Where 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.

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 strong. And the question I am asking myself is, does my perceived strength in these (admittedly few) times make me perceive God as stronger?

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.

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'.

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.

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.

The Point Being?

We have a hamster named Bilbo.

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.

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.

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?)

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?

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.

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?

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>

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.

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.

and stop worrying about what others think of you

New Year - New Hopes

This is me at the beginning of 2012. Not the best start, possibly, to my fortieth year on earth? In some ways, not really. But in others, perhaps I can see it as the best start, because if this lot works well I may feel better than I've done in months and months, and that is a hope I am reaching for right now. I may be somewhat naive, I know myself what I am like and how often I suddenly fall, even when having a 'well' time, but I still want to hope. I suppose if I didn't have that to reach for things would look much worse and maybe I wouldn't even get as better as I could do. Maybe. So I'll keep hoping for healthier times.

I'd love to get some exercise this year, if I could. Early last year my physio put me on a pulmonary rehab course which I found so helpful. It wasn't the most rigorous of exercise and you weren't going to break any records, form any muscles or lose much weight, but it was the whole thing I think of starting to take some control again of your body when it had been so battered. I love the thought of being able to do that once again. Until the next battering, I suppose...but I won't give up, and stop. I might even get out that dusty Wii fit...

A big hope for me this year is that I will finally write my first book. It's been forming for a long time now, and I think I just need to go for it in order for it to come together. Themes of healing, the church and disability, wholeness/'usefulness', all that kind of stuff. I'm excited about starting.

And then of course there is our work here in Priorslee....I'm excited about what this year will bring.

So bring it on - good and bad. And hopefully I'll not need those IVs again soon.

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.

What value on life?

I watched the BBC documentary 23 Week Babies the other night and it's been preying on my mind ever since. In the first case, pondering on the harrowing and unthinkable suffering parents of these incredibly premature babies go through, and endeavouring to imagine what it would be like (impossible to do so, really.) And then there are the dedicated health professionals involved in the process, and the decisions they have to make, decisions that could mean life or death, impossible decisions.

But the documentary threw up some deeply disturbing questions, questions about life, value, disability and euthanasia. The narrator recounted how the statistics of babies born at this gestation were terribly negative, that in fact it was rare that a baby would live. And this led to questions about whether it was even worth trying, or a waste of NHS resources, which could go to 'better use' elsewhere.

Alongside this questions were raised about quality of life, and whether it was worth saving babies who would go on to be disabled, and have 'poorer' quality of life, whatever that may mean (some of the 'disabilities' tiny preemies go on to have are poor eyesight or hearing, for example). While I appreciate the statistics are poor (although not as poor as this documentary contended, according to the ever-right mumsnet.com ;)) I do wonder about the consequences of statements such as the spoken and unspoken ones in this programme. If we say that one set of people are not worth ploughing resources into, what does it say about other sets that society may deem less than valuable? If it is not worth endeavouring to save a 23 week baby, is it worth saving somebody profoundly disabled? If phrases such as 'quality of life' are bandied round about these matters then there could so easily be a danger of the beginning of making medical decisions based on how low the quality of life of the patient is deemed to be, not necessarily about the patient. It is evident to me as well that some do take this further, and add lack of use into the equation. While most of society, I hope, are concerned with quality of life in terms of enjoyment and comfort, some seem to look at what someone puts into society, and if they are unable to, value is somehow thought of as lesser.

Now as you know, I have a wee bee in my bonnet about usefulness, particularly when it comes to living with disability or chronic illness.But even only with the scenario of judging based on quality of life,  I worry that society may one day turn on the most vulnerable, and decide that their quality of life is so poor that it's not really worth putting resources into them, and the even scarier scenario of deciding at or before birth whether these people are worth 'keeping'. Now I realise this is slightly on the hysterical side, but I guess living on the edge with illness can cause dramatic mind wanderings at times :)

Mostly, my view on this is all taken up in how I see God seeing us, each one of us, 23 week baby or 91 year old cancer patient. We are valuable, we are loved and we are lovingly created to be in relationship with the God of the universe. I know it cannot be cut and dried, we cannot simply say 'everyone should be treated the same' but if there can be a view of value not based on quality of life and/or usefulness behind the decisions things may be different. Some may argue that we should leave things to take their natural cause, and that 23 week babies would never have survived before technology, but you could use this argument for any medical intervention. I wouldn't be alive if I'd been born 100 years ago, so that argument sits on somewhat shaky ground for me. The thing is, we have the technology, we have the expertise. Should we not use it?

But it's still not simple. The suffering the baby may go through undergoing such treatment is cited; but on the other side, we hear of the miracles, those 23 weekers getting through it and living delightful and loved lives (thanks to Mumsnet for many such testimonies). We cannot say that just because they may have disabilities they will not have good lives, we just cannot. Do ill people not deserve to live? Where can this line of thinking stop?

I realise I have asked a load of questions here, and not given answers. How can I? I feel wretched for the parents and wretched for the doctors. All I know for sure is that my father in heaven loves these tiny babies, and that they are people of value. In saying that, I can totally understand those parents who say it's time to let go, time to stop. I haven't walked in their shoes, and therefore I cannot make blanket statements about What Is Good or What God Wants.

I guess it all goes back to my mini mission: To speak for those whose voices have been dimmed, those who feel society has condemned them to a life of uselessness, those who feel they have no value because they cannot Do. May we never place a price on life, in whatever 'quality' that may be. May we simply be representatives of God's all encompassing love and grace, for all, in all times.

Is God a User?

There is a certain phrase prevalent among Christians (particularly a certain 'flavour' of Christians) which comes under what I call Christian Jargon-ese. Now this phrase is something I never really thought about or worried about until Adventure Bloke wrote his most excellent Master's Thesis. As I began to read his notes and engage with the subject I realised that the phrase was sitting more and more uncomfortably with me.

I therefore would like to issue a challenge to my Christian friends who find themselves using this language. Do the words 'God can use you' or 'God uses anyone' or 'God used me' (and so on) ever creep into conversation? Read a good many Christian books and you will find these words oft repeated. The thing is, the words are used <no pun intended> with all good intentions. The premise behind the language is of God loving us so much God works through each of us, whatever our gifts are. But I would like to look beyond the intention and examine the language a little.

Now, imagine you see the words 'he used her' in a newspaper article. What would be the emotion coming to mind? Would it be positive? No, because the phrase in common usage means something entirely different. When somebody is 'used' it usually means they are 'abused', 'discarded', 'worthless'. Hardly feelings we would like to be associated with how God sees us. The verb 'to use someone' is in fact incredibly rarely describing a positive event. It is much more often telling a story of brokenness, of rejection.

So where do we get it, and why do we say it? You may be surprised to find out that the bible never once tells of God 'using' somebody. Nothing. Nada. God working with, yes. God loving, even more. But using? Never.

What do our friends who don't share our beliefs think if they hear this language? Society pretty much only uses this verb with negative connotations attached. So banding round phrases such as 'God has used you so much!' may be having the opposite effect to what is intended. Who, after all, wants to be 'used?' (and my dear friends who are not Christians, I would love to hear your opinions on this :))

Now, one problem lies in the language, what we really mean, and how we can say it. I was talking with a dear friend the other day about this issue and we were sharing how easily it is said and how we need to find alternatives. We decided that a positive and meaningful alternative was possibly 'God partners with us.' This is a powerful representation of God working with us, God seeing us as valuable and giving us the choice to surrender to him so he can partner with us. Almost breathtakingly simple? Some of you, however, may be thinking about how 'God using me' language reflects us being totally open to God, saying for example 'I am totally giving my life to God, so I invite God to 'use' me however he wants.' Again, the intention works, and it can be difficult to find language that does the same job, but I still think it remains problematic. How can we say that God loves us and uses us in the same sentence? Can a God who loves be a God who uses? Well yes, if you say that 'uses' merely means God graciously working within what we have invited God to do. But no, if we want to engage with those around us and respect what such language may feel like to them.

I think there is another aspect to this too, something on a deeper scale. I wonder if the wording 'God can use us' implies that 'we need to be useful.' And I wonder if there is an unacknowledged presumption at the heart of it; a presumption that says 'we can only be used if we are useful', ie God can only work with us and through us if we are doing, if we are being of use in some way. Society reflects this to a certain extent - how many of us find that the first thing we are asked is 'what do you do?' From the point of view of someone who doesn't 'do' an awful lot due to illness, this can be destroying. And to wonder if I cannot be used by God because I cannot be useful, because I am Invalid, is a dark and scary kind of pattern of thought. Yet I think there is a subconscious level at which this does happen.

So I challenge you (and me): Chuck out the 'use' and chuck out the 'useful'. Let's liberate ourselves from the expression which may only be viewed negatively by some, and which may be at the root of insecurity for many followers of Christ. Let's be partners with God. How amazing would that be?

These are my very unformed thoughts, and I could witter for a while yet, but will stop here for now. I am fascinated by this issue and would be interested to hear thoughts on this, even those that tell me not to be so daft and over-thinking ;)

So, I wonder what other Christian Jargon-ese should go into Room 101? Answers on a postcard....