If ...

If. If I was well.

If I was well I would go swimming with my children every single week. I would tell them stories every night and play games with them every day. I would chase them round the house and dance round the living room to Strictly with them. If.

If I was well I would earn money. I would earn enough money to be able to go on adventure holidays abroad. If I was well I would take them to Disneyland and queue for hours for all the rides and walk around the park all day with them. If.

If I was well I would have 2 labradors and go for long walks every day. I would climb hills again on family holidays and see the view from the top of Great Rigg once again. I’d run into the sea with them and play surfing. If.

If I was well I would run community groups. I’d PTA and governor and organise. I’d go on cub camps. I’d say yes to so much more and I’d be reliable. If.

If I was well I might take up running. Or faster swimming. I might go to Zumba. That would be fun. I’d take up dancing again. Rock and Roll was my favourite. I’d make a life of fun and laughter. If.

If I was well I would go in a church of a more high tradition and be able to stay when they burned incense. I’d be able to go along to cold churches and not scupper off home. I’d be on all the committees and make lots of decisions. If.

If I was well I would be busy.

But I am not. I am ill, and I cannot do those things, at least not on any regular basis. So. I am ill, but when I go swimming with my children, it is a joy and a pleasure, a treat. When I tell them stories at night they are delighted and tell me how much they love that time, and how they wish it could be every night. When we play games it helps us all appreciate how things can be so good even when things are bad.

When my children ask about foreign holidays and iPads I tell them how much more important love is. How all the money in the world would not make me love them more. Because I am ill my children are turning into compassionate and empathetic people. 

When my children long for me to run into the sea with them they have learned to love it when I sit on the beach and watch them. Making memories of being with them. It is enough.

Because I cannot be on a thousand committees I have time to be. Just me, just who I am. Not what I do. I am teaching my children their value lies in their own selves and in who God made them to be. I am teaching my children that we don’t need to find worth in activity. I am teaching myself this, on a daily basis.

Because I am not reliable maybe I am helping others see beyond people as objects, as how useful they are. Maybe, hopefully, in some small way I am helping people to see people as valued individuals.

One day  I will climb hills again and see the view from the top of Great Rigg in the sunshine. In the hope of such, joy and laughter is not banished from a life where such things cannot be achieved at present. Because of hope, there is joy. ‘Weeping may last for a night, but joy comes in the morning.’ And in the mourning?

Because I cannot go in some churches or be on some committees maybe I am doing my bit to dispel the Vicar’s Wife myth. Perhaps it is good for people to see we are not all of a mould, and not all there to be available at all times for all activities. 

Because I am not busy, I am free to be who I was supposed to be.

Because I am not busy, I am free.

And in freedom, the ‘if’ becomes redundant, becomes empty. There is no need for an ‘if’ in this life, if we can embrace the hope and the value of knowing God, and understand the reality of who we are in God.

I still have If days though. I like being honest with you.  And on that note, lets face it, I wouldn’t really do all those things even if I was well. Board games every day? Swimming every week? Um...nope. :D I like to dream, though, and believe in the higher possibilities...

Line in the Sand

I haven't blogged for a good while. I'd kind of lost my blogging confidence, muttering such thoughts to myself as 'no one really wants to read your meanderings anyway' or 'people are just being nice.' You know the kind of stuff. So it got longer and longer since I blogged and I got less and less inclined to.

Added to that, my faith was taking somewhat of a bashing this year. Looking back, there was always a (wobbly) certainty and peace underneath it all, but certain events gave me extreme difficulty and I didn't do the thing that would help the most; ie pray more. I looked back on this year as a bit of a wasted time. Two hospital visits and numerous infections, severe shortage of spoons and general exhaustion took a lot of the life and strength out of me. I was functioning at a fairly good level for much of the year, feel settled into my new community with lovely new friends but something was missing. It seems my poor health ground me down to an extent that apathy and hopelessness often reigned somewhat.

Then there were a couple of things that happened to friends and friends of friends. The loss of beautiful children from senseless disease, the loss of jobs, the loss of faith, Much loss and no sense in it. I got bashed.

So I went to New Wine this year a little fearful, in all honesty, a bit bitter possibly? Wondering how I would cope with emphasis on physical wholeness and healing when this pain had pervaded much of the year for me and my friends and acquaintances. When God had blatantly not healed a 9 year old girl with Leukaemia despite the fervent prayer of thousands. What could I do with that at New Wine?

So it was with a certain amount of trepidation I went into the Impact venue on the first night. Wasn't sure how my bashed faith would cope with the intense worship and teaching, while knowing deep inside was a longing for such which I'd possibly squashed a bit of late.

I needn't have worried. I walked into that venue and that was it. God was there. Well, he's everywhere, yep, but he was just there in this huge and powerful and awesome and stunning way that slammed into me with force and left me trembling. I turned to Adventure Bloke and said something akin to 'oh. So there is a God, then' and then fell into the most amazing week where somehow everything came together and all was well.

Somewhere on that first night the lovely Nicole Brown sang a new song, 'Line in the Sand'. These words struck me as a line for me, between the bashing and the wastedness and the loss of confidence.
'There's a line in the sand, and this is the end, for all that is broken, we know you can mend, And this is the start, the start of the new. For our God is able and oh so good, so good.' In a rush I knew again the truth of this, our God is able, and good. I never really thought this wasn't true, but had lived in a difficult time of doubts and fears where the questions sometimes outweighed the answers.

I'm not saying that God makes all things OK again. He blatantly does not. Suffering happens. The world is broken and we all suffer the consequences of that. Grief, loss, pain and illness pervade the world. But there is a hope we can grab in the midst of it all, a knowledge that God did the ultimate - got in it and suffered too. Wow. This is what I hold to, this is why my life is a great adventure, because I have a purpose. As someone said to me this week, this year was not a wasted year in God's economy. I will keep on doing what I do and being who I am, a person with cacked up lungs, who still believes fervently in God's goodness and faithfulness.

I saw healings of all sorts, physically and emotional and spiritual, some pretty profound stuff. Actually God healed acute lung pain in me that was threatening to mess up the week big time. There was no denying it. I also saw many people who carry their diseases and disabilities with strength and grandeur and who touch lives of all those around them with their honesty and their transparent love of God. Amazing.

So it's a line in the sand for me, and I'm back blogging, whether anyone likes it or not ;)

Honesty

So, after my last blog post here which seemed to resonate with quite a few people (so many thanks, as ever, for all the messages, encouragements, etc etc...) I decided that I would practise what I preached, and be Honest.

So when someone, even a random someone I hardly knew, asked how I was, I wouldn't say 'fine' or 'oh yes, great, you know, well..' and other fluffy such downright lies. I'd say 'Not fine' 'not OK' or 'OK ish but had a pretty appalling week' etc etc. Or if I felt good, would say I felt good, and how good it was to feel good, and how I was loving the moment.

Responses to this have been interesting, surprising and generally encouraging. Even the conversation with the random slightly-known. I have found, that if I am honest, conversation can then lead to more than it usually does with the whole 'how are you? -fine, you? Oh, fine' <nervously fiddles with phone, smiles and sees friend in corner that one 'must' have a word with> .

Here's how one went.
'How are you?'
'I'm not too OK, actually.'
'Oh?'
'Yes, I am struggling this week with my lung disease'.
'Oh, I'm sorry. It must be really difficult. How do you keep going?'
'I have a lot to be thankful for. I'm not dreadful. But it is hard.'
'My mum feels like that. She feels she can't cope sometimes. It's hard and so frustrating for her.'

<and so on. Situation slightly changed, but this is one example of how my honesty resolution turned a mundane greeting into something more of a relationship developing conversation.>

I cannot claim this is always the case. There are those, I know, who will be thinking 'there she goes, whinging again' and would by far prefer me to say 'fine'. I know this by their slightly cold response and their quick spotting of said-friend-in-corner. But I reckon the honesty resolution pays off. And it's more honest.

I don't think I will always use it. I have to say there are those times when 'fine' suffices. The person trying to sell me double glazing doesn't need to know the ins and outs of my life and my struggle. <or maybe it would send them away more speedily?>

But I think I'll keep giving it a go. Those of you who know me in RL, feel free to challenge me on this, and tell me off. I know you will.

Dear Nice Person......

Dear nice friendly person:

No, I don't feel fine. Thankyou for saying I am looking really well. I know that you are only trying to be kind and upbuilding. Unfortunately it reminds me of the fact that even when I feel sick people think I'm doing well, and therefore I must be putting it on.I know this is not the case, but I think it anyway.
I am sorry, nice friendly person, that I am not talking much back to you. It is kind of you to ask me all about things I am up to in my life and work but I am using my last bit of energy to breathe at the moment. I am not being rude to you, I would love to talk more, and feel so awful that I must be giving the impression of someone totally disinterested and ungrateful. Inside I feel sad. But I cannot form the words, today they are too tiring. Please read the Spoon Theory - you may get a glimpse of how it is. For now though, I wish I could say this to you. Be honest. But I smile, say I'm fine, and attempt to eke out a few words in response to your kindness. I then go, leaving you feeling like I'm pretty unfriendly. I am sorry. If you got to know me, you'd realise I'm quite nice really.

Dear lovely friend:

I'm sorry I couldn't hold a coherent conversation with you on the phone. I love chatting with you but worry you must think I don't want to be bothered with you, can't wait to get off the phone. I'm sorry. My pain is making it difficult to talk and draining energy for chat, and the drugs addle me somewhat. I'd love to have a good long girlie chat, but today I cannot. It's not you, it's me, and all that.

Dear Daughter and Daughter's friends:

I'm delighted you are having fun together today. I would love to be up and about making cakes for you and giving you drinks and making you feel welcome and at home. I am so sorry I'm huddled on the sofa under a blanket looking pretty rank. I worry about your impressions of me. I shouldn't. I wish, DD, that I could be a better Mum for you.

Dear Son:

I'd love to play games with you all day. I wonder if you think I don't care very much about you sometimes, when you've asked me and I've yet again said no. And when you've asked me for a story and I've said not tonight. Tonight I just haven't got the breath, DS. I love you so much and wish I could do more for you and with you. I'll read that story soon.

Dear Random Stranger:

Please don't ask me what I do, or suggest what I could do. OK? Thanks. :)

Dear Adventure Bloke:

I am so grateful I never have to pretend with you, or apologise for being ill. Not that I'd get away with such antics.

Dear God:

Thanks that you know all these things and all these thoughts and all these feelings. And I never have to pretend with you. And I know you're always with me.

What do you do?

Whenever I go someplace new or meet new people, I always get The Question, and I have come to dread it somewhat. The question 'what do you do?' It's like we as a society buy into all the 'what we do defines us' stuff, and it comes out in the first question we ask a new person.

Now, I'm not completely innocent of this myself. Let's face it, it's often a conversation starter, and can help get a picture of a person. But for the person who doesn't feel able to respond with anything much it can be at best cringeworthy and at worst depressing or even terrifying. You're stood there thinking 'she'd going to ask what I do in a minute, and I'm going to have to say nothing, and she's going to be thinking this or that' etc. When in all reality we know they won't really be thinking very much at all apart from the mechanics of being friendly, because that is generally all it is.

I think there's something deeper behind the whole question that makes those who feel they don't 'do' less than useful. It's like you have to do to be worthy, to be productive, to contribute to society. But do you? Is your worth in your productivity? I think not.

Creativity and productivity are of course important and beneficial to our humanity. But there is the question of who we are which goes deeper than anything we do. For me, how God sees me is 100% more important than any label I can give myself, and I know that God's more concerned with stuff like compassion and justice than whether I have a job. And so that's what I'll strive towards, even in my worst times.

I keep pondering on good answers to The Question. For a while I really rebelled and told people I 'slobbed round watching Jeremy Kyle and eating cake all day', and for a while decided to be honest and tell people I used to teach but now I can't because I have lung disease. But I don't really like that one because it has undertones of not being any use any more. It's also possibly a bit in your face to start listing health woes as soon as you meet someone, poor individual! So I generally mutter a bit about working in a team with Tim, doing bits and bobs of admin and voluntary work and web stuff etc, but that's muffing it all up really, and again coming up with something that is endeavouring to label what I do, endeavouring to sound like I am of use.

One day I'll have the bravery to answer something such as 'what do I do? You mean who am I? A child of God.' And that is where it's at, because I don't need to be more than that.

However, I know in reality I'll keep dreading it and keep avoiding it and keep giving half answers. Because I'm English, and polite, and all that, and not very brave really. Never mind.