an affinity with King George 6th

I sometimes feel an affinity with King George VI.  He was a man who never thought he'd be King; he was a shy man, not comfortable with being in the limelight; more suited to a quiet life as a husband and father.  As well, he had a stammer and a lisp, so when he knew he was to be King, it must have caused him the odd anxious moment.  In the end, he was a calm, kind King, with much integrity and an overriding love for his people.  He was victorious over his stammer and spoke on many occasions, in public and via radio. 

But as he steeled himself for one more public appearance, I'm sure he must have thought sometimes, that he was not suited or gifted for the job he had to do. 

I feel like this at times.  I'm still working, when I never thought I'd have to after I was married. And I'm working in a job for which I'm neither gifted or particularly like.  I'm a bookkeeper, and I don't like Maths or numbers. I wonder what I should do about it, since I've lately discovered so many other gifts which I do have, and which fit me for Ministry in the Christian church.

I have to work out if I want to keep on for another 6 years, doing a job I don't like, but is safe, or take the plunge and have a go at ministry, albeit part time.  How can I possibly decide this?  I may be gifted for ministry, but I'm still on my own and I have no backup.  The workload would be great, and there would be no one at home to commiserate, when things go wrong, or the workload gets a bit much. I don't have a lot of stamina and I would still be doing all the home stuff.  I'd be "on call" even as a part time person.  No idea what to do.  In the past, I've felt like this, and done nothing;  kept on in a job I hated.  It ended as badly as anything ever has in my working life, and I've had quite a bit of trauma to compare it to. 

If you keep doing the things you've always done, you'll get the same as you've always gotten... or words to that effect. Tempting to chance my arm. Tempting to step in faith and let God take the slack.  But will he do that?  He never has before, in my life. Yet, when he calls people, he rarely gives them all the resouces and set of circumstances, before they go;  he calls them to follow;  he doesn't pack the bags first!  Yet, he equips the inner person and that's a different thing altogether. 

Do I want to be still at a bookkeeping job, being under-valued and made to feel second best, for another 5 years?  Will I be sorry I didn't give it a go?  Could I keep going in this job and take on Ministry after I retire?  Good grief Suse!  You want to stop now, not go on til you are 70!  I couldn't have time for my family if I do that - I'd still be working!

Hmmm.....thinking thinking

Being a christian, is very difficult

At this moment, right now, as I think once again, on my shattered life, I wish somehow I could be healed. I know God is the only one who can and I have honestly, consistently and regularly brought all the hurts to his suffering Divinity and asked for Him to understand and heal.  Yet, I am still conscious of all the wounds and fragile soul-flesh which can't seem to heal this side of heaven.  Maybe I should give the whole faith thing away;  stop trying to connect with God;  stop trying to her God;  stop trying to please God.  I'm tired of trying to work it out - tired of trying to find answers to unanswerable questions. 

And I'm tired of being patronised by trite, hubbly-jubbly Christians who feel they know more than I do about the unanswerable questions, despite the fact they've nevewr actually faced any of them in their own lives.

I suppose I shouldn't be looking back over my life so much - I'm so disappointed with so much of it.  So many sad, hard years.  I've taken my eyes off Jesus and can only see the muddy footprints of the sorrow and conflict. I know I have to accept how it isw. I know I can't keep counting my broken dreams or it will conquer and defeat me.  But how?  Thankfulness.  Count my blessings.  That's harder to do now because I've done it so much over the years - after each new trauma or injustice or anxiety.  I've picked myself up, given thanks for what I have, and kept going. 

But, at the moment, I feel like I'm only half-way up the mountain;  there's still such a long climb, yet in strength terms, I'm an old lady.  And I think of the next hurdle;  of getting to 65, so I can finally give up work and it feels like I've got this huge burden to carry up the mountain.  That burden is the grief and loss I've carried over the years.  I've shouldered it and kept going.  And I know God has helped me with that - at least spiritually.  But he's not helped much in practical, tangible terms.  That sounds ungrateful and arrogant.  But I can't pretend all those years of marrying a horrible man; of working double time, betrayal, frugal living, losing Ben, being bullied.... I can't pretend all that hasn't happened.  It bloody did happen.  And I have to carry the damage it did.

I feel, at this moment, like John the Baptist, waiting in the gloom and filth of the prison, asking the Christ "Are you the one, or should be expect another?".  And the disciples answer John. 

But Christ doesn't rescue John.  And he's never rescued me. And he won't rescue me now, from the trudge of working til I'm old. I'm sick of God's discipline.  I want to stop following.

love for others

A few weeks ago, in church, our youth group shared their experiences of their recent visit to Tonga.  All the "born here" aussies said how confronting the poverty and scant resources were.  They were not used to dirt floors, cooking fires outside the buildings, basic bathroom facilities and many other inconveniences. They were not used to eating, sleeping and living in a very small house, with only a few rooms.

One young man however, did not feel this.  He was a recently-arrived refuge from Sudan.  He told how the conditions in Tonga made him yearn for his homeland.  He spoke briefly of his homesickness and my heart yearned along with him.  I felt his pain. I felt great compassion for him.  I prayed for God to ease the sorrow of separation he feels for his home.  Perhaps he has family who are still in Sudan.

I have never been a refugee; never had to flee my beautiful Australia;  never had to leave family behind in a beloved, but broken and conflicted land.

Sometimes I don't feel loved by God.  Sometimes, I feel punished by Him.  Yet, when my heart ached for this young man's alienation and sorrow, I knew that this was God's doing.  Of myself, why would I feel another's grief or suffering?  Love is from God, and when we love others, or cry with them because of their suffering, God is there, in that space, with both of us.http://wwuca.unitingchurch.org.au/

I've been watching Miss Fisher's Murder mysteries on the abc.  I love to see the beautiful clothes the main character wears.  I was thinking today, that when I get to heaven, I will be able to wear whatever clothes I like;  they might be made from the finest silk with exquisite design and cut;  beautiful soft drapy clothes with lovely colours and accessories.  And there won't be any pain or suffering in my world there, so I will be able to indulge my penchant for beautiful clothes, to my hearts delight, because there will not be the need to give my money instead, to mothers who have not enough food for their children, or villages which have no fresh water, or fathers who can't afford to send their children to school.

But then I thought that really, the clothes I wear in heaven, will be all the treasures I've gathered on earth;  I will be sartorial in all the faith I've kept, the kindness I've done;  the kind words I've spoken;  the times when I've turned away wrath with a gentle reply;  the times I've forgiven those who have hurt me;  there will be thousands of garments to choose from, all spun from the gold and precious stones which I've collected on my earthly journey. 

God in dark valleys

All of us have times in our lives when we pass through a very dark valley.  Some of us walk them over and over;  some of us have enduring sorrows or illness which impact us every day. We cope in different ways.  In all our dark days, God wants to be there to walk through the valley with us. 

For some, this presence is very real, in the person and spirit of Jesus;  for others whose experience of God has perhaps been overlaid with some kind of alienating experience (often from the organised church or some prattling Christian who offers trite advice and bible verses, without any empathy with suffering);  for these, the presence of God is not so clear.  But God is still there.  It might be in the kind word of a nurse who listens as we endure a long night of pain or bewilderment;  it might be an act of kindness from a stranger;  it might even be through some worldly advice.  I heard recently of a person who was at the end of his own resources being told, “tie a knot in the rope, and hang on”.  God is there in all that, and more.  Lord of compassion, give us obedience today, to deny our own egos and let your love and care, pass to those we meet today. Give us humility, so we can see you in the faces of those who suffer.

quince and orange jelly

I made quince and orange jelly today.  It's quite labourious;  lots of chopping of the fruit and simmering until it becomes pulp.  While it's simmering, you have to skim all the frothy stuff which rises to the surface.  I'm not sure what this is, but if you leave it in there, it stays there when you bottle the jelly and makes it cloudy or sits on the top.  It's not desirable to have this frothy stuff in the jelly.  It's the simmering process brings the impure froth to the top of the syrup and I was thinking that this is not unlike suffering in the life of a Christian, or indeed anyone.  The suffering is what brings the impure dross to the top of our souls, and then God can cleanse it away.... we can see it for what it is and choose to discard it. 

We don't like to suffer, or have bad stuff happen.  But it often does.  But I know, that like when I skimmed the froth off the simmering quinces, so, as we struggle with bad stuff like sorrow, conflict, suffering and anxiety, God is able to skim off the dross of our lives, as we become more pure;  more transparent;  more able to have the light of God's love reflected and discovered in the quickened, clear, rich depths of our soul's house.

That's a good thing;  that's a good thing, coming as a result of a bad thing.  Good one, God.

losing a son

I want to sell Ben's jacket;  his leather one.  It's painful touching it, knowing he wore it.  Too painful to write down.  There are so many pathways to the grief of losing him, and sometimes I'm forced into walking down one of them; like when I look at his stuff.  But I keep rejoicing

But you know, sometimes, while I realize that this can be a healing mechanism, sometimes it's only with my mind I'm rejoicing;  the brokenness of my emotions, my heart, my spirit, my life's drive-wheel, knows no such rejoicing.

In that part of me there is still the savage screaming voice of the embedded grief.  And I don't know how to heal that, except to say to the tortured, suffering Christ "Look on me and have mercy, as you had mercy on the criminal who hung beside you on your cross".

Lord Jesus, live in my heart today.  I discovered after Ben's death it's the only way I can live trimphantly and happily.  The only thing that really enables me to live with the grief and pain is to keep my eyes on the suffering Jesus, knowing he has suffered too, and invite him to my spirit and heart.  He walks with me then, and while the darkest hours, are not kept from me,  I'm sure He knows the ones to stop because He knows when it would be too much - the darkest hours have a light and a peace which co-exists with the sorrow.

The journey of grief is a long one, sometimes traversing through places which I've had to travel over and over.  But it's easier than it was.  I have great expanses of time when I'm fine. 

But I am still sometimes plunged into dark valleys where no sun shines and all I can see is my lovely boy's corpse in it's new coffin.  The myriad distressing circumstances of his death come back to me, and I am assailed again with  grief which breaks afresh on my bowed head.

It's then Jesus, the suffering one, wordless, walks with me.  These episodes always pass and I'm in the sun again.

What helps  is to remember to give thanks for his life - to give thanks for all he was;  the humour, the steadfastness, the love he had for me;  the quirks of personality which made him uniquely him.  It doesn't take the pain away, but it helps to provide a foothold to climb out of the darkness.  Sometimes, the really sad thoughts now act as a sort of warning bell "ding ding.  You're sinking into self pity Suse.  Use the rope of thankfulness to climb out" 

So I'm not denying the grief, or running from it, but I'm not letting it swamp me.  I'm facing it, but in my own time and with much thankfulness.