Rain is in the air. I can feel it, feel the dampness around. I can see it, see the huge, dark clouds rolling in overhead. I can almost taste it. It’s there. A few moments ago the sun was brightly shining, making me believe in Spring. Now it has gone. I sit and watch the washing bounce around. It was sunbathing, now it is engaged in a swift, moving dance. I’ve learned things in life. I know that if I leave the washing, it will get wet and need to be done again. Blessed experience! Saving work, saving time, saving my temper for something more worthwhile.
But I haven’t really learned. I sit for just a moment longer. Just one more moment, savouring my comfy chair, my tasty fruit drink, my book and the images that fly before me, my washing’s crazy dance. And then I see it. The darkening of tiny spots on the patio. More appear and I leap up, abandoning my comfort for practicality. I do my own crazy dance, joining the washing in creating movement. Perhaps it’s not stageworthy but it adds to my own dance of life. It’s in, mostly dry. And I go back to my chair, my drink and my book. Adding more washing to the pile and more experience to my life.
Author: ruthvandenbroek
On colds, worlds and Glory
I’m sitting on a chair in the living room. I’ve just got dressed. It was a huge effort, much bigger than it should have been. I can’t speak. At least, when I try to nothing more than a croak comes out. My ears are misbehaving so that sounds seem more distant than I know they really are. I feel like I’m in a different world. My own private world. It’s lonely and it’s me-centred.
I don’t imagine that anyone likes being unwell. No, me neither. For one thing, it’s so annoying. Doesn’t my body know that I have things to do? Surely worlds will stop when I’m not there doing my bit. I am very important. Or perhaps not. Perhaps everything will carry on without me. It seems to be doing fine while I’m here sitting on my chair.
Well, ok. Maybe life doesn’t stop. But what about my opinions? I can’t speak, can’t enter conversations. I have things to say, worlds to change by my words, people to influence. But maybe they’re better off without my words. Maybe more of my words tear down than build up.
Being ill comes as a sharp reality check. Even though I know that my plans for myself aren’t guaranteed, it’s always a bit of a shock when God’s plans are different. When I have to cancel those dinner plans. Miss seeing those people. Keep those thoughts to myself.
Being ill tears down the wall of pride and self-importance that I like to build. Oh, I’m pretty quick at building it but God breathes and it crumbles beneath his glorious plans. I don’t like to see it crumble. In fact, I get pretty cross about the whole affair. Sure, I know what I’m supposed to do. I know the thank you prayers I’m supposed to pray. But seeing my wall fall down hurts. Every time.
Being ill pushes me along the path to Glory. It’s not a gentle push. It’s more like a poke with a cattle prod. I often try to resist it but, God be praised, he’s a lot stronger than I am.
I say this stuff. I believe this stuff. But I’m not sure that before I’m made new and perfect, before I meet Jesus I’ll even begin to really understand this. But as I sit here on my chair, I don’t have to understand it. I know that Glory is coming, and I’m getting a preview right now.
Beauty on a Friday Afternoon
‘In his cross, Jesus glorified God and the Father glorified him. In the hour of the cross, Father and Son displayed their mutual glory.
At the end of ages, when we at last receive permission to pull back the tent curtain to peer at the glory, the scene that will greet us will not be what we expect. Enthroned above the cherubim is a mangled man hanging from a Roman cross. That, John assures us, is the radiant beauty of God.’
Read the rest of Peter Leithart’s post here.
A Poem To Sum Up My Current State Of Health
If you can keep your health when all about you
Are coughing, sneezing and infecting you;
If you can say things loud when others whisper
And use those vocal cords as if they’re new;
If you don’t have to drink honey and lemon
Or blow your nose and feel there is no end
Or gargle lots of tepid, gross salt water
I tell you this, I envy you, my friend!
Holidays are good things.
We relaxed.
We slept.
We played games.
We watched films. And lots of Frasier episodes.
We read fun books. Informative books. Crazy books. Theology books.
We sung Psalms. And other, less biblical songs.
We ate great food. And lots of it.
We saw beautiful creation. And marvelled at the Creator.
We welcomed 2 new members into our family holidays. And a dog.
We wept at the death of an extended family member. And thought about eternity.
We got to know each other better. And in doing so, we strengthened relationships.
We fell in love with God all over again.
Holy days indeed.
Why Write?
I’ve been thinking about writing. About the process. About the reasons. And about the wisdom. As so often happens, when I start thinking seriously about something that topic comes up in a variety of different places. Today alone I’ve heard or read these things. They are not only challenges but encouragements.
– We need to be passionate about words. Why? Because God is all about Words. The Father speaks the Word. The Son is the Word. And the Spirit helps us to understand the Word.
– We need to be masters of our language. Why? Because we are to speak to the world. We present the gospel in words. And because words are a gift and a tool to be used and wielded.
– A writer can come from anywhere. Someone with the right words can make a boring day more interesting than an intrepid explorer who can’t string two words together.
– Writing changes the world. Every word spoken changes the world. How much more will the written word do so? Even if only one person reads something, their life will be changed by it.
– Writing can help people to access things inside themselves they didn’t even know existed. It can also help to remind people.
– We write for future generations. Peter Leithart says this (and more): ‘We fix what we know in a written text so that the unborn will have cause to worship. Every written text is a prayer book, a missal and a breviary for the future.’
As Christians, seeing the beauty and power of the written word is so important. It’s a great gift and one, like all gifts, that we need to strive to master for the glory of the King.
A Tale Of Two Mothers
Usually, mothers’ (mothers, mother’s?) day comes around and I celebrate one mother. She’s worth celebrating, my Mum. And I have no idea just how much she is worth celebrating. I remember lots about my childhood. I remember simple things. Birthday parties, bedtime stories, Sundays, pretty dresses, school days, picking flowers in the garden. I remember hard things. I remember trips to the hospital, day after day being ill and tired. And in nearly every memory, Mum is there. She’s there planning the parties, reading the stories, cooking the lunches, making the dresses and arranging the flowers. She’s with me at every hospital visit, holding my hand through the blood tests and hugging me when I cry. I simply can’t imagine life without her. She is a child of God and lives it out beautifully and wholeheartedly. I know no woman I respect more, love more, cherish more or would be more proud to call Mum. She is kind, generous, funny, wise, skilled and beautiful.
I love you Mum. Thank you for all that you are and all that you do.
This year, I get to see and celebrate another mother who is close to me as well. Sarah, my big sister is all grown up with a baby of her own. It’s been a privilege watching her become a new person, learn new lessons, take on a new role. I didn’t realise the sacrifices that a Mum makes for her child until I saw it up close in the next generation. And I’m seeing it. I get to watch and marvel at motherhood in the trenches. It’s a hard, dirty thing. And it commands my respect. I’ve seen in a tiny way the sheer beauty of a mother loving her child. And it’s awesome. I’ve seen a bit of the pain of motherhood and shared in some of the delights. It makes my heart glad to watch Sarah loving her son and to watch him loving her back. The moment I walked into the bedroom and saw a 3 hour old Charlie, I knew that I’d never get my sister back in the same way. But I got a new woman, transformed in beautiful and wonderful ways. She is perfectly suited to the role of mother and takes it on to the glory of her King.
I love you Sarah. Thank you for all that you are and all that you do.
Being Saved From Morbid Introspection
One of the things that I struggle most with is not feeling busy enough. I try not to mention it to other people too often since it’s a) not a common struggle and b) one that people actually want to have. But for me it’s a struggle. One of the biggest problems is that I’m usually teetering along the edge on the chasm called Morbid Introspection and when I don’t have enough to do, I fall in. Some people like to poke around in other people’s dirty linen. I like to hang my own out, have a look at it, stress over it and then put it away without washing it. And I don’t have to tell you that this is not healthy .
For me, it’s fairly easy to see the sins in my own life but very hard to deal with them. I just sit and look at the big pile of sins in front of me and get all sad about how horrible I am, depressed about how I’ll never be worth anything and then get distracted by something else and forget for a bit before I walk into the big pile again and it starts over.
Part of this is a self-worth thing. Not that I need a good opinion of myself but I’ve obviously forgotten God’s opinion of me. That’s a really stupid thing to do. Yes, I’m horrible, no, I’ll never amount to anything by myself but Jesus is amazing and I’ll amount to something through him. That’s what counts.
Grace really does save my daily life. Imagine just how awful it would be if there was no antidote to my periods of Morbid Introspection. I’d be stuck thinking about myself forever. But instead I get to think about Jesus. And know that because of him I don’t need to stress about my pile of sins. He’s pretty good at clearing things up around here.
6 months.
New world, new people, new purposes. A lot changed six months ago as we said ‘I will.’ 2 little words changed us, changed our lives, changed our identities. And it’s a lot to get to grips with. Six months in, I still haven’t got it. Maybe it’s because I’m a slow learner, I’ll be the first to admit that. Maybe it’s because these changes are hard. Or maybe it’s because these changes never really stop still, never give you a minute to get used to them.
There have been hard changes. I always knew that would happen. I sat in a hospital room with a wall between me and my husband. A wall of physical pain and emotional pain with the question Why? written all over it in capital letters. I watched relationships change and knew that I’d never be able to get the old ones back. I had my daily schedule interrupted, my habits questioned and my property shared. Petty, perhaps, but still harder than you might think.
But I’ve tasted goodness in new ways. God pronounced his creation to be very good. And so do I. This thing works. We’re still babies. We can’t colour in the lines. We can’t look after ourselves. We can’t even walk without falling over. But we’re growing. We’ll never get there, whatever ‘there’ might be, but we’re noticing the growing and that counts. I believe in God’s grace now more than ever. I understand Jesus’s death now more than ever. I feel the Spirit working now more than ever. In just six months.
It’s funny how you think you know what’s coming and yet what actually comes is so different and so much more glorious than you thought. It’s funny how small our minds are. I’ve been given a glimpse of something more and something greater. I’m living this bride thing in a more tangible way than I was. And the beauty of it scares me. How can I do this? This bright, beautiful, wonderful, pure thing? And yet the very one who asks me to be his bride helps me to become his bride. I see love lived out in front of me and it helps me become lovely. I see purity lived out in front of me and it helps me become pure. I see strength and kindness and laughter and weeping and prayer and in those things I am changed.
It is a new world. I have a new calling. I’m to be a new person. I have a new person to die for and a new one to live for. I’m to breath a new breath of life and live it out. Here I am.
Thank you, David.
I love you.
On parenting. Or not.
I know, I know. I’m a young girl who’s been married for all of 5 months and I have zero children and therefore know nothing about parenting. If that’s what you’re thinking, you’ve almost got it. I certainly don’t claim to know much about being a parent. But I know an awful lot about not being one. I’ve had 22 years experience. 6 of those have been in the knowledge that in all likelihood I’ll never know about being a parent from first hand experience. And, to be honest, that stinks. I’m not talking about a little bad smell here. I’m talking gut-twisting stink. Since I was 16 I’ve had to face up to the fact that I’ll probably never hold my own child, never hear anyone call me Mummy, never be able to make my husband a Dad, never get to use the list of favourite baby names I’ve had stored up for years and all the rest.
Since getting married it’s got both harder and easier. Easier because I never thought I would be married and so being given this gift is good enough for me – I certainly don’t expect any more. Easier because I’ve been a lot more ill and so the reality of how I simply couldn’t care for a baby hits home more. Harder because I have a real, great person to add into the sentence ‘never be able to make my husband a Dad’. Harder because having babies is what married people do. Harder because people make comments about it now.
There’s not many situations I like less than the one in which I’m having a conversation with a parent and they’re trying to make me feel better by telling me how much money or time or energy or effort their children cost them. It’s not fun for me and it’s not fun for the child standing beside them.
I suppose one of the biggest things about being a mother is the giving love. I suppose that in every woman/person there’s a desire to give giving love. There are ways to live giving love to other people but in no way are those comparable to the way in which you live giving love to your child. Maybe that’s why there’s an emptiness in childlessness. They say that you have to love to feel pain. Maybe giving love hurts as much when you can’t express it.
I don’t know. I don’t have solutions. I don’t have answers. I know there’s hard things about being a parent and hard things about not being a parent. I can’t sort those out. Stuff hurts sometimes. But I guess the important thing to remember is that it’s ok for stuff to hurt. We can be sad. We can cry. As long as we do it with Jesus in sight. But the best thing is that he doesn’t let us be sad and cry on our own. He’s there with us. And he knows what it’s really like for stuff to hurt.
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