Recalling psalms in the small hours

1am. Baby is awake and needs rocking back to sleep. Perhaps I could try reciting a Bible verse in my head. What can I remember?

The Lord is my shepherd. Try not to sing the Vicar of Dibley theme tune. Although maybe it will help me remember the words. If God is my shepherd, I must be a sheep. We all like sheep have gone astray (baa baa doo baa baa). If I am a sheep, what does my shepherd do? Look after me, I suppose. Stop me escaping and getting lost. Stop other things getting in and harming me.

The Lord is my shepherd... what comes next? I lack nothing? I have everything I need? The hymns say 'I'll not want'. I have everything I need - that sounds simple, let's stick with that. Do I have everything I need? Well, the Bible says it, so it must be true... But sometimes I feel I don't have enough time, or patience, or energy. So what is it saying? The Lord is my shepherd + I have everything I need. Maybe that's why. I have everything I need because the Lord is my shepherd? Perhaps everything I need is the Lord being my shepherd?

The Lord is my shepherd, I have everything I need. He makes me lie down in green pastures. He makes me. Whatever this is about, I don't think it's a suggestion. God says I need it. I'm not actually lying in a field, but that sounds like something restful. The shepherd has things under control, so this little sheep can rest, safe and provided for.

The Lord is my shepherd, I have everything I need. He makes me lie down in green pastures. He leads me beside quiet waters. Or still waters, in the hymn and Dibley versions. Still waters... run deep? No, that's what they say about quiet people. Quiet and still waters sound calm and pleasant though. He leads me, rather than makes me, this time. If I follow, he leads me to a place of refreshment.

The Lord is my shepherd, I have everything I need. He makes me lie down in green pastures. He leads me beside quiet waters. He restores my soul. Refreshment, restoration, reset for the soul. That sounds good.

Baby is definitely asleep now.

The Lord's my shepherd. I'm glad he's mine.

I tried to write about something else

I tried to write about something else -

I had a few ideas

But somehow they didn't form themselves, 

And I had to deal with tears.

I tried to think about something other

Than what things baby may need,

But the house wants babyproofing 

And she awoke asking for a feed.

I tried to look at something else

For once since becoming a mum,

But somehow entire days pass by

Watching baby find her thumb.

I tried to talk about something other 

Than whether my baby was happy,

But then the wee one made it clear

That what she needed was a nappy!

I tried to walk somewhere else

Without feeling I was rushing,

But my baby woke up in the pram

And I had to keep on pushing.

I tried to write about something other 

Than baby being the reason,

But then I realised - that's ok -

This is my current season.

Enjoy every minute.

When our daughter was born, several people told me that the time passes so quickly and therefore I should enjoy every minute. While I am generally a believer in the Mary Poppins "find the fun" school of thought, there are a lot of minutes in a day. And in the night. Enjoy every one?

Recently a friend sent me a message asking "how is motherhood?" I replied with "tiring, fun, anxious, repetitive, special, relentless". Some minutes are lovely, and some minutes are laugh-or-cry, but surely every life journey has minutes that cannot be dressed up as good. Some minutes in any life are going to be awful. Dark. Painful. Lonely. Disappointing. Wasted.

I do realise that most of the "enjoy every minute" well-wishers are probably not meaning this to be taken entirely literally. But the phrase has stuck in my mind, because even in the first few days of caring for a precious baby, it seemed jarring. 

The Bible talks about joy and being joyful in difficult circumstances, and tells us to rejoice always. One memorable passage in the book of James, chapter 1, says this: "Consider it pure joy, my brothers and sisters, whenever you face trials of many kinds, because you know that the testing of your faith produces perseverance." We should have joy in trials and testing? Really?

A few years ago, I read a little book by the Christian missionary Helen Roseveare called Count It All Joy. Despite some truly horrific 'minutes' in her life, she writes that she heard God saying, "Can you thank me for trusting you with this experience even if I never tell you why?" 

This was a helpful way of reframing joy for me. We tend to equate joy with happiness, and we can therefore feel guilty or frustrated when the Bible says we should be joyful always. How can we be happy and enjoy life when things are falling apart? Did the Bible writers not live on this planet?! 

Of course they did, and many went through terrible ordeals. These are not naive platitudes then, but something more. 

This is a subject a brief blog post cannot do justice to, but it seems to me that, to some extent at least, this kind of joy is a choice (although I think the theologian and retired pastor John Piper may disagree with me - see his article on the definition of joy). We aren't going to feel joyful when we wallow in challenging circumstances. We may not feel happy, but we can have joy. We can learn to trust God and, like Helen Roseveare, choose to thank Him for whatever situations He has ordained for us.

Our lives will be filled with all different kinds of minutes. Happy, sad, empty, full, painful, numb. Minutes that feel like hours. Minutes we want to remember. Minutes we would rather forget. 

We might not enjoy every minute, and I think that is ok. But we can begin to recognise God at work, trust and thank him, and so practise choosing to count it all joy.

Picking up where I left off

Hello again, world. 

It's been a while since I put virtual pen to paper, and I'm no doubt a little rusty. I last posted some reflections during the first Covid lockdown, and while there has been plenty to write about since then, it has been hard to find the words, or the time. 

A lot has changed, and on the surface life today looks very different to how it looked six years ago. Some things have changed permanently, while other changes were - or are - temporary. But when I look beyond the surface, many things remain the same. 

We are so used to the constant changing nature of life that perhaps we lose an appreciation of the "unchanging". There are the big changes of course - births, deaths, marriages, new jobs, new houses - which we expect to alter our experience in big ways. 

But even when there are no big life events and life is stable, life is not static. New shoes. New car. New road layout ahead. Your monthly direct debit is increasing. Sainsburys have moved the eggs to the other side of the shop. 

Not much in life is truly a constant. But God is, and always will be. 

So for today, take comfort in the truly unchanging rock of ages, who is the same yesterday today and for ever, from everlasting to everlasting. He the LORD does not change, and he is our ever-present help in trouble (Hebrews 13v8, Psalm 90, Malachi 3v6, Psalm 46).

All by myself?

One little word: lonely. 
  
Being by yourself is one thing. But lots of people feel trapped in their aloneness. And in this season of restricted social movement, more people are alone against their will and finding themselves lonely. 
  
In a cloud of loneliness the other afternoon, I flicked on our church Spotify playlist to distract me with some more wholesome music. 
  
“Messiah still, and all alone…”
  
This line lodged in my mind for a moment. Jesus was all alone at the cross. Jesus knows what it is like to experience being alone in a horrible situation. 
  
We read in the New Testament accounts of his death that Jesus calls out from the cross, in a reference to Psalm 22: “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?”
  
He felt forsaken. Utterly abandoned. Jesus was cut off from relationships. He was abandoned by his friends, who ran away when he got arrested. And worse than that, he was cut off from his Father, with whom he has had the closest of relationships since before the creation of the world. At the cross, Jesus took on the sin of the whole world, and sin breaks relationships with God. 
  
So Jesus was alone. He has felt the terrible pain of separation. He has felt this aloneness.
  
He has gone through this and more. He has felt like this and worse. And it was for us. 
  
He loves us and he has been through the trials of human life on earth, just like us. 
  
The writer of Hebrews puts it like this: 
“For we do not have a high priest who is unable to feel sympathy for our weaknesses, but we have one who has been tempted in every way, just as we are – yet he did not sin. Let us then approach God’s throne of grace with confidence, so that we may receive mercy and find grace to help us in our time of need.”
  
We may still be lonely. But we can bring this to him, knowing he knows, and he cares. 
  
(Hear the full song: O Praise the Name by Hillsong Worship) 

One more year in Yorkshire

Incredibly, it’s been two years since I packed up my life to come to the Yorkshire coast and join Trinity Church Scarborough. I have grown to love this town, on sunny days and grey days, days when it’s sunny everywhere else but misty right here, days when it smells like seaweed when I step outside my front door. It is still nowhere near an IKEA, but somehow I’ve learned to reassess my need for meatballs, and to plan better for flatpack-related emergencies. 

The second year has flown by even faster than the first. I feel properly settled in my home, in church, and at work. And yet, the past year has brought its own set of changes and challenges at work, at home, with family, among friends. Anxieties, hopes, celebrations, disappointments. 

My mind takes longer to process things, emotions run high, and I have often been in need of more headspace. I have reduced my hours at work – and I find that a day off during the week is a regular reminder to me that life is not all about paid employment, and gives me time to catch up with to-do lists and freedom to spend more time with people. 

I am making new friends and deepening friendships with others. I have joined a lovely choir. And I have seen the good news of the Christian faith being shared in many different contexts. 

The summer has been particularly busy. Over the past few weeks, we have seen lots of visiting children in our Sunday sessions for kids. There has been a team of people on the beach engaging with families. Various people spent time in the town centre talking to people about their thoughts about God. I spent one morning with them, walking up and down the high street (with a friend who was wearing an inflatable horse and cowboy suit) inviting people to our church ‘Wild West’ themed holiday club, which is happening this week. 

And several of us spent a week in the Scottish borders on an 11-14s camp, which despite the rain, exhaustion, and physical challenges, gave us so many opportunities to talk about Jesus. It was a joy to see teenagers think about the message of hope for themselves, but I am still recovering from the week! I haven’t been away for a break yet, although one of the delights of living here is that an ordinary day off by the sea can feel like an instant holiday.

There are always smaller everyday conversations to be had, with Christians and others, encouraging each other in what can seem like small ways but that can have a lasting impact. I am often not as bold as I should be, and there is a challenge to make more of our normal interactions with the people who “happen to be there”. 

I asked my midweek small group to pray with me a few months back that I would use the space in my house and the time in my week well. I have had so many opportunities to use the house I’ve been given – from hosting meals, to family holidays, from friends visiting the coast, to beach team volunteers, and even Christmas. 

Life still feels hectic at times. There are good days and bad days. I need to take my comfort from God’s faithful promises in the Bible, rather than the changeable attention of those around me. I am trying to recognise my own limitations, and think about how I can best use my free hours. I will undoubtedly make mistakes in every one of these things.

As I sit and look back, I can also look forward with confidence. I may not know what the next two years might hold, but I know that I face them with a loving church family, and an unchanging God.

Recognise what God has promised you

Life is hard.
  
Work is frustrating. People get sick. The car breaks down. Relationships are difficult. Kids act up. People we love reject Jesus. We have dark days. Many more things could be added to this list, but this is often the reality of our earthly experience. 
  
Too often we deal with sadness and disappointment by telling ourselves things will get better. We comfort ourselves and those around us in the face of struggles by saying things like “I’m sure it will get easier”, “tomorrow will be better”, or “the right thing is just around the corner”. 
  
I’m not saying it’s wrong to have a positive outlook – I do believe that looking for the rays of sunshine helps us to face many difficulties. But the problem with this kind of response is that it is not based on God’s truth as revealed in the Bible. This is empty, earthly philosophy and we should call it out. 
  
The Bible does not promise a pain-free life on this earth. If we put our faith in Jesus Christ for our salvation, we are not suddenly exempt from difficulties of various kinds. We need to have a right perspective if we are to trust the Lord in the face of life’s disappointments. We should encourage one another in our troubles, but we can do so with better words of truth that offer lasting comfort. 
  

  
God does have a plan for you. He knows every hair on your head. And his plans are for your ultimate good – that is, to make you more and more like Jesus himself. So recognise what God has promised you. Don’t put your hope in things that are not guaranteed – this is only setting yourself up for further disappointment. 
  
As children of God, we have a hope that is better than the ‘wishful thinking’ kind of hope. Let’s not confuse the two. Our real future hope is so certain – I was reminded before Christmas of the way the Bible often talks about these things of the future in the past tense, so certain are they of reaching their fulfilment. We’re trusting in our Father as we wait for promise to become reality, not biting our nails wondering if Jesus will come through. He already has. 
  
God’s word promises a wonderful eternity if we trust him. Isaiah 9 states there will be “no more gloom” because of the coming of God’s chosen one. One of my favourite passages in Revelation 21 looks ahead to the new heaven and new earth, promising us there will be “no more death or mourning or crying or pain, for the old order of things has passed away”.
  
And St Paul writes of the assurance of our future resurrection in 2 Corinthians 4: “Therefore we do not lose heart. Though outwardly we are wasting away, yet inwardly we are being renewed day by day. For our light and momentary troubles are achieving for us an eternal glory that far outweighs them all. So we fix our eyes not on what is seen, but on what is unseen, since what is seen is temporary, but what is unseen is eternal.”
  
This is where we need to fix our eyes. It is often hard. Sometimes my earthly situations just seem so all-consuming that I barely have the energy to focus on anything else. But we are told that these things are light and momentary when compared to our wonderful future hope. 
  
I said to a friend recently that God is in the business of making beautiful things out of the mess. We see glimpses of this in our lives, and we thank God for them. Relationships restored. Desperate situations turned around. People being brought from spiritual death to spiritual life. 
  
Our difficult situations don’t always last a lifetime, but they don’t always magically disappear. God does not promise to take it all away while we live on this earth. But he is at work in you now, and we can be assured that all pain will be removed in that glorious future. So be encouraged today, and recognise what God has promised you.

Great is his faithfulness

This week marks my first anniversary in Scarbados. Bring out the party rings!

One year ago, with a little help from my friends, I packed my life into three cars, and set off for the east coast. I am a self-confessed hater of change, yet there I was doing this voluntarily. Over the past year, it has seemed as though pretty much everything that could change, has. New church, new job, new friends, new house, even a new car.

I have always found writing a helpful way of processing my thoughts, and I set out with good intentions of writing regularly, but somehow over the past twelve months I have done a lot of thinking and not much writing. This has probably been helped by the many (many) hours I have spent driving. Easy to think, difficult to hold a pen.

There have been many new challenges to face, old fears to confront, and exciting things to experience. I have achieved goals I secretly thought were too grown-up for me, and tackled change with an uncharacteristically tough skin.

One thing that has kept me going when all the change has seemed too much is the RAFT framework used by missionaries preparing to transition (you can look it up!). The simple acronym – Reconciliation, Affirmation, Farewells, Thinking ahead to the destination – was immensely useful in preparing to leave well, but has also served to encourage me when I have been tempted to think it was a mad idea.

In all of the new things, the Lord has sustained me with new compassions daily: “Because of the Lord’s great love we are not consumed, for his compassions never fail. They are new every morning; great is your faithfulness.” (Lamentations 3:22-23)

And he has provided countless blessings along the way. I am grateful to the many brothers and sisters I left behind who have called, sent messages, prayed, written and visited. Two dear sisters in Christ have faithfully called almost every week. Of course it is important to put down new roots and not to pine after an old life, but it has been a great help to reflect on all these new experiences with those who already know me well.

The biggest blessing of all has been the provision of a new church family. I had met a few people here before the move, but I didn’t know anyone well. Yet the Lord has created a loving, sharing, serving community of people in the local church, and he is growing us all. From day one I have been overwhelmed by the generosity of this fellowship, from offering meals, conversation and advice, to accompanying me on house viewings and doing DIY.

We are called to live out our faith in community with others, in life’s ups and downs. Sometimes this seems easy, and sometimes it is a bit of a battle! But particularly when life throws us challenges, we can encourage each other that our eternal future is secure, and we are not facing our uncertain earthly future alone.

Whether the past twelve months have seemed a season of blessing or trial to you, take comfort and strength from the words of John Newton’s famous hymn, Amazing Grace:
“Through many dangers, toils and snares,
I have already come;
’Tis grace hath brought me safe thus far,
And grace will lead me home.”

You and I might not know what the next year (or even the next 24 hours) will hold, but we do know that he who calls us is faithful.

Parsley, sage, rosemary and thyme

One thing I've been surprised by since I started telling people I was going to Scarborough is how few of them have sung this song in response. But I've had 'songs of encouragement' in so many other ways in recent months.

I joked about moving to Scarborough after being given a copy of 'The Seafront Tea Rooms' by Vanessa Greene a couple of years ago. It's an ordinary work of fiction set on the North Yorkshire coast, but I'd often thought about going to join a smaller church in a Northern town so the setting was of special interest to me as I read. 

I first heard about Trinity Church Scarborough last November while constructing IKEA flat pack furniture for a friend. I tried to brush it off, but at the very next church prayer meeting we prayed about new church plants in Yorkshire, and our table was asked to pray for Scarborough. 

After sitting on it for a while, I started asking questions. I decided to keep pushing at the door until I came across a reason not to pursue it any further, but no reason came. I started applying for jobs and was offered one a couple of months later. 

That suddenly made it all seem real, and a bit more scary. I don't doubt that in the coming weeks and months I will find myself asking 'what have I done?', as the goodbyes and all the other changes take their toll.

But God has provided every step of the way, and I am sure he will continue to do so. So I'll keep putting one foot in front of the other, and leave the rest to him. 

In God's hands

I often find myself asking God what my earthly future holds, wanting to know what might happen to me, or to those around me. 
  
A friend gets an exciting new job and I wonder what my next career step will be. I watch a film where a boy and girl get their own happily ever after, and I wonder if that will happen to me. I see a friend have the courage to move to a new place, and I wonder where I might live one day. I often want to know the answers to these and I bring them to God. 
  

  
From my experience of trying to walk with the Lord, he doesn't generally tell us what he is going to do in the detail of life before he does it. So our calling is to trust in his faithfulness. In his faithfulness to us and to his promises as revealed in the Bible. There are things we are certain he will bring about. But there are lots of things in life that are less clear. God doesn't promise to tell us what he is going to do or when he is going to do it. But when we call to him wanting answers, we know he hears us and he cares. 
  
God does not necessarily mark out mini milestones for us to reach, like a baby toddling between pieces of furniture a few steps at a time, always looking for the next secure thing to grab hold of. But he holds us completely in his hands, like a parent with a newborn. 
  
A minister friend of mine once said that if we could see all the ups and downs in our lives before they came about, we would not have the strength to face them. God doesn't show us a roadmap of our earthly lives in advance. Instead, he calls us to trust him. 
  
We are called to take baby steps, and indeed giant leaps, not because we can see what's coming, but because he can, and he will never leave us. 

It's not about the broccoli

In case it’s not already highlighted in your diaries as the focal point of your month, 23rd March is Broccoli Appreciation Day (according to a highly official diary I was given several years ago).

Each year I insist on celebrating this feast day with friends, in what has essentially become a broccoli-themed Ready Steady Cook. There was the year of the broccoli and blue garlic appetisers, the time I tried chocolate truffles garnished with raw broccoli spears – and there’s usually some kind of pasta and broccoli bake to form the main carb component.

Despite all this, however, I actually have a small confession to make: I’m not that big a fan of broccoli. I mean, it’s ok (if you have ever cooked me broccoli, I’ve not been hiding it in my handbag or anything). As vegetables go, it’s quite tasty, and the little trees are quite cute.

But Broccoli Appreciation Day has come to be about more than just the broccoli. It’s an excuse to gather with others, to prepare and share a meal together, and to find fun in the everyday.

If broccoli really isn’t your thing, find something else. Find something that helps you connect with another human being, because we were made to relate to others.

Watching a film you could take or leave because a friend has no one to go to the cinema with. Saying yes to playing a sport you’re not that keen on because it’s a way to get alongside someone else who wants to. Getting involved with some DIY or wall painting for someone that just need doing.

Ultimately all these activities are just surface decoration. What matters most is what’s happening underneath them – the art of building community with other people, however small.

And if broccoli is really someone else’s thing, join in anyway, and if necessary, hide it in your handbag.

This post was also published on Those Lines.

It's going to be ok.

Usually when I wake up in the morning, as my alarm drags me into the day and I fight to keep my eyes open, I turn to social media to get the cogs turning and catch up with the world. Yesterday morning (9 November 2016), however, I hesitated before tapping the little Facebook icon. This was going to be a big one. 

I knew I needed to engage with some more ground-breaking realities first before facing the next mad thing of 2016, whichever way the US election had gone while I slept. So, I tapped the Bible app instead and sleepily listened to the first two psalms. 

These verses talk about what makes a person blessed, about delighting in the Lord, and about real wisdom. They refocus our gaze on the number one priority: being right with God and knowing him. 

Psalm 2 is particularly striking. It talks about people and leaders plotting against God, and yet how little we need to fear that. It reminds me of the story of the tower of Babel, where people want to demonstrate their own greatness by building a huge tower to the heavens, which ironically God has to come down to look at. Humans are always trying to make themselves great, to seek power and prove their worth. But this psalm makes it abundantly clear that God has already appointed his chosen king, greater than any earthly leader. It ends with a call to submit to that king, Jesus Christ, and celebrate his rule – for that is where true blessing lies. 

These truths are a great way to start any day, but they were particularly welcome yesterday. Armed with the truth of God's promises, I ventured into the online world, and was so very glad to have prepared my heart. There were so many messages of despair and people crying 'God help us' without any actual hope of his doing so. It made me sad to realise the hopelessness of so many who do not have the comfort of these words when world affairs do not go the way they would wish. Even those who were satisfied with the outcome would benefit from knowing this promise of a far better ruler. 

I'm so thankful to know that these words are true. It is a joy to be certain of Christ's future reign in the daily grind, but especially so to be assured on more momentous days that God is in control and will bring all things under the rule and authority of Jesus Christ. 

Psalm 2 says that in the face of the world's rulers plotting together, the One enthroned in heaven laughs. Most of us probably don't feel like laughing at the state of the world, whatever our reaction to this week's news, but the creator can scoff at these things. He has already chosen a much bigger and better king than even our favourite president. 

So don't place either your despair or your confidence in the leaders of the world. Leaders come and leaders go; nothing shocks the God who made them all. Instead, listen to the call of God's word, and look to that perfect ruler who lasts forever.

This post was also published on Those Lines.

Just so

I like things just so, and I like to get things right first time. I think I'm what they call a perfectionist. 

I put lots of time into getting something just the way I want it, I have set ways of doing things, and I agonise over seemingly simple decisions. I carefully plan and prepare. I pack for holidays using a list, check my car before a long drive, read and re-read instructions. 

If you're much like me, these probably sound like normal, sensible choices. But the more I interact with different people, the more I question why I do what I do. 

This was highlighted for me recently when driving with a passenger, and there was a car parked in the spot I usually use to manoeuvre. When faced with an unexpected choice in the car, some people go into panic mode; others just make a snap decision and stick with it. 

I will stop in the middle of the road to think about it (ahem...only if it is safe to do so).

I pack using a tried-and-tested list. Because I don't want to forget anything. And because I don't want to own up to having forgotten something.

I check my oil and tyre pressure. Because I don't want to break down, sure, but also because it's what I've been told to do, and if I do break down, I don't want it to be my fault.

I obsess over the detail of instructions. Because I don't want to make a mistake. I want to get it right on the first attempt, and I don't want to have to admit I misunderstood. 

My careful actions all work for the avoidance of regret, of shame, and of looking bad. In short, my perfectionism serves my pride – it is sin. 

I am proud of remembering things, having a clean record, and not missing details. These things might not seem like bad things, but when I hold my achievements and reputation more highly than the wise use of my time and more highly than the feelings of others (or, er, the Highway Code), there is clearly a problem. 

And it's a problem that seems impossible to fix by myself. The thought of letting go of these things is horrifying, and easy to reason away. But perhaps when I next make a mistake – I am still human, after all – I could start by holding my hands up and admitting I am not perfect. And little by little, my perfect Maker can change my heart.

Life in common

I shared some thoughts a while ago about the idea of community living and what that might look like for us today. Recently I had the opportunity to visit Hockerton Housing Project. I've been intrigued by the concept of living in community for a while, so when a last-minute space became available on a colleague's field trip, I took it. 

We spent an afternoon at this intentional eco-community of five households near Southwell, Nottinghamshire, whose aim it is to live sustainably. In many ways, Hockerton is what you might expect of an eco-community. The rooves have photovoltaic panels and there are two wind turbines on-site. The land is farmed for animals and fruit and veg. Rainwater is collected via the roof guttering and cleaned for drinking by three filters (UV, carbon and string), while water for washing is filtered through sand. Amazingly, the homes are naturally heated using a clever combination of the sun, triple-glazing, well-sealed doors and the fact that most of the house is covered by a hill (think Teletubbyland and you won't be far off). 

The view from the roof at Hockerton Housing Project

What's more, everything has a use – pigs turn the land over ready to be farmed, and non-decomposable car tyres are used all over the place for all sorts of novel purposes. There were also two different types of composting toilet – we may have only been there for a few hours, but naturally I tried them both. 

All of this was pretty interesting, being very different to the city life I am used to, but I wasn't convinced this way of living would be a practical possibility for the whole country to imitate. It was a huge financial investment to set up in the first place, with many legal and practical challenges. On top of that, I felt a sense of judgment towards those of us who live in less well-insulated houses with power showers and rooves made of slate rather than solar panels and old tyres. Having said that, it did get me thinking about ways in which we can minimally apply some of their principles even in the city, by considering our waste and shopping locally to reduce our food miles.

However, the thing I was most keen to ask the community members about was how it functioned from a relational aspect. Each family unit owns their own home, and the adults have outside jobs, but each household commits upon joining to give a minimum number of hours to the community and the business (be that farming, cleaning, or consultancy). Each brings their own skills to the community and the tasks are shared. 

There is a communal "vetting" system when one of the five houses becomes vacant, whereby members of the existing community assess a list of interested buyers. This seems fair enough, if you have to live together in such close proximity and work towards the same goals. Our tour guide did indicate that extroverts were preferable candidates for this kind of setup, but I think I know a good number of self-labelled introverts for whom community living among a small group of trusted like-minded fellows would be just the thing.

The Hockerton community has private family celebrations and shared community ones – for festivals like Christmas, Easter, Hanukkah, Bonfire Night and Halloween. I see this side of things already existing in our more geographically dispersed communities. We have our own gatherings for members of the family or household, and wider events of varying sizes for any excuse we can think of, be it birthdays, Christmas, or Broccoli Appreciation Day (23rd March). 

So, I'm still thinking about community. I wouldn't want to live in a place like this – I still prefer life in the city over the isolation of the country, and I'm not much good at gardening (and if I'm honest, the composting toilets did scare me a little). But it's given me some things to think about. To live in a more economically and environmentally sustainable way is more easily done in a team. And to truly share in life together, we have to be prepared to open our doors. 

Can't control the weather

Not long ago I had a mini epiphany (a little early, I know). I was out doing those final Christmas errands that unfortunately could not be accomplished from the safety and comfort of my own sofa. I was battling the winds and the rain, hauling parcels and awkwardly-shaped presents…

You know the feeling – too much to carry to hold up an umbrella, too windy for the umbrella to stay up anyway, face going numb from the cold, shops annoyingly spaced out so you have to do lots of walking in between them. All you want is to be back home, free from the bags, drying off, blanket up to your ears. 

I felt angry. Angry at the post office, at the supermarket, at the weather, angry at pretty much everything. I tried to pray about it – and let God know how frustrated I felt. And I realised there has only been one man who could control the weather. I’m not supposed to be able to.

We humans like to think we are in control of most things. For the most part, we can decide what things will happen, and when. We can shop online, watch TV on demand, fill our diaries with friends and plans. We prefer to be in the driving seat, and when things are outside of our control, we don’t like it much. When decisions are taken out of our hands, we cannot seem to stop worrying about them until they are resolved. Even trains delayed by ten minutes can cause us great angst.

There are some things we will never be able to control. We can’t control the weather. Which is why when Jesus calms a raging storm at sea by simply saying “be still”, we don’t need to be a first-century fisherman to understand the implications of this. He alone can actually control the weather. And he alone can control everything. Even the things we think we are in charge of, he has the final say over, because he made it all. 

This knowledge may not make the unpleasant things instantly easier, but it reminds us there is one who works in all things, whether or not we can comprehend it. And it reminds me that I should take my responses to these things to the one whose control is no illusion.

I built a house, and in it I put no goats, a piano and a hot tub

I’ve been doing some thinking about community. What does it look like to live in community with others? How can we demonstrate the all-in, sharing, giving, rejoicing community of the early church in Acts 2? 

Jesus instructed his followers to love each other with these words in John 3: “As I have loved you, so you must love one another. By this everyone will know that you are my disciples, if you love one another.” How can we live out this weighty command and show the world our Lord through the way we share our lives together?

How can individuals practise living as housemates and meaningfully care for one another without simply being strangers under one roof? Is it possible for families, couples and single people to live in community together? Can we have a real and relevant community that cares for its members and welcomes in outsiders?

I recently asked a few friends if they would ever consider living in some kind of modern commune. (Not the kind where you have to grow your own vegetables though, because I planted half a packet of sunflower seeds this year and succeeded in growing a grand total of one flower.) The first friend I consulted wanted to know if there would be goats. The second’s only condition was that there be a hot tub. And the third was very keen to have a piano. 

Is Christian community more a concept or way of living than a visible thing? Along the spectrum from buying a castle for everyone to live in, to always having an open front door and spare food in the freezer, what should it – or could it – look like today?

I would be really interested to hear your thoughts on some of these questions, to help us think more about the way we do community!

My solitary sunflower, or, how can we live and grow together?

Being grown up

It’s that birthday time of year in my family. A marker of another year that has passed, a year in which we’ve obviously all grown older and wiser, or something.

As a kid you look up at “the grown-ups” (anyone over the age of about 15, probably) and marvel at the grown-up-ness of their lives, imagining what your own version of it will look like when you finally get there. I think my version of grown-up me looked something like my Barbie, with lots of money and photogenic babies.

But growing up doesn’t happen overnight, and I’m beginning to suspect that maybe it doesn’t really happen at all. (Check out this cool little piece about grown-up dreams written by a good friend of mine a few months ago.)

When I was little, it seemed that grown-ups were the ones who could drive nice cars and who had to go to work, who enjoyed sitting around for hours just talking and telling younger people what to do. So I suppose I have reached this level of “maturity”!

I’m no longer always the youngest person in the room – with friends both older and younger, and the recent addition of a brand new little family member, there is a growing sense that I should probably know what is going on. (I don’t feel like I do, most of the time.)

In the world’s eyes we are adults now – but we still have child-like fears and dreams. Responsibility can be a burden, and sometimes we just want to forget everything and sing and play in the sunshine. Maybe the people we always thought were grown up have been pretending all this time too.

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If you haven’t heard it, have a listen to the song When I Grow Up from Matilda the Musical:

A simple reminder

“God is our refuge and strength, 
    an ever-present help in trouble. 
Therefore we will not fear, though the earth give way 
    and the mountains fall into the heart of the sea, 
though its waters roar and foam 
    and the mountains quake with their surging.”
---Psalm 46:1-3

It’s been a tough twelve months in some ways. There have been visible joys too, and lots of them – new friendships, good times with the family, visiting new places, celebrations, hope for the future. But difficult undercurrents – sad farewells, disappointments, the suffering of loved ones, returning patterns of anxiety, struggles with prayer and devotions – have run right through it.

And this morning, remembering this one to be a friend’s favourite, I picked up a Bible and opened it to this psalm. Resisting the urge the sing the Dambusters theme tune, while struggling to focus on much at all first thing in the morning, I read these first few verses over and over. 

This is a picture of a mighty refuge, an impenetrable fortress, strong in the face of absolute chaos. The highs and lows and comings and goings of our days, weeks, and years – however wonderful or distressing they may seem to us at the time – cannot shake the almighty strength of the Lord. 

Whatever joys or disappointments we face, God is constant. It’s not a deep, ground-breaking reflection, just a simple reminder of the truth. Sometimes that’s all we can take in, but it’s more than enough to carry us.

Spillage

Recently I’ve been made more aware of some of the ugly ways my natural pride and selfishness show themselves when I’m under pressure. I become irrational and uncooperative about making decisions when I’m tired. I snap aggressively at strangers (and not-so-strangers) when I perceive them to be criticising me. Someone pushes too many buttons and my patience cracks.

In each of these situations, it’s so easy to lay the blame with someone else. Why are they nagging me at the end of a long day? Stop invading my personal space! 

A friend shared the following illustration this week that had been passed on to him. Say there’s a glass full of water on the table. If you knock the glass, the water spills out. He compared this to the rebelliousness that lurks in the heart of each and every one of us (and which the Bible warns us of, e.g. in Mark 7, Romans 3).

But whether or not you knock the glass, the water is in there. I guess it’s the knocks that bring the water slopping out of the glass and making a mess on the table, or in your life (and the lives of those around you).

So what’s the solution? Putting the glass right in the middle of the table, far from other dishes and elbows? Of course not. We can’t avoid all “knocks” – whether these are in the form of stress, tiredness, difficult personalities, ill health, uncertainty, grief, or something else. It’s not practical, for a start. 

But it also doesn’t deal with the problem of the evil that dwells within us whether people see it or not. We know that our inner ugliness exists and that it needs fixing, but it’s often easier to ignore it, and blame others for the mess.

1 John 1:8-9 says this: “If we claim to be without sin, we deceive ourselves and the truth is not in us. If we confess our sins, he is faithful and just and will forgive us our sins and purify us from all unrighteousness.”

What a great promise in the face of our many and obvious failings. We need to keep on reminding each other of this amazing truth and encouraging one another to live it out!

The worst that could happen?

When I started to write this, I was about to go on holiday, and I was afraid. When we voice our fears, people often say, “what’s the worst that could happen?” And I suppose if my holiday fear was a fear of flying, or of becoming ill, then arguably the worst thing that could happen would, ultimately, be dying. And trusting in Jesus, death itself is not so bad after all, because something so much better follows.

But my fear is not of anything so tangible. My fear is of feeling anxious and afraid. Encouraging Harry in his anticipation of a Boggart Dementor in Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban, Professor Lupin says, “that suggests that what you fear most of all is – fear. Very wise.” But fear can soon become a vicious circle, what David Powlison of the Christian counselling ministry CCEF described in a talk on anxiety and panic as “the fear of the fear of the fear”. 

Dr Pepper: what's the worst that could happen?

When feeling suffocated with anxiety and panic, and somebody says “what’s the worst that can happen?” – the answer is “this”. This is the worst that can happen, because the fear very quickly becomes out of control, until you feel sick and dizzy and you can’t think about anything else. The anticipation of the worst happening actually brings it about.

But it drives me to bring it to God in prayer. Tonight a friend read this verse:
“those who hope in the LORD
    will renew their strength.
They will soar on wings like eagles” (Isaiah 40:31).
And it reminded me that, weak as we are, it is God who empowers us to continue. So this is my challenge: to learn to soar, relying on the strength only God can supply.