Mending the Net

Everybody’s making love, or else expecting rain

2006-10-19T11:28:00.000+01:00

Alright, so it’s official. Men still surprise me.

With women, things are easier – there’s an air of an edge about quite a lot of female relationships I encounter (“Does she look better than me?”, “Do men find her more attractive than me?”, “Am I at least smarter than her, with her perfect legs??”) but, as women, we tend to be aware of its existence and generally it’s easy to see what’s fuelling it: I find myself looking through lots of girls to the root of their ambitions and desires.

Men? Yes, it’s generally pretty simple to do there too, I think.

Yesterday morning, reader, I was surprised by a man. My socks, had I been wearing any at the beginning, would have been royally knocked off into the stratosphere by the end.

I haven’t been sleeping well recently. This is no great surprise to me as I have never really been so good at the whole “being asleep” deal. My mind ticks and tocks over and over, making it difficult to slow down, let alone get near to stopping. Recently, however, nightmares have been rearing their ugly heads and it’s not unusual for me to wake up breathless and wide-eyed as a deer caught in the headlights.

Imagine my surprise when, having fallen asleep after 1am, I woke ten minutes before my alarm for no good reason that I could find. Fair enough, I thought to myself somewhat blearily, I’d better get up then (since I have a lecture at 9am). On goes both my dressing gown and morning play-list, into the en-suite I stumble for a shower and the fulfilments of my morning’s personal hygiene regime.

Consider the scene – curtains still firmly shut, I sit down at my computer to check my emails, towel wrapped around dripping hair, considerably larger towel wrapped around soggy me. Suddenly I hear a noise. What on Earth? If I was at home I’d think a slate had fallen from the roof… but no, is that stones? Is someone throwing stones? The noise came again, twice more. Should I open the curtains and have a look? I might ruin someone’s romantic morning, but it’s something I’d like to see – very Romeo and Juliet! I wonder who’s throwing stones at whose window? Immediately I was wondering if anyone living near me had a secret admirer that I knew of.

My mind was drawing a blank so, gingerly, I peeked through between my curtains. Taking in what I saw, I pulled my head back and blinked profusely. That done, I looked again, and the same scene looked back at me or, rather, a good friend of mine from my course smiled and waved at me, then motioned stairs with his fingers. Still in shock, I nodded. Throwing my room key, tied on its pink ribbon chain, around my neck and my dressing gown tightly fastened around the rest of me I didn’t feel exactly ready to face the day, but it would do for now. I stepped through my doorway, out into the hall, and from there I opened the main door of our level of accommodation to my friend.

In he came.

“I couldn’t sleep,” he says, by way of an explanation. And it must’ve been true, as he lives two buses and a train’s journey away from here – over an hour away, I’d guess. The time, by now, was 7:40am.

What happened after that will take more time to tell than I can spare just now: suffice to say that it was nothing rash. Fear not, I shall take up the tale later on.

Tears of hope run down my skin....

2006-09-09T13:40:00.000+01:00

- Remember -
- Josh Groban -

Remember, I will still be here
As long as you hold me in your memory

Remember, when your dreams have ended
Time can be transcended
Just remember me

I am the one star that keeps burning, so brightly,
It is the last light to fade into the rising sun

I'm with you
Whenever you tell my story

Remember, I will still be here
As long as you hold me in your memory
Remember me

I am the one voice in the cold wind that whispers
And if you listen you'll hear me call across the sky

As long as I still can reach out and touch you
Then I will never die

Remember, I'll never leave you
If you will only
Remember me

Remember me...

Remember, I will still be here
As long as you hold me
In your memory

Remember, when your dreams have ended
Time can be transcended
I live forever
Remember me

Remember me
Remember... me...

I heard this song today and immediately my heart filled with love. Whether it was consciously written about Jesus or whether it was the subconscious Spirit of God flowing through the pen, I don't know. But doesn't this just scream our Saviour at you?

Luck may have died and love may be cold, but with You forever I'll stay

2006-09-08T15:26:00.000+01:00

Do not boast about tomorrow,

for you do not know what a day may bring forth.

Proverbs 27:1 NIV

On Tuesday night, at 10:53pm, I got on the sleeper train from Cornwall to London. I traveled on it until reaching Paddington station at 5:05am. Alone, I walked through the passages and corridors to the underground platform I needed to get across London to the next National Rail station where, at 6:16am I set off on another train to the coast of Kent.

Now, that might seem a lot of information, inconsequential to anyone but me and mine who were praying for my safe passage – but it’s not inconsequential information to God. Jesus sat beside me on each train and He showed Himself to me on each of those trains.

Let me tell you about the first instance on the journey.

The prudent see danger and take refuge,

but the simple keep going and suffer for it.

Proverbs 27:12 NIV

When the train stopped at Plymouth station in the middle of the night, there was a commotion…but wait, I’m getting ahead of myself, let me set the scene.

It was a well lit carriage, mostly one person on every 2 seats, with their bags/coats/food on the seat next to them. On the seat in front of me was a man, mid forties, watching a portable DVD player with headphones in so as not to disturb anyone. Behind me was a girl about my age, also with headphones on. Across the aisle were mostly empty seats. I was quietly listening to some music on my MP3 player (yes, I too joined the merry band of headphone wearers!) and trying to nap when we stopped at Plymouth station in the middle of the night.

There was a commotion. A large man, reeking of alcohol and smoke, with an enormous backpack came down the aisle of the carriage and talked loudly to a woman who, though also heaving a large backpack, did not worry me as much as the man had. She seemed to be trying to calm the man down.

Stone is heavy and sand a burden,

but provocation by a fool is heavier than both.

Proverbs 27:3 NIV

The woman sat down in a non-reserved seat, but the man refused to join her as the seat did not have a table. Further up the carriage from me, on the other side of the aisle, the man woke up a boy who had been sleeping since I boarded the train and sat down in a reserved seat next to him. He told the boy, “I’m sitting next to you, ok?” and then proceeded to pick up the boy’s luggage and move it about, telling him it looked as if it had been about to fall down. The boy asked him to leave his luggage alone.

I was getting worried and scared. This man seemed to be the kind that my mother warned me to cross the road to avoid. I was feeling unsafe. “Oh Lord, please let the ticket inspector come through this carriage – please deliver me from this fear. I ask Jesus to accept my hand into His: please help me.”

Within a minute, the ticket inspector came through and the man argued with him a lot, voice raised and eyes blazing. He had no ticket. Didn’t know where he wanted to go. Didn’t have any money to buy a ticket. He was kicking up a real fuss. It would have scared me even more than before if I hadn’t asked God to help me already. I knew He sent the ticket inspector to help me. The inspector was calm and spoke in controlled tones, the man was getting more and more agitated and I was perhaps the only young lady in the carriage not shrinking back into her seat.

Better is open rebuke

than hidden love.

Proverbs 27:5 NIV

The ticket inspector asked him why he was on the train if he didn’t have a ticket, nor any intention, inclination or means to buy a ticket, in genuine concern, it seemed to me. The man looked at him and laughed,

“Because I wanted to. What’s wrong with wanting a free ride?”

“What, sir, is right with it, is what I’d like to know. Would you please come with me, you’ll be leaving the train at the next station.”

Let another praise you, and not your own mouth;

someone else, and not your own lips.

Proverbs 27:2 NIV

The man was escorted from the train by the inspector, when the inspector returned through the carriage I said “Thank you” to him, my heart in my words and eyes as I looked at him. He looked shocked and then smiled and said “I was just trying to follow the best example I ever learned about each Sunday.”

Amen.

I napped on and off for the rest of the journey, gospel music soothing my ears and the unfamiliar sounds of the carriage away.

No matter how inconsequential you might believe your life, your schedule, your day-to-day routine is – God sees. He knows and He hears your prayers. He certainly heard mine and He sent a good man to save me from fear.

Praise be.

The art of offering cutlery: forgiving past yourself

2006-08-23T16:37:00.000+01:00

He forgave us all our sins, having cancelled the written code, with its regulations, that was against us and that stood opposed to us; he took it away, nailing it to the cross.

Colossians 2:14

I had large chunks of doubt in my teenage life-soup.

There were carrots of hatred, potatoes of fear, leeks of abuse… oh but the stock was faith, the water was hope, the chicken was me. Though there are more vegetables, usually, than chicken in chicken soup you’ll notice that they don’t (often) get featured in the title.

It’s just chicken soup.

Sure, there are vegetables there, but though they’re important ingredients that help make the soup what it is, it is chicken soup. I’m the chicken. My sins, my doubts, my fears – the things I find hard to “deal” with, yes they’re important, but they don’t define me. They’re not who I am, they’re actually forgotten about when I think about my self-soup. My hope is in there too, surrounding me, making me palatable and useful, and my faith brings the best flavours out of me. When it comes down to it, I’ll be known as chicken soup.

Without God I wouldn’t be soup at all, I wouldn’t be warm on winter nights and comforting to the lost and unfortunate. I guess I might make a mediocre salad and, though some people kid themselves that is good enough – it really isn’t.

Personally, I feel little surprise that soup kitchens can offer solace to those not yet stepping through church doors. We’re all ingredients, we give each other cutlery and say “Dig in!” every day of our lives, do we give God the same chance? Ah, because we’re not perfect, and we can’t let the big perfect guy up in the sky see into these hearts that we are ashamed of because we stole lipstick/did drugs/were mugged/kissed the wrong boy….

How selfish that we have to forgive ourselves , not feel guilty, or other people have to forgive us so we stop feeling guilty. Why is it not God’s forgiveness we truly crave with all our hearts? These imperfect hearts of ours. Well, let’s get this straight – God knows they’re imperfect and, you know what, He loves us for it. He’s our Father and, sure, He wants us all to walk the path he left us a guidebook for, He wants us to help others down that road too – but if we mess up, He still loves us. He loves us all the more for coming back home to Him after our mess ups. He’s that kind of guy.

So why not pass Him a spoon?

Just beneath your skin where the light does fall

2006-08-12T18:54:00.000+01:00

There are footsteps that make my skin crawl: there are times I seem to catapult from this body into a place full of fear and anticipation. These are times that I sometimes foolishly let cloud my thoughts - that a few moments of folly, temptation, murky memories of atrocities mar me insufferably. That my existence is one of pain and hardship and, I admit that I have grappled with this word on more than one occasion, cursed.

The word curse always brings me to Job... it's not as if the Bible is bereft of cursings, they feature mightily, but Job is where my heart is called to when I try to apply the word to myself in any way.

Resentment kills a fool,
and envy slays the simple.

I myself have seen a fool taking root,
but suddenly his house was cursed...

...For hardship does not spring from the soil,
nor does trouble sprout from the ground.

Yet man is born to trouble
as surely as sparks fly upward

But if it were I, I would appeal to God;
I would lay my cause before him.

He performs wonders that cannot be fathomed,
miracles that cannot be counted...

The lowly he sets on high,
and those who mourn are lifted to safety.

He thwarts the plans of the crafty,
so that their hands achieve no success.

He catches the wise in their craftiness,
and the schemes of the wily are swept away.

Darkness comes upon them in the daytime;
at noon they grope as in the night.

He saves the needy from the sword in their mouth;
he saves them from the clutches of the powerful.

So the poor have hope,
and injustice shuts its mouth.

Job 5:2-3, 6-9, 11-16 NIV

Oh those words speak to me in ways I can't even begin to describe. Just think about them - there is nothing in this world that we can truly call our own except sin and trouble, that's what Eliphaz is saying to Job! Our sins come from ourselves, they are not down to anyone else. Jesus died to save us from the ultimate truth of this knowledge - He washed us clean with his blood so that now when we sin (which we are all bound to do) we only have to admit it and ask forgiveness.

God is so mighty - He won't let those who seek to harm, the evildoers, the crafty win out. He is the one with the higher plan. Even in our darkest moments when we question "Why has this happened to me? How is God letting this go on? Doesn't He know how much I love Him?" - He still has that plan of His, you know. It's still there. He is always looking for hearts open and willing for His use to further His work.

When we sin, our wrongdoings, our temptations that we let "win" - these matter. They fly upwards, just like sparks do! Sparks! They that jump out of the fire and burn - it's unexpected as to the exact moment that they jump, but we all know that if there's an open fire, there are going to be sparks jumping around. What we don't know is when... but guess what? God does. He knows. And by the death of His only Son, it's already forgiven! My gosh, what a statement that is. We only have to own up to it, and BAM! the slate is clean.

We are such a prideful species that we actually have more trouble forgiving ourselves than God has with forgiving us. And it's so awful of us, it really is. God actually sacrified His Son for us to save us from all this, and what - we can't forgive ourselves for things we do wrong? Was Jesus' death not enough of a show? Was His blood not enough to wash us clean? What pride.

Giving your life into God's keeping, trusting Him completely means that, yes, your faith may be tested; just think how strong you'll come out the other side. It's happened to me more than once, and I've survived through God's grace. I gave Him my soul and He lent it back to me. So I have to take such good care of it now, it's like a library book that I don't know quite when to return yet, but I know that I will know when it is time.

And as for cursed - like God would lend me anything cursed!

All the redemption I can offer is beneath this dirty hood

2006-08-01T23:17:00.000+01:00

“You can hide ‘neath your covers and study your pain, make crosses for your lovers and throw roses in the rain, spend your summer praying in vain for a saviour to rise from the streets…"

Oh Mr. Springsteen, what images you paint me. Thunder-Road, what a tune. It's on the Bruce Springsteen album I had playing in the car earlier. No, I don't technically drive. I intensely dislike driving, in fact. It terrifies me. Big time. But my theory test certificate runs out at Christmas and I feel that I should at least attempt my practical test once before then. I first started driving lessons to please my father, now it's to please my fiance. Go figure. Why am I not pursuing it with my whole heart looking to serve God? Maybe that's why I get so scared, I'm not letting Jesus sit beside me.

Oh Jesus, please guide my prayers from my heart to God’s ear. I implore you not to let these months pass by in vain. I know your plan for me is wonderful and I give you my trust entirely. I pray that I can open my eyes truly to better see and travel my path with whatever transport you see fit. Through you.

Devotional - "How to dream"

2006-07-31T20:23:00.000+01:00

Conflicts -

How to dream. When are dreams too big? Pulled in more than one direction. Enemy snatching thoughts. Acting on impulse.

How to dream

Read: 2 Thessalonians 1:3-12

With this in mind, we constantly pray for you, that our God may count you worthy of his calling, and that by his power he may fulfil every good purpose of yours and every act prompted by your faith.
2 Thessalonians 1:11

When I was a very little girl, my mother and I would go to my grandmother’s house and pick blackberries from her garden. Later that day we’d start the process of making them into a preserve. “Why can’t we add fishfingers, Mummy? I like fishfingers.”

“Not in jam, you wouldn’t, sweetheart.” My mother would smile at me, but carry on stirring the sweet smelling pot of bubbling fruits and sugar.

“But I want fishfingers in it!”

Luckily my wonderful mother knew that fishfinger and blackberry jam was not the way to go, it would have been a terrible waste of food and time. Not to mention the fact that I might have actually wanted to try the stuff, even asked other people to. Yet at that moment I truly believed nothing would fulfil me more than a fishfinger and jam sandwich. What’s more, it’s as true today as it was back then. I still have these wild ideas, these things I selfishly crave. I still feel the urge to throw caution to the wind, and not immediately consult the Word, in my excitement. I sometimes feel I want to be swept away by events. But we don’t really know what we want. We think that we do, we think that the day we stand up and “take control of our own lives” is the very best and most important day of those lives. But it isn’t. The day that each of us stands up and accepts Jesus Christ as our Saviour, our Lord and salvation, that’s the day to really smile about.

I don’t always remember to glory the Lord. Before I make decisions, I don’t always stop to ask Him what He wants me to do. I’m working on it, though. The last time I made a fishfinger and blackberry jam of my situation I hope truly will have been the last time.

Lord, please help me to raise my choices to Your ear, to let You make the decisions. I know that it’s Your plan I’m following, You want my life to work out well even more than I do. By asking for Your help I am not showing weakness, instead I give glory to You and the trust I hold in You.

Altogether wonderful to me

2006-07-24T17:30:00.000+01:00

With each day I'm realising more and more that to become a "better" Christian leads me to become a better woman. Living the message, witnessing with my life - it's a gift.

I thank God for showing me this.

The waltz of regret

2006-07-17T17:56:00.000+01:00

I was born in Kent, a garden only so much in my mind as a vegetable patch is. Not knowing a great deal about plants in general, I can only offer this much insight into the flora of Kent – if you want brassica, that is your county and no mistake. On that vein, I’m unsure if cabbages have eyes but, if so, I cannot to this day look upon them; I once trudged through fields of water-logged cabbages on my way home from school when the bus unexpectedly broke down. It is not an experience I recommend. I washed and washed and feared I’d never be free from the smell but, happily, I am. I know this because people can be next to me on hot days.

The first eleven years of my existence were spent pleasantly enough. My father was never really a part of my childhood. He lived in the same house as my brother, my mother and I, but he never took an active role in our upbringing. I remember him calling me fat when I was four, and telling me I was over-sensitive at the same age. These basic themes are recurring ones with him. Since my brother and I have left home, I think it all hits harder on Mum. Last time I was back there she cried more times in private to me in that one visit than I have ever seen her do so in my entire life. It was quite disturbing, actually. I hated to see her so unhappy. I love her so much. That said, I don’t do well being in the same house with her for more than a month or two. She’s terribly protective of me when I’m within a wing’s distance of her. I think she should be a vicar; she’d do well with a congregation to worry over.

This isn't to say that my father is a bad man. He never broke my spirit entirely. He appears to have developed a new hobby in painting, oils being his favourite. So that's something we can at least make a tableau of conversation at.

I was against medical advice. I think I might have that as my epitaph. It’ll make people wonder, if nothing else. I plan to leave a brood of at least two children behind me who can make of that what they will. You see, with my older brother, Mum had a horrible pregnancy. The placenta kept trying to break off and she bled a lot, only put on a stone throughout the pregnancy (eight pounds of which were my brother) and was generally extremely ill with it. The birth was even less of a picnic than a usual birth, as well. So she was advised against more children. After that came a miscarriage, more warnings against children. Then there was me.

In case you wonder why you got all that slightly gory information, I tend to agree with the book The Red Tent that states something like “Women want daughters so they have people to tell their stories to, who’ll remember them and their families. You need to understand who has been before you before you go on.” I paraphrase. A lot. I highly recommend the book, by the way. It’s by Anita Diamant. A telling of the life of Dinah, Biblical daughter of Jacob and Leah… Jacob as in the father of Joseph (of the Amazing Technicolour Dreamcoat). There you go. I have no idea how you feel about religion in general, let alone religiously drawn books, but I recommend it. That is a question for you – are you religious at all? Do you have faith? Feel free to attack those as two separate ideas entirely, if you wish.

So up to the age of eleven things went along with a reasonable amount of pleasure. When I went to secondary school, it was horrible. I was ill often, studied hard though. Made friends, as you do, but made some bad choices in them. One girl, for example, held me as the object of obsession, even after I transferred from that school to another one. She would email me from various accounts, harassing me, wanting to know my every moment. Phoning me, following me, dressing like me, signing onto the internet as me wherever possible and “becoming” me. It was a very strange time. I try not to think about it.

Occasionally the stumbling of butterflies amidst the chaos of air betters us. If we stop to notice it then surely we could be touched; faith has a chance to resettle where the bounds of hope have long since fled. If memories indeed pass like ashes – cold now bereft of the caress that the flames afford – then perhaps these faltering flights best echo moments in their prime.

The apple blossom of the orchard has flown past and fruition beckons. Summer, then. The glowering, grey, passive sky could use some convincing, though, by the looks of things. I’m one for believing in the weather. Note that I singled out the weather and not one of those smiling hopefuls who report it to me. The weather affects me. I don’t think anything wonderful has ever happened to me on a warm and dusky evening, for example. My memories are held together by strands of colour, smells, and the texture of gravel clawing against my face and grazing my hips.

A relationship that began on a bench in the centre of the city didn’t really have a hope of working; ah, behold the power of hindsight. At sixteen I thought I knew all about it – life, love, sex, men. Everything. I thought I was just about ready to fall into a world of passion that flew at me and then smothered me in caresses and safety as the twilight rolled on. This, I thought, was happiness. Something I’d been searching for and something that I could now tangibly touch, stroke, hold. I even had the bruises to prove it. Everybody knows that it’s the bruises that make it real, right?

“I want to photograph the way the shadows of the raindrops look on your cheeks” he said, “they look like tears.”
“I wish they were” and then he left.
He gave me the alphabet magnets because he thought they were like my childhood and I told him I wished he’d paid for them so he said he only takes the things he needs; I said “take me then”, but he just laughed.
He traced the bruises on my arms and I said I’d fallen, said it wasn’t him, he shouldn’t think that. I said “he’s a good person but he gets angry sometimes.” He said “so do you” and I thought the bruises looked like nebulas.

Sometimes he thinks that I’m stupid. Sometimes he wants to cover my mouth until I stop breathing because I should know when to be quiet. Sometimes he bites me too hard.
I still sing the same song I sang with him

We used to sing together, I know this, his voice was prettier than mine
I said I split my lip on the table corner when I tripped
I said I’d hit the back of my head on the bars of the bed
I said he loved me, really he did..

I said he didn’t mean it.
He ran his fingers on my spine, tracing letters with his fingertips.
He wrote my name on the insides of his wrists, along the veins.
He bought me the perfume I wore even though he hated it.
He wrote me letters in loopy handwriting, signed his name with curves and curls
and in the end wrote

P.S. I didn’t mean it.

For a smart young woman, I have been such a misled little girl most of my life.

Stepping further away from that, leaving words in the dust and hoping for strong winds - these are the things I will take happiness from.

Silently the senses abandon their defenses

2006-07-12T17:09:00.000+01:00

Three times around
arms reach out.
Set me aflame

for the Word,
keep my spirit
as a promise -

a covenant - between
You and I
and thrice around.

If there's anything I can do, just call on me

2006-05-10T12:32:00.000+01:00

May the strength I see and hear

And know in your heart and body

Shine through and blind those near

Who seek to hurt and quench your spirit.

May the weakness and the guilt

You think should form the blade

That you can draw, hand on hilt,

To vanquish enemies, reform to love.

May happiness fly on swift wings

That enfold and cherish you.

May faith encompass all these things

And warm your loneliest of nights.

Cobwebs and kitchens

2006-05-10T11:21:00.000+01:00

My new home needs some tender loving care. It’s up to me to put some hard work into action (so far, this has consisted of list-making), and I have a deadline in that from the end of September this year I will be starting a four year BA (Hons) in Youth and Community Work, which means I’ll have to relocate again, at least for the first year. So it would be helpful if I could get on with it and bring this place up to scratch. Obviously, I’ll be calling in the troops, especially when it comes to the structural work.

This week I have been attacking the various things living/growing/smelling in the kitchen with enough cleaning products and elbow grease to make my brain melt, no matter how near I was to the wide open front door! It now appears a safe place for food to be prepared in and I thank God for giving me the will to get on my hands and knees and scrub! Not my favourite way to spend a day, but worthwhile in that it’s a step in the right direction, working towards a brighter future.

It seems difficult sometimes to light a path that is easy to follow; and maybe that's the point. My mother told me that nothing worth achieving comes easily; I tend to think that nothing worth doing is an easy ride, either. What right have we to give up when things turn difficult - surely God knows of all our troubles and, really, it must be a whole lot tougher on Him to realise that we're still struggling, still doubting, still falling short, than it is on us.

"All things have been committed to me by my Father. No-one knows the Son except the Father, and no-one knows the Father except the Son and those to whom the Son chooses to reveal him.
Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest.
Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls.

For my yoke is easy and my burden is light."
Matthew 11: 27-30

I'm the first to stand up and admit my imperfections, but I do try to better myself. I open my heart to God and pray that Jesus will lead my body and soul to the places they are most needed. Everything truly does become easier when I sit down, relax, and let the Lord know that I love Him and need Him. That's really the essence of what this blog will become. An open place for me to share my thoughts, struggles, poems and prayers - a captured throng of moments to look back on and give thanks that I made it through them.

Lord,

Please grant to me the strength to face and endure what trials You see fit to send me. Please guide me in faith that I may serve You better with my love. I am your willing servant, I ask You to guide my steps along the path You set me.
Through heartache and happiness I have thrown up my hands to You; with Your voice in my heart I have tried to find my own way but it is a dark and frightening place sometimes and You seem far from me.
Help me, O Lord, to love and honour You as I should.

In faith.