pensieri

Those of you that know me will likely be aware of our upcoming wedding day (eek).

Sheer excitement to marry the most wonderful man however, often suffers at the expense of crippling fear about the big day. My rational mind knows better, but my heart, vulnerable to the preys of self doubt and insecurities, is not always able to withstand the blows.

A beautiful day, I’m sure it will be be. And a true blessing to have loved ones present to wish us well as we enter a new season of life together, united in the love of a God who surpasses all our our wildest dreams.

Yet, with every dress fitting and Pinterest scroll, I feel the mounting pressure of a day that glorifies aesthetics and self-indulgence.

Brides starve themselves, shrink themselves, sculpt and tone to fit into a dress. And society normalises it, creating a culture of striving and shaming,  comparing and condemning. Does this really align with a day that is all about love?

“I couldn’t breathe on my wedding day”

“I can’t eat that, I’m getting married soon”

“If I can just be a size … I’ll be happy”

When I consider the way I want to speak to my (very hypothetical) future daughter, I am certain that diet discourse and weight loss fear-mongering ought to be as far from reach as can be. Our words are powerful and piercing and we have the choice every day as to how we use them. 

So why is it that much harder to be kind to myself? To see and treat myself as a daughter of a king? Flawed, yes. But worthy of love, crowned with grace and wrapped in mercy.

As the day approaches, I want to make each moment count. I don’t want to spend my hours wishing away ounces of body fat, pushing away loved ones and shrinking myself to be anything less than who God created me to be.

I want to walk towards my love, with my head held high. Not because I have achieved bridal perfection, but rather because I have refused it. Because the bride of Christ's beauty comes not from hours of self-grooming or strict training regimes. The beauty of the bride comes from the love of her Heavenly Father and from the outpouring of this love into the lives of those around.  

It feels like it may be happening. The sound of a first step reverberates across my mind. Excitement, fear, curiosity. 

Changing careers has impact beyond a job title. Beyond myself. It’s vulnerable to put yourself back in the shoes of your younger self with UCAS forms and entrance exams. But it’s not regression if it challenges you. It’s not time wasted if you change your mind. There is so much grace in this life for trying, so much freedom for experimenting. And when all that I need is in God, who is unchanged and unchangeable, the stakes really aren’t as high as they often seem. 

At the end of 2021, I took Voluntary Redundancy after some weeks of wrestling, praying to the one whose opinion matters most and talking to those whose opinions I cherish here on earth. 

The goosebumps I felt that day remain with me. Opening an email about potential voluntary redundancy filled many with concern for the company, intrigue about the financial gain and wonder of who will not be staying into 2022. But one phrase entered my mind as I read those words; ‘I could be a teacher...’. I could really do this...maybe. 

Teaching is something I felt entirely convinced of as a child and teen. Yet doubt, desire to see what else is out there, fear of failure and the opinion of others, led me to pursue something entirely different. Something that I loved, learned from and will never regret. But nonetheless, something that never quite erased that faint vision of myself in a classroom. 

So here we are, in 2022. 

Between jobs, swimming in applications and potential. 

Preparing to marry the man of my dreams and chasing the vocation that I’ve spent days and nights picturing since I was small. 

If you asked me a couple of years ago, I’d have said I probably wasn’t ‘one of the lucky ones’ who would find a godly, kind, handsome man who wanted to stand by my side, who I could spend my life learning to love better. And I’d have said I probably won’t be ‘one of the lucky ones’ who feel that their job aligns with their purpose, but at least I was lucky enough to be in a good job with great employers. I’d have said I will probably always struggle with disordered eating, because truly fighting that battle is too hard.

I believe the Lord blesses bravery and faith. When we step out, with hands clasping those of our father, we invite him in, to work in us and through us. And God’s dreams are never restricted by our self-imposed limitations. 

So, here’s to a year of learning to delight in the way He provides all that I need and all that I will ever need. A year of knocking on doors and praying for the courage to step inside if and when they open. A year of denying the fear of failure and the fear of wearing my heart on my sleeve. 

The sky boasted candyfloss colours, pastel pinks and peaches. Nature showcased, softly stimulating.

I circled the shimmering lake that evening while worries circled their way through my mind. Doubts, fears, regrets, guilt... a race track in which each thought increased in intensity with each lap. 

My mind was messy. My thoughts were ugly. My feelings were uncomfortable. But they weren’t from Him. 

All of a sudden, my eyes looked up to the skies above and to the waters beside me. The racetrack fell silent. 

‘Sh, child. Look’

A whisper. 

I continued to walk the circular path, but my mind stopped still. I was reminded of His beauty in creation. His perfect peace. His attention to detail and artistic flair. 

The worries of the day loosen their grip when we allow ourselves to bask in beauty. And when we start to appreciate the view, it seems only to grow in splendour. 

The evening skies evolved from pinks, to purples, to deeper blues. With each blink it seemed God turned up the dial on his spectacle. I felt small, in the best way. Small in comparison to the scale of His glory, small beneath the expanse of blue. Small. But seen. 

As I turned a corner the trees gave way to a shining moon, it’s light both dazzling and warm. I remembered His promise to guide us, to illuminate the path before our feet. His promise to never leave us out alone in the dark or the cold. 

The world is, in many ways, crying out in pain. Struggles and injustice and overwhelm. It is real. But we have a God whose hands hold it all. And the beauty of His creation is always there, calling us softly to look up from ourselves. To re-centre our scattered senses on the one who sees us and loves us exactly where we are. 

Admittedly, not every evening will boast a picture-perfect sunset or a lakeside stroll. And maybe not every day will feel like a perpetual battlefield of the mind. But every day we are not alone. Every day He is there and He sees us. His beauty is unchanged and his open arms are undeterred.

It’s a phrase that is thrown about by cost-conscious parents in the clothing section of supermarkets, or when passing a hand-me-down sweater to your younger sibling. It’s not often associated with a perfectly crafted garment, made to measure.

But I felt God putting this on my mind lately. And I wonder whether His words may not be just for me. 

We’re encouraged to put on the armour of God when we choose to live for Him. Choosing salvation means we are equipped for battle. From head to toe.

Ephesians 6:10-18

But what if the armour doesn’t feel quite right?

I know that I want to own my armour and walk out in faith, but as I woke up to face the day lately, it has felt like a burden rather than protection. Rather than a brave warrior poised for battle, I’ve felt like a small child clattering about in an oversized suit. The armour I had read about in the Bible has felt oversized, weighty and quite frankly, uncomfortable. 

It hasn’t always felt like it fit me quite right and I haven’t always felt that I know how to move in it.

But I felt God say, 

‘Oh my precious daughter, trust me. That armour is not mistaken. Those pieces were commissioned specifically for you. With purpose. With personalisation. That is my armour, and I make no mistakes in my creation. And I know that you are going to grow, to fit into that armour so perfectly that it will move with you as you move. You will be as one. Daughter, you will grow stronger, you will run faster and farther. You will dance more freely. And you will do so with this armour that shines and glistens in the light and that stands steadfast against any attack that tries to tell you that you’re not worth it. 

You will bring love and light, to protect and encourage others with the gifts I have given you’

So, I will refuse to give in to temptation when the armour feels like it doesn’t quite fit. I will choose to clothe myself daily in His armour and trust that I will continue to grow into my God-given identity and strength. The battle has been already been won.  

Philippians 1:6 (MSG) “There has never been the slightest doubt in my mind that the God who started this great work in you would keep at it and bring it to a flourishing finish...”

He wants to use us to shine light into dark places, to love the lonely and to point those who are weary to the one who gives us rest. But we aren’t expected to do it unarmed. 

So, keep that armour on. Keep silencing the lies that tell you that you will never be strong enough, significant enough, fast enough. Enough. 

These lies, and the feelings of shame, guilt and isolation that they create have no place in the presence of Jesus. They have no power to stop us as we step out boldly in faith, one day at a time. Protected by our own unique armour, we can keep growing.

I didn’t even notice. The tension that had built in increments had done so in the slyest of ways. But once broken, a new lease of life. Restored. Daily.

I was walking in the hills several days ago when God reminded me who He is, and who I am in Him.

The summit was in sight and I was determined to get there, turn around and get home. To tick a box. Achieve something, for myself. I had not even noticed my entire posture was on the offensive. Suddenly the line of a much loved song rang through my head and my attention was drawn to my jaw and to my fists.

‘You’re the God who fights for me’ It’s a truth I have spoken over myself and others, when life challenges and threatens us with overwhelm. Yet, my posture that day led me to question whether I had really allowed this beautiful truth to break into my life and change the way I walked through my struggles and my joys. My jaw was clenched tight and my fists were tighter still. I was walking through the beauty of His creation and all my energy was spent on preserving my own hard exterior. I was exhausted and I was beginning to realise why. Time under tension is never supposed to be a permanent state.

All of a sudden I felt like a non-compliant child. My Father stood beside me, hand oustretched so patiently as I continued in a relentless pursuit of proving my own worth, competence, place. He never stops longing for me to loosen my grip, release my palms from the digging in of fingernails and instead feel his loving hand in mine. For me, holding hands is a pretty powerful image. It’s about partnership, care, purposefully stepping forward in unity. And, try as I might, it’s not really something that clenched fists permit.

When I gave my life to Jesus, I felt I was making that commitment to hold on to His promises in life. It was a commitment I intended to last, yet despite my best intentions, life has a way of loosening my hands from His and convincing me that the best way forward is self-reliance. An elongated state of fight or flight. But this only robs us of the abundant life that is on offer to us in Christ. My strength alone may feel safe but it will never be enough. His strength, however, is made perfect in my weakness. So, rather than striving for flawless and giving in to pride, I want to open myself up to be fully loved in my imperfection, to humbly serve and boldly face my battles with the victor holding my hand.

Hand-in-hand with God, we are promised a life that is full, a life of love and authenticity. That’s not to say it will be a life of ease or perfection, but it does mean that our posture is changed to one of openeness to what He has for us here. Heartbreak that should have left me bitter and cold was turned upside down when I let him walk me through it. He turns mourning to weeping and He was teaching me to love selflessly and trust relentlessly through it all. Eating disorders have the potential to damage relationships, careers and steal life’s beauty, but He can turn our battles into victorious testimonies if we only let him. Testimonies of lies overturned and hearts renewed.

So, whatever battle we may find ourselves in, we can know His peaceful power. We have the choice between fists clenched or hands held.

Knowing that my life is in His hands means loosening the grip on individualism. It means trusting in the one who holds it all together and allowing Him to restore, redeem and renew.

It will always be difficult in a society that glorifies self-preservation and self-betterment, in a society that praises resilience and fiesty determination at all costs. But His way is not the way of the world. What if we need not strive on our own for resilience at all costs, but instead embrace God-reliance? For, we are only human. As much as the latest self-book may suggest otherwise, we have limits. But we are not alone in this. And the one who stands beside us is limitless.

‘With man this is impossible, but with God all things are possible’ Matthew 19:26

He delights in us, whether we feel ‘delightful’ or not. He wants to bring us gently to a place of peace, from which we can then pour out the love He has for this world. Clenched fists don’t make it easy to help our neighbours and friends. And a tense jaw doesn’t make it easy to sing His praises or encourage those around us.

So as I made my way up the remainder of that hill, I decided to do so with arms oustretched, eyes open to the beauty in His creation, and a heart of thanksgiving for another day. Another chance to let him lead me through life’s ups and downs.

‘I just feel like a dirty sock in a washing machine, you know?’ Stay with me. 

Recovery is hard. It is relentless. It is draining and it takes every single ounce of strength not to give up each day.

I’ve been battling an eating disorder now for years. It’s been a sly monster, shapeshifting with time and with each attempt to usher it out of my life. It knows my vulnerabilities and oh how it loves to play on them. What started as a ‘harmless’ desire to increase my physical activity and eat ‘more healthily’ was soon to become extreme restriction and anxiety around food. Years of excessive control, excuses and lies. After attempting to challenge the restrictions, to fight back, my monster sharply shifted. It took on the form of extreme bouts of restriction, punctuated by periods of binge-eating everything in sight, devouring cupboard contents and even bulk buying food to be eaten in secret. I compensated with exercise or restriction until the next time. I lied and excused myself. It became a relentless cycle in which nothing was ever ‘enough’. 

I’m still fighting it. The fear of failure, the desire to be desirable, critique and striving; they play into the hands of an eating disorder as if custom made. Recovery itself lends itself to the rhetoric of pass and fail, good and bad, worthy and unworthy. Time after time I’ve gone to bed with the desire to ‘succeed’ tomorrow. I’ve gone to bed with overwhelming sickness and promised myself it was the last time I binged. I’ve gone to bed hungry and deprived, promising it was the last time I skipped dinner. 

So today, while attempting to explain the way I felt, a washing machine came to mind. Like a worn and blackened sock, feeling dirtied. Stained and undesirable. I’m told that recovery is possible. It’s said that the dirt will be removed and the white restored. But right now, I’m in the midst of the process and all I feel is the aggressive force of the drum as I am thrust around and around. The overwhelming waters that surround me. The prospect of being clean and dry can often seem all too far away. 

“Soak me in your laundry and I’ll come out clean,    scrub me and I’ll have a snow-white life. Tune me in to foot-tapping songs,    set these once-broken bones to dancing. Don’t look too close for blemishes,    give me a clean bill of health. God, make a fresh start in me” - Psalm 51:7 (The Message translation)

Anyone who has used a washing machine will likely agree that it’s a simple science. A fairly mundane chore, maybe, but one which doesn’t evoke too much confusion. Insert the required quantity of detergent, choose your setting and let time do its thing. It’s a good job our laundry isn’t conscious as we pile it into the drum. While we can be quite confident that it will be okay, that those little socks will come out fresh and bright, the process itself is a little more stormy. Anyone who has an old machine will empathise with the shaking and rattling of a determined spin. 

But recovery means trusting in the process.

It means trusting that there is purpose in every battle. There is healing even in the heartache. 

A brave man once told me that he swears by three Ts: Trust, Talk and Try. We must trust in the process, even when it feels tumultuous. Especially then. We must keep talking. Voicing the lies that try to claim our mind means giving ourselves the chance to talk back to them, and allowing those we love and trust to respond with words of truth. Lies love silence. They love being hidden in the dark, where no light can counter their hold. Finally, we have to try. 

A recent talk by a church leader reiterated the importance of this, of living with a spirit of trying. We aren’t expected to succeed every time. In fact, we should honour the occasions on which we fall short or stumble. For at least we tried. Trying is where faith manifests itself as action. Where we step out with hope. We are called to live a life of trying. 

After a week of sleeping soundly through the night, last night I found myself wide awake at 3AM. Fear ran through me, without clear reason or cause. I felt shaken and I wasn’t sure why.

I was suddenly acutely aware of the size of the house in which I slept, alone. My ears pricked at the slightest noise and my fists clenched in feeble preservation.

Three questions posed themselves as I lay with my eyes wide open in the darkness:

“Where are you placing your hope?”

“Where does your strength come from?”

“Where do you feel safe?”

The answer to all three, is in God. The safest place to be in life is close to Jesus. Yet so often I lose sight of this. Desperate to cling to self-sufficiency and man-made constructs of meaning. I felt convicted.

The Lord’s prayer reminds us that we need only ask for our ‘daily bread’. A counter-cultural notion to say the least. I don’t know many people who do their grocery shopping daily and I myself certainly struggle with the idea that today alone should be our focus. Planning for the future can be wise and sensible. Fearing the future and the unknown, however, serves only to hold us back today. The idea of letting God provide for my daily needs and trusting in the future that He holds out for me can be unsettling, but I know it is the best thing I can do. While control and ultra-independence can be the most appealing of vices, they pull us further from a life in-step with God.

I felt the call to lay everything down. Trust His timing. He sees us exactly where we are, as we are. And he appoints us in that place. He qualifies the unqualified and shows us the power of simple submission.

When all is stripped away, one thing remains.

In the darkness of that night, with nothing for company but my own thoughts, I realised I was not alone. I opened my Bible app and could not help but laugh at the aptness of the daily verse. Deuteronomy 31:6.

“Do not be afraid or terrified because of them, for the Lord your God goes with you; he will never leave you nor forsake you.”

His love dispels fear, his company is constant. The fear that I felt was replaced with wonder at the attention to detail of my God. I think sometimes you need to be woken up, shaken, stirred from slumber. Sometimes it takes a little fear to remind you what defines your security. Plans for the future, forecasts, timelines and spreadsheets. None of it makes sense if it is not built on a solid foundation of God’s word. Clinging to control is futile if it is preventing our hands from holding on to His.

I listened to the lyrics of ‘When you’re with me’ (The Afters) with a sense of reassurance in where I am. Closing my eyes and savouring the moments of surrender. The right now.

You are exactly where you are supposed to be.

Everything is how it should be, when you’re with me.

What began as an uncomfortable awakening left me in awe of the lofty value of this life we live. I found myself giving thanks incessantly, praying for a 2021 in which I don’t lose sight of this.

Life is hard. It sometimes feels as though the clouds are stifling and the silver linings are out of sight. Truthfully, the Bible tells us to expect trials. God promised that our time on earth would be no easy feat.

When hurting seems slow to ease, it can be easy to restrict ourselves just two solutions:

1. Despair, freeze cold. Motionless.

2. Give in, cave and conform to the pressure. Abandon the inner calling to something far greater.

But to accept either of those would be to undermine the awe-inspiring power of the God I love. I alone may not be big enough to solve the lofty problems of today, nor heal the scars of yesterday. But he makes me brave.

He calls us to a third option: His way. His triumphant and purposeful way. He invites us to dance with Him through the strife, the confusion, the pain. We can dance through the night, knowing that a shout of joy comes in the morning. (Psalm 30:5)

Through all that life throws my way, the God I love promises to hold my hand. He doesn’t sit back in the stands and watch. He joins us on the dance floor, even the dirtiest and and darkest ones. Even when we try to convince ourselves that we’ve mastered a solo routine.

So, I will not simply cope and settle when things are hard. Nor will I ignore the trials that are to be faced. But I will dance. When my legs are shaky and my spirits low, I will dance.

Sometimes the idea of joy and dancing seems ludicrous when I look around at the world, and when I look inside my own heart. But Jesus was and is, radical. He defied worldly norms and human limitations. He loved lavishly those who others disqualified, He walked boldly where no man would dare and He glorified God with the most humble confidence. He danced over storms. And if, as Christians we believe, He is alive today, it is with defiance that He lives. So surely, through him, we can dance ludicrously. Free.

He took the shackles off my feet so I can dance.

Still, there are moments where shackles, once shaken, somehow find their way back to my ankles. Life can knock us from all directions and days can feel a perpetual struggle.

The decision to dance means taking the hand of a God who makes me brave enough to confront it all, face to face. To realise that, alone, I am vulnerable to the lies that society whispers and shouts. The lies that dictate who I ought to be, what I ought to believe and how I ought to behave. It takes courage to say no to the gods that society expects us to serve: relationships, body image, money, success, power, popularity…It takes courage to deny them the right to determine our value and our purpose. To stand firm in the promise that our worth comes from something so much greater. With Him, we can deny those lies the power to still our dance.

God’s word remains. He paid the price for our freedom once and for all, the day he sent his son to die. We are no longer slaves to the weight of the world.

We were not created for a life of awkward swaying, timid scuffling or fearful wobbling. For God gave us a spirit not of fear but of power and love and self-control (2 Timothy 1:7). So when it feels like chains are tightening, I will remind myself of who is holding my hand. Who makes me fiercely free. And I’ll dance with Him. Until the day we dance circles around all my fears.

Dear Nora

Today you came to the door with your gorgeous parents. The heat was strong and the air was heavy. Aunty Connie had struggled this morning. But like a shot of neat spirit to a shy youth at a bar, you transformed my demeanour. My cheeks, once tear stained, were now flushed with pride. Oh how proud I am, to know you. To call you my niece.

You have the power to bring joy Nora, don’t forget it.

You lay on the living room floor. Wriggling, squirming. Perfectly formed. Style swiftly surrendered to heat and your ditsy floral top was cast aside to expose a rounded and pale body. Fearfully and wonderfully made. I hope that you learn to love your body through all its evolutions to come. I pray that you treat it with the care that it deserves. You couldn’t be any more beautiful if you tried.

Several moments pass and your calmness gives way all of a sudden to the forceful cries that every mother seems to acknowledge with a ‘Oh yes, teething is she?’. Growing is painful. But those teeth will add to an already infectious smile. Those teeth will be the beginning of experiments with food, learning new tastes and textures. I hope you stay curious. Don’t be afraid to try new things and trust me, olives get better with age.

Your cries reverberate across the wide rooms of our family home. By the sounds of things you’ve got a healthy set of lungs, at least… I won’t pretend the sound is adorable or pleasant, or even that it isn’t acutely annoying. No sane person likes the sounds of a small human crying. But we love you, Nora. Your crying could never deter the desire to hold you close, marvel at your bright eyes, thank God for your life.

I wish it weren’t so, but there will be many more tears to come in this weird life on earth. Some (hopefully many) will be tears of joy. The graceful kind that flow in isolation down one cheek as your lips curl and you cherish the feeling of being overwhelmed with how good things can be. Some will be less picturesque. Puffy eyed, red-cheeked episodes. Sniffles to wails. Just remember that there will always be brighter days. We will love you through your sadness and look forward to your laughter at the other end.

I know that I am fearfully and wonderfully made. 

Yet before the mirror I stand, 

Doubt like a weed creeps up beneath the roses. 

I know that His hands hold it all. 

Yet bent over a desk and books at night,

Doubt like a weed saps my strengths.

I know that He is a good, good father.

Yet braced with the world’s suffering and wrong,

Doubt like a weed shrouds the light.

For as long as I am human, I am imperfect. 

Vulnerable to the clutches of doubt. 

I need Him daily

To point me to the shovel that digs down deep. 

Piercing the surface and getting to the root.

Ignorance is the weed’s best friend.

Attentive, regular pruning not so much.

To bloom where I am planted, 

My roots must first be released from the entangles of doubt, 

Darling, 

You are so much more than all of this. You are enough. 

Your stomach could be toned, flat, tanned, pale, soft, swollen. And it would still be beautiful. It would still hold your precious organs. It may one day home a baby. And that baby will neither know nor care of the outward shape of its home. Your stomach is a miracle.

Your legs may be slender, lined, smooth, wobbly, heavy. And they would still be beautiful. They would still be the legs that carry you around this wonderful world that we have the joy of exploring. They may be able to run fast, or they may need to take it slow. Darling, it’s okay. 

Your tears may be painful. But darling they are proof of a heart that feels, a soul that knows life is hard. There will always be sadness, and it’s okay to mourn. It’s okay to feel. But darling, let them wipe those salty drops away. Don’t hide. Let them in. You're never alone. And there will be so many more tears of joy in this wonderfully weird life of ours. 

Your hands may be busy, creating and crafting. Typing and writing, lifting and working. But darling don’t forget to let them be held. Don’t forget to lay hands on your loved ones. Because they’ll remember the kindness of your touch far more than they will remember the striving. 

Your lips may be sealed, pursed, bitten. And they would still be the lips from which His praises can be sung. Darling, don’t forget to declare the truth. Don’t forget to love with your lips, with your words. Sing to Him, sing to yourself, to anyone. Encourage and edify. Your words matter. And darling, kiss tenderly. Kiss goodbye and goodnight, hello and thank you. Let your lips be life giving. 

Your arms may be strong, muscular, slim, hairy, smooth, freckled, rippled. And they would still bring warmth to those you hold. Hug tightly, darling. Let yourself be held. Open your arms, even when you feel the strongest of urge to cross and close, to resist and retreat. Because darling, you may never know how much someone needs that embrace. And you may never know when one embrace is your last. So darling, thank your arms for bringing you connection and intimacy. 

Darling, your body may be tired or it may be bursting with youthful energy. It may be strong or fragile. It may feel comfortable, it may feel like a stranger. But know that your body is so much more than how you feel when you wake up and look in the mirror. Darling, know that your body is beautiful. Because it carries a heart and soul. Because it can bring joy. Please let it. 

My heart sank. Optimistic plans for socially-distanced reunions dissipated. 

“Patience is a virtue”. But we’re only human, and whilst fortunate enough to have a home and my health, I still felt a little hard done by when reading the latest update that brought very little change to the restrictions in place. 

So, doing what I do often do when tempted to wallow in self-pity, I turned to pen and paper. And then, to keyboard and screen. 

I may not be able to travel much further than the confines of my home and local streets, but creativity knows no boundaries or limitations. That’s one of the things I have often cherished about writing. The ability to escape, to explore and to surpass real-life limitations. 

With this in mind, I decided to do some travel writing. To approach the familiar with that sense of excitement and curiosity that one has when discovering a new destination. A holiday at home...

--- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- ---

I arrived at the tall doorway to my holiday home, anxious to see what lay on the other side. Turning the mottled bronze doorknob, I held my breath. Two steps forward and an exhale of relief. The air was fresh, a familiar smell of laundry detergent and freshly mowed grass floated through the space from what must have been numerous open windows. 

I made straight for the bedroom. To my astonishment, I found pyjamas in my exact size and style folded neatly on the edge of an expanse of white sheets that covered the King Size bed. What a wonderful coincidence. A paperback copy of “Making Time” lay waiting on the oak bedside table, folded over on the very page at which I had left off when reading this book a short while ago. Extraordinary. I’d had thoughtful favours in holidays rooms before, but the personalisation here was something else. 

After a quick nap, I awoke peckish and thought I’d head to the food hall. It was like no other. In fact, there was no sight of menus beyond some scrawled ingredients on a notice board; milk, eggs, chickpeas... I’m not too sure what this implied was to be served but couldn’t help but remark the quaintness of it all. Smells emanated from a stovetop pan, exotic and tantalising. My mouth watered increasingly with each crackle of what could only have been onions caramelising. Unsure of the the restaurant etiquette, I took a seat at the only table in the room, a long wooden farmhouse style piece. I supposed it was one of those hip establishments where as strangers and lone travellers, you all sit next to one another. I prepared myself for the instagrammers and soul-searchers that I associated with such places. Instead, a middle-aged man sat opposite me, followed by a young man whose lips curled as he scrolled through what I could only imagine to be the latest stream of Tik Tok uploads. Looked like it was just the three of us for dinner on this evening. One could have been mistaken for thinking we were a single party, a family even. before I had time to locate or peruse a menu, a plate landed before me filled with roasted vegetables and a fillet of crusted white fish. Catch of the day I assumed - what a treat. I began to tuck in to the home-cooked meal, pretending not to be baffled by the addition of the chef to the empty seat next to me. I’d never eaten at a restaurant where the chefs dine alongside the guests, but decided against questioning the customs until after I’d savoured every last bite of the evening meal. After a familiar and banter-filled chat with my fellow diners, the chef collected our plates and tidied them away into a dishwasher on the other side of the room. No mention of a bill was made, and both diners and the chef left the room one by one.

After dinner, I decided to explore the lounge, eager to curl up with a holiday read and lose myself in the pages of a heartwarming fiction. I found some sofas, slightly worn and homely to the eye but undeniably comfortable. Just as I felt myself being transported to the coastal setting of the narrative in my lap, I was interrupted by a shrill shriek, ‘No! Quick, over there. Fire! Okay follow me. And make sure you get ammo!’. What on earth was going on in the room next door? I wasn’t sure I wanted to know, but recognised the voice to be that of the young gentleman who had joined me for dinner. Numerous similar shouts followed, until eventually he emerged from the room adjacent wearing an oversized headset and clutching a console remote. He retrieved a glass of water and disappeared once more. I didn’t suppose I’d see much more of him on this holiday. 

My eyes soon tired and I closed my novel before the strain became too much to bear. Time for a quick session in the spa suite before bed, I thought. The spa was, admittedly, a little smaller than my pinterest-inspired expectations of mood rooms and infinity pools. However, the toiletries provided were perfectly adequate, almost as though hand-picked myself. Each of my favourite products lined up on a shelf beside the sink. I started with the power shower, belting out my best karaoke rendition of the Mamma Mia soundtrack as the water spurted, albeit a little weakly, from the shower head. “I have a dream, a song to s-”... my solo was rudely cut short by an aggressive knocking on the spa door. “You’ve been in there long enough now. Hurry up!”. It sounded very much like the middle-aged man, that third companion at dinner. How rude, I thought. I definitely hadn’t seen any notice on the door informing guests of a time limit on the use of the spa...

I recently listened to an episode of Bryony Gordon’s “Mad World” podcast, with Nadiya Hussein. The discussion focused on her ongoing battle with anxiety and the way our current situation of lockdown has brought her struggles to a head. She candidly speaks about her own battles and highlights the potential danger of self-isolation, when withdrawal is the very thing she would turn to in her worst moments with anxiety. 

Overall, I felt three things stood out: 

(i) the importance of checking in and reaching out,

(ii) the realisation that perhaps we all have messiness that we covered up with a busy schedule and

(iii) the reminder to be thankful for the gift of life. 

“how are you, really?” 

It’s nothing groundbreaking or novel, but I cannot stress enough the power of checking in. Making time to listen. Reaching out. It’s so important that we ask this question with sincerity, both to others and to ourselves. It’s more than a mundane greeting, it’s an invitation to delve into the things on people’s hearts. It’s an opportunity for vulnerable connection. 

Anxiety is isolating and without a patient ear, a kind tongue and a loving heart, those suffering in this situation will not be practising social distancing, they will be trapped in anti-social isolation. I believe that Jesus listens, speaks and loves. There’s no distancing measure that can keep him away from his followers’ call. And I believe he set us an example to follow - to mirror this overflowing love and servitude to those who need it most. To those who are suffering, who are lonely or afraid, I’d love to offer my (virtual) company in any way I can. 

Nadiya confesses that she ‘cannot control [her] anxiety and [her] mental health’. And I would be inclined to agree somewhat. Our emotions and thoughts rarely feel under our own control. But we can control where we look, who and what we allow to speak into our lives. And this in turn has the power to influence the way we think and feel. We have a responsibility to discern truth from lie, light from dark. Often the truth is not the most comfortable place to look, the answer is seldom a quick-fix solution, but we can persevere in this decision to believe the truth about our lives and our situations. That is, that He is in control, that He loves us and wants the best for us. 

A word Nadiya used to describe her condition is Debilitating. She described the experience of anxiety as ‘like being locked in your own head’. A daily battle against the voice in her head telling her that everyone else is doing just fine, enjoying the moment and living life in a way that she ought to. Nadiya talks about how she observes others who seem to be enjoying their in-the-moment lives, creating a very acute sense of self-loathing and regret for her inability to be ‘like them’. A cycle of shame, like a perpetual hamster wheel. 

But we are not condemned. We have been set free from guilt and shame. When we slip into the throws of sadness, worry, fear... we are not to be ashamed. In fact, I believe His heart breaks for ours when he sees us struggling against the lies that so easily entangle us. This shame we feel is often related to how we think we will be seen by other people. But what if the very creator of the world sees us as beautiful, chosen, loved? Shame really has no place in our God-given identity. In denying shame, we deny the power of hiding away, we allow ourselves to be raw and real. To cry out to God when we are hurting, to ask for prayer and confide in people who see us for who he made us to be. 

“Whenever you feel unloved, unimportant, or insecure, remember to whom you belong.”— Ephesians 2:19-22

'Existential angst’

I love a to-do list. I equate productivity with meaning daily. When asked if I have had a ‘good’ day, I will first consider the length of ‘achievements’ or ‘completed tasks’ behind me and thus determine how well my day has been. And I don’t think this is such a novel approach. Productivity itself isn’t wrong. But the danger comes when productivity alone consumes our sense of self, replaces our patience and generosity, quashes our creativity and dulls our gratitude. We are all trying so hard to be productive, to justify our time, to be useful in every way we can. The more you do, the more you deserve, right? 

But there’s absolutely nothing we can do to earn the grace of God. No amount of order, productivity, accomplishment. He died for us when we were still sinners who refused Him: 

“But God demonstrates his own love for us in this: While we were still sinners, Christ died for us.” — Romans 5:8

“You are loved more than you will ever know by someone who died to know you.” — Romans 5:6

It’s got absolutely nothing to do with what we have done, but everything to do with who He is. 

Podcast host, Bryony, talks of ‘existential angst’ today and I could not have coined a more befitting term. In fact, staying busy and ‘managing’ can easily default into a pattern of hiding or denying, a black hole of pretending everything is just fine. 

Whilst coping mechanisms should not be written off, nor should they be something people feel ashamed of finding comfort it, they cannot take the place of healing. We cannot distract ourselves better. Yet for some time, we have been so easily able to seek refuge in distraction and control. We have been so keen to shout louder than the voices of worry. Work, partying, gym, shopping... can provide a convenient alternative to facing up to our own weakness. 

So, when left with very little else but our own thoughts, we may find ourselves with an unwelcome realisation. That is, that we are utterly flawed. Our thoughts are not always wholesome and kind, our esteem is as volatile as the British weather and when left to our own devices, we very often fall short of where we’d like to be. 

Nadiya speaks of how she used to remove her glasses before speaking in front of crowds, because if she does not see them then she can pretend they are not there. It highlighted a common refusal to come to terms with the reality in front of us. We so often don’t want to ‘face up to the facts’. Yet, to realise how utterly helpless we are is also to realise how much we need the helping hand that is outstretched to us. He came that we might have life to the full. He came to save us from our ego, our ceaseless striving to be ‘holy’, our obsession with status. He came to put an end to our fruitless quest for self-fulfilment.

‘you are alive, which is a great place to be right now’

Nadiya makes a beautiful point of stopping to appreciate the miracle that is our life. To stop and allow yourself to breathe is to express gratitude for the gift of life. 

The lack of certainty brought about lately has created a call to stop ignoring the life in front of me. Yes, there is hurt and hardship. Yes, there is pain and panic. But there is so much more. There is meaning and truth, friendship and family. 

We can be grateful for the miracle of life and still be real about the utter devastation that is around us today. A miraculous and meaningful life is not a life without hardship. But it is a beautiful thing.

Whilst we are messy and emotional, His spirit is steadfast and sound. Whilst the world cries out in pain, He listens and He weeps with us. We don’t have to downplay anxiety or fear today, but we cannot fall prey to the self-loathing shame of not having it all together. We must instead choose to look to Him with expectancy, with hurting hearts, with gratitude for life, with a desire to be held in the hands of the one who created us. 

“Be strong and courageous. Do not be afraid; do not be discouraged for the Lord your God is with you wherever you go.” — Joshua 1:9

“I’m just a bit overwhelmed.” 

Somehow I’ve allowed this to be a standard response to how things are going - healthy eating, relationships, work, being a good daughter, friend, sister, girlfriend... somehow I allow myself to settle under the heavy weight of ‘it all’. 

What exactly does that look like? 

What if the weight of it all provides a comforting disguise, a shadow in which to hide, a refuge from reality, or simply a comfort-zone blanket? Feeling overwhelmed can be an easy place to resign oneself to. In fact, peeling back that comfort-zone blanket, braving the cold, facing the exposure of light, doesn’t always sound that appealing. 

But without exposing our whole hearts, our whole lives, we can’t expect to receive the glorious freedom in which we are designed to delight. 

This week has reminded me that, while the desire is there, I am far from practicing true surrender in all areas of my life. It’s true that certain spheres are more easily relinquished. Others - for me diet, relationships and work - feel safer in my hands, not His. And life has an often tactless way of reminding me that my hands are not, and never will be, quite big enough to bear the weight of it all. 

Matthew 16:24-28 The Message (MSG)

24-26 Then Jesus went to work on his disciples. “Anyone who intends to come with me has to let me lead. You’re not in the driver’s seat; I am. Don’t run from suffering; embrace it. Follow me and I’ll show you how. Self-help is no help at all. Self-sacrifice is the way, my way, to finding yourself, your true self. What kind of deal is it to get everything you want but lose yourself? What could you ever trade your soul for?

Yet, it doesn’t take long from reading these words before stubbornness creeps in and I convince myself I can “do this”, that “I got this”. It’s under control. Until it isn’t. 

Every week, myself and some colleagues aim to spend thirty minutes in prayer. Thirty minutes out of a five day working week sounds small, granted. Yet still I find myself challenging the temptation to excuse myself as “too busy”. Handing over my entire work life to the Lord can feel counter-productive. It’s counter-cultural and it doesn’t always align with the pressure to be hasty, relentless and individualistic in our career goals. Taking a thirty minute break in my day to pray for decision making, to ask for wisdom, for healing and blessing to my co-workers, isn’t always at the top of an ever elongating to-do list. But I’m working for a God who is never “too busy” for me, never “too busy” to remind me of the immense grace that I’ve been granted, the perfect peace that he desires for me. Thirty minutes. That’s all it takes some weeks, to recalibrate. And my hope is that it spills into every other minute I spend at work. To work for a heavenly king is to give my all in every task, every relationship, every responsibility I am given. All the while, knowing that my all is enough. Because with Him, my all becomes unthinkably greater. 

This compulsion to make things work all by myself spills into relationships as much as I like to believe it is not so. God is a relational God. He made us to be relational, to pursue connection. Yet, without repeatedly laying my relationships at His feet, the very thing he created to be a blessing becomes a curse that overwhelms. To be the perfect friend, sister, daughter, girlfriend... is not what Jesus asks. Jesus illustrated beautiful relationships, true love and servitude that pointed to the goodness of a creator. It would be foolish, then, to try and do things ‘my way’, to strive for perfection when all we really need is Jesus at the centre of it all. Without Him, I’m left with a dangerous inadequacy complex. We’re only human, after all. Human relationships are inevitably flawed, inconsistent and sometimes beyond our control. Without surrender, we’re left with guilt and shame when relationships don’t work out how we envisaged. Because we convinced ourselves it was all on us. Because we failed to let the greatest example of Love have His way. 

“Abide in me”. 

Living this life is not a one-off declaration of faith, but rather it seems I am constantly reminded of the need to return to the one that is greater than I. To realise that alone, I simply cannot do it all. But that I don’t have to. 

Rather than chasing perfection, I believe we are called first to spend time reflecting on all that He has done, his infinite forgiveness and the indescribable beauty of his ways. It has to start with Him. For God is love. And I’m certain that I don’t want to do life if not done in love. 

Let all that you do be done in love.

Recently, I’ve been thinking a lot about the importance of upward gaze. I listened to a wonderful sermon, referencing the story of Peter who walked on water toward Jesus. It was the moment in which he looked down at the waters beneath him, the moment he withdrew his attention from Jesus, that he started to sink. It struck a chord. It’s the moments that I withdraw from God and from those whom I love, that are the most frightening. So, I’m writing this as a reminder to myself, although hopefully to you too: Look up. For there is so much beauty to be seen in this world, and the temptation to focus our attention on what is beneath us can sometimes be our worst enemy.

“Look up, I’ve got you”

If we know that our soles are planted firmly on his ground, walking in step with the one who created us, then why waste time checking the floor beneath?  I’m reminded of a game I used to play with my Dad as a child. I’d place my feet on his and hold his hands as his feet did the work for the both of us, moving us in perfect unison around the family home. The minute I looked down at my own feet, I’d wobble, tumble over, the effortless synchronisation gone. But if I kept my eyes locked with his, my hands holding his tightly, I need not worry what my feet were doing. It only mattered that they were on his. I think that God is like this. All it takes is a little more trust. 

“Look up, I’ll guide you”  

It’s funny, we ‘look up’ a word when we want to discover its meaning, delve into its origins and etymology, understand how it can be best used. So, what if we approached our lives and our sense of self in that same manner? ‘Upwards’ seems to connote a source of reason, answers, meaning. Perhaps we ought to take this compound verb a little bit literally as well as figuratively, to ‘look up’ when we feel lost and don’t quite understand life’s big questions. I think there’s a reason the wise men looked up to the starry sky for directions to their newborn king; seeking wisdom that supersedes anything they may have been able to conjure up themselves. 

We should be looking up to God for justification, not to the ever-changing ideals of those around us. An eternal perspective is fundamental if we are to begin to grasp our earthly pathway. 

“Look up, I think you’re beautiful”

As I let my gaze fall, I used to see a stomach that was never flat enough*, legs that were never long enough... but God saw differently. He sees a perfectly formed human made in his image. Made to reflect his beauty to the world - not through perfected looks or conformation to societal standards but through beautiful acts. He has given me a stomach that may one day carry a child, legs and feet that let me explore this world, let me dance and run, arms that hold my loved ones and hug my mother tightly. I see that now. That’s what defines me. *Spoiler alert: no amount of exercise or diet will ever create a body with which I cannot find fault. I’m human and I’m vulnerable to the preys of comparison and self-doubt. It happens. But it’s not what defines me. So, instead of pouring over imperfections and wasting time looking down, I hope to lift my eyes. Because when I look up, I see friends and family who love and support me. I see a God who created me to love and serve those around me. I see a sky as vast as the possibilities that we have, if we choose to stop fixating upon ourselves. That’s what defines me. 

“Look up, it’s beautiful up here”

I often think about the times I’ve been away from home, exploring new places both near and far. In these places, with the naivety of a tourist and the excitement of a friend visiting her loved ones, my eyes are often drawn to the scenes above. I find myself wandering in awe of balconies, trees, skylines… yet when at home, I often fall into the complacency of the everyday. My eyes are instead glued to the payments beneath my feet or to the phone in my hands. But there is so much beauty to behold if we just look up. And you don’t have to escape to a faraway place for that. I’m reminded of a BBC article I read a long time ago but that stuck with me. It recalls some of the world’s most spectacular ceilings: “some of the world’s most glorious sights can only be experienced if you crane your neck”. I’m thankful to Jonathan Glancey who took the time to look upwards and prompt readers to do so too.

Starry skies remind me of the scale of this world. At 5″3 I’ve never felt particularly tall, but oh my do I feel small when I’m met with an expanse of glittering specks, each one lightyears from where I stand. Perhaps this is the most beautiful ceiling of all. 

*Wrote this a few months ago but it felt a little raw, but now feels right to share*

A few years ago, I started writing the occasional blog piece. Sometimes short and, hopefully, sweet. Sometimes long and, probably a little superfluous. I have always found the process of pouring over words to be truly therapeutic. Racking my brains until the sentence rolls out just right is both arduous and deeply satisfying. 

Lately, I have largely convinced myself that I am too busy to put pen to paper. Starting a new job and settling into a new life makes sitting down to write seem a pastime without purpose. I convince myself that there is too much going on, that I have too much to do. What can be the point in writing, if not used as promotion, for gain, to directly address someone? The answer is simple. The point is that it worked for me. Writing works for me. And sometimes, that is justification enough. Writing keeps me grounded, reminds me of the truths that otherwise slip so swiftly through my fingers. Writing helps me gather my thoughts and reminds me of all that I have to be thankful for. Writing gives me a satisfaction like no other. And all it really costs is a little self-discipline.

From what has been, put bluntly, a pretty sh*t week, writing has brought me back to the good. Cancer is horrible. Eating disorders are relentless. Foreign affairs are frightening. But there is good in this world. And I refuse to let myself slip into the throws of perpetual negativity. Instead, I want to write. To give voice to the good. To hail the blessings that are whispering gentle words of encouragement and love against the deafening lies. It is often easier to believe the loudest voice in your head. But it is always more important to discern between the helpful and the harmful.

I am beginning to realise how dangerously oblivious to the good I become, when I let my life revolve around the lies in my head. Lies that tell me my worth is determined by my appearance, lies that tell me I will never truly be happy in my body, lies that tell me I will never be strong enough to overcome fear. But lies are just that. And they do very little but steal from the absolute wonders in my life. 

When you have a mother who doesn’t think twice about sitting on a bus with questionable cleanliness for four hours, just to be there when it matters most. When you have a brother (and his beautiful soul of a girlfriend) who will take you in, cook for you, walk through the mess with you and pass no judgement. When you have a God who promises to love you exactly as you are, and help you be the most beautiful display of his love. When you have so much, sometimes you simply miss how blessed you are. It’s funny, I sometimes wonder whether I have anything to write about, if not off travelling the world and experiencing new cultures. Writing as a means of processing the day-to-day does not always sound the most glamorous. People read travel blogs and scholarly articles. So why should I write daily musings? Little thoughts? Despite this, today here I am, faced with a stream of words and thoughts that need an outlet. Sat indoors with a gloomy grey sky beyond the window, you would think that I would be without inspiration. I guess sometimes the plainest of days bring the brightest of sparks.