Posts Tagged ‘Prayer’

Morning Stream of Consciousness

April 12, 2012

It’s 8 am and the house is quiet. I have come to sit in the conservatory where it is still cool.  A pigeon, sleek and streamlined passes high over the field, swift on the morning air. The sky is festooned with billowy clouds and there’s the hint of showers, yet the sun ascends with some grandeur above the hill to the east drenching the landscape’s young greenness with new light.

“Oh to be free to fly!”

At this moment I am free. Though not to fly, to abide in this dynamic moment’s peace!  At eye level, atop a bank of deep earth, is vivid April grown grass. Pre-flowering, the sward is swords of emerald. Each tip is crowned with a dew drop. Bright, silver diadems. So vital, so temporal, so holy. 

The air is mobile with birdsong.

.Everything that has breath is praising.

I discover today new seedlings have appeared. The gamble of sowing very out of date seed, captive for 5 or more years, has paid off. Did putting the seeds in compost make them live or die? Or just go through necessary changes for life to continue?

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John 12:24
English Standard Version Anglicised (ESVUK)
24 Truly, truly, I say to you, unless a grain of wheat falls into the earth and dies, it remains alone; but if it dies, it bears much fruit.

 

So with us. Dying or changing? the question is academic. If we don’t change we die, like seeds left unsown for too long. If we surrender to change we grow. The old has gone the new has come. New life. New purpose. This helps.

You see, a little earlier, I had gone into Catie’s room. I went in to bury my face in the empty place where she has been sleeping during the Easter holiday. I could smell her; a mingle of her perfume and, well, just Catie. I stole a little of her back for a moment and then left the room before I grew morose! It is right for her to be free to fly too. I need to accept again, (each time they leave!) the ‘death’ of the chapter where my children are at home. The leaves have vacated the seed…

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And going into the shower room, I find hanging on the hook on the wall, the necklace she made. It is of cubic beads bearing the characters; J U S T I C E ? I put it on, like an embrace? No, it fits but it feels wrong, it is so her, that while I agree with the sentiment, I am not entitled to wear something so personal to her, even though I know she wouldn’t mind. I must post it to her, but for a week I will hang it by my bedside, to remind me to pray for her.

In the shower I’m thinking of her and her hugs. They have the power to change me moment by moment: I am a bit of a do-er rather than a be-er. A hug that lingers long enough to express love and acceptance unites giver and receiver. It lets busyness and striving fall to the ground and I guess it is the language of the Father at every level so it maybe unites us with him too, with his purposes. Recently I have reflected that the work of the Father is reconciling, uniting, bringing together with himself and his purposes. The Word that sustains all things holds all things together. That is one glorious, dynamic HUG! Jesus said, in Matthew 10, verse 29 “Are not two sparrows sold for a penny? And not one of them will fall to the ground apart from your Father.” Falling dying..or changing…continuing in new life, being united…

I’m also thinking about things being loosed and bound. I am reading Rob Bell’s Velvet Elvis which has raised this subject. I will pray for the loosing of justice because I think Catie is on to something about what God’s Word has to say for us today that we have not fully incorporated into our understanding of reality, life and truth. The way we western Christians live generally binds rather than looses justice on earth. More change needed. More kernels to ‘die’; old assumptions, oblivions, tough coated chestnuts!

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Hitting the ground running

September 22, 2009

Ready? So here’s a brief paraphrase of the story so far in fast forward.

I got married at age 22 going on 12 and my parents knew it…all of that! But God sorted it all out over the years. Isn’t he so Gracious!

The refining was furious while I worked in my first couple of jobs. Several lessons in life; humiliations and discoveries how fallen and broken the world is made me lonely for soul satisfying beauty and purity though we lived on a beautiful coastline and if we looked inland, it was towards a stunning national park. Pregnant, I was chucked out of my second job, and I felt betrayed…I was a slow learner! 😦

Little did I know at the time how, as I sat all night just weeping and sleepless how the beauty I longed for was going to come to pass. My true friends did; Julie and David. They had a hand in its origins.

Despite it’s meaning, Rod wouldn’t agree on the name Abigail. I wrote her name in large letters in the sand, having gone to the beach to walk and think: Ann Marie.

About a fortnight after that compromise was reached she was born. Her eyes were dark like the solway on a stormy day. The cherry blossom outside the hospital so pink and frothy in celebration. The wildflowers Rod brought from summer meadows brought beauty and prophesied freedom, yet my baby cried with hunger; we were still confined and regulated by clipboards and starvation regimes!

As Ann Marie took her first steps on the sun-dappled mossy pathway through the woods where I took her to learn to walk, our second child’s heart began to beat as she grew secretly within me.

Rod was working as a carpenter but took time out to  rennovate the house we had bought. we had moved South to be nearer our parents and had to buy a wreck in order to make that move. House prices where we moved from were much lower. It was while I held plasterboard sheets aloft for Rod to nail into place that I became inexplicably faint. We finished all the work on that house when Catherine Eliza was 11 years old.

In these years while the children grew I joined St Michael’s church, and Rod soon did too, where he was born again, I worked on the garden, my Welsh, In Coleg Ceredigion, at Plas Lluest, first as a volunteer in the plant nursery, later as a horticultural trainer, but was driven away by a vindictive boss after losing a battle for fair and decent treatment of the clients with those whom they should most have been able to trust, and as a cleaner so that I could I spend a year doing an Art foundation course. I took my GCSE maths. I was laying in place all the foundations on which I had in mind to start training to do teaching.

We moved again, while I worked at Coleg Ceredigion, to a smallholding  just North of Aberystwyth. Soon afterwards I began work as a receptionist at a surgery in Aberystwyth. I was able to do two Welsh courses while I did that job and pass an ‘A’ level and get accepted into Teacher Training College on the Welsh Medium Course.

I had been working pretty flat out by then for two or three years without any break, just work and study and domestic duties. I had forgotten how to relax and was beginning to suffer again with depression. It is so subtle at first. A few years earlier, when I’d lost sight of why I was alive, I came to a horrid realisation of my state when Catherine, then about age four had said, “Mummy, I remember when you used to smile.” It really is no good just pretending everything will be alright if you keep on going in the same direction. It was the same again this time. I’d hit a dead end and had nowhere to go but down.

The teacher training began just as I began to come out the other side. Not an easy state in which to undertake very tough new challenges, but I did it. There are a few memorable times both up and down, but all of us on the course had at least some of that initiation. There are the secure and professional type teachers who have the emotional maturity to be guiding and supportive of trainees and there are the old guard who put trainees through their paces and make them jump through hoops because they think its character forming and there are the downright amoral and immature ones who do all they can to obstruct the progress of the trainees in every aspect of their would be development! I had one of the former and one of the latter as mentors during the training year and developed a great respect for one ‘in the middle’ while I worked as a supply teacher. On the whole I felt that most heads and teachers were supportive.

I never became a fully qualified teacher because I couldn’t secure a post in any school. I nearly had one in Mydroilyn but because the local authority couldn’t process the necessary paperwork, I didn’t get paid, or a contract, and Rod could see how things were slipping and it did look as if I was being taken for a ride, driving right to the south of the county twice a week for half days of work, sometimes only to find I wasn’t wanted and had to drive all the way home again, yet I’d turned down full days of work to honour my Mydroilyn commitments.

The real turning point of resignation actually came during my training year: God was gracious to bring things into focus the way he did and when he did. Gracious to me, that is. I hope that the head teacher who had to deal with the situation will see things that way when we all give an account! This was the way I let go of the dream:

I had worked for hours the night before on preparing for a science lesson on food chains. I had all the other lessons planned and written up as you have to but my piece de resistance for the day was to be the role play/food chain lesson. I hoped that it would earn me good marks in the assessment which the head would make for the college. It was most irrational of me, but when he took out an assessment form at the beginning of a maths lesson that fateful day I felt my heart sink into my boots and in a moment of weakness I didn’t bother to crank it back up to my chest again as I had learnt to do on so many other occasions as a trainee teacher in the petri dish! I went through the lesson somewhere below satisfactory, by my own reckoning and I remember nothing more about it. At the end of the lesson the head gave his verbal feedback It was fair and done without bias or malice.

I took the marking out to the car as it was lunch break, so I could cry without being observed and play a track on a Delirious CD. ‘Find me in the River’ Which I also had used for an RE lesson. I felt sure it would revive me ready for the afternoon’s lessons and yet all that happened was I found myself crying all the more and genuinely in some distress. I played the song again and again and still the tears fell unabated. I was face to face with God in that river. “OK”, I prayed.” I know what this is about.” I had had it in my heart all those years that with or without God’s blessing, I was going to be a teacher; I was going to win and do it and be someone. I had taken enough sneering and derision from people who had made it in the world’s eyes, and I was going to make it too. But here I was, moments before the end of lunch break due back in class to start my star science lesson, in floods of tears and grovelling in a heap before God. “Ok”, I prayed: “You, only You is all I need. I will let go of the teaching dream if I can have You first. I still desperately want to teach but I want You first”. It hurt to say those words because I meant them. I was stricken and broken and hopeless and I had to get out of the car and walk back into the class where the rest of key stage 2 were filing in because I had to take the whole of KS2 for Science, not just years four to six. The head saw the tears and the brokenness and took over. Humiliation but relief.

So if you don’t know God and you are reading this, don’t trifle with him. If you make him promices you better keep them! He won’t give you anything less than his best; costly and precious, and if you try to go your own way it will get very painful.

I did hold on and hope but I’d lost my grip…gradually the ropes I’d learnt slipped out of my hands until by the summer of 2006 I knew that I wouldn’t be going back to teaching, even as a supply teacher after the break. We had a family holiday in Portugal, I read ‘The Heavenly Man’ by Brother Yun. Meanwhile Britain and the rest of Europe had a monumental heat wave.

That autumn I got all my teaching resources and sorted out the burnable from the potentially useful. The size of the bonfire was gratifyingly huge. I most particularly enjoyed watching the reduction to flakes of breeze shaken carbon of the first teaching practice file. I celebrated my freedom with some bitterness and regret. Catherine cried because she of all people kneew what it had cost me. The last vestiges of my ‘worth something’ self, in the form of hefty text books and teachers’ resource books I exchanged for a fraction of what I paid for them at a shop that would profit enormously from selling them a second time around! (more…)


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