I love that God created us with memories.
I love being able to take myself back to visit places, see faces and hear songs.
I love that feeling when you remember something wonderful whether it’s a hilarious moment, a fabulous food or a great conversation.
I also love that certain things or places hold special significance to us because of a memory. There’s a cold little bedroom in a cottage in North Wales that I remember fondly because of time spent with my sisters. There’s a sofa in a sitting room in North London that reminds me of getting to know my now husband. There’s a climbing frame in a field full of trees that remembers the many conversations, problems and playtimes of two little girls. There’s a dingy performing arts studio where I listened to, talked and ate with God. There’s a little blue Nissan Micra that has heard many, many prayers and conversations and seen many tears. As I write those examples pictures and words come rushing back to me. And I feel as if I’m back in those places. Saying and hearing those things. With those people. And even though a little blue Micra and a cold bedroom aren’t the most beautiful of places, places where you’d expect to have wonderful memories, they are places which make me smile and remember time spent with people and lessons learned.
I love the thought that for someone a small, navy sofa in a 2 bed flat in the village of Goring on Thames might hold that significance. I want to make my home and my company things which make people remember. Not for the beauty of my home or the sparkle of my wit (though obviously those are both present!) but for the time spent together, the lessons learned, the prayers prayed, the tears cried and the laughter that bounced off the walls. I want to be a God-glorifying, world-beautifying part of memories and lives.
Father, give me grace to be so.
Author: ruthvandenbroek
Staying home changes the world.
‘You do not go home to hide from the world, you go home to change it.’
Read the rest of Rachel Jankovic’s post here.
Baby Steps
‘When a baby takes its first steps, everyone celebrates. They don’t ask why he’s not jogging round the park. In the same way, instead of beating ourselves up for what we can’t do, perhaps we can celebrate the things we can: no matter how insignificant these appear.’
Emma Scrivener makes a whole lot of sense. Read the rest of her blog post here.
It’s a simple enough rule…
1 Samuel 6 – The Philistines are struck down with plagues after capturing the ark of the LORD. They can’t deal with it so send the ark to Beth-Shemesh. This is a Levitical town and so these folks should really know what to do and not do with the ark. But they don’t: vs 19 – ‘And [God] struck some of the men of Beth-Shemesh, because they looked upon the ark of the LORD.’
It’s a simple enough rule: don’t look into the ark of the LORD. In those days, to look at the mercy seat was to ensure death. Now to look at the mercy seat (Jesus) ensures life. It’s a simple enough rule.
Renewing my mind, tiny bit by tiny bit.
Count your blessings. It’s a phrase and an idea that’s been around for a long time. It’s associated with Christians or with so called old-fashioned values. I guess that puts rather a stigma on it but in reality it’s one of the best things a person can do.
I recently started reading a book called One Thousand Gifts. I’m not very far through it yet but it’s autobiographical in tone and in it the author has just started a list of one thousand things she’s thankful for. One thousand gifts. Most of them are so simple. But in reading the book I’ve found myself noticing more things as gifts. And by noticing, I’m crediting someone. I’m being thankful for those gifts.
I’ve been having trouble with the internet connection to my laptop but yesterday and today it has worked perfectly. I often take these sorts of things for granted by actually speedy internet connection is a gift.
As is the smell of my new scented candle.
And the look of the room after I’ve just tidied it.
The crumbly, tasty crust of the freshly baked bread I bought today.
The centimetre my amaryllis has grown in the last two days.
The gentle ticking of the clock in the corner.
The stars shining brightly in the dark sky.
The smell and shine of furniture polish.
The worn leather binding on my copy of Jane Eyre.
The ping of my phone as I receive a text.
See, I’ve done it. It’s very easy. It’s just takes a little time to think and a desire to be thankful and you have a whole new way of looking at the world. I like my world this way. I pronounce it to be good. Because this way, the good outweighs the bad and you notice it. If I just stick to noticing the big things then it doesn’t feel so happy. I don’t like the big, scary things of illness and not having a job and not knowing where my life’s going to go and feeling scared. But if there’s a hundred, a thousand, a million little good things in between the big bad ones, I want to start noticing them. Because I like to live in a world that is good. A world that is blessed. A world that is given to me. A world created by a God who loves His children.
So, Ruth, this is what you need to do. Take notice. And give thanks. For every tiny bit.
Reason to breathe
As I’ve got more ill over the past few weeks it’s been more difficult to breathe. Sometimes I just sit and have to concentrate on breathing in and breathing out. I’ve got to admit, at times like these it’s hard to believe that there’s a reason for all this. I’m pretty sure there is but it sure ain’t fun.
People often ask me how I stay positive or how I keep going. My answer is that there is no choice. I can’t just give up. I have to keep going and I may as well be positive about it most of the time.
Having said that, there are times when the last thing I feel like doing is being positive. Especially over the last 2 weeks as I’ve been back in hospital. I’ve had times when I’ve been so angry at everything, at my illness, at my pathetic lungs, at my lot in life and, yes, even at my God for allowing this all to happen. At least, for allowing this to happen to me. It’s easy to feel sorry for someone else when they’re ill but then you move on with your life and it doesn’t actually affect you that much. But when it’s you, that’s a whole different thing. And you have big questions that you think deserve answers right here, right now. And not getting those answers is hard. Really hard. But you have to keep going. You have no choice. You can’t just give up. And you may as well be positive about it.
And so when I sit there struggling to breathe, I need to remember that Jesus has been here first. That he struggled to breathe because he was dying on a cross for the sins of other people. That it was part of the plan for him and it sure wasn’t fun. And that I’m struggling to breathe because I too am part of that great plan. No, I’m not dying for the same reason but I can still stand with Jesus and say, ‘Father, not my will but yours be done.’ And I can say that knowing that his will is far greater and better than mine. I don’t know why right now but someday I will and I have no doubt that I’ll look back and exclaim with wonder and joy, ‘THAT was my reason to breathe.’
Sometimes you just need to be reminded…
That’s My King!
I was reminded of this by Claire Sims. It’s utterly wonderful. Watch, listen and praise The King.
The Valley of Vision
Lord, high and holy, meek and lowly,
Thou hast brought me to the valley of vision,
where I live in the depths but see Thee in the heights;
hemmed in by mountains of sin I behold Thy glory.
Let me learn by paradox that the way down is the way up,
that to be low is to be high,
that the broken heart is the healed heart,
that the contrite spirit is the rejoicing spirit,
that the repenting soul is the victorious soul,
that to have nothing is to possess all,
that to bear the cross is to wear the crown,
that to give is to receive,
that the valley is the place of vision.
Lord, in the daytime stars can be seen from deepest wells,
and the deeper the wells the brighter Thy stars shine;
let me find Thy light in my darkness,
Thy life in my death,
Thy joy in my sorrow,
Thy grace in my sin,
Thy riches in my poverty,
Thy glory in my valley.
~ Arthur Bennett
On illness, marriage and traffic jams
As of yesterday David and I have been married 11 weeks. It feels like a very long time although I do realise we’re still very much novices! One of the reasons it feels so long is that we seem to have gone through a fair amount in those 11 weeks. People call the first year of marriage the honeymoon period and often expect that nothing bad will happen in that time if not a lot longer. And for lots of people this is true. But I’m one of those people who feel old at things fairly quickly. I’ve had certain struggles that not many people have to face this young and those have carried on into marriage and have got harder for both of us in a short space of time. I’m always ill at some level but I’ve been pretty ill for 8 of our 11 weeks and continue to be so. Nobody really knows why this is happening and this brings the uncertainty about our earthly future that we’ve always felt quite strongly even more close to home.
It’s an amazing thing when you believe in something so wonderful that you totally trust for the future. I walked down the stairs today and heard my two favourite Davids discussing how envious they were of the way I’ll realise a bit more than them just how fabulous the New Creation will be. ‘Just imagine how it will feel for her to run and breathe deeply without coughing.’ Haha, boys. There are perks of CF after all.
It never ceases to amaze me how when things are hard our Father’s care shows more deeply and shines more brightly. The small things are often the most amazing. Today we were coming back from visiting my parents and I wasn’t feeling great at all and was very keen to get back. We saw a sign on the M25 that warned us of an accident and therefore delays. I groaned inwardly and prepared myself for a very long trip. Soon we got to a point where the road splits and one lane separates from the other two. They were all pretty busy so David picked the one that separates and we settled ourselves down for a wait. But then our lane picked up speed and we travelled fast while the other two lanes were totally stationary. Eventually we passed the accident that had totally blocked the other two lanes and it was obvious that they weren’t going to be moving for a good long while. I looked at David and told him he’d picked a good choice of lane. David turned to me and said, ‘No, your Heavenly Father just knew that it wasn’t good for you to be in a car longer than you needed to today.’
The past 11 weeks have given me more proof (as if I really needed it) of how much God loves me. I never expected to be married. I never had a great view of myself anyway but add CF to the mix and I thought I was the last person that any man would ever choose. But then, with God’s prompting and in His plan, David came along. I never thought I would hear any man promise ‘in sickness and in health.’ But then, in God’s mercy, I did. And even in 11 weeks that’s already been tested. When they say marriage is hard, they’re not joking. Even after 11 weeks I can testify to that. But when they say that marriage is worth it, you’d better believe it. Because it’s so true.
God is good and there’s no denying it.
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