Holy Love

Holy Love, calling to me,
”Come with me, come further in.”
Take my hand
to lead me through shadows,
If I stumble,
you won’t let me fall.
Holy Love, bring me home.

Mary

She felt the wave of pain spread up over her abdomen, increasing in intensity.  She tried to breathe the way her mother has shown her, deep slow breaths, in through the nose and out through the mouth.  She had to stop walking for a moment, leaning on Joseph’s arm as the wave peaked and passed.  He looked at her with concern.  She was needing to pause more frequently for the last couple of miles.  She knew what he was worried about:  this was slowing them down, and they needed to reach Bethlehem before dark.
She rubbed at the small of her back, took a deep, determined breath, and began walking again.  Earlier one of the others travelling with them had offered her a ride on their donkey, but the jolting was too uncomfortable, it made her back ache worse . 
She could feel the pressure of the baby pushing down into her pelvis. She was tired and sore – her back was sore, her belly was sore, even her thighs were sore.  There had been several times this day where she wasn’t sure if she could do this after all.
“I am the Lord’s servant,” she whispered, to remind herself.  That day seemed so long ago now, yet she was sure of the vision she’d seen.  She’d clung to the memory through the mocking and shunning of the other women and girls once the news of her condition spread through Nazareth.  She continued to cling to the vision and the promise now, when it was just so hard. 
As she walked, she hardly noticed any more the road and the fields they were passing.  She held onto Joseph, trusting him to guide her. Walk, pause, breathe through the contraction, start walking again. If only she could rest.  She was barely aware as Joseph knocked on the door of his cousin’s house, the brief conversation, then the turning away to walk once more through the streets.  She only vaguely noticed Joseph say something about another relative the could try, a more distant cousin who might still have some room.
As yet another contraction swept over her, she wondered briefly if this day would ever end. 
The contractions were consuming all her concentration.  She heard voices as if from a great distance.  Gentle hands guided her onto a small straw pallet.  A woman’s voice, “It’s okay, Mary, I’m a midwife.  It won’t be long now.”
A midwife.  Mary felt a great tension she didn’t realise she’d had lift suddenly from her shoulders. Tears welled up from nowhere, spilling down her cheeks. The midwives in Nazareth had been among the women who shunned her.  She'd only had her cousin Elizabeth, then in the last few months her mother, to tell her about what to expect.  But the rumours and whispers had not reached Bethlehem, and Joseph was with her, and now here was an experienced midwife, with gentle hands and a reassuring voice.
“I don’t know if I can do this,” she confessed to the midwife.
“You’re doing great,” the woman replied, “the baby will be here soon.”
Another wave of contraction spread over her.  Before it fully passed another started.  Mary felt her muscles tighten involuntarily, again and again.  “Just keep breathing,” the gentle voice reassured her. 
“Good girl, the head’s out now.  Just one more push with your next contraction.”
Then it was over, and the sound of a new-born baby’s cry filled the air.  “It’s a boy,” the voice said, placing the warm, wet, slippery baby up onto Mary’s belly.  She reached down to hold the baby, still partially attached to her body.  As she looked at him, his eyes opened, gazing into her face. “He’s so beautiful,” and all the tiredness and pain disappeared from from her mind.  She barely noticed the last few contractions and the midwife busying herself with the afterbirth.  Everything was about this child, this new life, and the promise and hope that he brought to her. 
“I am the Lord’s servant,” she whispered to the child, “Blessed be the name of the Lord.”

Magical Worlds

A small child, happily playing by herself, inhabiting magical worlds only she can see, is mocked and jeered at for not having any “real” friends.

So she learns to leave those worlds for night time dreams and supresses them during the day, learning to smile and be friendly and sociable.  Although for some reason she is always left on the fringes, despite her best efforts to “fit in.” 

Only when she’s completely alone does she re-enter her other worlds: worlds of forests and mountains, of music and magic, of rivers that sing and trees that whisper secrets if only you can learn to listen.

Over several decades more and more layers of “reality” smother and drown the magic and the music.  Walls of protection against ridicule and rejection bury her true self deeper and deeper.  As she grows into a woman, she learns to become “practical” and “real” and almost forgets such worlds ever existed, except in the fleeting way one remembers a dream after waking.

It’s a painful process, stripping away the pretence.  Aslan’s claws must dig deep to rip away the thick layers of lies.  Long forgotten wounds bleed afresh when exposed to the air in order to be cleansed.  Yet the truth must be unburied: the Truth that declares “I am unique.”

So the woman, accepting and embracing her uniqueness, learns to hear again the songs sung by wind and river and trees, the warm hum of soft earth, the deep bass of rock, the anthems of the mountains and the soaring soprano of the stars.  She learns to find her own voice in the symphony of creation, and her own Heart Song wells up within her of love and worship.

Then she sees her own child playing, inhabiting magical worlds where playmates are unable to follow.

O, My daughter, Do not let the world rob you of the wonder of your own imagination.  Do not smother your unique true self, nurture and embrace your creativity so when the time comes your inner light can shine forth unhindered.

Little Black Dog

Those who know me in person, or even the more observant readers, may have noticed a small, metaphorical, black dog hanging around my heels for several months.  The good news is that I feel I’ve now turned a corner in my recovery and I’ve been feeling “normal” for about a month.

Now I’m in a place I can look back over the journey through this particular valley of shadow, I’ve noticed we all need to have more conversations about faith and mental health.  This is a good article for a starting point.

Miriam’s post was the beginning of the turning point for me. Miriam wrote:

…do not be dismayed that you are downcast – because even those with the surest of promises wobble in the present from time to time.

Re-align your Hope and do not berate yourself. Being downcast by circumstance is not a sign you are a loser. You are in the company of King David and you dear one are loved just the same.

The thing is, if you’d asked me point blank about whether Christians can be depressed, I’d have said, of course, just like Christians can live with diabetes or any other illness.   The Psalmist, Jeremiah, Elijah – all experienced depressive episodes in their ministry.  But underneath that understanding there was a part of my subconscious that believed the lie, especially in the darkest moments, that what I was going through was a symptom of a lack of faith.   

When the shadow did lift, there was nothing I was doing or believing or praying any differently than when I was in the middle of it.  I’ve learned all I can do is Trust and Hope, knowing that the Father is carrying me through this season, and will bring me through it to the other side, even if that takes longer than I think it should.

Mine was only a small “black dog,” a number of dear friends are grappling with a larger, more persistent “black dogs.”  I wish was as easy as “do this and you’ll get better,” but this does not appear to be reality.  But you are still loved, still liked, still someone I care about and enjoy hanging out with.

As I continue to process what I’ve learned, I’ll come back and share a little more where I hope it will be an encouragement to anyone else out there going through this kind of stuff.  In the meantime: have courage my friend, and remember you don’t walk alone.

Ordinariness: The lesson of Sarah Smith from Golders Green.

In his book The Great Divorce, C.S. Lewis describes a parade in heaven, with a crowd of spirits and people and musicians.  It was in honour of a beautiful lady clothed in light.

“Is it? … is it?” I whispered to my guide.
”Not at all,” said he, “It’s someone ye’ll never have heard of.  Her name on Earth was Sarah Smith and she lived at Golders Green.”
”She seems to be … well, a person of particular importance?”
”Aye. She is one of the great ones.  Ye have heard that fame in this country and fame on Earth are two quite different things.”

The characters continue describing all the people (and animals) that in her life she’d loved who were now part of this procession.

I’ve been grappling of late with the idea of “Calling.”  Or more specifically my lack of one.  I’ve been coming across a number of messages exhorting Christians to recognise and act upon their “unique calling and gifting.”  The writers and speakers of those messages are, I think, unaware of how stifling such a message can be to some people.  For those who do feel a Calling into ministry that’s great, and we celebrate with you and support you in that. (And Gary Neal Hansen has written an excellent series of posts about how to identify that Ministry Calling.)

It was drummed into me earlier in my Christian growth the concept “Not everyone is called.”  Not everyone is called to lead or preach or go overseas with Missions.  I believed the lie that I didn't have a "Calling", "Ministry" or "Gifting".  So when I heard messages about stepping out into your unique gifting and calling from God, my heart would respond "what gifting? What calling?" And I’d become anxious trying to figure it out. When I wanted to try something new, the thoughts would attack me with “You’re not called for that.”

I was just me being me, doing what I do, the mundane, ordinary, everyday, getting-on-with-it things. 

I’m in the process of coming to the conclusion that the idea of a unique “calling” and “gifting” for each believer is being over-emphasised.  It’s becoming a distraction trying to work out what those callings and giftings are.

Yes, we are each created uniquely.  Yes, it is intended for us to make a difference in the lives of those around us.

For we are God’s workmanship, created in Christ Jesus to do good works which God prepared in advance for us to do. (Ephesians 2:10)

For those of us with “ordinariness”, let’s think less about trying to figure out what our “calling” or “gifting” is and just get on with getting on with it.

I’m going to go back to concentrating on just being me, and doing what I do.  Focus my attention back to loving God and loving my neighbours.  I’m finding that’s bringing much more freedom.  When I want to try something new, I don’t have to figure out if it’s in my “calling” or not, I can just give it a go anyway and see how it turns out.

We may never see in this world the outcome of what we do.  We may never know what difference we have made to those around us.   We can only see the outside, but God sees the inside of the heart, and the eternal consequences that we cannot see.

Just like Sarah Smith from Golders Green, let’s make our focus loving God and loving others.

A Widow’s Offering

Jesus was sitting in the temple near the offering box and watching people put in their gifts. He noticed that many rich people were giving a lot of money. Finally, a poor widow came up and put in two coins that were worth only a few pennies.
(Mark 12:41-42 CEV)

The sun was hot and bright.  She tucked damp stray strands of hair back under her headscarf and crossed the street to find the shade.  The dust was getting into her eyes and the smell of the sweaty sticky throngs of people and animals got into her nostrils.  The pushing and shoving of the crowd carried her through the temple gates into the Women’s Court.

She stayed at the edge of the crowd, trying to pray despite the noise.  The richly dressed Teachers glared sharply at her, sneering as they strode past.  She shrank back into the shadows the best she could, to stay out of the way.  She tightened her hand around the coins, their edges digging into her palm reassuring her that she hadn’t dropped them.

She carefully made her way to the offering box. Several times she was shoved roughly by one of the Teachers, their flowing linen robes showing the status of their office.  It was one of those very Teachers that had evicted her from her hovel the previous day, after demanding more rent than she could afford, and more than the room was worth.  She watched as he made a great show of dropping a fat purse of gold into the offering box. 

A trickle of sweat escaped from under her headscarf and ran down her temple. 

She remembered previous offerings she’d made.  The time when she saw the box after the priests had emptied it and carried the contents to the treasury at the end of the day, and realised her small pennies were still stuck in the grime at the bottom – overlooked and forgotten.

Or the other time when the guards watching the offering box jeered at her as she dropped her small coins in, and cuffed at her to get out of the way of the wealthier worshippers.

Tears pricked in her eyes at the memories.  She inhaled deeply, and reminded herself it didn’t matter, she was here to make her offering to God, and not to people.  The taunts and jeers and blows were not going to stop her.  This was her act of worship.

She’d learned to be as invisible as she could, to creep in when there were fewer people around, or they were looking elsewhere, quick and quiet and not noticed.  There was that new teacher on the other side, he was talking to the crowds and everyone was listening to him.  Even the guards were straining to hear him.  Now. Quickly.

As she was scuttling back from the box, she glanced around to make sure she was unobserved, and to her shock found the new Teacher’s eyes were looking directly at her.  But there was no scorn, no displeasure.  Those eyes somehow looked right into her heart and soul, and they were filled with only Love.

Jesus told his disciples to gather around him. Then he said: “I tell you that this poor widow has put in more than all the others. Everyone else gave what they didn’t need. But she is very poor and gave everything she had. Now she doesn’t have a cent to live on.”
(Mark 12:43-44, CEV)

 

Who am I
    To come into Your Holy Presence
What have I
    To bring as my offering
All those around
    Offer gifts of shining gold
All I have
    Are these two copper coins

Here am I
    I bring myself to Your altar
All of my heart
    All of my life
I pray You’ll find my gift worthy
Here at Your altar
    With my two copper coins

Here am I
    I’m kneeling in Your Holy Presence
Here I come
    Bringing You this offering
All those around
    Offer gifts of shining gold
Here I bring
    You these two copper coins

Here am I
   I bring myself to Your altar
All of my heart
    All of my life
Your Love has found my gift worthy
Here at Your altar
    With my two copper coins

(Two Copper Coins, © Claudia McFie 2014)

Needing one another

Maybe I’d started to believe it when I was a new Christian, and was told by a very spiritual I-wish-I-was-like-that lady at church told me how she was so close to the Lord she never needed help from anyone else.

Or maybe it was the time many years ago when I was depressed, and when reaching out asking for help and support I was let down and disappointed. I remember someone telling me “Maybe you just need to ask God to show you why this is upsetting you so much.”

It may even be rooted within our culture that values self-sufficiency and independence, and looks down on those who show weakness.

However it got there, I have been carrying a belief that God should be enough without needing other people, and to ask for help is a lack of faith. 

It sounds like a very spiritual thought.

It’s a lie.

A few months ago, when I was feeling discouraged, I asked, “Father, is it wrong that I’d just like to hear some encouragement from another person, and not just from you?”

We are designed and created to live in community – even in the beginning when it was said “It is not good for man to be alone.”  Throughout scripture we called to support and encourage and pray for one another.  If we are to be encouraging one another, then it must be because we need to be encouraged by one another too.

The Truth is that it takes courage to admit when things aren’t okay, and to ask for help and prayer.

The Truth is that it is okay to want to hear a reassuring word, or to need a hug.

When was the last time you offered encouragement?

Just as important – when was the last time you received encouragement?

Thank you to all my encouragers  (I hope you know who you are).  I appreciate you.