In my mind, summer always shines as a glorious time of holiday and of rest from work. I look forward to the summer months as a time of refreshment and more carefree living. Of course, now I’m resigned to the working adult life, this is not true at all – but this feeling remains, as a hangover from the ingrained patterns of the education system. And although I currently have a more relaxed workload over the summer, it is no longer automatically a time of complete rest – with a fixed allowance of annual leave, it’s not even possible.
However, summer sees teacher-friends off work and our wonderful weather at its kindest (perhaps), so I do my best to retain this glorious vision of the summer holidays. Already it is late July (how did that happen?) and I’ve got itchy feet...
First stop: a working holiday – a change is as good as a rest, right? – to this beautiful place, to help out at the thinkivp bookshops at the Keswick Convention:
I hope I never quite grow out of the summer holiday dream. There’s just something magical about travelling somewhere different, rebooting your system with a break from routine and gathering more tales of life.
Sometimes it can be hard to pick up the phone and call someone. You had a fight, or you’re worried they are too busy for you, or you just can’t find the right words to say.
It’s been said (or rather, sung) that “prayer is like a telephone”, and although this offers us privileged anytime access to our heavenly father, we often find that, as with our physical telephone, we are often hesitant to pick it up and dial. (Forgive me if today’s metaphor seems a bit over-simplified – I found this helpful.)
Here are some of the excuses we frequently use, with obvious reminders of why they are absurd:
1. We had a fight (aka, I’m too sinful). You are a sinner. God is holy. This much has always been true. But Jesus died to cover you with his perfect righteousness (2 Corinthians 5:21). No fight is too big for God to forgive.
2. He’s probably busy. Don’t get me wrong, God is busy, in the sense that he does a great deal. But, in ways that I will never quite grasp this side of eternity, he’s the best multi-tasker ever. He is never too busy to listen to his children.
3. He won’t want to listen to me. God loves us as much as he loves Jesus (John 17:23). We are his dear children, and he is never too tired/busy/stressed/exasperated to listen to us. When we humbly approach him, he always hears what we have to say.
4. I doubt he’ll help me with this. One of my favourite God-as-Father images in the Bible is this one from Matthew 7: “Which of you, if your son asks for bread, will give him a stone? Or if he asks for a fish, will give him a snake? If you, then, though you are evil, know how to give good gifts to your children, how much more will your Father in heaven give good gifts to those who ask him!” The Bible doesn’t say God will always give us whatever we want – for starters, we’re always wanting the wrong things – but he delights to give us good gifts, and he’s working for your good.
5. I can’t find the right words. God made you, and he knows everything about you. He already knows what you’re going to say to him, and he loves to hear you say it. But don’t panic if words fail: Paul says the Spirit of God intercedes for us when we can’t find the words (Romans 8:26), which is pretty amazing in itself.
We really have a wonderful gift in prayer – what are we waiting for?
“It’s hard being left behind. I wait for Henry, not knowing where he is, wondering if he’s okay. It’s hard to be the one who stays.” – The Time Traveler’s Wife by Audrey Niffenegger
“Carol Brown / just took a bus out of town / but I’m hoping that you’ll stick around” – Carol Brown by Flight of the Conchords
Perhaps it’s a sign that I’m happy with where I am in life (or at least apathetic about it, to look at it cynically), but it always shakes me up a little when those around me want to make big changes. For one thing, it can be sad to think the people I love are not where they want to be. I also do not particularly like change; I’m fairly happy to continue plodding on forwards, and I tend to assume others are too.
But there’s also a selfish feeling that comes into play when friends make life-altering decisions – one that’s rather uncomfortable to admit. It’s a voice that I squash to a whisper, and even then, generally only to myself. Don’t they care about me?
When another friend gets married, moves back home, or takes a job somewhere far away, my insecurities immediately make me question the value of that friendship. And it feels such an ugly thing to admit that it often remains unspoken, but the selfish core of me desperately wants to be reassured.
Deep down, I know that we all have different calls on our lives, and that other things – jobs, marriages, service, health, family – are calling them on. Even I have moved away from my original home – and not because I didn’t love the people there.
Perhaps these changes are meant to serve as a reminder to me not to get too comfortable with my life, and not to find my value solely in my relationships with those around me. My true identity is in Jesus Christ and the life he has won for me. He’s blessed me with wonderful friendships to enjoy, but it is ultimately in him that I have all I’ll ever need.
