Anxious

As you probably know, I like to play golf. I’ve got better over the years. I had lessons which helped. Sometimes I play really well. That’s when I wonder why I can’t play like that all the time. But I don’t. Right now though my golf isn’t at it’s best. And, it seems, playing golf is like life: the harder you try, the more difficult it can become! There’s phrase golfers sometimes use: golf is about no conscious effort. It’s true. As soon as you start to analyse your swing and try to do certain things, it breaks down. It doesn’t work. In football, if you’re playing a match and it’s not going well, you can run more, tackle harder, stay closer to you man. But in golf, it’s no conscious effort. In life, it seems to me, that the harder I try, the more anxious I become. I had one of those experiences that captures this for me the other week. We went to play Top Golf. It’s fun. Or it’s meant to be. You hit golf balls into the range where there are huge holes scattered around. You score points if your ball goes in a hole. And you can score different points depending which of the giant holed you get the ball into. But it’s designed so everyone has a chance of scoring and scoring well. So, it’s not about hitting the ball a long way. Here’s what happened for me: I was the golfer in the family group. Massive pressure on me to “perform”. I should be the best simply because I actually play golf. No-one else plays golf. But I’m not doing well. Now I’m a failure. And the more I tried to hit the ball properly and score points, the less well I did it. My heart was pounding. My mind was racing. What I wanted in those moments, was for the ground to open up and swallow me. Or the second coming to happen. You might think I’m exaggerating. I’m not. It was my worst nightmare come true. Tragically, the only person who noticed, was me. It’s tragic, because rightly, no-one else is bothered. But I’ve written myself off as a failure. A complete failure. I didn’t enjoy it. At all. And the more anxious I became. the worse it got. It’s a microcosm of how life can sometimes be. The harder I try to achieve, or be successful, the worse I feel. The harder I try to be the person I imagine I should be or ought to be, the more I wrestle with the feelings of failure. The truth, though is different. Absolutely different. Couldn’t be more different. I am loved with a love that makes me beautiful. I am loved as much as I can be loved. I can’t do anything or achieve anything that will make me more loved. I would do well to dwell on these deep and profound truths. I do try. And, sometimes, like my golf, I do well. Sometimes, like my golf, I don’t do so well. I’m working on no conscious effort. On the golf course and in life. Maybe you could too.

Doing

I’ve heard it so many times now, I’m beginning to think there’s something in it. As I listen, I wonder about them and about me. I have a problem I realise. And maybe you do too. My problem, and maybe yours, is that for me it’s mostly about doing. I measure my success (if that’s what it is) by what I do. Maybe it’s more accurately about achieving: what am I achieving? You see, a lot of my time and energy is focused around what I am doing (or achieving). And we seem to think like that a lot. We encourage each other to be doing lots of things: a job, a hobby, voluntary work. We tend to think that people who aren’t doing things are lazy, or inept. I don’t like it when I ill and can’t do the things I think I have to do. One of the things that been a challenge during this lockdown and post-lockdown (if that’s even a term) is what I have not been able to do. In fact, one of the challenges has been to find to other things to do while I haven’t been ale to do the things I would normally do! We had the hiatus over the exam results which seemed t provoke a lot of angst about what students were then not able to do because their grades were not what they had expected or been predicted. At it’s worst it was presented as almost the end of the world because what students were going to do was taken away. I recognise there was a lot of real angst and challenge in all this. But it does seem to be focused around doing. And we encourage it. We tell our young people to aim high and we encourage them to achieve. I’m not saying this is all bad. It’s not. There is a sense in which it’s good and right and very Christian to make the most of the gifts and talents we’ve been given. But. But there is a thought that goes through my mind. And it often goes through my mind when I’m sitting listening to a tribute at a funeral. Like I did yesterday. People do talk about what someone has achieved when they speak of them at their funeral. They do. But often they speak more about who the person was. They speak about friendship. They speak about the influence a person had by just being themselves. They speak of carrying the imprint of a life with them. I have yet to hear anyone say how much money anyone left to them. I have yet to to hear anyone say how much stiff someone owned. I have ye to hear anyone speak of the things that I think I am working towards with my obsession about doing. Truth is, at a funeral, when someone speaks about a loved one, mostly they talk about who they were, not what they did or what they amassed while they lived. I’m guessing you have been asked many times: what do you do? I wonder how many times you have been asked: who are you becoming? Yesterday, as I sat and listened to tributes about who a person was, I fond myself asking: who are you becoming Ian? Dallas Willard said this: “the most important ting in your life is not what you do; it’s who you are becoming. That’s what you will take into eternity.” Maybe it would be good for me to think about that. Maybe it would be good for you too!

Trampoline

About ten years ago we went to see Lisa’s family in the USA. For the first time on a visit to the US, we decided we’d have some time on our own before going on to see the family.in California and then the family in Virginia. So we flew to San Francisco, spent a couple of days there and then drove down the coast to LA. It was the most expensive thing we’ve ever done. We’d saved for three years. It took every penny we had. But we did it. It’s the last time I saw the family in California. The nest summer, we stayed at home for our holiday. But we did, though, buy a trampoline. And we had fun trying to be gymnasts! Meg and Zac loved it and were pretty good at some of the moves you can do on a trampoline. The same can’t be said for the adults! The trampoline was fun that summer. And the next. And a few more after that. But as we all got older it lost it’s appeal. My nephews enjoyed it on various visits and others too, who came to see us. But, over time, it became a neglected piece of garden furniture. It got dirty and began to look shabby. The birds pecked the foam protectors on the poles. The weather made it’s impact. No more could we invite anyone to have a go on it. And there it stood looking forlorn and useless. Eventually we had to tell people not to go on it because we weren’t sure it was safe. It had to go. But it stayed. Even the safety net began to disintegrate. Last week, after looking at it all through lockdown, I finally took it apart. It needed to go. Really it did. The grass underneath can now grow again. The garden looks better now it’s gone. I don’t feel guilty every time I look at it thinking I really should do something about it. It’s better all round. Some things really need to go don’t they? There are things that we let linger, that we really should deal with. Things that drag us down. Things that linger from the past. Things that affect how we think of ourselves and others. Things that hinder our relationship with ourselves, others and God. Things that hold us back from living as God desires for us. Gideon was hiding in a winepress threshing wheat because he was frightened of what was around him. He thought of himself as the lowest of the low in Israel (Judges 6 and 7)). There were some things in his life that needed to go. Not least, not seeing himself as God saw him. He had taken on the belief of those around him who had forgotten about God and forgotten how to live well with God. But God met Gideon in the winepress. And he still wants to meet people like you and me in the midst of everything that’s going on for us. There may be some things we need to address, but God want wants to help his people live well. The trampoline wasn’t going to remove itself from the garden. It needed to go, but there was work to be done. There is work to be done in me. And maybe in you. I can remove trampolines from the garden, but I need help with the stuff in me that gets in the way of living well. Thank God for the winepress.

It's good to be back!

It’s good to be back! Isn’t that what we say when we’ve been away somewhere: it’s good to be back. And, mostly, it is. We like to be away, but the truth is we like to get home again .too. There’s something about home. Apparently the ideal is to be away for ten days. Two weeks is too long, A week is too short. But ten days is about right. Anyway, it was good to get away for a few days (didn’t quite achieve ten days). And it’s good to be back. I think! Thing is, we are still in a strange world aren’t we? As I look around so much of life sees back to “normal”. There are no queues at the supermarket; we can get a Tesco delivery again; I drove down to Brighton last week and went shopping; I’m bac in the gym and the pool; football starts again this evening. But then so much of life is anything but “normal”. We can’t meet in the groups we’d like to; you have to book to go out or to the cinema; we have to stand a long way from others; there is hand gel everywhere and we can’t gather to worship in the way we would love to! In fact, the one thing I really want to do, is the one thing I can’t do! And I’m not sure I’m up for that anymore. It’s been fun and challenging in equal measure, but I’m ready to be done with it now. I don’t want to go back to it! Part of the problem, I think, is that I just have no idea how long this will go on. If I knew how much longer we’d be out of the church building I could pace myself. I could start to plan for the future. I could start to get excited about what we could do and how we might do it. But I don’t know. We can make some changes, sure. We’ve bought some kit so we can live stream from the church. Exciting! We might be able to involve more people. Great. But we’re not where we want to be. There are some churches in the US (and maybe here too) that have decided it’s time to take a stand. They’ve decided that the government has no right to tell them they can’t meet to worship, so they’re holding services! Wow! There are times when it would be right for Christians to defy a government. But not, in my opinion, here, over this. It’s not persecution. It’s practical common sense in the light of a pandemic! And we need to be good citizens and play our part n helping to fight the virus, not put ourselves and others at risk. Yes it’s hard and frustrating, but we’re in this together. I would love to be back in the church leading services and teaching. I really would. I love it. I absolutely love it. But! But! If I’m honest I’m not looking forward to the next part of this journey. There are too many unknowns. I’ve told you before: I’m a plodder! Change is challenge. And the unknown can be frightening. At least for me. What I have to do now I’m realising, is to keep doing what I know to be right. I need to keep plodding in the right direction. I need to do the best I can within the context of how life is right now. I need to be obedient to my call as best I know how. I’d really like to fast forward through this bit (I’ve said that before at other times of life too). But that’s not how life works. And it’s not how God works either. He doesn’t fast forward us through the challenging times. He doesn’t even take us around them. But he does promise something rather good. He promises that he will walk with us through the challenging times. He says that in Psalm 23 through David’s words: “Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death (literally the hardest and most challenging times of life), you are with me, your rod and staff they comfort me.” I can hold onto that promise as I negotiate my way through this next stretch. And so can you.

Goodness

I’m struggling with goodness. Actually I’m struggling with God’s goodness. Well…what do you think? Sometimes when I come into the church I get my guitar out and I sing. I love to sing. I’ve done in al lot during lockdown. I can sing my heart out and it doesn’t matter because no-one is listening. No-one but God. And that’s why I do it. Because I want God to hear it. I want him to hear me sing. I really do. I want him to hear what the sings say that I struggle to say. A song I love to sing is Goodness of God. It begins: “I love you Lord, Oh your mercy never fails me. All my days I’ve been held in your hands.” And I believe that. I really do. Except on the days when I don’t. Except on the days when I struggle to know what that means and how it works out in my life and the lives of others. And I struggled yesterday. Yesterday we said our goodbyes to Andrew at his funeral. Only just over a week ago I said my goodbyes to my mum at her funeral. And in the last two weeks I’ve heard of the deaths of two people I worked with through my counselling at St. Catherine’s Hospice. It’s been a tough few weeks. Forgive me if I’m wondering about God’s goodness. Yesterday I spoke about the deep and profound truth that nothing can separate us from the love of God. That is absolutely fantastic. Lots of things can make it difficult for us to know and feel God’s love. But nothing, absolutely nothing can separate us from his love. Now, if that’s ultimately God’s goodness, I love it. But if I start to look at what happens in life and try to figure out why some things happen, I’m struggling already, The song goes on to say that “All my life you have been faithful.” If I think that means that God should be faithful in the way I think about it, then I’m struggling again. I can think of lots of times when I can question God’s faithfulness to me. Like when my dad died fifty years ago. What was that about? Doesn’t feel like faithfulness to me. But I’m beginning to wonder if actually God’s faithfulness is about something a bit different. What if God’s faithfulness is about him being totally and utterly committed to bringing me home to be with him. And that there is nothing that he will ever let come between me and his love. Not that I can get excited about. Really, really excited. It’s good news for Andrew. It’s good news for my mum and my dad. Its good news for me. And it’s good news for you. And, if that’s what God’s goodness is about (even if that’s only a fraction of what God’s good ness is about) then I’m in. Absolutely in. Hook, line and sinker. I think I’m going to go and sing. And I think I know which song it will be! Hope God’s listening.

Lights

I’ve never been much of a gardener. I like a nice garden, but I want someone else to make it look nice. I don’t really ever plant anything. I mostly let whatever is already there grow. I have no finesse in a garden. I used to worry that if I cut plants the wrong way when I was trying to prune them, I would kill them. That turned out not to be true. So now I’m much more brave. My favourite kind of gardening is cutting the hedge, of cutting the grass. You don’t really need any finesse for that. One day I’ll buy myself an axe with a wooden handle and find things to chop! Is that even gardening? Probably not. But it will be fun. I don’t mean to disappoint all you gardeners out there. Its just not my thing. But we recently added something to the garden that I do really like. That sounds like I don’t like the garden. That’s not true. It’s the gardening I don’t like! So when we found something that you don’t need to prune or water, I was interested straight away. It’s better than that even. Not only do you not have to prune or water this garden piece, you don’t have to do anything. We now have solar lights in our garden! They’re great. They sit in among the pot plants demanding absolutely nothing of us. But when it’s dark they shine a beautiful light right where we sit. And that’s the thing. They shine a beautiful light in the growing darkness. We’ve been in lockdown now for over four months in one form or another. There have, no doubt, been some good things during that time. Perhaps we’ve spent more time with family. Perhaps we’ve been able to do some of the things we keep saying we’ll do but never quite get around to. There have also been some really tough times. Really tough times. We’ve lost jobs. We’ve lost important events we’d long planned: weddings; one off family holidays. We’ve lost meeting with those we love, with friends. And we’ve lost loved ones. It’s been tough. Really tough. My garden could be described as a bit of a mess. In one way it looks fine, but if you look closely….Please don’t! And this lockdown is a bit of a mess. It’s full of tings we’d rather not have seen or experienced. But as in my garden, there are lights in the drake=ness of lockdown. Sometimes it’s a call from a friend. Or a cup of tea together, Or a weekly envelope of goodies from those who care. Or being able to meet with those we haven’t seen for a while. These lights shine in the darkness. They give us a little more strength to keep going. To keep hoping. When I look at the solar lights as they begin to shine in the gathering dusk, I am reminded that there is another light that shines in the darkness. Turns out even solar lights require a battery! There is another light that shines in the darkness and the darkness can never put it out! And, just as my solar lights appear to shine more brightly the darker it becomes, so God’s light shines however dark the darkness appears. And he loves to shine his light on me. Especially when the darkness gathers around me.

Fish

I used to love fishing when I was younger. I used to go with my friend Robert and fish in the River Allen. We would spend hours down by the river, fishing. My mum was so concerned about us and our fishing she made me and my brother go on a fishing course - a course on course fishing! How about that! We would get up early and go. We would stay late into the evening. Perhaps my biggest catch was when I hooked Marc Collins right through the lip. No really I did. And he wasn’t even in the river. He was tying his hook onto the line, and, as well did, he bit the end of the line off after finishing the knot. I walked passed him and caught the line, which pulled the hook through his lip. Not my greatest moment. Or his. But we laughed about it later. Still do. Mum moved to live near the river and to get to town we’d walk along where we used to fish. I still have to look in the river and spot the fish every time I walks along the path. Still see the dace, the trout. Haven’t seen a pike for years. There are still lots of minnows. That’s what we caught. Fishing used to take up so much of my time. If I wasn’t actually fishing, I would be thinking about it, reading about it, planning the next day’s fishing. In the early days I made my own fishing rod. I was quite creative. But I can still remember the first proper fishing rod I owned. Bought it with my own money. It cost £2.29 which, in those days, was a fine sum. I loved it. Finally progressed onto owing a proper reel too. I used to think that fish were stupid. They were too easy to catch, the minnows at least. I used to joke that you couldn’t give a goldfish a name because it only had a two second memory so they’d never remember it. Turns out it’s not true. And, somewhat frighteningly, it also turns out that goldfish have a better concentration span than humans. I kid you not. Research concluded that goldfish have an attention span of 9 seconds. Not great is it? Until you realise that the same research concluded humans have an attention span of only 7 seconds! Apparently we spend too much time on various devices, flicking endlessly from one thing to another and have lost the ability to concentrate. And, I think fish have something else that might challenge us. Fish are completely surrounded by water. Yes, I know that’s obvious, but think about it. Fish can’t survive if you take them out of the water. I know, I did it many, many times when I used to fish. (For the record I always used to put them back in the river, just to set your mind at rest!) But how much do fish understand that? They are fully immersed in the water. It is everywhere. Always. they can’t exist without it. But they probably have no idea of that life giving truth. Here’s the thing: God is to us like water is to a fish. He really is. Jesus told us so and he lived in the light of that deep and profound truth. When he taught us to pray, he said start with this important truth: “Our Father in heaven” which is better translated, “Our Father in the heavens”. “In heaven” suggests God is distant (in heaven wherever that is). But “in the heavens” tell us he is right here with us. It tells us that he is a close as the air we breathe. Like water to a fish in fact. We are completely surrounded by God. We cannot exist without him. He gives us everything we need for life and living. He is everywhere. Whenever I see fish in the River Allen, I am reminded that I am completely surround by God’s great and magnificent love. Perhaps I should take up fishing again!

Swim

Today’s the day. I couldn’t get the app to work. Couldn’t get an answer on the phone either. So I walked over to the gym to book a swim. I did. Gyms are open again. Apparently you can book a swim time on your phone. Except it doesn’t work. They know that now because I told them. But I was able to book a time for a swim by talking to them in person. A bit old fashioned, but it works!. To use the gym you can just turn up and use it. But for a swim you have to book. What I think that means is that I get a guaranteed swim. By that I mean there won’t be too many other people there having a swim. That’s because there will be limit on how many people can swim at the same time. And that will work in my favour. I asked about how long I could be in the pool. Half an hour. Hmmm. That’s great, but it’s not quite long enough. I need about two more minutes to finish my swim. I could try and swim really fast I guess. But I haven’t been swimming since 19th March. I might be a bit off the pace! So I’ll have to aim for the metric mile not the imperial mile (four lengths different in case you’re wondering). And, who knows? Maybe I’ll make it. But I’m really excited to get back in the pool. I am really looking forward to swimming again. I enjoy swimming. I enjoy the physical challenge. I enjoy the sense of freedom I get from it when I’m in the pool. I like to know I’m helping to keep my body in working order. I love the sense of accomplishment when I’m done. I like to challenge myself and see if I can better my times. It’s funny the things we look forward to don’t you think? Let’s be honest, swimming is great but it’s only temporary. I’ll get half an hour later today. The I’ll book another time and do the same again. And so on. It does help me to keep healthy. It really does. It’s a good thing to do to look after the body God has given me. But, and here’s the thing, my body is only temporary. Truth is, one day, my body will stop. I like to believe I’ll be the first person in human history who has a body that doesn’t wear out or be forced to stop. But I know in my peart its’ not going to happen. Even mum wasn’t going to die. Until she did. It’s a reminder that our bodies are temporary. I can spend many hours keeping my body healthy by swimming, running, biking or playing football or golf. But, one day it will stop. Ecclesiastes 7 v 2 tells us that it’s better to go to the house of mourning than to a party. Which seems an odd thing to say. But it then says (in my words) that wise people will think about the reality of death and live well in the light of it. Hmmm. There’s noting wrong with looking forward to a swim. It’s a good thing to do. And when I’ve finished today, I can look forward to another swim. And then another. But, however many swims I do, for however long, my body will, one day, stop. I would do well to listen to Ecclesiastes and be ready for that. Like mum was. To see the bigger picture of God’s bigger and better story. And to swim in the ocean of God’s great and magnificent love.

Tribute

I’ve taken many, many funeral services over the years. They are always challenging. They are always a reason for serious thought. They are always a reminder that our days are like grass: the wind blows and they are gone. They are always a reminder that we are only visitors on this earth. Some funerals affect me more than others. Funerals of those I’ve known and loved pull on my heart strings. Funerals of those who have expressed faith while they have lived, are ones that are sorrow tinged with joy, and joy tinged with sorrow. Yesterday it was my mum’s funeral. I hadn’t practised for that one. I didn’t take the service. I didn’t want to be the minister, strutting my stuff. I simply wanted to be her son. If my mum had seen what happened she would have been embarrassed. She would have felt awkward. She wouldn’t have understood the genuine honour in which she was held by those who had witnessed her life. Don’t get me wrong. Mum was not perfect. She had her edges. She was a complicated lady with deep, deep pain and a deep loneliness that she carried from the moment she lost her husband suddenly, unexpectedly and cruelly, at the tender age of 35. But she was also a woman of great faith. She was a woman with outstanding resilience. She was a woman with a generous heart, generous in fact to her own detriment. As a mum, she did what we all do. She did, in the words of a friend who once called me his young friend, she did her incompetent best. People in the road she lived came out to pay the respects as we drove away from her bungalow. They didn’t have to. They chose to. People from the church she attended and served in for 40 years came to the church yesterday. As we drove past, they spontaneously clapped with their hands above their heads. That got me. That really got me. They clapped her faithfulness. They clapped her service. They clapped what she had given to each one of them. She would not have understood that. She could not see that. They could. How true that so often is. Others see what we do not. I realised in those moments, that perhaps I did not see the best of my mum. That’s not a criticism. It’s a fact. Sometimes families don’t see the best of those closest. What was lovely, was to think that others saw the best of her. She was a complicated lady. But then I am a complicated man. And maybe she never saw the best of me. It’s because we’re fallen, flawed human beings. All of us. But mum did her incompetent best. And for that I am in her debt. She followed God in the best way she knew how. Through everything. In everything. For her, God was always enough. And that’s the best thing you can live out in front of anyone. Thanks mum for living your life of faith in front of me. Thank you.

Still Waters

So…I started running again during lockdown. And, as I’m sure you remember, I came to the conclusion that if I carried on improving at the rate I was, I would get to the point where I wouldn’t have to run anymore because I would have already finished! Turns out it’s not true. And today I proved it. I’ve been running for weeks now, months even. I’ve been pretty good at going regularly too - and it’s not my favourite form of exercise. But today I didn’t so much run as plod. But there are reasons for that you know. The first runs were painful, literally painful because I hadn’t run like that for years. But, the body being the great thing it is, you get used to it. The muscles become attuned and they respond without the pain. And, although I’m pretty active as a person and I love exercise and keep reasonably fit, my body got fitter at running. That’s what happens. Fitness is specific to the activity. I can be great in the pool but struggle when I run. But I’ve got better at running. Or you would think so wouldn’t you? But, it turns out there’s a lot more to it than that. When I was doing my counselling training, I loved a book called “The Body Keep the Score” by psychiatrist Bessel van der Kolk. It’s primarily a book about trauma, but it’s point is essentially vey simple and quite profound. Your body remembers trauma and stress. And that can have an impact on how you respond physically and mentally to what is happening to you now! I was really slow today. It’s not because I’m unfit. It’s not because I ate too much before I ran. I didn’t. It’s because my body is keeping score. It’s been a challenging the last few months. A really demanding time. And the last few weeks have been, well, the extremes of emotion all packed together. And this morning my body told something: “Ian you are absolutely shattered.” I nearly didn’t make it round to be honest. I kept going because that’s what I do. I keep going. Always. Keeping going is a quality, mostly. But not always. And when it’s not a quality it gets people like me into trouble. My body is telling me that I need to take a break. I’m not superhuman although I want to be. And writing this is painful. It’s a bit like admitting defeat. Except it’s not. And my body is not the only one telling me something. There’s a very famous poem that’s telling me the same thing. You know it as Psalm 23. There it tells me that God, the great shepherd who loves his sheep, leads me beside still waters. Except sheep can be stupid and get themselves into trouble. They don’t rest by still waters. At least not sheep like me. Truth is, I am a fallen human being who needs to listen to both my body and to the one who created my body. I need to rest. I simply can’t keep on keeping on keeping on keeping on. And here’s the thing. God doesn’t want me to. I’m having a hard time getting my head around it, but maybe I would do well to listen to my body. And maybe I would do well to listen to the great shepherd who leads his sheep by still waters. And maybe you would too.

Comfortably Numb

I love that song: Comfortably numb by Pink Floyd. I love the guitar in it. And the sentiment: sometimes it’s good to be comfortably numb. Well, it is isn’t it? When I go the dentist, I certainly want to be comfortably numb. I went once and they gave me an injection so I could have some treatment. I had to go and sit in the reception area while my mouth went numb. When I got back into the dentist chair, I was asked if my mouth was numb. Before I could answer the dentist said, “Well let’s start, we’ll soon know!” Comfortably numb is all I wanted to be at that moment. But, being comfortably numb might be not so good a thing at times. I can become comfortably numb to the needs of others around me. Not so good. I can become comfortably numb to the needs of a struggling world full of starvation, injustice, violence. Not so good. We can become comfortably numb about a world that doesn’t know about the God of love we do. We can become comfortably numb to their needs. Not so good. I can become comfortably numb to my own needs. Not so good. But I think far more common than we might be prepared to admit. How often I wonder, do we as followers of Christ deny our real and human emotions? Perhaps more often then we’ll admit. We do it because we think we have to “spiritual” and to be spiritual is to somehow deny our humanness. I spend a lot of time with people who are struggling with very human emotions and feelings. It’s called grief counselling. And one of the things I’ve witnessed is just how hard we work at not being honest about what’s really going on in us, particularly when we facing, or dealing with, loss and grief. It’s not that people are trying to be dishonest. It’s that we want to be comfortably numb. We don’t want to feel the pain. It’s too painful. We think we must “be strong” by which we usually mean we can’t show emotion or express the deep pain we feel. Somehow that’s makes us less human. And that’s tragic. Really tragic. Because the truth is we are human and to express human feelings and emotions is a good thing to do. Actually it’s essential to be truly human. Right now I’m a mix of lots of conflicting feelings and emotions. And it’s a hard place to be. Sometimes I’m simply not sure what I’m feeling. When Jesus met with his disciples on the beach one morning after his resurrection, the first thing he did was to cook them breakfast. They’d been out fishing all night without catching anything until he turned up and helped them. They were tired, cold, confused. And the first thing he did was to cook breakfast. He attended to their human needs. He didn’t hold a prayer meeting, or a worship time, he gave them fish to eat. Right now, with all that’s going on, being comfortably numb would be not so good. Being human would be better. And God perfectly understands being human and he chooses to come to us in our very humanness.

Extraordinary

It’s been a tough day. I don’t know anything about cars, so when they break it’s always tough. I’ve been given my mum’s little car by the family (for Zac) which is very kind of them. But it broke because it wasn’t driven during the lockdown And it’s my experience that getting a car fixed is always complicated. It’s being fixed by a great guy, but I’ll have to come back to Wimborne to get it! And then, it was to the solicitor to begin sorting out mum’s estate. That would have been fine except we were in Wimborne and the solicitor was in Canford Cliffs (half an hour’s drive away). It meant I couldn’t be at the re-arranged meeting because I had other commitments this afternoon, counselling those who’ve lost, or are losing their loved ones. Tough! And really tough because today I am coming to terms with the death of a friend and colleague. I will miss Andrew. I will miss his work ethic. I will miss his smile. I will miss his indomitable spirit. I will miss his “can do” attitude. I will miss his jokes. No, really I will. I will miss him. I will miss his extraordinary example. He was, quite simply an extraordinary man. He knew and understood he was ill, but he never let it stop him. He hit it head on. Every time. His extraordinary courage was, is and will continue to be both a challenge and an inspiration to me. And he reflected so clearly another extraordinary life. The life that he invited into his life. The life that transformed his life and made it extraordinary. And it is extraordinary that, death brings life. Death, the death of loved ones and those we love, is tough. Really, really tough. But, when lived in the light of one extraordinary man, it becomes extraordinary. Thank you Andrew for living your extraordinary life in front of me. Thank you to the one who lived an extraordinary life that brings us life and the assured hope that one day, one fine day, we will meet in the presence of the Most High God with bodies that will not fail. And that will be extraordinary.

Uphill

So I had a break form writing this blog, but now I’m back. In a strange sort of way I’ve missed writing them. And perhaps you’ve missed reading them. Who knows? Anyway, here I am again. I had a break. Well a break from church. There have been lots of things to do since I wrote the last blog. We celebrated a wedding which was great. And it was great to see some of you lining the road to welcome Meg and Justin home from the church. It was lovely to see them so happy to be married. Since then we’ve been beginning the process of dealing with mum’s estate. We’ve been beginning to deal the truth that she’s not with us anymore. We’ve been coming to terms with the emotions of weddings and dying. We got post on the wedding day. There were some lovey condolence cards from some of you kind people mixed in with cards of congratulations for Meg and Justin. And then there was one envelope that was neither of these things. It was an envelope with mum’s death certificate! That’s life though isn’t it? It’s a mixture of the lovely and the wonderful, and the difficult and challenging all rolled into one. During our week in Wimborne we went biking. The New Forest is the most beautiful part of the UK. Cycling through it with it’s ups and downs can be challenging. But the views and the peace and the beauty are extraordinary. There aren’t many hills, and not many big hills, but there are enough to make you work hard on a bike. Enough to take your breath away. Enough to require you to pace yourself if you want to make it to the top. And as I reflected on these hills while cycling up them, it struck me that the next weeks and probably months are going to be uphill. There’s going to be a lot to do. There’ll be a lot to do with sorting out mum’s estate. There’ll be a lot to do to figure out how and when we begin using the church building again. And, if I look at it all at once, it appears as a very big hill. A hill I’m not sure I’ll get up. So I need to pace myself. I need to do what I’d do on the bike. You can pedal too fast at the bottom of a hill you know. If you do, you get so far up and then you body screams: “Stop!” But if you take a different approach and use the gears properly, you can make steady progress towards the top. And you get there! I know. I’ve done it. Many times. That’s why, when they were in the wilderness, God only gave the Israelites enough manna for one day. What, I hear you cry? What’s that got to do with cycling uphill? Well, nothing really. But its’ got a lot to do with pacing yourself through difficult times. The Israelites had to learn to take one day at a time. Literally. They had to trust God for that day. They had to learn to live one day at a time. And to trust God in the process. Planning ahead is really important. Mum had a will, which is a really good thing for her and us. Especially now. But sometimes, we have to live one day at a time. And mostly we do that when life is difficult and challenging. For me, that’s now. I can’t see my way to the top of this hill. So I’m going to have to do it one day at a time. And to trust God. It’s uphill you see.

Wedding

All wedding planning takes months and is fraught with challenges and unexpected changes. But to be fair, this wedding has had more than its share of all of these things: changing the date; family having to abandon their visit from across the pond; limited numbers; only having ten days to actually pull the final details together. Plus a whole lot of disappointment and hanging on tenterhooks. And then, just three days ago, mum went to glory. Great for her. Challenging for us. But today, we will celebrate. We’ll celebrate two people coming together in marriage, committing themselves to each other for as long as they live. And that’s the most important thing today. We’ve learnt a whole bundle of things during this strange, uncertain and challenging time. There are some things that are important, and there are some things that are really not! Weddings are full of small, intricate details that in truth, no-one (apart from perhaps the bride and groom - if he even does) really notices. They get lost in the day. When I was best man for my school friend Neil a long time ago now, I forgot to put his shoes for the honeymoon, in the car! He survived! And we now live in a world where every wedding has to be different from every other wedding. Perish the thought it might look like another wedding. In truth, every wedding is different: different bride and groom for starters! What we’ve learnt is that while it might be fun (or not) to do all that planning, it’s getting married that’s important. And that’s what we’re doing today. Got me thinking. Life’s like that. Like the build up to a wedding. Well, actually that’s exactly what it is. At least that’s the Christian perspective. It’s an unpredictable, challenging, sometimes filled with joy, sometimes filled with tragedy, sometimes how we would choose it, mostly not, and sometimes cruel, sometimes long and sometimes short journey towards a wedding. And, just like the lead up to a wedding day, We often get lost in details and things that aren’t truly important. We sometimes forget, among all the joys and sorrows, all the dreams and desires, all the hard work and the fun, that the most important thing is that the bridegroom is waiting and that one day we will be in the greatest wedding celebration of all time. Of all human history. And, challenging though it is today, and though she’s not with us at our wedding celebration today, mum is at a wedding celebration. Just as later today a bridegroom will look down the aisle and see his beautiful bride, the bridegroom has welcomed mum into his presence and the celebration has begun. And there it is: the reality of the world we inhabit and the hope we have in God’s bigger and better story. We’re going to enjoy today and we’re going to celebrate. And we’re going to hold in our hearts another wedding with another celebration.

Grateful

Mum died yesterday at 2pm. It was quick. That’s what the doctor said. We are grateful, me my brother and my sister. Grateful to the hospital who looked after her and us really well. Grateful to the chaplain read to her from Revelation 22 moments before she died. Grateful that one of us, my sister, was with her when she died. I arrived ten minutes after. I was on my way to take the next shift of sitting at her bedside. My brother came as soon as he knew to come. Grateful that her dying wasn’t long and drawn out. Grateful that we all, together, and on our own got to say what we wanted to say before she died. Grateful to mum for the way she did her very best to live as a follower of Christ. Grateful for everything she taught us about the God she loved so very dearly. Mum wasn’t perfect. We knew that. She knew that. As you do when someone dies, we spent the evening talking together about some of the things we remembered about her. She had some funny ways. No really she did. But she did well. Really well. Life threw some curve balls to mum. Perhaps the biggest and the one that had the most far reaching consequences was the death, as 35, of her husband, my dad. But get this. My dad died 50 years ago yesterday.. Mum died 50 years to the day that dad did. Obviously she wasn’t conscious towards the end of her life, but she knew what the date was. We knew what the date was. Actually we were praying that she would die on 1st July. And she did. And we are grateful. Some people get very excited about God’s timing. And maybe the fact that mum died on 1st July was God’s timing. Maybe. If it’s true it raises some big questions about God’s timing. Not least why dad died so young leaving a young wife and family. If God can orchestrate calling mum to be with him on the day he called her husband, albeit 50 years later, then there some other things he really should have addressed in the world. I’m not really sure about it even though for us, today, it’s a comforting thought. I think I struggle with it because it does seem at times God (if I may be so bold) gets the timing wrong. There that’s upset some if you. Well, you can come to your onw conclusion. I think God’s better than being limited to this kind of thinking. And let’s be honest, the world if unfair, painful and sometimes cruel. But we’re still grateful that mum trusted in God regardless of the timing. She wanted to go home. And now she is. And for that, in all it’s stunning beauty and wonder, we are grateful.

Sieve

I had one of those moments the other day. I was listening to the radio while I was driving somewhere and someone (can’t even remember who it was or what they were talking about), said something that struck me in a way it had never done before. If fact, it completely changed they way I understood and thought about what had been a familiar phrase. It was a familiar phrase that I understood in a particular way. And, my best guess would be, you would understand the phrase, which you have heard many time before, in the same way I did. It’s not that understanding it the way I had was wrong. It wasn't . In fact, the way I understood it was the way it was always meant to be understood. So let me ask you this question: if you want to tell someone they have a poor memory, what phrase would you use to do so? If I was a betting man, I would put money on your answer being this: you’ve got a memory like a sieve! Am I right? I think so. And we understand why, don’t we? If you have a sieve, you pour something in which contains the things you really want. The idea is that what you don’t want drains out, and what you want to keep is left in the sieve. The reason we use it to describe our memory, is that all the fluid falls through the holes and is lost. So, when we say someone has a memory like a sieve, it’s a way of saying that they forget lots of things. It usually means that what we want them to remember is what they forget. Bottom line is this: when someone says you have a memory like a sieve it’s not a compliment. But here’s what I leant the other day. And, I’m not sure this was anything that was said on the radio, but it grew on me as I thought about it. I would actually like a memory like a sieve! What?…I hear you cry. Are you being serious? Yes. Yes I am. And here’s why. A sieve, whilst it does allow what you don’t want to drain away, it also keeps what is important. Think about it. If you are cooking peas what do you do? Your pour the boiling water containing the peas into the sieve. The idea, what you want to happen, is that the water (which you don’t want to keep), drains w away, and the peas (what you do want to keep) is caught in the sieve. So a sieve keeps what you want and lets go of what you don’t want. I would love a memory like that. I would love a memory that keeps what I want to remember, and lets go of what I don’t need to remember! And, reflecting on that, I would like to live like a sieve: I would like to keep what’s important, and let go of what’s not. It’s often said that when a crisis comes, you learn what’s important. The sad truth is that it often really does often take a crisis to get us to see what is important. We would do well to be more like a sieve. As I’ve stood at the bedside of my mum over the last week, it has caused me to reflect on life. It’s caused me to think of how we have lived as a family. I’ve been reminded that life really is fragile. I’ve been reminded that you can put off things that are important for things that, in truth, really aren’t. I’m wondering now how life might have been different if I had been more like a sieve, if I had been able to keep what’s important and let go of what’s not. And in all this, I’ve been thinking about a little verse in that not so well known book of Ecclesiastes. It says it is good to reflect on the truth that one day, we will die. It’s verse two of chapter seven. I like to say it this way: every dies and wise people think about that. I’m wondering that if we did that, we would be more like a sieve: we’d keep what’s really important and let go of what’s not. So, the next time someone likens me to a sieve, I’ll take it as a compliment!

What a difference a day makes

Unless you’re not listening to, or watching the news, you can’t have missed it. Everybody is talking about. Some people have been waiting for it for 30 years. Some people simply didn’t want to happen. And, to be honest, most people don’t really care. But you can’t have missed it. Yesterday, it hadn’t happened. But today everyone is talking about it. Liverpool are Premier League Champions! What a difference a day makes. Tuesday was a day that made a difference. On Tuesday Boris announced that weddings could again take place. Suddenly, from having no idea when the wedding could take place, plans could be made, excitement began to rise, and preparations swung into gear. What a difference a day makes. On Wednesday, I received a call from my sister. She had been to visit my mum in hospital. The news was good. Mum was doing much better than the day before and the doctor told my sister that my mum was going in the right direction. We were even told mum might come home today, Friday. Surprised as we were, it appeared that mum was on the mend. We were having to turn our thoughts to figuring out how to manage mum being at home again. Then, yesterday, while I was in East Surrey hospital in my role as Chaplain, my sister sent an urgent message to me and my brother. Mum had taken a turn for the worse and suddenly we were faced with the probability she might not live more than a couple of days. What a difference a day makes. But, we have hope. And so does mum. On a hill a couple of thousand years ago, a man hung on a crude wooden cross. It seemed that everything he’d said and promised and talked about how come to an end. Hs friends ran off and hid, too scared to show their faces. His followers dispersed, disappointed that, once again the messiah tuned out not to be. But, on Sunday morning, his tomb was empty and he appeared to his friends. It turned out he was alive. What a difference a day makes! And what a difference that days makes today. The world is unpredictable, random and sometimes cruel. It doesn’t always go as we would wish. It mostly doesn’t go as we would wish. We don’t what is around the corner. But we do know that one day our body will give out. It will stop working. One day we will die. As followers of Christ, we also know that, when that day comes, that Sunday morning of a couple of thousand years ago is what makes the difference. It will make a difference to my mum, who has been waiting for this moment for most of her long life. And it will make a difference to me, my brother and my sister. What a difference a day makes.

Perfect

So actually writing this blog has proved what I’m writing about. This is my third attempt. The first two got lost somewhere I couldn’t get them back. Not how I planned it. Anyway. Yesterday was the perfect day. Well it was for me. Probably. Or as near as it gets. One thing I’ve never understood is how one sport can have a handicap system when others do not. Apart from horse racing that is. But only one sport where humans compete against humans. It’s always struck me as a little odd that you can play a game and be the best player, but not win precisely because you are the best player. When I was younger I used to play a lot of tennis. And when I played a match against someone else, the best payer on the day, won. There was no handicap system because one of us was better at tennis then the other. But in golf, there’s a handicap system. Which, to be fair, is really good news for people like me, because I am not the best player. But I can still win. And yesterday, I played much better than my handicap said I should. That’s as good as it gets. For me. Yesterday, we were told we can have weddings again from the 4th July. Only a week late Boris! But thank you! It’ll be like my golf: it won’t be perfect, but it will certainly be good enough! It’s taken me a long time to realise that nothing is perfect. I’m learning to take the good rounds of golf and enjoy them. They don’t happen all the time, and I’ll never play the perfect round. But they can good enough. We spend years sometime planning the perfect wedding. We did. Well, certainly eighteen months. And yet…But now we can have a wedding. It won’t be the wedding we planned. We won’t have everyone we want there. We won’t be able to sing. We won’t be able to have everything we wanted in the service. But there will be a wedding. And the bridegroom will look on his bride with great love. And Meg and Justin will be married! It’s taken me a long time to realise that nothing’s perfect. Good enough, and sometime great. But not perfect. I would do well to enjoy my better than good rounds of golf, because next time it might be different. I would do well to enjoy good enough. We can plan and hope and spend our lives striving for perfect. But here’s the thing: mostly we’ll be disappointed. Especially if that’s what we build our lives on. And God never asks us to be perfect. To give my best, to try my best, to live my best, yes. But not perfect. As we walked around the golf course, we discussed if we would play the perfect round of golf in heaven. No, we decided, we wouldn’t. After all, where would be the fun in that? And heaven will be fun, right? If we’re honest we don’t know about golf in heaven, But what we do know, what we can be certain of, is that there will be one great wedding celebration and one fabulous feast as the bridegroom welcomes his bride. Then I will be perfect. And so will you. And I’ll settle for that. That really will be the perfect day. And let’s hope this attempt at my blog works. That would be good enough for today!

Ruins

It happens to all of us at time I guess. For some it’s a relationship. For some it’s work. For some it’s financial. It could be anything. Sometimes we might be able to see it coming. Sometimes we might be able to so something about it. Sometimes not. Sometimes, perhaps we could have predicted it. Some people say they predicted COVID-19. Or if they don’t claim to have predicted exactly COVID-19, they say they predicted something like it. And maybe they did. But it didn’t stop it happening did it? And that’s true of other things in life. And sometimes it leaves us in ruins. For some people that’s exactly what COVID-19 had done. For others it may be just a matter of time before the effects of the virus take hold. Sometimes the things we can’t see, can’t predict, or the things we might be able to predict but that happen anyway, leave us in ruins. Those relationships that go wrong; the investment that crashed; the job that didn’t deliver; the future that never materialised. Sometimes it’s our health, or rather our lack of health that leaves us in ruins. The accident that changed everything. The illness that took away our freedom. I went to visit my mum on Saturday evening. She suffered a heart attack on Friday evening. I wasn’t expecting that. And I don’t think she was either. I never thought my mum would suffer a heart attack. She’s always been extraordinarily healthy. I can’t remember her ever being ill when I was a kid. Or as an adult. But I went to visit her in Bournemouth hospital because she’d suffered a heart attack. In one way she was in ruins. She couldn’t remember anything much about what happened. She was groggy. She was tired. No doubt she is confused and probably anxious. In the words of Pink Floyd, she’s one step nearer to death. And death, we know is the ultimate ruin. Unless you’re my mum. I took a Bible with me because I know that’s the thing she’d most want with her in hospital. I read Psalm 139 to her and as I read, she kept nodding and agreeing with the words. And here’s the thing: death will not be ruin for my mum. One of my favourite singers is Bebo Norman. He wrote a song in which he sings: “Let my ruins become, the ground you build upon.” He’s inviting God to build on the ruins of his broken heart. My mum’s heart is broken. Al least it’s not working as it should right now. But she has invited God to build on that other broken heart, the one that determines what she will live for and where she will put her trust. And she has put her trust in the one who says there is no place you can go from his presence. Life throws all sorts of unexpected things at us that can ruin us. Like a heart attack. Ruins don’t have to be the end. Not if you do what my mum has. Life will probably be different if and when she recovers. But God will still be with her. If her body stops working altogether and she dies, God will still be with her. She will not think of that as ruin. She trusts that God will still be with her and he will build a whole new life on the ruins of death. I hope she recovers. Either way, God is present. Thanks mum, for reminding me that God is in the ruins in more ways than one.

Screens

We had a moment in our house this morning. You know, one of those moments where the rage suddenly hits you. After a bit of a wait, the packages arrived yesterday. First you notice how big they are and then, when you try to move them, how heavy they are. And there were only two when there should have been three. Today was opening and checking the parcels day. I say parcel. Not really sure that’s the best or most accurate term. These “parcels” contain clear screens for the charity shop. You now, the screens that you to have to have between customer and shopper so that no one gets too close. So, I’m upstairs when I hear the “Oh no!” ring our through the house. No, really that’s what I heard! I raced downstairs to see, not clear screens, but opaque ones. Opaque ones? That’s no good. You can’t have opaque screens between the customer and the shop assistant. How would that work? You can’t see each other through an opaque screen! It beggers belief. Why would they send opaque screens? How could they have missed the point of this purchase? It’s COVID-19 and we need clear screens - everyone does. Why would we pay a ridiculous £600 for opaque screens which are useless? Now we have to get on the phone and join the queue of all the other poor people who have been delivered opaque screens when they ordered clear ones. And we’re sixth in the queue. Sixth! And then it happened. What if…no there isn’t…is there? Oh…wait… yes there is. A protective opaque layer that peels off the clear screen to reveal…a clear screen! Phone down! Turned out it was good to be sixth on the queue. Got me thinking though. I don’t always see clearly. There are many times when my vision is clouded by expectation. there are many times when might sight is blinded by my own prejudice and opinion. Sometimes it’s so bad that I can’t see beyond the end of my own nose. Rarely, if ever, am I able to see the whole picture. And yet I have a fantastic ability to believe otherwise. Sometimes I even pretend I can see more clearly than God. Sadly, I think I should probably have said that I mostly think I can see better than God. Paul writes that now we see through a glass darkly (which is another way of saying we don’t see clearly). I would do well to accept the truth of that and stop pretending I can see more than I can. I would do well to accept that God can see far, far better than me. Paul does say that one day we will see clearly, when we see God face to face. But until then, God is the one who sees everything clearly. Until then, I’ll try to be more honest about my ability to see clearly.