bruised and battered; exhausted and drained, but you are
perfect and peace flows over me as I watch.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Wooden doors fly open and an eruption of noise and colour
gusts through the place as a hundred or more children crowd in, their garments
so strange, some with only a little familiar head-coverings with patterns I
cannot understand. Some all in white with a remarkable glittering material tied
round their waists and heads, strangely beautiful. Some jumping and screeching.
One comes close to me and you, peers right through the fissure, his gaze
curious and serious all at once. He points a finger. ‘Jesus.’ He smiles so
widely his face must crack, and bounds away, and my heart warms. He is talking
of you.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Later, they sing, and I know they are singing of you and of
me. Their tongue is strange but somehow I can comprehend each word. I shiver as
I hear the words. Smile, too. Tonight wasn’t very silent, or really very calm.
I remember the desperation, stumbling through the locked-up town, the cold and
the pain gripping me like iron, finding a place far from bright. But it was
holy. Holiness pervaded it like a great wave crashing over me, drowning me in
perfect love.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
They sing of more than your birth, though. They sing of the
dawn of redeeming grace and my heart hammers in my chest. They sing of adoring
you, of falling down to worship you, and I am warmed. Then they sing of nails
and spears, piercing you through, and I am broken. They sing of glad tidings,
of a wondrous gift, of joy to the world, and I am honoured beyond my wildest
dreams. In this dream of mine, this rend in my time, they are worshipping you,
dear one, the Son of God.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Later, they make a scene near the tree, and it is oddly resonant
of where I sit with you safe close by. The little ones clad in white stand with
arms held high, shimmering material cascading down, a little girl holding
something like a baby in her arms, a blue shawl draped over her head.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Later still, the children are gone and more people stream
through the doors, this time faces lit up with candlelight and beautiful voices
streaming in harmony through the space, flowing over me. In a quiet moment, a
woman approaches you and me and kneels. I notice her face is etched with pain,
her brows drawn together, her lips pulled tight. She brings her hands together
and whispers. ‘Dear Jesus, how can I celebrate this season when you took him?
Why did you take him?’</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
She weeps.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
There’s a whisper through the silence, and the woman looks
up, gazing around her.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
‘<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Immanuel.’</i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The woman brings her hands to her face, and I watch as tears
leak from between her gnarled fingers.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">‘God with us.’</i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The woman stands, and another woman is alongside her,
bringing her into a warm embrace.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">‘God with us.’</i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I watch as they light a candle together and place it on a
stand near to you and me. And then more and more come, gazing upon you, crying
out to you, washed in your peace as you sleep, the Light in the darkness, the
babe so small, but the all in all, the Creator among them. Among us. I watch as
they light candles and close their eyes, and listen to the whisper all around
the space, echoing through the fissure and through eternity.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">‘Immanuel.’</i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I watch the pain of a broken world, the suffering that I
will know too much of, and the peace beyond understanding that floods the place
before me and the place I am in. I hold in my heart the truth: In two thousand
years, your redeeming grace will still be surging over broken lives, still be
cascading over cold hearts, still be rebuilding and restoring and transforming,
just as it always has and always will.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Ashes turned into beauty, sorrow into joy.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">God with us.</i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The crack is beginning to heal up, the beautiful scene
before me dissipating and waning until all I see is a mud-packed wall. Beside
me, you sleep, your tiny mouth puckered, dark downy hair swept over your smooth
brow, and I wonder at the miracle. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The miracle of Immanuel.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
Liz Carterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13162212365184445560noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6698216310298601995.post-91878631480615591102016-08-01T08:58:00.000-07:002016-08-01T08:58:26.751-07:00A Walk Through Sacred<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhL5HEeMujvD_m8YpseXDbNfc3lZsXBaTUu-5vr_J1Gsr7MXQoAoGWimAtv7YyC-rAM1sN7BUaJs4mwZq_bD2c2rUTy-r71u-wxvL1jb2IvW9ndqyKB2DlIhVvp748Tn-xQOmskTWKzoNI/s1600/13906601_1325489704154132_2495631917921518764_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhL5HEeMujvD_m8YpseXDbNfc3lZsXBaTUu-5vr_J1Gsr7MXQoAoGWimAtv7YyC-rAM1sN7BUaJs4mwZq_bD2c2rUTy-r71u-wxvL1jb2IvW9ndqyKB2DlIhVvp748Tn-xQOmskTWKzoNI/s320/13906601_1325489704154132_2495631917921518764_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
On the last but one night at New Wine 2016, I took a walk through the camp.<br />
<br />
A normal stroll, an everyday thing. An achievement for me, certainly, but it turned out to be so much more, because the ordinary hurtled me headlong into the sacred.<br />
<br />
It was a balmy evening, the last rays of sunshine bathing the showground in a gentle light, the only sign of a huge deluge a few hours before a few puddles where welly-clad toddlers jumped with joy. I walked past Stomping Ground where a crowd of 8-11 year olds were doing the Cha-Cha Slide, playing arcade games and getting their nails done. I walked on past Boulder Gang and Rock Solid to the Youth corner.<br />
<br />
I felt old.<br />
<br />
Vibe was very loud and Flava full of gangs of happy kids, and outside were crowds of teens doing that preening thing at one another. My daughter was highly embarassed by my very presence, so I walked on, recalling how earlier, me and a friend had been thrown out of Thirst ('we don't do adults here') and were quite relieved, really. They didn't have any chairs and it was a bit smelly.<br />
<br />
I stopped for a second to breathe in the air, the atmosphere full of joy and shouts of laughter, of hope. That's the word. Hope soaked the place, and I began to reflect that this might be something of what the Kingdom is like.<br />
<br />
I walked past the Tearfund tent where a late night singer-songwriter strummed his guitar, his plaintive tones echoing out into the night. I watched as folk in the cafe relaxed to the music, and more crowds spilled out onto the pavement outside, chatting and drinking and laughing and singing. Smiling at me as I strolled past, taking it all in.<br />
<br />
Then there was Hungry, where people were still utterly lost in worship, abandoned and glowing as they did what they are created for. This is the quieter venue and the sound was beautiful, violins singing on the breeze and husky vocals carrying the hope onwards.<br />
<br />
In the food court opposite, long tables were packed with people enjoying a hot donut or a tray of chips. I wondered what the food sellers thought of this bunch of crazy Christians. I wonder if they saw anything different. If they saw Jesus at all. I hope so. I think so.<br />
<br />
I ambled through to the Impact venue which was still rocking big time, the young band giving it their all with their techo-drums and beat-boxer, lights streaking though the tent and out into the night in rainbow colours, touching every corner and every heart. The more energetic worshippers among us were pounding the boards in there and the hope was tangible. The freedom more intense than can be described.<br />
<br />
On past the Marketplace where dozens of organisations represented their tireless work for the poor, the persecuted, the vulnerable, and where art and creativity in many forms were celebrated. At the centre of it all the Flame International cafe buzzed with more laughter and even more hope.<br />
<br />
Walking through past the now quiet Groundbreakers, the sounds of the Arena drifted up the avenue; the place where a little earlier I'd encountered God in profound intimacy. Now the Late Night Live band blasted out 80s covers in style and I jigged a (little) bit.<br />
<br />
The sounds of a night alive with joy faded as I carried on and came to the Open Doors refugee camp, where people were gathered in the falling dusk with candles and prayers, interceding for refugees worldwide. Something in the juxtaposition of the fun and laughter with this tender and heartbreaking scene brought me to tears, reminding me of how God's Kingdom will be a place where there is no more pain, no more mourning, no more tears. Where there is joy and life and laughter and peace, for all eternity. The glimpses of how this would look were paired with the bittersweet beauty of God's people in prayer for those who are in the most desperate of circumstances.<br />
<br />
Come soon, Lord.<br />
<br />
As I walked on past the camp and into the more residential area of the showground, I passed the Pebbles marquee and stopped for a moment, my mind racing backwards to when my children were little. Toddling through Gems, running free and joy-filled through Pebbles then pelting into Groundbreakers, their little hearts so full of all they learned, their legs tired from jumping and playing and dancing. I reflected on how blessed we were to have New Wine as a home for so long now. This is the first year they are both out of the kids' stuff and into the youth, and I was a little bit sad, but more than a little bit happy, too. And to see the girl go and work on the Pebbles team, giving something back, was the most amazing thing. She's now New Wine team-hooked forever.<br />
<br />
So then I walked through this mini-city of tents and caravans, pockets of laughter lighting up the night, and thought again of God's Kingdom, of how everyone is here together to worship, to be united, and that is only the smallest glimpse of what it will one day be. I wonder if there will be so much mud?<br />
<br />
I walked through the hope-soaked sacred that night, and it changed me, again.<br />
Liz Carterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13162212365184445560noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6698216310298601995.post-51736424354665741002016-06-25T06:52:00.001-07:002016-06-25T06:52:49.246-07:00Bridges, not barriers.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />
I'm feeling desperately sad.<br />
<br />
Not just because of the referendum result, though that's part of it, but because of how it is polarising people in the UK (and beyond) even more than before. On social media, I'm observing fights break out between folks I love, ugly words, unpleasant judgments.<br />
<br />
If #Bremain had won, there would doubtless be the same polarisation. I don't claim to have the answer. But the process has left me in little doubt that there is a rising tide of xenophobia in this country. <b>Not everyone who voted leave, </b>not anywhere near, but watching some of the news broadcasts from around the nation has opened my eyes.<br />
<br />
Some of the comments I noted:<br />
<br />
'I voted leave because no white kids can get in at my local school, it's all taken over by the immigrants.'<br />
'I voted leave because our country is full up.'<br />
'I voted leave because I want to get England how it was before all the immigrants moved in and spoiled it.'<br />
'I voted leave because it will sort out all those Muslims.'<br />
'I voted leave because they take benefits from us and I can't get a doctor's appointment because of them.' (<i>whoever 'they' are.)</i><br />
'I voted leave because they take all our houses and we're left with the worst ones.'<br />
<i> </i><br />
It went on and on in this vein.<br />
<br />
The statments about leaving because of sovereignty and democracy I had much more time for, but in general I felt that we were stronger for being part of something bigger, for working together with other countries. I also felt that EU directives on worker's rights, the environment and human rights were important factors I felt it would be problematic to possibly lose. There's the miniscule worry for me that I simply don't trust our government as it is to 'take back control', but that's not the only reason I voted Remain.<br />
<br />
I have no idea what the future will look like. There are dire predictions of the economy going down the pan, of the pound in free fall, of job losses and cuts harder than we ever knew before (if we thought Tory austerity was severe, we might be looking back on those cuts with fondness for former times.) I don't know if any of this will be reality.<br />
<br />
What I do know is that we are at a crossroads, now. We can rally all we like at the vote; the prevalence of the older population voting Leave, the fact that it was actually only 38% of the electorate who voted Leave at all, the many rumours circulating of Brexiters who wished they could take their vote back because they believed Nige and BoJo about that £350 million thing. But I don't think a petition for another referendum will do anything, ultimately, because in the end, this was democratic, and the Leave side won. Therefore, what we must do is work together to step into the future, whatver it may be. To stop backbiting, namecalling, hate tweets and everything else that only further polarises. In the end, we are all human beings together. The great majority of us - whatever 'side' - want what is best for everyone. We may think some are misguided, they may think we are, but we don't have the right to spew hatred. No one does.<br />
<br />
This doesn't mean that I can't say what I think, but that I think that personal attacks (some I saw today: 'I thought better of you, I thought you had more sense than that, I'm de-friending you) are never a helpful thing. Never good.<br />
<br />
So how can we go forward? We just bumble along, I suppose, like we always do. And we support one another. I know of someone who has already been made redundant due to the referendum, and of many who are worried for their jobs. How can we help?<br />
<br />
I like what the Archbishops of York and Canterbury have said in their statement about the referendum:<br />
<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
As citizens of the United Kingdom, whatever our views during the
referendum campaign, we must now unite in a common task to build a
generous and forward looking country, contributing to human flourishing
around the world. We must remain hospitable and compassionate, builders
of bridges and not barriers. Many of those living among us and alongside
us as neighbours, friends and work colleagues come from overseas and
some will feel a deep sense of insecurity. We must respond by offering
reassurance, by cherishing our wonderfully diverse society, and by
affirming the unique contribution of each and every one.</blockquote>
<br />
This is what I want to see. This is why I am worried about all those statements I posted above. I would love to see a society where we all welcome one another as fellow humans, loved and precious, uniquely formed in God's image. I hope that this can turn to something good, to something generous and forward-looking.<br />
<br />
I kind of fear that it won't. <br />
<br />
<br />Liz Carterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13162212365184445560noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6698216310298601995.post-9438473035675845482015-12-24T05:38:00.000-08:002015-12-24T05:41:26.618-08:00Christmas: It's for the sorted, right? <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />
<br />
Here I am; another Christmas, another infection. Actually, the last two Christmasses have been good, infection free, and I've been free to join in with all that seems to make Christmas - carol singing, present buying and wrapping, Christmas meals out, Christmas food. I've been in on that this year too, well, up to two days ago, when my lungs decided they weren't going to play ball. Since then, I've lain in bed or on the sofa, again observing Christmas but not being a part.<br />
<br />
But I should know by now how stupid that is. Of course I am a part. Being sick does not make you a spare part, or not a part at all, of the celebration of the greatest gift that was ever given. The adverts would have us believe that Christmas is all about being so very sorted, so very unbroken. The beautiful family sits with more beautiful family and friends around the tastefully decorated table, real tree in the corner dripping with expensive and tasteful decorations (all colour co-ordinated, of course.) The baby giggles, the children play nicely together, everyone pulls crackers and oohs and aaahs at the exciting contents. The food is perfect; everything timed to be ready together, everything presented nicely. Everyone glows with good health and beauty, everyone loves each other, everyone is jolly and fulfilled and the epitome of what Christmas is all about.<br />
<br />
Facebook can be even worse, for the sick and the sad. So many photos of happy families, joyous in their lives together, the appearance of all that is good. Christmassy family trips out, meals together, baking together. The sick mum looks on and despairs, her children sat again in front of screens instead of frolicking in the fields or making mince pies good enough for Mary Berry. Pictures of cosy, warm homes, perfectly decorated by someone strong enough, in body and spirit. (I am just as guilty as posting this version of our lives, at times.) Then there are round robins. You know, where all the achievements are listed and nothing bad happens. Hermione gained 14 A*s and learned to play the harp to grade 8 standard on top of mastering ballet and photography. You know the sort. (Thankfully, most of the ones we receive are real, and I love reading them.)<br />
<br />
Is this what Christmas is? <br />
<br />
It's not, is it? Because Christmas is for the broken. It's for those who haven't got it together, those who haven't got a perfect table to sit round with a perfect family, those who have no family at all, those who are confined to a sick bed, those who have lost someone they love, those who have divorced, those who are struggling with anxiety, those in crippling debt. Christmas is so much for the broken people, and God came down among us in a broken scenario. A stable, not a restful, peaceful place of Christmas card fantasy but a cold, unwelcoming, dirty, smelly setting for the son of God. God chose to come in brokenness, born to an unwed young mum, born in scandal and disgust. No perfect table and hot food for the bewildered, tired couple, no crackers to pull or family sat around in peace and harmony. A few mucky shepherds turned up, trailing their bleating sheep. How was that a perfect Christmas?<br />
<br />
Yet that's exactly what it was. The most perfect Christmas. The one which meant everything. That Christmas meant freedom for many, hope for the world. It meant that God was among us. Immanuel.<br />
<br />
<i>You tore the night apart<br />
And ripped the silent skies in half<br />
Your glory breaking through the dark</i>
<i><br />
And here our worlds collide<br />
Divinity in man confined<br />
This great design drawn out for me</i><br />
<br />
<i>(from 'King of Heaven' by Hillsong United) </i><br />
<br />
I want to remember that Christmas isn't for the sorted, for those who have arrived. As I sit, frustrated by my body's treacherous unreliability at a time I want to feel strong, I think of that vulnerable baby and remember how God chose to come in vulnerability, in pain and darknesss, and think about how God is here in our darkness. If Christmas seems far from something you enjoy because of life being difficult, for whatever reason, remember what Christmas really is. A celebration of the Christ child, a celebration of God's passionate love for us. In the midst of my pain, this light breaks through and infuses me with hope, with joy that God did this, for me. For you.<br />
<br />
May you be at peace this Christmas, wherever you are in life, whether you feel like that perfect family on TV, or whether you are so broken you cannot begin to imagine celebration. May you be infused with the peace beyond all understanding that comes from knowing God's saving plan for you. May you know the hope of the Christ child, held out over the wreckage of wrapping paper and squabbles, filling the emptiness and creeping through the shadows, pervading the gloom and exploding in glorious light.<br />
<br />
(And may I get over having to cancel seeing Star Wars yesterday, obviously.)<br />
<br />Liz Carterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13162212365184445560noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6698216310298601995.post-18709154251283610922015-11-29T05:06:00.000-08:002015-11-29T05:06:14.227-08:00Advent Shadows<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />
It's Advent Sunday, and I started the day grumpy. I've been poorly for the past month and the antibiotics are taking their toll while not winning over the infection. Yet. They will. So we decide to get some of the advent stuff out and do home church, which is so lovely as it's been a while since I got to church, but I then take my grumpiness out on the Adventurous pair and feel rubbish. When every movement hurts, takes the breath out of you and is just this huge great struggle it can be so difficult to just be nice, be calm, be the loving mum they need. I'm sorry, dear ones, you were so gracious at my grumpiness and did what you were asked with concern and love. I am blessed with you.<br />
<br />
But then Adventure Bloke sorted this little home church for Advent Sunday and it just took me to a different place, a place beyond me and my gripes and my pain and fed up-ness. We talked as a family about what Advent means (no, not just for chocolate, important though that is, obviously.) About how it means anticipating the coming of Emmanuel - God with us, about waiting for light to break through into the darkness. There seems so much darkness at the moment, in all the far places of the world, so much of people's inhumanity to others, so much pain. It's hard to look around and see where the light is, where is that breaking through? It feels as if we live in a time of perpetual advent, perpetual anticipation, and of course, we do. We live in desperate waiting for the fulfilling of God's promise, of Jesus coming back and of all being made new, made right, with no more suffering, no more crying, no more pain. But while we are waiting - while we are in the now and the not yet, we can glimpse things from the not yet and soar with hope as we remember the promises, remember that God is trustworthy. God spoke through the prophets, as we remember this Advent Sunday, and God's promises were fulfilled in Jesus. We can live in the hope, rather than the fear, the chinks of light rather than the cloaking darkness. I long for the day when that light is all consuming, like sun on our skin, almost too much to bear, but for now, I'll live through the shadows and the pain they bring, and when the light penetrates, soak it in and live in it.<br />
<br />
My pain won't go away. I breathe in, breathe out, and it's there, snaking its way up my body, consuming me, at times prompting tears. I don't know why. I don't know why it won't go, but I remain convinced that God is in here, in the midst, which is exactly what Advent is all about. It's about Jesus getting in the mess with us - no staying away for the Son of God, no looking down from afar, but instead experiencing our humanity in full, suffering included, so very much included.<br />
<br />
I'd encourage you today to live with the shadows while glimpsing those rays of light, breaking through like sunshine after a storm. Hold on to them, in the knowledge that one day they will dispel the darkness - that one day, 'the dawn from on high will break upon us,' that we will one day be free of the pain that binds so tightly. And that the freedom we can experience in the here and now can be so very deep. Keep on walking, dear ones.<br />
<br />
And do forgive my grumps when I see you. :-)Liz Carterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13162212365184445560noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6698216310298601995.post-72494146429289091042015-10-01T03:58:00.004-07:002015-10-01T04:04:21.290-07:00UnproductiveI've been frequenting various author/writing blogs lately in my novel-writing mission, but have found that I feel fairly depressed after browsing too many of them. Now this could merely be due to the fact that they actually procrastinate the very thing they advocate, ie actual, real Writing. Or, it could be something more, something whch seems to strike at the heart of me.<br />
<br />
These blogs are <i>exhausting. </i>All written by successful people with twenty zillion followers and thousands of perfect widgets proclaiming their great accomplishments; top ten bloggers ever, fifty books published, their perfect life of writing. Then, across their headers, there's more evidence of their triumphs in this brutal market - their international speaking schedule, their competition wins, their Goodreads page along with endorsements from Famous Folk. They've <i>arrived.</i><br />
<br />
And they tell us that we must do similar, if we want to succeed in any way with our writing. We must spend every waking minute gathering and coddling our millions of Twitter fans, and if we have under five thousand then we might as well give up, because our book just won't sell. Not only that, but we must build platforms on Google Plus, Instagram, Goodreads, Youtube, Facebook and everywhere else it is possible to build a social media presence. And then there's our blog. It must be good. It must be professional, and it must show evidence of our faithful followers.<br />
<br />
<i> </i><br />
My heart shrinks a little inside when I read these, because I know this is just beyond me, beyond my capabilities, physically. When it comes to social media self-promotion, I am Unproductive. It seems to me that society requires so much productivity of a person in order to be successful - or in order to be in any way deserving of anything at all, possibly. Those in society who are seen as Unproductive are banded together and shoved to one side; the Undeserving. When it comes to matters such as welfare, sections of the media like to play up the unproductivity of the undeserving - they have not tried, thus it is their fault, thus they are undeserving. Why should we help such people?<br />
<br />
Sadly, this tends to enclose many people who are sick and disabled, and to society's eyes may be unproductive. Somehow, society have twisted things here so we see the most needy, the most sick as deserving and somehow heroic, but the long term sick, especially those with fluctuating conditions, are often seen as the opposite to this. They just don't <i>try </i>hard enough. Remember all the stuff going around about the Paralympians - they're disabled but they have tried. They are Deserving. But you haven't. Why not?<br />
<br />
The truth is, being long term sick is completely exhausting in a way that is hard to explain. It's not like tiredness, more like a constant flu like feeling, taking over your life. That's why when I look at the requirements it seems it is needed to be an author, I want to close my laptop and wipe the lot. I can't do this, because my body isn't strong enough. Sitting at a computer all day blogging and tweeting may not seem a huge burden, but to someone with long term sickness I can promise that it is a burden much too far. On a bad day, I cannot open my computer. On a less bad day, I can read a bit of Facebook. On a slightly better day I can manage the odd blog post or some work on my books. On my best days I can do a lot more of this, and sometimes catch glimpses into what life might look like if it could always be like this. But because my condition is annoyingly fluctuating, I cannot be consistent. I cannot give this kind of commitment to something. Does that mean it's impossible for me to do this? I'm also grateful for the fluctuating nature of it, because it means I get time off, or at least down time where I feel well. Ish. It's good.<br />
<br />
People who are long term ill are not undeserving. In general, they are just beyond shattered. They are trying to live day to day, trying their best to get through, to accomplish the smallest of tasks, and to cope. To then be faced with the media casting these kind of aspersions on them could be the straw that breaks the camel's back for them. I plead with our government, with our media to remember everyone has a story, everyone has humanity. Everyone is valued, not for what they do, but who they are. I'd include those who are seen as undeserving but aren't necessarily physically ill in this. They have a story. They are people. I believe they are made in God's image, and I believe in grace, not only rewarding the deserving. I'd love to see a world where grace shone through. Another subject for another time, perhaps.<br />
<br />
Meanwhile, I may as well keep chasing the book thing. It's a bit Rejection City round here though, so I may just sit and mope instead.Liz Carterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13162212365184445560noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6698216310298601995.post-53286533674117730092015-09-09T04:14:00.001-07:002015-09-09T04:15:21.487-07:00Belief and SufferingToday I'm guest posting over at<a href="http://www.mummyfromtheheart.com/2015/09/guest-post-why-am-i-christian-when.html" target="_blank"> Mummy From The Heart</a>, my lovely friend Mich's blog, on why I'm still a Christian despite the suffering I see all around me and experience in my life. Thanks Mich for the opportunity. :)<br />
<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.bloglovin.com/blog/7104111/?claim=y9d65kr5r5y">Follow my blog with Bloglovin</a>Liz Carterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13162212365184445560noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6698216310298601995.post-58509715491665426912015-09-03T03:43:00.000-07:002015-09-08T03:42:20.765-07:00Dear Aylan<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />
Dear Aylan,<br />
We're sorry you died.<br />
We don't like the picture.<br />
But you know, it's not our problem.<br />
<br />
Not our problem, those hordes of the nameless,<br />
escaping from places unknown<br />
and oppression undreamed of.<br />
<br />
Not our problem, the baby at the border,<br />
screaming in a language<br />
alien to us.<br />
<br />
Not our problem, your mother and brother,<br />
drowned as you fled,<br />
hope exstinguished.<br />
<br />
Not our problem, those immigrants,<br />
we can't let them in,<br />
they'll take our jobs,<br />
and our money.<br />
<br />
Not our problem,<br />
the unfaced on Keleti station,<br />
they can deal with them.<br />
<br />
Not our problem, because<br />
taking more people is not the answer,<br />
but neither is it for anywhere else.<br />
<br />
Dear Aylan, I'm sorry but<br />
you were not our problem.Liz Carterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13162212365184445560noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6698216310298601995.post-39993321365435697842015-08-31T09:28:00.001-07:002015-08-31T09:32:39.801-07:00If they won't I willThere's a lot going about on Twitter at the moment about the death figures for those claiming ESA in the past five years. It makes for some fairly scary reading. It's prompted a <a href="http://dpac.uk.net/2015/08/dpac-triggers-un-inquiry-into-grave-and-systematic-violations-of-disabled-peoples-rights/">UN inquiry into grave and systematic violations of disabled people’s rights</a><br />
<br />
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<br />
<br />
I'm just completing an edit on my first novel. I've been a bit reticent about sharing it with people, because it feels all vulnerable to get out there and say 'I've written a book.' But the book speaks of my fears of what a society might look like if this kind of thing was taken to the extremes - if violations of rights were taken much, much further than even this report warns. It's a YA story set in a dystopian version of England. There. I said it. I'm not saying a lot more, as I'm in the process of sending queries to agents <strike>and waiting for the inevitable knock backs.</strike> I'll tell you more when I self-publish it on Kindle :)<br />
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I know my story, and others like it, are glimpses into something that couldn't possibly happen. Well, I hope they are. Remember the Nazis? Stalin? Mao? It doesn't take much to look around and see that humanity really can be capable of the worst of atrocities. We can look around at our fairly moderate country, and say 'don't be daft. Nothing like that could happen here,' but I wonder if it could, actually, and I wonder if some of these stories about folks dying after being found fit for work could point to the fact that we are going downhill. I'm not one to go in for hysteria or accuse IDS of longing for the Workhouse society, (some days), but we do need to respond as a society to these figures and what they mean - it's unclear, as yet. My book reflects my experience of how the weak and the vulnerable are sometimes treated, but I'd hope that as a society we would be making better choices about how we care for those who most need it.<br />
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<a class="bible-item-title" href="https://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=Psalm+82:3&version=NIV">Psalm 82:3</a>
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<b><u>Defend the weak and the fatherless; uphold the cause of the poor and the oppressed</u></b>.</div>
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I say, #iftheywontIwill </div>
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I hope that this investigation will be a trigger to something new, something good, where people in Government really listen to those struggling with sickness and disability, where voices are heard at last and where the weak are upheld and defended in our land. That's what I dream of. I need to ask myself how I can help make that happen. Retweeting stuff on Twitter isn't enough, is it? What can we do to really mean this? Praying is incredibly important, I believe, but prayer without action is not enough.</div>
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What am I doing? What are you doing?</div>
Liz Carterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13162212365184445560noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6698216310298601995.post-52190626890208770622015-07-23T07:27:00.001-07:002015-07-23T07:28:21.252-07:00Catching Up.I seem to have neglected this blog of late. Oops.<br />
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I have been busy writing, though. Just doing a final edit of my first book (fiction) before I try sending it to scary people like agents and publishers. I know new authors have little chance, but thought I'd give it a go anyway. There's always Kindle publishing...<br />
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So that's been taking my time. But it's been making me think, a little. Working so hard on something like that has given me a lovely sense of fulfilment and purpose. What I have to be careful of is that it doesn't justify my existence. It would be nice, in a way, to slip into this way of thinking: I am doing something Worthwhile (and a tad ironic, given the book subject, but I'll leave you to discover that at some point) :) - That I am perhaps useful, after all? Come on, me! I'd worked so hard to always speak narrative of value rather than use, and now here I am, buying once again into the narrative of use rather than value. What a shame. I won't let it suck me in...<br />
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I've seen a lot of that type of rhetoric, lately. On the news, on blogs, message boards, all over the place. The type of thinking that goes 'I work hard, therefore I am justified, I am real, I am useful. You do not therefore you are not.' Of course, these words are rarely used in such a stark way, but the meaning is there. It doesn't take much digging to recognise this. Sadly, it seems to me that there has been a build up of this kind of thinking. It's actively encouraged to set yourself above the 'scroungers' if you are 'hard working.' Divide and conquer, and all that. I can see that it is so easy to fall into this - if you feel you work hard, and it seems your neighbour doesn't, then you begin to feel slightly superior, slightly better. Sadly, people don't always see the reality of other people's lives, the pain they are in, the past they have come from. I wish we could all show grace in all our actions, and remember we are all valued, all equal, all utterly loved by God. No one is better than anyone else, no one more justified in their existence.<br />
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So my 'working hard' doesn't justify me, however much the temptation is to make this so, the temptation to say 'hey, now I am a Writer. I'm not just a sick person.' No. I'm not going down that road. I can identify writing among my stuff that I 'do' but not make it the Thing that is me, just as I don't make the sickness the thing that is me. I never want to make the substance of me into a thing that I do, that's what I am trying to avoid. I want to make the substance of me about my value to God, the fact that I am loved so completely. That's all it needs to be, and how incredible that is.<br />
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I'm a member of a group called <a href="http://compassionatebritain.org.uk/index.php/about-compassionate-britain/" target="_blank">Compassionate Britain</a> which is seeking to redress some of this balance, particularly regarding sick and disabled people and some of the prejudice they face - and the cuts which are making some lives incredibly difficult. I hope we can be a small part of a movement which changes things and changes preset ideas and views formed by a certain section of the media.<br />
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If this post doesn't make sense, I'm sorry, I am shattered from arriving home at 3am this morning after seeing Hillsong at the 02 last night. What an amazing time. 20,000 people worshipping together, one in purpose and spirit, it was a beautiful thing, a glimpse of heaven. I could have stayed all night - roll on New Wine on saturday.Liz Carterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13162212365184445560noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6698216310298601995.post-66142717708702213772015-03-05T03:07:00.000-08:002015-03-05T03:18:00.498-08:00What does it feel like to be disappointed by God?I hear that phrase a lot. 'Disappointment with God.' There's even a book with the same title (a very good book, actually.) People often ask me if I am disappointed with God, and if I say I am not, say that I should be. And if I say that yes, today actually I am, I may get the 'oh don't worry, he has plans to prosper and not to harm' etc. I know. I've used it myself.<br />
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But thinking about it, I am just not sure disappointment with God is a construct that is helpful. Why am I disappointed with God? First and foremost, it's because I'm not healed. That's the big one - the one everyone expects me to be disappointed about and validates me feeling this way (it's OK - only natural - keep feeling that way.) But I am not sure I want to keep feeling that way, because I am not sure that I am, actually, disappointed with God.<br />
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I get disappointed I am not healed, but then when I spend any amount of time in God's presence that disappointment seems to fade and become less all consuming, and my thoughts turn away from me, and turn to contentment instead of dissatisfaction. I could spend the rest of my life deciding to live in disappointment and developing an increasingly bitter exterior. I could also spend the rest of my life trying to be healed at every possible opportunity, but you know what? That's so exhausting, dispiriting and can actually get in the way of a good relationship with God and with others - I become drained by the fact it's not happening, my disappointment begins to eat away at my love for God and I become disappointed by others too when they may try to make it about my problem or my faith or lack thereof.<br />
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Being disappointed with someone implies that we think that they have not done something in the way in which we think they should have done it, or that they have let us down in some way. To be disappointed with God, then, means that we are deciding that God should have done something another way. We are putting that box around God again, that narrowing of God whereby we forget that whole thing about God's thoughts being above ours, and all that. Are we narrowing God by being constantly disappointed?<br />
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Many writers in scripture show disappointment with God, especially in the Psalms. This fact is often cited as an excuse to be Disappointed. But we need to remember that the disappointment shown by the psalmist is usually accompanied by expectation and finally with praise. (<i>'<span class="text Ps-42-11" id="en-NIV-14567">Why, my soul, are you downcast?</span><span class="indent-1"><span class="indent-1-breaks"> </span><span class="text Ps-42-11">Why so disturbed within me?</span></span><span class="text Ps-42-11"> Put your hope in God,</span><span class="indent-1"><span class="indent-1-breaks"> </span><span class="text Ps-42-11">for I will yet praise him,</span></span><span class="indent-1"><span class="indent-1-breaks"> </span><span class="text Ps-42-11">my Saviour and my God.) </span></span></i><span class="indent-1"><span class="text Ps-42-11">The Psalmist has recognised that the great weight of disappointment can be balanced by the great expectation of God's work in his life.</span></span><br />
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I'm deciding to balance my own disappointment with great expectation. This doesn't mean that I am banned from the odd rant session at God Psalmist Stylee, but that I decide that my days will not be dictated by a sickening sense of being let down. Again. Instead I choose to look at God, to spend my time gazing upon God, and find that any sense of being let down is so very overwhelmed by feeling utterly loved instead. It's a much happier feeling.<br />
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This also doesn't mean that I am saying that I Give Up. I do not give up, but I do reserve the right to not Go Down To The Front every time I go to something where people are asked to Go Down To The Front. Sometimes I quite like sitting in my seat, soaking in worship, and find my healing far deeper in that than in going and endeavouring to explain, sometimes over loud music, what I would like prayer for, and then coming away again feeling a little lessened by the experience, often depending on the focus of the pray-er. I had a lovely experience last year at New Wine, where I did feel I needed to obey that nudge and get down there. After explaining, the lady didn't pray for miraculous healing or tell my pain to leave or anything like that. She prayed simply that God would come to me in my pain and do what God wanted to do. How freeing for me that was - I didn't feel obligated to feel better, like so often in these situations - I felt free to be whatever God was doing with me there and then, which was pretty fabulous actually.<br />
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I think God is so much bigger than we make out and can do so much more than we can comprehend. And that our perceptions of what God should do are not always what God chooses to do. But we can have great expectations of what God will do, whether that involves physical healing or not. I know one day I will be whole, and for now I am choosing not to be disappointed but to embrace all God has for me in the body I have today. I'll keep asking for prayer, I'll sometimes sit and be. I pray for you too today: <br />
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<span class="text Eph-3-16" id="en-NIV-29268"><sup class="versenum">16 </sup>I pray that out of his glorious riches he may strengthen you with power through his Spirit in your inner being,</span> <span class="text Eph-3-17" id="en-NIV-29269"><sup class="versenum">17 </sup>so that Christ may dwell in your hearts through faith. And I pray that you, being rooted and established in love,</span> <span class="text Eph-3-18" id="en-NIV-29270"><sup class="versenum">18 </sup>may have power, together with all the Lord’s holy people, to grasp how wide and long and high and deep is the love of Christ,</span> <span class="text Eph-3-19" id="en-NIV-29271"><sup class="versenum">19 </sup>and to know this love that surpasses knowledge—that you may be filled to the measure of all the fullness of God.</span> <span class="text Eph-3-20" id="en-NIV-29272"><sup class="versenum">20 </sup>Now to him who is able to do immeasurably more than all we ask or imagine, according to his power that is at work within us,</span> <span class="text Eph-3-21" id="en-NIV-29273"><sup class="versenum">21 </sup>to him be glory in the church and in Christ Jesus throughout all generations, for ever and ever! Amen.</span><br />
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<span class="text Eph-3-21" id="en-NIV-29273">Amen! </span>Liz Carterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13162212365184445560noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6698216310298601995.post-34389553996659062272015-02-11T06:58:00.001-08:002015-02-11T07:05:22.538-08:00Yet Another SF and Suffering Blogpost.I know, I know, there are thousands floating round the internet. But seeing as I am sitting propped up in bed and have just taken painkillers, I have a window where I may be able to pen something that makes some kind of sense. Possibly.<br />
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First of all I should link to Adventure Bloke's musings on the subject - he preached it on Sunday, and it is Very Good. <a href="http://carterclan.me.uk/sermons/so-what-about-bone-cancer-in-children/">http://carterclan.me.uk/sermons/so-what-about-bone-cancer-in-children/</a><br />
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I think that words like Mr Fry's can be seriously shocking for some folk who have perhaps not thought too deeply about suffering, or who can bat them away with not so nice words about the man himself. For me, the words resonate, because it is the experience of humanity throughout the ages. I'm reading the sequel to 'Call the Midwife' at the moment, 'Shadows of the Workhouse' by Jennifer Worth and it is incredibly, deeply harrowing, an account of children's lives in a turn of the century workhouse. I.m sitting there reading it thinking God, where were you when this 6 year old girl was beaten almost to death for nothing. Where were you when these childrens' parents both died and they were sent to the workhouse and treated so abysmally. It's sickening that one human being could do such things to another. Where was God in that?<br />
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I'm pretty ill right now. I've got pleuirsy pain, breathing's hard work, I'm sick. I feel helpless and frustrated. Missed Adventure Boy's parents evening and will miss the Girl's tomorrow. It's Not Fair. Looking at other situations such as those described above it's far less Not Fair than some. Yet in my situation, as in other suffering across the world, I can look to God and find...not answers, really. But something. I can find hope. The sensation of a God who looks at all this stuff and weeps. Weeps with us. That may not feel enough to that child abused so young - after all, if God was weeping with her, why couldn't he do something? I don't know. All I know is that this world is well skewed off centre. Not what it was created to be, and people are not who they were created to be. Something went stinkingly wrong and that resonated through history. And God weeps.<br />
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He doesn't just do that. He sent Jesus. Jesus born in squalor, died in agony. Jesus the one who can identify in our suffering, Jesus the one who went into our suffering. An immense statement of that Father's love for us. He didn't sit back and do nothing. He knows.<br />
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I'm aware it's still not enough, in terms of answers. There simply are not sufficient answers. But we can look at the Bible, we can look at the Psalmist ranting and railing at God, we can look at God's huge emotions spilling over his world in the writings of the Prophets, we can look at Jesus' time on earth and death and glorious resurrection and we can find a voice that speaks through the suffering and says 'I am here'. We can find hope and we can find a depth in the suffering we never guessed we would.<br />
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I'd like to be better. I'd like this chronic illness to stop overshadowing my life and cancelling my appointments. I'd like to find out who I could be if I had strength. But I have found so much of God in the depths, that it's difficult to imagine that other life. I live this life, and am called where I am, in the body I am in. I need to decide daily to 'press on' whether in pain or not. Not so much to come to the conclusion that the illness is sent from God to teach me a lesson. Nope. That's not how it goes. People everywhere get ill. They just do. Nothing they did wrong, nothing they did right. It happens. It happens because of the creation groaning, waiting to be righted. I'm waiting for that too, in pain and in hope.<br />
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I like Mr Fry, I'm fairly fond of QI when there's nothing else on. ;-) I hope he finds what he so desperately needs, and wish him happiness. If nothing else, his words have sparked so much thought and debate which can only be good. Christians need to be honest, to say that their lives are not easier than other lives because of our faith, to say that we struggle too, and we don't get it either. But to testify to the more that we see, to the peace beyond understanding that we sometimes fleetingly catch hold of, to the beauty underneath the pain, to the world groaning in its' wait for healing.Liz Carterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13162212365184445560noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6698216310298601995.post-72009428653838834062014-11-10T05:36:00.000-08:002014-11-10T05:40:27.071-08:00Trust in the Lord with all your heart?How easy is it to live out Proverbs 3 vs 5-6 when your life does not seem to tally with what it appears to promise?<br />
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<span class="text Prov-3-5" id="en-NIV-16461"><sup class="versenum">5 </sup>Trust in the <span class="small-caps" style="font-variant: small-caps;">Lord</span> with all your heart</span><br />
<span class="indent-1"><span class="indent-1-breaks"> </span><span class="text Prov-3-5">and lean not on your own understanding;</span></span><br />
<span class="text Prov-3-6" id="en-NIV-16462"><sup class="versenum">6 </sup>in all your ways acknowledge him,</span><br />
<span class="indent-1"><span class="indent-1-breaks"> </span><span class="text Prov-3-6">and he will make your paths straight.</span></span><br />
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<span class="indent-1"><span class="text Prov-3-6">I admit to occasionally using this as a slight cop-out. Perhaps in a situation where things don't go as I hope and where I can't understand what God is up to. You know, the old 'well, we can't rely on our own understanding, God is in charge, blah blah blah, it will all be fine in the end.' Because I've not taken time to think over what this passage is really saying. Is it really stipulating that everything will be just fine and dandy? Does God 'making our paths straight' mean that all will be well - that everything we do will go how it should? What does it mean to say that 'he will make our paths straight?'</span></span><br />
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<span class="indent-1"><span class="text Prov-3-6">The times I haven't used this verse as a cop out catch all, I have often instead ignored it altogether. My life doesn't show that my paths are straight, so therefore I don't trust in God with all my heart,' goes my thinking, or even 'I tried to trust God with all my heart, but my paths aren't straight and therefore this verse is wrong'. So I don't think about it an awful lot. But two things have brought my mind to it lately - one person asked me to think upon it, and I heard Christy Wimber speaking on it at the New Wine Women and Leadership conference this weekend. And she didn't, in fact, say that trusting God made everything alright; she didn't say that her paths were straight. She actually said that </span></span>'some of the most powerful times I have had with the Lord are when there is a great tornado going on around me'. It was trusting amid the tornado which increased those powerful times.<br />
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So how on earth can a 'tornado' be in any sense a 'straight path?' Delving further in, it seems to me that it could be more rightly understood as 'right path' as in the path that follows God, the path that is guided by God, the path that we are best to be on because if we are walking with God than that is the best way for us to walk. None of this implies anything about it being an easy or healthy path. A safe path for our souls, yes, but not always safe for our bodies, our emotions, our health. Does this mean that God means for us to walk in suffering - that our suffering is our 'right path', the path God guides us on when we trust God with all our heart? Huge question - and I'm not sure I have the answer to this. What I do know is that when we are trusting in God with all our hearts, the path feels safe, the path feels right. The path doesn't always feel pain free. I wish it did, of course, but also have found, like Christy, that the times when the storm comes are some of the more powerful and intimate times with God, in the midst. I think that the storms are part of the path, not that I have somehow strayed, and somehow not that God sends the storms to teach me something, either. I am aware that I am being a tad contradictory, but I rarely write without a good dose of stream-of-consciousness-and-emotion thrown right into the mix.<br />
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So, the question comes down to, how can I really trust God with all that I am? It's easy in a sense to 'not lean on my own understanding' - I'm aware of how very flimsy that is, you only have to look at that last paragraph to see that. How can I trust with integrity, with fulness, without that slight cop-out of simply saying -oh, trust and it'll be fine? Because trusting with integrity actually means saying 'trust and it may well not be fine.' It means saying 'trust and know that you will be walking with God on the right path, not that the path will be an easy one.' Am I willing to throw in my full trust to that extent?<br />
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If there's one thing I've learned, it's that loving God does not make pain go away. It does not stop awful stuff happening and it does not make life easier. But throwing it all in with God, trusting to that huge extent, does something else instead, something greater. Something that makes life work, makes hope work. If I am throwing everything in, I can be confident that I am being who I am created to be, and living in the freedom of that, and everything seems to look right. Even for a fleeting moment, like sunshine bursting through cloud. That feeling won't always be there, but the fact is, and holding on to that, the absolute and burning love of God, is what carries me through, again, again and again.<br />
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So can I quote Proverbs 3 vs 5-6 without being a cop out or without ignoring the difficulties therein? I tentatively say I think so. Sometimes. I'll trust, and I'll lean not on my understanding, and in all my ways attempt to acknowledge God. I'll keep getting it wrong, as well. I'll rely on myself again and forget to acknowledge God. But then I'll remember this thing that works. God making my paths straight - God walking with me on those paths which feel fairly wobbly, but are nevertheless my right paths.Liz Carterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13162212365184445560noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6698216310298601995.post-2565150371285628722014-11-03T04:16:00.001-08:002014-11-03T04:16:58.438-08:00Where is God when it doesn't hurt?I've been pondering on this one a little of late. Over the summer, after I came out of hospital in early June, I felt considerably better. For a considerable amount of time - around two months in all. I had some glimpses into 'normality', whatever that may be - life without pain, without my lungs feeling constantly full of rubbish which won't go no matter how much physio I do and without all the associated stuff that goes alongside this. It was great! At New Wine I stood up a lot in worship times. Big deal? yes - for me. The year before I'd felt out of it, or at least felt out of it when I decided to allow myself to wallow in Feeling Out of It. I'd had to sit down a lot anyway and watch people standing up in front of me blocking the words on the screen. They could worship and I couldn't, went my little pity script. I'd soon given up on that one, thankfully, and found something deeper. But then this year I could stand, and it was different, and I did feel more part of it.<br />
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The truth is that when I feel 'well' I feel more part of life, I feel like I am a useful cog in the machine as busyness swallows up my time instead of lying down attempting breathing. I feel <i>strong. </i>And the question I am asking myself is, does my perceived strength in these (admittedly few) times make me perceive God as stronger?<br />
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I'm the first to jump on the Philippians passage about God's power being most evident in weakness and all that, and firmly believe it. But I wonder if, when we are feeling strong and busy, we don't take time to realise this, and our strength becomes more important and becomes what makes God 'strong'? Did my standing (and even dancing!) at NW make God more happy than my sitting and being? It's definitely the strong that get noticed and the strong that make things happen. And strength is certainly not purely physical, many people talk of others being strong despite physical difficulties. But I wonder if we all need to be weak sometimes, in order to more fully appreciate how God works in weakness, and how God loves the weak.<br />
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I'd prefer my whole life to be like that two months, of course - but then would I know so well of God's profound presence in my suffering, and identify with Jesus' suffering, and know so clearly of God's great desire for those who are suffering to find comfort and peace in God? I don't know. I might be too busy rushing around, enjoying the feeling of busyness and the feeling of usefulness. I know I do this, and then when I am forced into inactivity I get grumpy for a while, but then begin to live in acceptance, and then it's sort of OK. And it's those times that I experience God's strength more powerfully - not in the times I can 'do'.<br />
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I have found the book 'Where is God when it hurts?' really helpful, but would like to ask the question 'where is God when it doesn't hurt?' Is God more in the not hurting times because God doesn't want us to hurt, or more in the hurting times because God wants us to know God's love in these times? And do we miss God in the not hurting times because we can be so full of us? I think I do a little bit, and I'm not speaking for anyone else, but it's worth a thought or two.<br />
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Since that two months ended abruptly with a most uninvited buggy guest taking residence in my lungs, I've been back to my normal, with a lot of pain and a lot of rubbish. I hate it and wish it would go away. I liked the good of the not hurting. But the good of the hurting is that God hurts too and that God knows how it feels and that God is somehow in it with me. Does that mean hurting is good? Never. But it means we can be real about it. And perhaps for me it means that next time I have a 'well' period I might just take the time to think about where God is, rather than where I am at this moment in time.Liz Carterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13162212365184445560noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6698216310298601995.post-5192395219631473552014-04-24T14:04:00.004-07:002014-04-24T14:07:44.872-07:00The Great UnknownI'm very taken by some lyrics from a Hillsong United song at the moment. The song is called 'Oceans' and the words go:<br />
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'You called me out upon the waters<br />
The Great Unknown,<br />
Where feet may fail.<br />
And there I find you in the mystery<br />
In Oceans Deep<br />
My faith will stand....'<br />
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There is something in these words that resonate deeply in my spirit. Whatever some may say, as Christians we do not have a golden ticket to a happy, healthy and wealthy life. We are not exempt from suffering or disease. We do not know what will happen to us in this life. We are called out upon the waters to the Great Unknown. Both the great unknown in what may happen in our lives, and the great unknown in who God really is, the mystery of it all, the <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Cloud_of_Unknowing" target="_blank">Cloud of Unknowing</a>.<br />
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And yet, as these words say, there we find God. There we find God in the mystery, in the unknowing. In the suffering, in the everyday, in the wide and the deep and the long and the unknown. There we find God at work in our lives, sometimes most evident when we are at our lowest ebb, when we can no longer find resources within ourselves.<br />
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And there, in Oceans deep, our faith will stand.<br />
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It wobbles sometimes, if you're anything like me. Wobbles pretty violently, and nearly falls over. But then like the proverbial weeble we are up again, standing. I wonder if it matters to God whether our standing is firm or weeble-like. I don't think so, really. Do you? What I do think is that God holds us there, wobbly or not. 'In oceans deep' we are not lost or drowned. In the Great Unknown we are not bewildered and beaten. In the mystery we find God. Again, and again, and again.<br />
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'Spirit lead me where my trust is without borders<br />
Let me walk upon the waters<br />
Wherever You would call me<br />
Take me deeper than my feet could ever wander<br />
And my faith will be made stronger<br />
In the presence of my Saviour.'<br />
<br />
Amen.<br />
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<br />Liz Carterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13162212365184445560noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6698216310298601995.post-26375244070609050792014-04-19T05:45:00.000-07:002014-04-19T05:45:03.521-07:00The Great In Between<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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So, Holy Saturday. A day between the absolute hideous sadness and the incredible joy. Balanced somewhere, tinged by hope for us, but not for those on the original day. Hope had left. Everything had changed, shut down, gone. Nothing remained. Mary, her tears falling without ceasing as she contemplated, and asked Why.<br />
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For us, it can be like our lives are in this Great In Between time. Tinged by sadness, shot through with hope. Sometimes one weighing greater than the other. For me, I've lately been finding it difficult to take my own advice regarding contentment (see last few posts), let alone Paul's exhortations in Philippians 4. I've been stuck on one end of the great in between scale, feeling little of hope and joy. Letting my physical state take over where my spirit was. It's easy to do, and I don't blame myself, but why do I forget so easily? Why do I not take hold of the hope, spend time pursuing God, and instead wallowing in the hopelessness of me? I've been stuck with infection, mainly housebound for the past few weeks now. It's frustrated me more than usual; I've been exercising a healthy dose of discontent with this lot. I got a bit sulky and felt militant at the thought of blogging or tweeting, because, you know, I might have to actually face up to the fact that this time, I wasn't really coping.<br />
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I'm still not better, as far as that word goes for me, but I have a little more strength. The main factor that caused me to blog today though arose from the fact that I was housebound yesterday. There were Adventure Bloke and the kids, off to Messy Church, and there was I, cross about not being able to go. Cross at Adventure Bloke for telling me plainly I shouldn't go and cross at God that he hadn't healed me so I could get out of this <insert inappropriate wordage> house. But then God surprised me, as God loves to do. I decided I should take the quiet time I had to go and reflect a bit on Good Friday. After all, it's what we Christians should do, right? A bit of reflection? Yep. So I did. And there God came. Met with me in that broken and slightly sulky place. Took me out of the mards and into his presence. In the words of the great Bethel Music in their song 'I can feel you', it was 'like sun on my skin, warm to the touch'. A tangible experience of God being there in the pain again. Why don't I remember these things?<br />
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And it led me to today, to thinking on the in between-ness of this day. And reflecting that many of us live in the Great In Between. Not having fully taken hold of the triumph, joy and all consuming power of Sunday, and not being fully immersed in the grief of Friday (well....sometimes. And that's OK.) - but living in a kind of Saturday state. A friend posted this today, from the nuns at <a href="http://www.ibenedictines.org/" target="_blank">iBenedictines</a> :<br />
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"There is a quietness and stillness about Holy Saturday — a day out of
time — that belies the intense activity of Christ. We do not know what
happened in the tomb, but the ancient belief in the harrowing of hell,
when Christ descended into the underworld to set free all the righteous
who had died before his coming, reminds us that God is at work even when
he seems most distant, most unapproachable.<br /><br />Today we have no
sacraments to affirm the bonds between this world and the next, no
colour or warmth to assuage our grief, no activity to distract us or
give a false sense of security. We are simply waiting, all emotion
spent. Most of us live our lives in perpetual Holy Saturday mode, our
faith a bit wobbly, our hope a bit frail, but clinging to the cross and
Resurrection with an obstinacy wiser than we know. Holy Saturday
proclaims to anyone who will listen that when we cannot, God can and
does. That is our faith, already tinged with Easter joy and gladness."<br />
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That's it. That's where many - most? of us are. In a Saturday time, in the Great Between, in the Now and the Not Yet. And in this time we can find God there, working in our lives, achieving many things, things we might not even realise, and surprising us when we least expect it. May we, today, this Holy Saturday, expect great things. May we, while living in the reality of the in-between, also grasp hold of the Great Hope of tomorrow, and live in the power of the resurrection, even while remaining in the brokenness of today.<br />
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It's Saturday....but Sunday's coming.<br />
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I can't wait.<br />
Liz Carterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13162212365184445560noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6698216310298601995.post-87285166972737034382013-08-11T08:10:00.002-07:002013-08-11T08:11:26.486-07:00God's Great Dance Floor'I feel alive....I come alive...I am alive....on God's great dance floor...'<br />
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So went the lyrics of one of the tunes in amazing Impact this year at New Wine. The first time we sang this, I kind of shrank a little bit inside. But....I thought. But, this is for people who can <i>dance.</i> It's for all those guys up the front who jump up and down and do that stuff I used to do when I had lungs that kind of worked. It's even for those embarassing Dad Dancers and the Liturgical Stylee ones with flags. But for me? No, I am sitting here. I'm not even standing up. I can jiggle my feet a little bit. But alive? On God's great Dance Floor?<br />
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So yep, there's part of me hanging on
to the fact that I used to be out there giving it my all. I had energy
and I wanted to express praise in going for it. I mean, I had rhythm. I
got Highly Commended in my Jive and Ballroom exams. But now I can't do
it. And it's not fair. And it's not right. And I don't feel alive on
God's great dance floor. So hmmmphhh. <br />
<br />
Huh.<br />
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But then I did that start-looking-beyond-youself thing. You know, the one where I stop thinking it's all about MEEE. And started thinking about what it really meant. And what it could mean for lovely Joyce in hospital and lovely Mum with arthritis and lovely Paul in his wheelchair. Why am I sometimes so slow to realise that things are not always utterly literal and bound by face value? I had just delivered a seminar on The Secret of Contentment (<a href="https://www.essentialchristian.com/liz-carter/teaching/the-secret-of-contentment" target="_blank">available here if anyone would like to hear it</a>) and yet here I was, wallowing in the same old discontent of me not being able to Do What I Want. <br />
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When I had finally moved along from my self, I thought about what God's great dance floor actually was. God's great dance floor isn't a strip of slightly sweaty red carpet in the Impact venue. It isn't a place where people can physically jump up and down and wave flags and stuff. It goes so so much deeper than this. I love it as a concept, actually, because God's great dance floor is where we can all be free to be who we are created to be. And all, whether physically able or not, can dance like no one is watching. It's a place of freedom, where we can be reminded that we are alive in Christ, we are fulfilled in knowing and worshipping God, we are fully ourselves in the time we are fully surrendered. God's great dance floor is where we can sit, taking in awesome beauty, or lie, surrounded by enthralling presence, or walk onwards, knowing we are not alone.<br />
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And God's great dance floor is a reminder of the perfection that will eventually be, the wholeness of what we will be. We don't know what that will look like, but know it will be the most amazing thing we could ever experience. It's beyond imagination.<br />
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So I sang my heart out for the rest of the week and stood on that dance floor with the dad dancers and the flags. I even tapped my feet a bit <let's not go overboard here, after all>. In my spirit I was on that dance floor in every way I would love to be.<br />
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So many of us are not whole, we are not healed, we live in the pain of broken bodies or the pain of our difficult situations. But God offers us so very much even in that pain, so much of himself, having known pain beyond our comprehension. We can all be on God's great dance floor, we can all be freed in the midst of our own pain to know the God who loves us overspillingly and recklessly.<br />
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So Keeeeep Dancing....<br />
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P.S I'll be blogging that seminar as a series after a few
people have asked me for it in writing, as it is far too long winded for
one post, so I hope it's helpful to you. The whole premise of it is
finding contentment in suffering, in challenging situations in life, and
what contentment actually means. Liz Carterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13162212365184445560noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6698216310298601995.post-29496244974087464292013-06-11T07:02:00.003-07:002013-06-11T07:02:54.556-07:00The Point Being?We have a hamster named Bilbo.<br />
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He doesn't do very much all day, really. He sleeps a lot, and occasionally he'll have a little wander round his cage, stuff his pouches with whatever he can find and go back to bed. He might come out for a little wander round the sofa or in his ball for a while. He's not a lot of use though, frankly, he doesn't do anything much.<br />
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Except he does. He brings joy to the family. Even Adventure Bloke and I are rather smitten by this tiny rodent. The look of joy on the Adventurous Pair's faces when we brought him home was...well, Priceless. They get so much out of him - cuddling him, feeding him, cleaning him out (well, they wouldn't say they get a lot out of that particular aspect of Bilbo, but let's face it, it's all about Responsibility and Learning to care for another, and that cannot be a Bad Thing.) They love him, and wouldn't be without him.<br />
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In my darker moments I feel a bit like Bilbo as described in the first paragraph. Not a whole load of use to anyone or anything, and not doing an awful lot. What is the point of me? It's daft, but these ponderings often come more to the surface when I'm feeling a little better. It's like there's this script going on, that says 'you're doing OK, now Justify Your Existence', and I start endless guilt trips about not being productive enough and not using my education, and not even using the time I have particularly wisely (Facebook anyone?)<br />
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When I'm in the darker times of illness, I don't think like this. I don't have the energy, let alone any thought of having to justify myself. It often feels like God carries me through these times, with a level of contentment and peace that is surprising given the circumstance. It's like I know it's OK. This is how I am and this is where I am, and I don't have to do. I don't have to even be someone different, I just have to be me. And in that, God sees me a little like my children see Bilbo. He rejoices over me and wouldn't be without me. Does there need to be a point in me to God?<br />
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So why can I not carry this through to those times I feel stronger? I've had a few good weeks, I've been camping, I've been out and about and attended events and enjoyed myself. I've still tired and had to pace things, and run out of spoons on occasion, but there's been a definite shift towards stronger times. This is good! This is what I crave for in those hard times. I long for life with this kind of normality.<br />
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And then I go and beat myself up that I should be more than who I am. I'm stronger, so what am I to show for it? Why can't I simply continue in what God has provided and given for me to be?<br />
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You do not need to justify yourself, dear friends. You do not need to have a USP, or even a P at all. You are so much more than that. I can't say it enough - God loves you, unconditionally and wildly, extravagantly and often unrequietedly. (is that a word?) God doesn't love you because you have a point, because you have achieved this and that, because you run from one thing to another and are busy, even if it is all in God's name. God loves you because he made you. The Point Being there does not need to be one. Right? <shakes self><br />
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So lets stop beating ourselves up, and get the line between acceptance and complacency right. I do not want to languish and revel in sickness or define myself by it, and neither do I want to make it the reason I don't push myself or challenge myself. But I do want to keep reminding myself that I need not justify myself.<br />
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May you have the confidence to be who you are created to be, to be your beautiful and meaningful self, and yet to reach out and keep straining toward the goal.<br />
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<strike>and stop worrying about what others think of you</strike>Liz Carterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13162212365184445560noreply@blogger.com0