Grateful

Gratitude for life is one of those things we don't speak of much. "I'm grateful to be alive" tends to be a phrase reserved for survivors of plane crashes, or over-enthusiastic guys in 80's movies. I'm not sure why. Maybe because of its cheesiness? Maybe because we're British?!

Despite all of this: I really am grateful to be alive right now.

And by this I mean, I am grateful to be here to experience this; I'm aware that I could not be, and happy that I am.

It means there have been times in the past year where I have really not wanted to keep Being, where life just felt like day after day of panic and grey, and I couldn't imagine that there would be sunnier days and peacefulness and contentment.

I was in no way grateful to be alive, closer to Job's cry,

“Why then did you bring me out of the womb?" (Job 10:18)

I felt bad that I wanted to stop existing, when other terminally-ill people would give anything for another year with their precious family. It seemed like such an unfair distribution of life.

And so, in the context of all of that, there are beautiful days like today when I'm so grateful something inside of me (or rather, outside of me) decided to keep living.

Moments where you think "it would have been sad to miss this". Times when life is just really sweet, even if only for an afternoon. It's at these points - the moments you'd happily bottle up and keep it for crummier days - where hope grows back, like fresh buds from a seemingly dead branch.

Suddenly, yet again, there is hope, urged into life a little more by each moment of happiness. And for every stormy day, these days keep me going, in the knowledge that if you just keep pushing through, the sunshine will, eventually, return.

Learning to trust

I was speaking to a good friend tonight and it made me realise something. 

She was talking about her future and spoke with a great faith that God would guide, do the unlikely and work wonders in her lifetime. 

Sitting opposite her I felt a poor reflection of what I saw before me. I realised that, partly without even noticing, my trust in God had diminished.  Growing fears and repeated disappointments have shrunk my view of Gods capabilities - or the things he will choose to do in my life. 

I still believe he loves me and is sorrowful in my suffering, but maybe I'm less convinced that he will actually do much about it. My view of God has gotten smaller. More limited. I find it easier to trust that he's got me saved for eternity, (and boy is that going to be great) but in the meantime (the next 60 years or so) I seem to have become less convinced that he will work the impossible for his glory and for my good. 

Do I believe God is powerful? Do I believe he gives good gifts? Yes, but. 

But. 

Yes, but there are a whole lot of people suffering on our planet. Yes, but God's power + God's love does not always = happy times in life. Just check out the early church and Paul's life for an example. Did he regret his decision to face suffering for Christ? No, I'm so sure that he didn't. But perhaps he was far better at trusting God for a reason for his suffering, than I am. 

Maybe my expectations are wrong? That's what I've been telling myself over the last while. The reason I feel pain and disappointment in current life situations is because I was expecting for the most part to be happy and healthy; things that I don't believe God guarantees us in this life. 

So as a response to this suffering and confusion I guess I've tried to reign in my expectations. Perhaps this has been a defence mechanism; but whatever the cause I realise that in limiting my expectations I have naturally limited my faith. I've subconsciously stopped expecting him to do amazing things, work wonders and miracles, and am less convinced that he has good plans for me. 

So, it's sad, but probably good to have realised this. It means I can pray about it, asking God to give me the courage to trust him again, to know and trust him more deeply and not on some level resent him for recent struggles. 

Only thing is that I'm not sure HOW to do this, whilst still managing my expectations. It's somewhat of a cliche to talk about the 'now and not yet' of the kingdom, but in all seriousness, how do people manage to hold these two things in tension?

It has become apparent that I have focussed on the 'not yet' and have limited my faith as a response to this. But I've missed a key tenet of this concept: 'not yet' doesn't mean God is impotent, insensitive or too busy to answer me. And it doesn't mean he will answer in the same way for every other area of my life and the lives of those around me. 

It's hard to pray for the healing of others, for miracles or good weather or guidance, when you're struggling with God being far away and seemingly unresponsive to suffering. 

How do I trust God to do the supernatural, whilst accepting my current circumstances and their difficulties, WITHOUT believing untruths about my father? I guess, as my friend suggested last night, it comes from spending time with him and truly getting to know him. My prayer is that I will become more attuned to him and his heart, so that whether I am dealing with seemingly unanswered prayers, or praying for miracles, I can do both and erstwhile still praise Him. 

Why I celebrate

I officially hit a quarter of a century - 25 years on the earth - later this week.

I've always loved birthdays, my own and other people's (more on this here). Making it a special day, marking it with something different. I never understood people who said they didn't celebrate their birthdays: why wouldn't you?

And yet this year, I've anticipated my birthday with nothing close to joy or excitement. Having a birthday and - specifically - turning such an undeniably 'adult' age means I can no longer hide behind the guise of being a 'Young Person' or '21 plus a few'. My Peter Pan-like self is forced to come face-to-face with the truth that I am, to all intents and purposes, an adult.

When I was younger and I dealt with these 'worries', I always expected that it would be a passing phase, something I'd grow out of; that by the time I was 'grown up' (whatever that means) I'd be a fully-fledged, fully-functioning adult and these fears would be a distant memory of adolescence. Marking my birthday means facing the painful reality that right now I'm kind of in a place I hoped I'd never be again.

So many people must feel similarly when their day rolls around. I can see why marking 'special' days after the loss of a loved one, a terminal diagnosis, or a relationship breakup is too painful to face.

And Yet. I'm still going to celebrate on that day. Not because life is perfect or particularly happy right now, not because I've achieved what I hoped to by 25 or that I'm where I hoped I'd be, but simply that I have LIFE. Joy may be somewhat eclipsed at the moment, but I still have family and friends who love me and a God who gave me life.

While I have breath in me, I have a reason to thank God for it. While I have life, there is reason to celebrate.
(Heck, there's even more reason after this life, but that's for another time).

When I'm coping okay, I can see the point of all of the above. But when I'm struggling, it feels far from what I want to do. Despite this, I choose to see my birthday as an archetype of the way I wish I lived every day. Not as a day where we pretend life isn't difficult and the world isn't broken, but a celebration of what we have, with a hope for what the future could hold.

Sitting in the ashes

So it's here again, people. Lent. A time of waiting (or is that just Advent?) Either way, a time for preparation and reflection.

These blogs are meant to be my reflections on the world (because I know people must be super-interested in what I have to say). They're generally fairly positive. But I'm not really sure why I'm writing this because (spoiler alert) I don't have many answers right now.

So here's where I'm at. Daily life feels increasingly like a complex obstacle course that I am ill-equipped to navigate. Some days are okay; some are good; some are downright horrible. I'm pretty joy-less (fear will do that to you) and aware that something needs to change. I know God is real and good and close by, but I don't really understand what's going on here, or why.

A phrase I've heard repeated several times is, "Faith is believing in the darkness what you have seen in the light". And I guess that kind of sums up where I'm at right now. I do have some hope that I can get better again; but on days when it feels like I am losing the battle I wonder how long it has to carry on being like this before I get to be 'normal'. Right now I'm in the Good Friday bit of the Easter story, and I don't know how long it will last. Or how many times I may have to revisit it.

When life is a struggle, when the joy gets sucked out of the beautiful everyday things, when I'm in 'survival' mode, I forget about hope. I'm so consumed by my not-so-pretty circumstances that my hope in what Jesus has won for me gets kind of sidelined.

I titled this post 'Waiting in the ashes' both because of last Wednesday being 'Ash Wednesday' and because it seems to express where I'm at right now. Sometimes I don't have any wisdom or answers. Sometimes there doesn't seem to be a silver lining or moral of the story. Sometimes, it's just hard, and that time is when I guess I have to sit in the ashes and wait, hoping that joy and hope will return.

"Let him bury his face in the dust— there may yet be hope.
I called on your name, Lord , from the depths of the pit.  
You heard my plea: “Do not close your ears to my cry for relief.”  
You came near when I called you,
and you said, “Do not fear.”

Lamentations 3:29, 55-57 NIV

A long overdue letter to a friend

It’s been so long since I last wrote, I can barely remember what life was like at that point. The world now looks very different: different home, neighbourhood, job, office, flatmate, commute…. a lot of different.

As I write this now looking back on 3 months, it’s like looking out to a nearby mountain peak, with a small chasm between. I feel like I’ve been crossing rockier terrain to get to my new look-out. But it’s nice here. Just different. 

I’ve been reminded of things I thought were behind me; fear raises its head and looks for a new home. But I’ve also made stronger friendships; relationships built on lazy evenings watching television and drinking tea.

I’m convinced that there has been growth; I now use both my brain and my heart at work, which is a privilege (although sometimes doesn’t feel like it on a sleepy Friday morning). I feel as though God has brought me to exactly where I longed to be for the past year; and yet it all looks so different from how I imagined it.

There has, undeniably, been loss in different forms. Freedom. Friendship. And a godmother who so faithfully prayed and cared for me, remembering every single baptism anniversary and birthday, constant in faith and always believing that I could be, that I could manage, that I could achieve.

However, I’ve very slowly been learning, something that’s probably taken me far too long to grasp.

Life – any life – isn’t meant to be all roses and happiness and sunshine. Well, perhaps it is, the other side of death. But right here and now – the crap times aren’t just crap times that we must skip over, hurried through ‘til we get to the next good bit. The crap times are also life. And yes, sometimes it’s easier for me to say than others. 

But I’m slowly realising that I can’t wait until all the chains are broken and all the cancer patients are cured and all the rifts are healed before I embrace this thing called ‘life’.

I’m realising that ‘life’ is not just waiting for the happy bits, rallying against the crap and wondering why this storm is getting in the way of our day of sunshine.  Life is broken cracks as well as the sunny days. 

When I next feel low or anxious or fearful, I can assure you I won’t want to embrace life. But this is it, right now. In all its glory and beauty and sorrow and brokenness. This is what I’ve got.