Where did that year go?

Already, it is a year since I returned from Thailand.

A year of "I can understand literally
every word you're saying"
And a year of "Sigh. I'm losing my Thai."

The relief of 'at home'
and the ache of missing my Thai home.
Enjoying a roast dinner and craving somtam.

Of frustration with British reserve
but gratitude for their time keeping.

Energy of new routines, fresh starts and flexible schedules
of wondering, "Surely Someone has planned all this for me"

A year of possibilities
Of longings fulfilled
Fresh longings birthed.

Uncertainty unwrapped to find
the unknown held by the One who knows.
Father's hand in mine.

Today marks one year of change
and one more year of peace
in the One God who doesn't change.

Cultivate the Conversation

"Hey, I hear you're in town. Come over if you have some time, it'd be great to catch-up!" 

You can't beat messages like this when they ping up on your phone. To know that someone is reaching out to me, wants to spend time with me - what an invitation. 

"I just wanted to call you, even if it was only for 5 minutes... how are you doing?" 

It makes my heart fill with the warmth of being loved, cared about. It makes me trust them - they have my back.  

What about when the phone is silent and your diary shows empty evenings? The longing for connection can be pushed down but it's always there. We're made for connection. Relationship gives us fiercely independent people something we don't think we want, but what we actually need most. The joy of being known and heard, and wanted and loved. Sometimes it takes those lonely moments to remind us of the Father's heart. He's the One who designed connection, wired us for it. 

And He's no sadist, creating us one way and denying us that very thing. He is Connection itself, the triune God in perfect relationship. He is the meeter of that deepest of needs. He is the invisible passenger in the car as I drive home from work. He's the One holding me close when I need a hug. He's with me as I shop for groceries and is the only one who can bear with me in the morning grumps! He doesn't just want to do the serious stuff with me, but the fun stuff too. He created the whole range of emotions and we can share each one with Him. 

"I no longer call you servants, because a servant does not know his master’s business. Instead, I have called you friends, for everything that I learned from my Father I have made known to you." (John 15:15-17)

We've been trusted with a treasure richer than our wildest imagination - friendship with the Creator of the universe. Why do we so often spurn it for friends with skin on? He is always with us, he has shared everything with us. His desire is for us. Yep, it's that simple. For you. He desires to share your day with you. He'd love you to tell him about the big anxieties weighing on you and let Him take care of them so you can live light. But he'd also love to be with you while you live light, enjoying the aroma of coffee filling your nostrils and taking time with friends. 

The hardest part is waking up our senses to actually be aware of Him. Once we are, friendship flows naturally, because He is irresistible. He is the source of every good thing in your life. Let's remind ourselves today, to talk to Him in our hearts. Cultivate conversation with God. Give yourself permission to whisper your love to Him, or have a natter with Him in the car on your way home, sing at the top of your lungs, shout out a rant when that's your present reality. Breathe Him in as you walk by the river, laugh with Him about that crazy incident earlier. He's with you, and loves your friendship. 

More than the trimmings

I grew up in India, thinking Christmas was about making cards decorated with snowy scenes I had never experienced. I'd seen Santa do his rounds, admired Christmas trees helping to sell things in shop windows. In Thailand Christmas is just another working day. But the trimmings have trickled down anyway and some even decorate their windows with snow spray in the 35 degree heat of Thai winter!

Teaching a music lesson here in the UK, I discovered the children's best efforts to focus their song-writing on the 'real meaning of Christmas' stretched to spending time with family. A teacher said to me "I hate Christmas, really. It's such an effort."  Even a simple grocery shop can turn into an emotionally charged event where 'Christmas' seems to overwhelm your senses with music and food and drink and gifts, and longing to enjoy it all with family.

It's amazing how far Christmas has come from Jesus.

He traded the perfection of heaven for a grotty little stable to say we matter.

He covered His glory in flesh to tell us He understands.

The all-powerful became vulnerable, so we would know he cares.

He became one of us, so we could be one with Him.

He loved the unlovely, He gave love a name

He called the unworthy so we'd know we could never earn Him

The perfect one gave Himself for the imperfect, so we could be like Him.

Christmas means hope

For life to be made new

God dwelling with us.

Choosing the flowers

Sitting with a good old friend yesterday, clutching my mug of tea, I caught myself moaning. First it was the usual victim, British weather. But then I managed to find a negative side to nearly every situation until it hit me between the eyes that I was choosing this, and I hated it. I wondered why it came so naturally to me, why I couldn't 'just be grateful'.

In my house church in Ubon, we would always start with a time of worship, and then the question, "What are you grateful to God for, or how have you seen God at work this week?" A dozen people sat around the room would then take it in turns to share how they'd seen God's goodness to them. They would range from "I was really craving some deep fried pork this week and a friend brought some round... God even cares about my little desires, how much more will He satisfy the big ones"; to "I had severe asthma attacks which would leave me fearing for my life, and now I don't have them anymore, because He healed me". Out of poverty, they were boasting of God's generosity. In places of pain and desperation, their faces bore the glory of God as they acknowledged His goodness in the small things, answers to prayers they hadn't even got round to praying.

I don't believe gratitude came naturally to them, moaning and complaining is always the default setting. No, it didn't come easy; gratitude was a cultivated habit. Each week we would run out of time. Each week I would sit there mesmerised at God's goodness. Each person's story was a glimpse of His tender care. The more they learned to choose gratitude, the easier the choice got.

I wonder if we would think of these things if we were never asked the question. I have to admit I don't. I miss so many blessings, barely acknowledging the giver for the gift as I rush through life looking for the next thing. If His gifts were flowers, my life would be filled with petals of every colour. But the sad reality is I would miss most of them because I wasn't taking the time to look.  He showers my life with abundance - grace upon grace - so many gifts, none of them earned or deserved. But I am so intensely focused on the next question I want an answer for, the next desperate need I want Him to meet, or worse - doing mental gymnastics around a perceived problem rather than bringing it to the One who can help me really see... that I walk straight past the flowers.

Let me ask the question again now, and let us both take some time to think, let's ask the Holy Spirit to help us see, "How have I seen God at work in my life this week?"

I see His handiwork in a friendship that he orchestrated, that has become an iron-sharpening-iron relationship. I'm thankful for how He has placed me regularly in a school devoid of Christian influence, so I can be intentional in praying for and blessing the staff and students. Grateful for the fiery leaves of autumn. Grateful for people to love. Suddenly I realise that much of what I complain about could be turned to gratitude if I just look at the other side of the coin.

Lord, help me develop the habit of choosing gratitude. I want to choose to see the flowers you scatter through my days. I want to hear your song over me. I don't want to miss a thing. Lord, give me eyes to see what you see, and a mind accustomed to choosing gratitude. Amen.

I once was found

... but now I'm lost

Sandy was about 3 months old when I first saw her. Born to a Thai street dog, she'd done well to get that far. Her mum had made herself at home in someone's field, a kind someone, who put leftovers out the back for the homeless puppies. I decided she was mine and I took her home, not realising she was covered in fleas and ticks. None of that mattered. I learned fast, showered her with TLC and pretty soon she was looking healthy and strong, gorgeous. "What breed is your dog?", they'd ask me. "Bitza," I'd laugh, "Bits of everything". 

I never thought I'd have to leave her so soon. She was a friend to me, that year of alone-ness. She was my treasure. I rocked her in my arms when I cried, and took selfies with her when I laughed. She'd cuddle up to me in my garden hammock. Sit at the doorstep of my kitchen while I fried bacon, keeping her boundaries. Barked away strangers I didn't like, lingering outside my house looking in - she knew which ones. Anyone would think she was ferocious. Fiercely protective, Sandy. 

This treasure I found in the rubble is now lost. "She ran away", is all I know. If leaving Thailand was one of the hardest decisions I'd made, leaving her was one of my biggest losses. I grieve for her, not knowing the circumstances that led to her getting lost, wishing I could help. Longing to find her again. 

Looking at my country with fresh eyes, I find myself grieving too. Britain is the nation blessed with revival after revival - outpourings of the Holy Spirit where God chose to reveal Himself in power and inspired great passion. In 1784, there had been growing desperation in prayer for a revival which would lead to the spread of the gospel 'to the most distant parts of the habitable globe'. Revivals rocked England (1500, 1739), Northern Ireland (1859), Wales (1904) and the Scottish Hebrides (1935) and brought millions to their knees in repentance and awe of God. Passionate men like George Whitefield, John Wesley and Evan Roberts lit fires in our nation, which sparked fires of the gospel as far as South Korea and America, India and Africa - the most distant parts of the habitable globe.

Yet now, this nation that was so found, so awakened to God's kingdom, seems to be running hard in the opposite direction. America tells a similar story. Where Christian revivals birthed milestones in education, science and medicine, inspired some of our greatest music and the arts, brought an end to slavery and other social evils, Christian witness is now either seen as a threat, or worse, a joke.

The modern missionary movement was birthed through William Carey, a shoemaker from Northamptonshire, who pioneered missions in India. Now for the first time in history, the balance of the world is changing. Where in the past, the political, economic, military centre and the centre of Christianity has been in the Global North, one demographic has now shifted. The Global South is now the centre of Christianity. Missions is no longer the preserve of 'the West to the rest', but as it should be, from the Global Church to the ends of the earth.*

How can the lost be found again? I'm sure Sandy could be found and won back by love. Love that goes looking for her. Love that gives extravagantly, nurtures her back to health. It doesn't have to be me, it could be anyone. The yearning of every human heart is not so different. We long to be found again. We were made for love. And the Lover who made us has many feet to go looking. Some are just out of practice. Others are asleep. But while you’re listening, He asks you, “Will you go? Love my lost ones back to found-ness.”

* "Southern Christianity was formed with and still retains many Northern trappings, so that it often appears foreign to non-Christians (and even, at times, to Southern Christians). In addition, Southern Christians have yet to assume the leadership (in areas as diverse as international Christian organizations and articulating theology) that their global numbers would seem to suggest. Southern Christians also hold a disproportionately small share of global Christian income and wealth, which can inhibit their ability to fund ministry where Christianity is growing most rapidly. Christianity’s shift to the South is not without opportunity, however. In many ways, Southern Christians’ cultures and ways of thinking resemble those of the biblical era more closely than do Northerners’, creating the potential for vibrant new theologies and ways of being the Church. Pentecostal and Charismatic spirituality also energizes many Southern Christians, although this is not without controversy. Finally, Southern Christians tend to live in closer proximity to adherents of other religions than do Northern Christians, opening doors for dialog and mission that the North often resists or avoids." (Hickman, 2014)

Somewhere between this time last year, and this time next year

Living in the present

As part of Pioneers’ mobilisation team, I recently helped facilitate our Mission: Next weekend. It was a time of stirring up zeal. We wanted those attending to get a taster of what innovation and flexibility looks like in Pioneers’ teams. By definition, it looks very different from team to location to people group. So we watched videos – little snapshots of how PI teams around the world are interpreting what it looks like to ‘live out loud’, contextual yet counter-cultural; accessible yet distinctive. We entered the subculture of skaters in Myanmar and the church planting efforts by sacrificial families in remote Chad and closed Pakistan, the metropolis of Bangkok. 

When my team’s video was played, I couldn’t stay in the room. It brought my two worlds colliding into one and I was in pieces. My recent return to the UK after serving on the Surin team in Northeast Thailand for 4 years has meant that once again, I find myself in transition. This familiar feeling comes to all of us with each new start. I thrive on innovation, I think. I’m very flexible, I think. But although this may have facilitated a smoother adjustment to the many and frequent transitions I’ve experienced (moved house 21 times; moved countries 7 times), it always comes with its share of angst.

New starts are exciting, but angst isn’t. I could go ahead with ‘just make a decision to be joyful’, but I don’t think burying angst under a façade is helpful. At that moment, I questioned this new start again for the thousandth time. My passion for the unreached is as great as ever, my desire is for the day when all have an opportunity to hear, when worship rises to Creator God from every language and colour, age and ethnicity. I long to be a part of that – that greatest goal that any of us could give ourselves for, that great ingathering into the Kingdom of God, whatever the cost.

Yet I am just as sure that there is a season for everything, and sense God’s pleasure on this season of returning to my home culture. I know Him personally – this is not some contrived theological argument to make things okay, this is the deep seated peace that transcends my unanswered questions and frequently mixed emotions, this peace that passes understanding, it is real.

He tells me to trust my choice, too. He seems to be a great fan of this free-will thing. While I may wrangle and wrestle over the fear that I may somehow ‘miss it’ (the 'it' of His Will, or my Calling, as if it was a single red line through the tangle of choices that is life), Father seems to value my relationship with Him in this over and above anything I do for Him. Never minimising the importance of a real faith that is lived out by works, He is rather calling me back simply to hear His heart first. And His heart is love. Loving acceptance of who I am, my desires, my choices.

"Live in the present", He urges gently, insistently. "You hanker after your rose-tinted memories, or live in your dreams and fears of what may be next and after that and after that. But what about this moment? This, now, here, is precious to me." He knows my heart is to serve Him, to do for Him, to win for Him. But, he pushes deeper, "Will you be more excited about being with me than doing things for me?"

What about the need for harvesters? What about the unreached millions? He knows them each by name. He is passionate for each heart. Whatever part each of us play in his Story, He is pleased. Right now, for me this means praying zealously for those He has laid on my heart; sharing my passion with the Church and helping those who are also responding to His invitation to build Kingdom, as they take steps to where He is leading. 

But as pleased as He is with this, I believe He is already pleased before we begin. We are His children! Will I be abandoned in worship to Him, snatching glimpses of Him through my busy today and just enjoy His presence? Because anything else is the outflow. 

Eyes to see

Like a torrent they come

sweeping, shamelessly taking over

Regret. Despair. Fear. 

What-ifs rage, demand answers

Hope. Nostalgia. 

The taste of dreams

Emotions unbridled 

Jostle for control

But give me eyes to see

You through this tumbling bag  

of haphazard emotions

This pick n mix

I want to see through the haze

Dimly now, now clearer

Can I trust you,

trust you even in this?

You see it all 

Yet unflinchingly love

See it clearly 

For all its rag-tag mess

The glory under wraps

You call out the Truth

Who I am and why I am 

And one look at You

Sets me free