Ten years ago I suffered an acute auto-immune illness which “came out of nowhere” and had me very unwell for much of a year. With all the numerous tests required for diagnosis at the time, the doctors discovered I was suddenly producing a less than normal amount of insulin, the hormone and body protein essential for the metabolism of carbohydrates. It seemed that the two conditions, by their sudden appearance at the same time, were likely related. Without the usual predisposing factors, I had become diabetic. It was a bombshell, but with the provisional diagnosis of a lymphoma as well, it became the least of my worries. Diabetes is manageable, but a lymphoma may well prove to be deadly.

I was fortunate. There was no lymphoma and the enlarged lymph nodes around my heart eventually returned to normal as I slowly recovered from that illness. The diabetes remained, and I learned to cope with it, as we all do. Being a far from uncommon condition these days, many of us get to know the routine - diet, exercise, regular blood tests, several times daily finger pricking, medications, regular doctor appointments, eye tests, and the unpleasant nature of “hypers” and “hypos”. It becomes a lifestyle to be avoided only at considerable cost to one’s health. There really isn’t a cure. Some folk will always require medications and insulin.

But while there isn’t a cure, there is a good method of management for the very best of outcomes. It isn’t an easy road to take, but it does take one to far better places. I discovered it, and have travelled it… which is what this story is about.

Back in January this year I had come to where I was needing to inject insulin. I had “maxed out” (was taking the maximum dosages) on a combination of three different oral hypoglycaemics, a full hand of tablets to be swallowed twice a day. Time for injections as well. Wanting to push back from that inevitability meant a radical move; it was time for a shake-up.

We are fortunate these days with the wealth of nutritional knowledge made easily available on the internet, and I had become well-read on the research available concerning GI (glycaemic index) and GL (glycaemic load) of the different foods found on supermarket shelves and in our own kitchen pantries. GI values for each food item tells a person how much it is likely to cause a rise in their blood sugar, and if that rise will be a sudden and sharp one, or a slow, small and sustaining one. It evaluates the body’s reaction to carbohydrates, and the research material advises also on the interactions they have with proteins and fats. In the writings of many researchers, the relationship to exercise is also expounded. However, knowing something is one thing… and actually putting that knowledge into practice is quite something else.

This was going to need self-discipline and self-control, and more of it than I thought I could muster. It would involve an adherence to dietary principles that could be regarded as quite restrictive in nature, awkward, inconvenient, and a real spoiler for eating out. It would involve a change in lifestyle, the incorporation of a seriously regarded exercise routine as well, and sacrifices made to ensure that took a high priority.

Now it is July. Yesterday I achieved a rare event and became my doctor’s first patient ever to go from insulin to absolutely no hypoglycaemic medications at all, keeping my blood sugar right down within healthy normal levels, through nutrition and exercise alone. My pharmacist (who watched this come about) wants my story written up and published in the NZ Medical Journal and copies made available in all surgeries and clinics for the encouragement of others.

To get where I have got I sought spiritual support which, for me, was an essential element that helped make it happen. Some things are much harder attempted on one’s own, but with a measure of “grace” can become considerably easier. I made myself accountable with the help of one of the clergy at my local Anglican church. This extra form of encouragement, and the absolute honesty required, did help enormously. No cheating allowed without formal confession - and that included the exercise goals as well. It was very serious stuff, and we took it very seriously as well. Grace abounded, and the way became very much easier, even a delight to travel.

It was rocky as well, and it took just over 6 months to get there. The whole business has kept my doctor on the hop. His job was to monitor everything far more closely, the amount of medication required needing to be reduced and frequent (and often quite serious) hypoglycaemic episodes became my experience during this readjustment stage. Hypos are very unpleasant, and I was also annoyed by needing to dose up on glucose (extra calories) that I didn’t particularly want. A lot of extra vigilance, more frequent finger pricking, especially before going to bed at night, was necessary to guard against going hypo in my sleep. I did have hypos in my sleep, often being awakened from them by horrendous nightmares. Sometimes my husband would wake me, sensing something was wrong, and he became very astute at noticing when I wasn’t quite right. There were times of confusion and disorientation, and times when I certainly felt it was just too hard to be bothered.

The challenge for me now is to maintain this situation, and it wont be easy as it involves a strict discipline from which I dare not stray. My daily exercise routine involves an hour on the treadmill, a time that I combine with listening to my theology lectures on iPod. At least I no longer go to sleep during them! I have lost about 25 Kg in the process and have a new healthy lifestyle, but for me the biggest part has been the grace of God by which it was made possible. I like all kinds of food which is simply not for me. However, I am not missing it while I keep my hand in His, and don’t neglect a prayer life of constant praise, thanksgiving, confession and intercession. God is so good, and I have been very much blessed.

Praise be to God for He is indeed faithful. This is some more of my journey with Him, and I can attest to the fact that He really is there for us when we most need Him.

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He asked his disciples to watch with him and pray. Instead, they fell asleep. This was the night of terrible anguish and agony, knowing as he did what was to come.

Just the physical pain on its own would have been enough. The flaying with a whip, its sharp pieces of lead cutting his flesh to the bone. His body already ripped and bleeding, the exhaustion of struggling to carry the heavy cross to his place of execution. The thick iron nails driven through the bones of his feet and his wrists. The lifting up so his body hung on the nails, each breath intensifying the pain. The most cruel torturous death. But there was more… He was innocent. Even so, he was mocked and humiliated, taunted and spat at. But still there was more… far more than just that. This innocent man was to bear the whole wrath of God which would be unleashed upon him.

So in the garden of Gethsemane he prayed, knowing all this. He asked that the cup be taken from him, but he knew that was not going to be. He had come for this purpose, and he would go through with it. “Not my will, Father, but yours be done.”

His friends could not stay awake to be with him one hour… not even one hour.

This past night we took it in turns, just one or two at a time. We came quietly and remained in silence, letting each other in or out of the chapel as the hours slipped gracefully by. There was no such cup for us to drink, our beloved master having already drunk it down to the very last drop. We watched with him in spirit, prayerfully remembering his terrible ordeal.

I stayed five hours, fully awake but mind and spirit there with him among the olive groves. I wondered… would I be like Peter and deny him too? But watching what it did to him, how could I, he who has since willingly borne what I would never now have to bear? He has done that in love, so where would be mine? No, it is not enough to say Thanks and just walk away. In the early morning Peter wept bitterly when the rooster crowed, and my heart went out to him too. The price was paid, the debt is discharged. I belong to him, he now owns my all. The words of the hymn put it well.

Go to dark Gethsemane, ye that feel the tempter’s power;
Your Redeemer’s conflict see, watch with Him one bitter hour,
Turn not from His griefs away; learn of Jesus Christ to pray.

See Him at the judgment hall, beaten, bound, reviled, arraigned;
O the wormwood and the gall! O the pangs His soul sustained!
Shun not suffering, shame, or loss; learn of Christ to bear the cross.

(James Montgomery)

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It is a matter of relationship… the children of God are those whom He has adopted, those being the followers of His Son, Jesus.

The other evening our son came round for dinner, something he often does when his pay packet doesn’t quite stretch to cover the entire week. He knows his mother will always feed him, and even sometimes, make his favourite dessert - a fruit-laden, cream-filled pavlova. This is not to encourage him to mess up his budget and run short of funds, but to reward the efforts he truly does make as he struggles with his course in Reality 101.

After dinner the youngster put me through an entertaining quizz session. What would stop me from loving him? He suggested all sorts of horrors, and as I answered him, I knew that none of them could possibly stop me from loving him (even though I’d be visiting him in jail if he did any of them!) It has something to do with the love of a parent, a special kind of love. He enjoyed my responses, seeming content that he was truly loved. As we sat there together I thought too of how much our Father must also love us… that nothing can separate us from His love for His own beloved children. I was aware that the kind of love I have for my son includes total forgiveness, and that it must be so of our Father whose love for His children is even so much greater. It is just wonderful to reflect on that.

To be justified by faith in Christ gives a believer the legal status of righteousness before God. Repentance is required, a turning away from sin. It is also a response to such faith as obedience reflects a love of Him, a desire to be faithful to Him. It is a relationship of love, and a love that reassures of forgiveness. To make room in our hearts to fully appreciate that requires the forgiving of others… the more I forgive, the more I experience His forgiveness. The more I love, the more I experience His love. As His child, His love and forgiveness were there for me anyway.

Thank you Father for the child you gave me, and the gift of parenthood even when the way has been tough. It is a chance to know and enjoy You just that little bit more.

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As part of our family folklore, my brothers and I enjoyed the mischief involved in how it came about that our parents first met. We were told they had both been co-opted into teaching Sunday School at the local Anglican Church. It seemed that my Dad had his eye on my Mother right from the start, but she was not showing very much interest. To raise his profile a little my Dad chose to exercise a specific talent we children, some years later, came to enjoy greatly about him - his rather naughty sense of humour.

One cold winter’s evening, the little group of aspiring teachers huddled around the open fire in the front room of the vicarage, learning from the Vicar what the next Sunday’s lesson was all about. The Vicar stood facing them with his back to the fire, and my Dad was seated well to the side. When my Dad caught my Mother’s eye he silently mouthed the words “watch this!” As innocent as ever, he flicked something into the fire… a small torch battery. There was a loud bang and shower of sparks, a shocked gasp from the others, and the Vicar leapt forward with his hands protecting his bottom. After everything eventually settled down, my Dad did it again… another loud bang, shower of sparks, and a small battery consumed in the flames. My Mother was not impressed! She never really was by any of my Dad’s naughty pranks, but her attention had been got and somehow, by some miracle, they ended up becoming our parents.

Being a child of once-upon-a-time Sunday School teachers did result in my own attendance for a while, but with regard to our family, the seed had apparently been sown on fairly shallow ground or amongst weeds, or something like that. I’m not sure what happened to the roots but the kind of fruit tasted nice… just not especially spiritual. For instance, I remember asking my Dad once why we didn’t say Grace before a meal, and he explained that was because he worked hard for what he got and had earned it by all his very own efforts. Oh. God really was not in the picture at all. Looking back, despite the ingratitude, I see that He still blessed us abundantly anyway.

Recently our newspaper ran a story of a billionaire who honoured a pact that he had with God, a deal made many years beforehand. If God would make him wealthy, he would give half of his wealth to the church. The story told how the man had eventually fulfilled that promise, saying that God was owed that 50%. Oh.

But I have a question… who actually owned all that wealth? Was it the billionaire, or was it really God in the first place? My Christian understanding is that God created every created thing and therefore all of it belongs to Him. Having created it, He then appointed us stewards of His creation, to enjoy the gifts and blessings He pours out upon us, but only in Him do we have this access, do we have our very being. Ourselves, and including everything we lay claim to, first-and-foremost belongs to Him. It has always done so. What can we take with us when we die? Everything that exists does so only because it is His and sustained by Him.

Do you behave as though you own all you have, or as a steward of God’s wealth instead? Do you know where you rightfully stand in your relationship with God?

And he [Jesus] sat down opposite the treasury and watched the people putting money into the offering box. Many rich people put in large sums. And a poor widow came and put in two small copper coins, which make a penny. And he called his disciples to him and said to them, “Truly, I say to you, this poor widow has put in more than all those who are contributing to the offering box. For they all contributed out of their abundance, but she out of her poverty has put in everything she had, all she had to live on.”
(Mark 12:41-44 - ESV)

Christians are called to be generous and attend to others according to their need. It is admirable that someone gives to the church half of all the wealth over which they have stewardship, but it is the error of worldliness to believe that they owned it all in the first place. Sometimes it is easy to forget that what we have is not really ours but His, and that wise stewardship is required of us by the true Owner of all His creation.

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“Are you OK?” my husband asked cautiously. The concern in his voice caught my attention. I fumbled about and managed to prick my finger. “No, not really,” was my slurred response. I managed to get a glucose lolly into my mouth. “But I will be soon,” I tried to say. He looked across at my glucometer which was reading just 1·8 mmol/L. That was the second time in as many days that it had dropped that low… too low, seriously low. Normal blood sugar is in the range of 4 to 8 mmol/L and anything under 2 mmol/L is moving into medical emergency territory. After the lolly, plus 24 grams of a more sustaining carbohydrate (2 plain slices of Bürgen® Soy-Lin bread, toasted) and soon I was back to near normal again. It’s all a matter of balance.

Just as an anorexic can usually tell you exactly how many calories in a sunflower seed, so many diabetics get to know how many carbs, and of what kind (their Glycaemic Index or Glycaemic Load), plus percentage fat and protein too, in this or that item of food. What can and can’t be eaten, how much and when, must be related to existing blood glucose, insulin or hypoglycaemic meds, and levels of activity… it is all a matter of balance.

Just at present I am mildly or moderately “hypo” (hypoglycaemic) every day. It isn’t a lot of fun, but things are carefully being fine-tuned and readjusted. I’m expecting to become better balanced soon. Hey ho, happy days. It is just the way it is for me.

When it comes to matters of faith, and I’m thinking of the Christian faith in particular, there also seems to be a need for some balance… a balance between proposition (belief) and relationship. It was said to me recently that doctrine builds fences. Yes, I suppose that it does - it divides one belief from a logically opposing one. In that sense it is necessary as I am being illogical to hold both at the same time for the same situation. One will be wrong while the other is right, or both may be wrong, but both cannot be right (not wholly so). However, not all fences matter that much, and some most definitely do. There is a far greater divide between someone who says that Jesus is the begotten Son of God (as it does in the Apostle’s Creed) and someone who says that Jesus is just a prophet, highly respected, but not the begotten Son of God (as is taught in Islam) than there is between two believers in the same proposition but simply worship Him (if they do) using a different form of liturgy to do so. So doctrine does build fences, but there are fences within fences, within fences, within fences… and some are far more climbable than others. I can straddle a few fences with reasonable comfort, but some definitely keep me in one place and not in another.

When it comes to relationship, then living according to the Way, or loving as we are commanded to, my faith cannot be all propositional and never put to the test, never put into practice, be just words without those deeds that confirm my commitment to them. There is a strong and direct connection between right belief and right everything else - attitude, behaviour, lifestyle - that shows forth in relationships, and in one relationship in particular, that between Jesus and me.

The balance I now find myself seeking is that between believing according to the Word (my knowledge and understanding) and living in obedience to the Word (to Jesus, the embodiment of God’s word) whereby He is not just my Saviour, but my Lord as well. This relationship to Jesus is critical, based on my increasing knowledge of that which I know to be true… as He is the Way, the Truth and the Life. (John 14:6)

It is one thing to know about Jesus, to know what are the fundamentals of the faith, to know the doctrine of this or that church, but it is something quite else to really know Jesus through being in a real living relationship with Him. Right belief takes you only so far, but without the relationship there is no balance at all. Instead, there is the very real danger that one day those terrible words may be heard: “Depart from me…I never knew you.” (Matthew 7) Those would be the most terrible words I could ever hear said, and I certainly pray that I won’t… nor you either!

Email Judah

Last night I happened to mention that it was Fat Tuesday. “What’s that?” asked my son. I told him how, in the liturgical calendar, it was the day before Ash Wednesday which is the first day of Lent. He thought I was speaking a foreign language since all this was quite unknown to him. Yes, I know that I am educating him in these matters just a little late, but I went on to tell him that Fat Tuesday was so named as the day when you ate up all the rich food prior to the fasting period of Lent, the six weeks leading up to Good Friday and Easter.

Young son caught on fast. “Had I known that, I would have expected a chocolate cake for dinner!” he complained. Yes, I suppose he had a point. Or at least pancakes, the more traditional food on the day.

But when it came to the “giving up” part, the self-denial period of Lent, he was clearly going to take more convincing. Being a low income earner, he already considered he was doing a fair share of “giving up” and self-denial since he is now no longer living at home, taking instead that eye-opening course we call Reality 101.

Today is Ash Wednesday. It is so named for the ancient practice of pouring ashes on one’s body (and dressing in sackcloth) as an outer manifestation of inner repentance or mourning, and is mentioned several times in the Old Testament. What is probably the earliest occurrence is found at the very end of the book of Job. Job, having been rebuked by God, confesses, “Therefore I despise myself and repent in dust and ashes” (Job 42:6). In the New Testament, Jesus alludes to the practice in Matthew 11:21: “Woe to you, Korazin! Woe to you, Bethsaida! If the miracles that were performed in you had been performed in Tyre and Sidon, they would have repented long ago in sackcloth and ashes.”

Ash Wednesday, like the season of Lent, is never mentioned in Scripture and is not commanded by God. Christians are free to either observe or not observe it. I don’t remember ever doing so before, but this time I chose to observe it. Christians are invited to the altar to receive the imposition of ashes, prior to receiving Holy Communion. The Priest (or Pastor) applies ashes in the shape of the cross on the forehead of each, while speaking the words, “For dust you are and to dust you shall return” (Genesis 3:19). Those were the words God spoke to Adam and Eve after they had eaten of the forbidden fruit and fallen into sin, indicating the most bitter fruit of their sin, namely death. In the context of the Ash Wednesday imposition of ashes, the words remind each penitent of their sinfulness and mortality, their need to repent, and to get right with God before it is too late. The cross reminds us of the good news that through Jesus Christ crucified there is forgiveness for all sins, and all guilt is removed from those truly penitent at heart.

One never knows when that moment that it is “too late” will come. Of course, some don’t care because they don’t believe it anyway. The warning is there, and Jesus spoke often of our eternal danger if not taking heed. All are called to take heed, but sadly, not as many listen. Which kind are you?

Three weeks ago we got some shocking news that left us stunned. The friend who had introduced my husband and me to each other, someone of our same age, was suddenly dead. She had been so full of life, and we thought too young to die. But of course, no one is too young because people die at all ages, some even before they are born. It is a fact of life, so why should we have been so shocked? Still, we had never expected it.

But penitence is not just about an eternal future, whether you believe we have one or not, but about loving He who created us, loving the One who sacrificed all for us, and knowing how sin in all its ugliness distorts and damages and hurts. We sin because we are sinners, but even as sinners, we can still loath what we do and want to turn away from it. Without the grace of God that is impossible, but once He has drawn you to Him, once you have tasted the goodness of knowing Him, known His compassion, been blessed by His riches, then sin becomes so totally abhorrent. Being free of it and clean again is worth all the self-denial in the world.

Lent is not so much about doing without chocolate cake, or giving up meat as some do, although that can certainly be an outward part of it. Lent is far more about self-denial through turning away from the sins we commit, all of them, not just those of greed and selfishness, and doing so in response to His great love for us. Without His grace I cannot do that, but He is generous in His graciousness and I owe Him my all. Lent, for me, is some more of my journey with Him.

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Those things that a man can not amend in himself or in others, he ought to suffer patiently, until God orders things otherwise.
Think that perhaps it is better so for thy trial and patience, without which all our good deeds are not much to be esteemed.
Thou oughtest to pray nevertheless, when thou hast such impediments, that God would grant thee help, and that thou mayest bear them kindly.

(Thomas à Kempis, 1380-1471)

I often dip into this little book for the gems of wisdom that it elucidates from an enlightened understanding of Biblical truth.

Knowing myself as I do, and of my friends around me, there is one thing that is outstandingly obvious… not one of us is perfect! Today’s liberal culture will have it said that most humans are basically good, but while we may think of ourselves and our friends mainly in that light, compared against a standard of absolute goodness (total perfection in righteousness, holiness, infallibility and all those other such superlatives) that idea begins to crumble fast. We may appear good in our own eyes, but how quickly we can find faults by barely scratching the surface. Would you not agree?

Even so, am I not “good enough” to be conisdered basically good? Well, I certainly try. At times I get called an angel, but many other times, I am a huge frustration to those who expect something else of me. And even when doing what others want of me, no way do I measure up very well against a standard of perfection, of absolute goodness. And what’s more… nor do others whom I know.

OK, that’s all old hat… humans have their faults. But how to cope with the frustration of that fact, the irritation others produce in us (or rather, our irritation in response to them - and yes, there is a difference there, a small and important matter of self responsibility!) and the resentment, anger and ultimately guilt that can result? Resentment and guilt are often opposite sides of the same coin, melded if genuine repentance does not intervene and render it spent. My guilt will have me become resentful just as surely as my resentment is a matter of which I am guilty. It doesn’t pay to entertain either for very long. These coins weigh heavily in my pocket.

And what does Thomas say about that? Read on…

2. If one that is once or twice warned will not listen, contend not with him: but commit all to God, that his will may be fulfilled, and his name honored in all his servants, who well knoweth how to turn evil to good.
Endeavor to be patient in bearing with the defects and infirmities of others, of what sort soever they be; for that thyself also has many failings which must be borne by others.
If thou canst not make thyself such a one as thou wouldest, how canst thou expect to have another fashioned to thy liking?
We would willingly have others perfect, and yet we amend not our own faults.

(ibid.)

OK Thomas, you’ve got me there. I cannot make myself be perfect so how can I possibly expect the same of others? I can’t! Not reasonably. Not realistically. Not by my doing, nor by their own. What point is it to be hassled by that fact? It must become an exercise in patience, and if I am a believer (which I am) then turning it over to God for His own intervention according to His will.

What next?

3. We will have others severely corrected, and will not be corrected ourselves.
The large liberty of others displeaseth us; and yet we will not have our own desires denied us.
We will have others kept under by strict laws; but in no way will ourselves be restrained.
And thus it appeareth, how seldom we weigh our neighbor in the same balance with ourselves.
If all men were perfect, what should we have to suffer of our neighbor for God?

(ibid.)

Am I really more harsh on others than I am on myself? To be honest, sometimes… yes. The more irritated I am, the more retribution I want exacted. Make them behave, God! Make them do as I want! And while you’re at it… fix it so I don’t feel so bad, that whatever inconvenience they have incurred is rectified, that I do not need to suffer them. Why should I suffer the faults of others? What a pain they are!

Back to Thomas for the final bit.

4. But now God hath thus ordered it, that we may learn to bear one another’s burdens; for no man is without fault; no man but hath his burden; no man sufficient of himself; no man wise enough of himself; but we ought to bear with one another, comfort one another, help, instruct, and admonish one another.
Occasions of adversity best discover how great virtue or strength each one hath.
For occasions do not make a man fail, but they reveal what he is.

(Thomas à Kempis, 1380-1471)

Yes, we have things to do for others. And what’s more… such a revelation is surely worth some pondering on.

I asked the Lord that I might grow In faith and love and every grace; Might more of his salvation know, And seek more earnestly his face. ‘Twas he who taught me thus to pray, And he, I trust, has answered prayer; But it has been in such a way As almost drove me to despair. I hoped that in some favoured hour At once he’d answer my request; And by his love’s constraining power, Subdue my sins and give me rest. Instead of this he made me feel The hidden evils of my heart, And let the angry powers of hell Assault my soul in every part. Yea more, with his own hand he seemed Intent to aggravate my woe; Crossed all the fair designs I’d schemed, Blasted my gourds and laid me low. “Lord, why is this,” I trembling cried; “Wilt Thou pursue thy worm to death?” “‘Tis in this way,” the Lord replied, “I answer prayer for grace and faith. These inward trials I employ From self and pride to set thee free And break thy schemes of earthly joy, That thou mayest seek thy all in me.” ~ John Newton (1725 – 1827)

The journey continues… In a previous entry I shared my experience of a most daring prayer, that being a verse of Psalm 139. Unlike those who have told me that God seldom seems to be listening to them, or if He does then He doesn’t respond, I was far from disappointed. The result of sincerely praying those words was incredible, a convincing confirmation that there was certainly Somebody listening and indeed taking notice. It is not that I needed any convincing, but I do have friends who claim not to have any responses to their prayerful entreaties, even to the point of losing faith and giving up altogether on God. Given my own experiences, this weighs heavily on me. I know Him personally to be faithful, generous and loving… but those friends are not experiencing Him as I do. To some of them God just isn’t real. He doesn’t come through for them, and that is simply that. But wait a mo… hear me out, I tell them. There is far more to prayer than the furnishing of a shopping list, with due dates, and maybe some bargaining added to the mix (a measure of one’s desperation, perhaps). That is not what it is about. No way! It is actually about a relationship. Perhaps the most widely known prayer is the one that begins “Our Father…” The words are those of Jesus who enraged and scandalised the religious authorities of the day by teaching His disciples that they may call God their father if they are followers of Himself. Being a child of God does not happen automatically by virtue of being human. This point eludes a great many people. It is a nice cosy sentiment… the universal brotherhood of man, the universal fatherhood of God. But that is free masonry, and universalism, not Biblical Christianity. It was His disciples whom Jesus was teaching to pray this way, and this is the context that often gets ignored. As is written in Scripture, God adopts as His children only those who truly believe in, and so follow, His eternal Son Jesus. This relationship with God is not to be assumed otherwise, and it is this relationship that underlies the promises God has agreed to honour. Whereas God does not limit Himself to answering prayer only within this relationship, it is certainly the properties of this special relationship that impinge greatly on the way we come to pray, the content and motivation of our prayer, and the responses that follow from God. It is within this relationship, properly ordered where God is Sovereign and my chief end is, in the words of the Westminster Shorter Catechism, to “glorify God and enjoy Him forever”, that I am to submit myself to the will of God and, by the working of His Holy Spirit, become increasingly like Christ. I know that sounds horribly religious, saying it like that, but the bottom line for all prayer is that this end is achieved. Anything that I ask for myself (and on behalf of others) must have that end in view, that our gracious God is honoured and glorified. Prayer of that kind, with that motive, is never unanswered. Included will be the provision of all my genuine needs, those of body, mind and soul. But here’s the crunch… should I hold on to anything that I know to be sin, or attempt to deny it as sin, and be unwilling to give that up, then that may become an obstacle to such an end. Then God will appear not to be listening. So with John Newton, author of the poem and hymn quoted here, I share the same request… and likewise find myself travelling a very similar path these days.

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I’m not really much of a gardener and weeds do rather get away on me. But the Roses are prolific, the Geraniums sure know how to climb, and the Bourganvilia might have managed better had they not been so smothered until just the other week. Luckily the Marigolds, Snapdragons, and other little pretties (can’t remember their names) seem to like it where they found themselves, and the Daisies and Daphne are faithful every year anyway. Just as well. As much as I love them all, I’m not a very good mother to them. I just don’t have green thumbs.

Would it help if I was to make a New Year’s Resolution? Take better care of my flowers! I doubt it. My experience of New Year Resolutions is that they usually work in reverse. They seem to trigger the Oppositional Switch in my personality, and that guarrantees certain failure.

What I do find works for me, once I learnt to become organized some time ago, is a list of goals… or tasks. Things to do. Verbs. Things to achieve. Nouns. Going to the extent of adding “due dates” made it too much like school assignments, so I stopped before getting that far. Too easy to give myself extensions for insufficient reasons. But keeping lists and checking off items gave a sense of accomplishment, and made even more sense when I broke down those goals, and the tasks that led to them, into sub-tasks or little steps on the way. They could get checked off as well, and my life would become a glowing record of tiny accomplishments. Just like school these days where nobody fails anymore… just simply “not achieved” er, yet. How postmodern and up with the Age!

So… it is early New Year’s Day, and I have some goals to write down. I have been thinking of them all December (while lying awake with the birdsong) and my keyboard is about to learn of them. No, I’m not making all of them public. Most of them are just for my eyes only… and He who knows every thought before I have even come up with it. But there is an all-encompassing and really massively huge one (well, several) that I can let you know. See if you can match this - be challenged! - for a Really Big Goal…

Therefore, as God’s chosen people, holy and dearly loved, clothe yourselves with compassion, kindness, humility, gentleness and patience.
~ Bear with each other and forgive whatever grievances you may have against one another.
~ Forgive as the Lord forgave you.
~ And over all these virtues put on love, which binds them all together in perfect unity.
~ Let the peace of Christ rule in your hearts, since as members of one body you were called to peace.
~ And be thankful.
~ Let the word of Christ dwell in you richly as you teach and admonish one another with all wisdom, and as you sing psalms, hymns and spiritual songs with gratitude in your hearts to God.
~ And whatever you do, whether in word or deed, do it all in the name of the Lord Jesus, giving thanks to God the Father through him.

(Colossians 3:12-17, NIV)

My favourite NZ native tree… the Pohutukawa, metsiderosis excelsa, is known as the New Zealand Christmas Tree. This is exactly the time of year that it comes into blossom, and together with its supposedly Christmas colours of red and green, it is not surprising that it is given that name. I have them growing around my home. This one here is still quite a baby, standing barely thrice my height but expected to reach a good 20 metres or more… provided the local city council doesn’t send their tree-hating so-called “gardeners” out to lop it about!

You could be forgiven for thinking that Judah slept right through this Christmas, there being no other posts to my Journal this month except for the one on the first, but that is not so. I was awake alright!

The days here have been long ones, and busy ones too. The dawn chorus is already going strong by first light, around 5.00 am, with several resident Tuis leading the choir. This lovely native bird, Prosthemadera Novæ Zealandiæ, has reinhabited suburbia now that the culling of opossums, the introduced Aussie pest, has given them back their territories. Much of their song is outside the range of human hearing, but we are given recitals of much chortling, chuckling, warblings, sneezes, and melodious motets that go on endlessly until late at night when the Moreporks, our native owl, takes over to repeat its name through until sunrise.

Living with native bush on my property, there is little chance of remaining asleep throughout summer! But Christmas did come at a rush and was over almost before I could say Hallelujah.

With a few Vicarly words of encouragement, I managed to get myself to the Midnight Communion Service on Christmas Eve, my first for a best forgotten number of years. I’m so glad that I did. It was a wonderful occasion, one that I wont miss again, I promised myself. My first for ages…

In these politically correct days where the words “reason for the season” are barely whispered so as not to give offence (no mind the offence given our Creator!) it takes some courage, or a Christian conviction, to look behind the secular holiday traditions (why red and green for Christmas, do you suppose?) and realize that Jesus was not God’s Plan B for mischievous humans. Our mischief was predicted long before we even came into being, long before the beginning of time. Jesus was born to be killed, made incarnate to redeem, and that was Plan A right from the start.

Sounds engineered, doesn’t it? I don’t personally think so… more like a wise, omniscient Being saw way into the future and arranged His ducks in a row, so to speak. Not just omniscient either, but One who cared enough about His creatures to work out a way whereby love redeems creation. All this can take a bit to get one’s head around, but that is really what Christmas is all about. Lose the occasion under the red and green, silver and gold, sparkles and tinsel, avarice, gluttony, hate, anger and family violence, but it is still there regardless… the Saviour who was born in humble circumstances, was mocked and tortured for our transgressions, but loved us enough to forgive us, sanctify and glorify us with Himself… if only we care enough to follow Him to the foot of the cross, to kneel at the throne of God.

While becoming absorbed in Psalm 139 and allowing those ideas to lead and guide my current journey, its words becoming like the winding roads on a map of the countryside through which one is travelling, I turned some pages and found myself “by chance” in the Song of Songs. This is one amazing book. Here the lover woos his beloved and the dialogue traces their tender and intimate relationship through to its culmination in total self-giving and joy.

Although I write “by chance” I don’t really think it was accidental at all. There is more than a mere hint of purpose in this next discovery of the kind of love we encounter when we seek and find Him, the true lover of our souls.

It is not one kind of love, in accordance with our human categories, but all kinds as we perceive and define them… eros (desire), storge (affection), philia (friendship), and agape (charity) …which come together, woven in perfect combination, to express the completeness of divine love where nothing is held back. It is total, perfect, whole and immeasurable.

The symbolism may be a little difficult to comprehend without keeping in mind that the analogies are figurative rather than literal; that they are not intended primarily to be visual, but to correspond instead to quality and value. How otherwise could a woman be compared to a horse in Pharoah’s court and the comparison not be derogatory in intent… unless it is taken to mean that she is just the very best of her kind? Or a part of her body likened to two fawns, twins of a gazelle, if not suggesting a delightfully engaging youthfulness rather than the species’ own looks?

Thus knowing that, I read with my intuition uppermost, freely associating but knowingly so, and so tasting and savouring the sensuous references to nature and fruitfulness. There to be known was the joyful abundance where satiation and fulfilment are first dreamt then attained, where hope becomes reality, longing becomes ecstacy, and where mutual desire is finally consummated. Such was evocative of God’s great love for Israel, Christ’s love for His church, His love for each soul, the lover embracing His beloved, and the beloved responding in kind. There I found the same experience of being drawn to Him as before… that same yearning for absolutely everything to be seen and known, no holding back, but for Him to hold me, see and know me, to breathe into me those tender words of the lover: I love you.

It was no accident that I found myself in the Song of Songs after some time in Psalm 139, the winding roads of the map having taken me there as surely the Shepherd leads His sheep from one pasture to another. Accidents, like co-incidents, don’t happen on these spiritual journeys where our Father is sovereign, all our days known, and every hair on our heads counted. He searches and knows us, and His beloved are loved intimately, profoundly, and way beyond measure.

“I am my lover’s and my lover is mine” (Song of Songs 6:3)

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Search me, O God, and know my heart; test me and know my anxious thoughts. See if there is any offensive way in me, and lead me in the way everlasting. (Psalm 139:23,24)

It is not a good idea to ask God to do something if you do not really mean it… but a very good idea to ask if you do. I’ve listened to a number of people tell me that God doesn’t answer prayer. He has not responded in the way, or the time, that they have expected of Him. It is awfully human to decide from such an experience that God just isn’t listening, doesn’t particularly care, or maybe doesn’t even exist. We have very high expectations of Him, especially as He is known to be all powerful and so gracious, merciful and loving… and therefore it is easy to get impatient and disillusioned, those of us with little faith and knowledge of His ways. There is much to be said about that… another time. However, there is one prayer that takes real courage to pray. This is a very daring prayer that will take you on a journey, and it may be through some very rough terrain, stormy weather, and scenery not of your choosing. Pray it with caution, but with sincerity and a willingness to listen, and you’ll certainly not be disappointed. It comes from Psalm 139… the last two verses. A little while ago there was something niggling at my conscience, something to which I really did not wish to pay attention. It just lay there at the bottom of my mind, sending up the occasional little burst of bubbles which broke upon the surface to disturb the pleasant calm. Then one day, having prayed that daring prayer, I knew I had to do it… get up the courage and risk sharing their source with someone, another Christian who could be trusted with such confidences. The result was incredible, and not unlike an intensive spring-clean which went deep into my soul. It was painful… deeply distressing, and it didn’t stop there.

The journey was indeed rough. It was emotional. It was spiritual. It meant stopping something and committing to a different course of action. It meant being sorry, and while my friend (an Anglican priest as it happened) spoke so gently, kindly and caringly without condemnation, it was myself who condemned me. God forgives generously all those who are truly sorry and will turn to go His way instead of their own. There was no doubt in my mind about that, but I had not realized how much our wrongdoing causes Him pain as well. Of course… He died on the cross, crucified for our transgressions, the propitiation for our sin. His suffering was far greater than anything we have suffered or ever will. As the spring-cleaning proceeded, I became aware of other things in need of repentance, but as time went on, the process did come to feel less ruthless and terrible.

But isn’t this all a bit too personal to post? Why? The reality is that we are all sinners, every one of us, our wills biased naturally towards unrighteousness. Only in genuine repentance will we find God’s forgiveness. And in finding it, having turned back to Him, there is the incredibly loving experience of restoration that He brings about. It is certainly painful, quite terribly so, to let oneself hear what God finds when He looks into one’s heart… but equally a real joy to have His hand touch, forgive, heal and bless in return. It is really worth facing the mop and bucket for such a restorative blessing from Him.

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So often the wisdom of this world is folly to God (1 Corinthians 3:19) and worldly folly is wise indeed, and sharing one’s spiritual journey may help encourage others “out there” whom I have never met. With that in mind, I will continue to tell of my journey…

My time spent in England included visits to numerous ancient cathedrals. We arrived at one of them just as a Holy Communion service was beginning. Troubled by all the difficulties in the Anglican communion, plus some other less worthy reasons, I had resisted attending any church and the Lord’s Supper. However, as a matter of obedience, this was already weighing quite heavily on me. Our Lord had said “Do this…” and I was not. So in Salisbury Cathedral, for the first time in 34 years, I did. The presence of God in those moments was overwhelming - a huge holy presence that filled the whole space around me, myself right there in the midst where even the walls seemed to have soaked in all the prayers of the ages and were too sacred to touch. Years of resistance had fallen away and I was “back in the fold” once again.

There was no staying away after that. Back home again, and feeling very new to it all, I attended a midweek Communion service at my local Anglican parish church. Had I known what was going to happen, my courage might well have left me long before I got there. The congregation was few in number, the presiding priest spoke a short and prophetic sermon, and those words were my utter undoing. At the mention of those old English cathedrals, such God-filled holy places that even the walls seemed to have soaked up the prayers… I was suddenly awash with tears. This was embarrassing. I wanted desperately to become invisible, to disappear into the back wall, to be anywhere else instead. It wasn’t to be. What a homecoming!

I have been very fortunate the past couple or so years, while not attending church at all, to have an “online vicar” - Vic, my friend, Anglican priest, pastor, and Christian brother. While in England we met in person too. During my teenage years I had a charismatic experience which I “shelved” when I walked away from my faith, and which I left untouched until very recently. Since returning home, I knew all of my life needed to be brought into the light which meant revisiting that experience from way back. Talking with Vic (so easy to do so on Skype!) whose own spiritual gifting, discernment and counsel, plus some wonderful prayers, finally made spiritual sense of that early experience for me. The gifts I received back then have been restored and now have a proper place in my life. They are certainly real, and I am experiencing a deep-seated joy, and peace, and making of peace with people where there has been lack of love in the past. As Vic prayed there was a further experience for me of prophetic words, ones deeply comforting and transforming. These are very rich experiences of the Holy Spirit. They leave me feeling very much humbled, thoughtful, prayerful, and incredibly touched by how profound is such an experience of Him. God is so good, and His grace is astounding. Once having tasted the reality of the living God, there truly is no other way to live.

I have a new vicar as well, the one where I have found a place to worship, that being my local Anglican church. Archdeacon Peter, thank you for being so welcoming, encouraging and accepting of me, a stray sheep who wandered in from being outside for far too long. I don’t know exactly where this earthly life is heading for me, but I am certain of something… a heartfelt gratitude for all my Christian friends. You are the church, the body of Christ. I don’t know where I’d be if it was not for you all.

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Way out in the countryside, we both had to laugh. This icon of British communications stood alone, passed by in an age of individual ownership of modern technology, almost an anachronism with noone around. Was it left behind by mistake? Was it even still connected to anything? We didn’t need to try it out, having two little ones of our own in our pockets.

But yay, I’m safely back, and what an adventure it was!

Four flights of 6 hours, 13 hours, 3 hours and 1 hour, with the rest of 36 hours waiting at airports, did make for an exhausting return. We were greeted by the open resentment of neglected household appliances… microwave oven display turning purple, washing machine emptying all its water out on the floor, car battery playing dead, and somewhere bleeding out oil. Being given a rest, did they really think I should have taken them away on vacation as well? Ungrateful lot, they sure are. If so, young son was certainly of like mind with his thoughtful, well reasoned and entirely logical explanation… we obviously should have taken him too!

It’s taking a while to get back to writing. Some of my friends are prodding me now - yes, waving at you gentle prodders! - and I will be back into it soon.

John Denver’s song title makes an apt title for this Journal entry too, probably my last one until mid-August when I return, also on a jet plane - an Emirates Airbus, the giant A380. But unlike the song lyrics, my bags are not yet packed, nor am I ready to go, and with a return ticket I actually do know when I’ll be back again… er, trusting all goes according to plan.

I know I have flown on many flights, and over great distances, but flying is really not something I look forward to overly much. However, when you live down the very bottom of the planet (”bottom” according to my Northern Hemisphere friends, that is!) then, if you want to go anywhere much, there are not too many options.

I’m told that the odds of myself coming to grief are far more likely on the roads, in a car accident back home, than in any aircraft incident. Statistics are supposed to be comforting here, but two airbuses have recently crashed and nobody on board survived the experience. Oh-oh, I really should not be thinking of that, should I? And they were not the giant A380.

One of the things about flying is that you give up control concerning your life, as you do when having a general anaesthetic, to others plus technology. Sitting in an aircraft 35,000 ft above the Pacific Ocean, I have relinquished control over my life to the people and computers that make sure the sophisticated winged metal tube enclosing me is doing what it is supposed to be doing, and the materials and workmanship relating to that metal tube and all its necessary parts likewise. I have to trust that all will be well, or I’d just not go.

When it comes to trust, I am aware that trust is not just a simple blanket operation that applies to everything for everything - or it should not be in a prudent intelligent being. For instance, I trust my dentist to repair my tooth, but not necessarily to lay a spanner on my car. Likewise, I don’t trust a mechanic to fix my tooth. I do trust both to cause some pain in my wallet, though!

For a Christian there is more to the story than just trusting people and technology. If you believe that God is the creator of all, and that He is Sovereign over His creation as well, then there is sure comfort in knowing that there are no “maverick molecules” - nothing that happens outside His Will for each of us. Everything to do with each of us remains in His hands, so to speak. That does not necessarily mean that any flight I take wont end in disaster, or that He has decreed it to happen if it does (as He has decreed His moral law) except in the sense that He has determined gravity exists, a pull exerted towards Earth’s centre, and that all kinds of unpalatable consequences do occur due to the fallen nature of this world. However, it does mean that He has it all under His control even though people and technology will fail and natural harm will come of that. The only grief that I come to will be what He has allowed to happen, He whose wisdom and love is far greater than I can ever humanly estimate. I cannot even begin to fathom what good things He has in store for me eternally. If I judge His wisdom and love by my own limited human wisdom, I am simply going to come unstuck. So will you too if you say “because this awful thing happened, God did not care” or “God is not in control after all”. You will be stuck in your own limited human perspective, seeing the horizon from the beach and saying there are no ships out there, rather than standing on top of the cliff behind you and seeing the shipping way out to sea.

Because I am human, I naturally want to have a safe trip. I have a son whom I’m leaving behind for the duration, and other family and friends. I pray for a safe journey, and for their safety back home. But I am aware that the unexpected can happen, that plans don’t always work out, that things can change in less than a blink of the eye. I pray and trust that God will keep us all safe from harm, but should harm happen anyway (because that is the nature of this fallen world) then I do know that it did not happen without God being there, but within His wise and loving purpose for us all. Disbelief will give you more pain than necessary, all that is not of faith being sin, and our tiny finite minds are simply not up to the task of judging the wisdom, love and mercy of God.

Dubai and London, here we come! God bless you all, readers of Judah’s Journal, and I plan to be back posting again later in August.

Back in December 1989, a tiny kitten, born no more than 6 weeks earlier, was abandoned in the bush and left to die. She was found a day or two later in a pitiful state and taken to a shelter for abandoned animals. A few weeks later a family, the parents and a 2-year-old little boy, went to that shelter to seek a kitten to add to their family. They were told about Puss, and there was “just something” about her that said she was meant to be theirs. We were that family, and we took her home where she became a greatly loved and treasured member of our family.

The most outstanding thing about Puss was her very sweet and gentle nature, and the affection she had for her three humans. She owned us; we were hers. Far from being stand-offish, as many cats are, this one was not - or rather, not with us. She would reach out with her paw to touch gently, just to say she would like our attention. The next most outstanding thing was that Puss never bit or scratched anyone. On a couple of occasions she did cuff her 2-year-old playmate with a paw when he clearly deserved it, just as though he might have been one of her own kittens had she been allowed to have babies, but never with her claws out. If he really got too much for her, she simply left the scene. How much she had to teach humans!

Puss had her hilarious moments, and she gave us much entertainment and laughter. A couple of stories can be found here.

Puss died last night. She was 19½ years old, a member of our family for a substantial length of time. On Wednesday afternoon she was fine. By late Wednesday evening we noticed her right eye was swollen, weeping, and looking rather ghastly. In fact it looked as though it was protruding and not in alignment. We took her to the vet first thing on Thursday morning and she was admitted to hospital and given IV pain relief pending a general anaesthetic for investigative procedures. The most likely diagnosis at her advanced age was a brain tumour behind the eye. On Friday a decision had to be made. Puss would not recover and she was suffering. It would be merciful to “let her go”.

How distressing it is to say these goodbyes! I cradled her in my arms as the vet gave her some sedation to make her a little groggy, telling us that she would be aware I was holding her and that we were there. When I gave the nod he injected the overdose of phenobarbitone. I felt her little body go limp, then the last little twitch, and after a minute the vet listened to her heart and told us she had gone. We are left with that awful aching emptiness now, and the intermittent waves of grief. I had not anticipated that the loss of a pet would have affected me so much, as it has for each of her three humans. Puss leaves quite a hole for all of us. She just isn’t there when you expect her to be, and I catch myself taking her into account when there is no longer the need to do so.

Some of my friends like the story of Rainbow Bridge, said to be the place where pets go after death to wait and greet their owners when their own time has come. I have wrtten about Rainbow Bridge, from a Christian perspective and in relation to revealed truth, elsewhere on Judah’s Journal. I wrote back then that I don’t know if this story is true or not. I have no way of knowing for certain. It is a kind sentiment, and it presents an image not unlike one that is commonly held of Heaven - a place where all is well. There is an assumption that such a place exists for animals, and an assumption that the animals we love will indeed go there. But I am not so sure of the level of comfort I would personally derive from a story that came from “author unknown” and must be regarded as fantasy unless we can find some truth to support its claim to be otherwise.

Right now, having just loss our beloved family pet, I can say that I am not particularly comforted by this story, but what does mean far more to me is the message from a Christian friend, DKC, the gracious host of this website. What he told me was this: One thing I know, God loves us and He is compassionate. And he loves and cares for all His creatures. Whatever the reality is, it will be better than anything we could imagine ourselves. And we can imagine some pretty good things.

“But as it is written, Eye hath not seen, nor ear heard, neither have entered into the heart of man, the things which God hath prepared for them that love him.”

“Now unto him that is able to do exceeding abundantly above all that we ask or think, according to the power that worketh in us, Unto him be glory in the church by Christ Jesus throughout all ages, world without end. Amen.”

Those two verses are 1 Corinthians 2:9 and Ephesians 3:20,21 respectively.

Given a story from human imagination, and revealed truth from a compassionate and loving God whose love for us is greater than we can ever imagine, I think I know which I believe more than the other, and which is therefore of real comfort and promise. Thank you, DKC, for reminding me of those verses. I do not know if Rainbow Bridge exists, but I most certainly know that those verses are worthy of leaning upon when such a loss is so keenly felt.

It seems like only yesterday! It was summer… those long hot carefree days that, in my childhood fantasy, were destined to last an eternity. We scrambled all over this large dome of rock, knowing every pothole, every safe hollow in which to place a foot and a hand. We would watch from above as the tide turned and the water rushed into the large caverns below, rush out again to regroup and come back, each time pushing in a little further, hitting the rock to throw up fountains of spray, dousing our eagerly peering faces. We would laugh at each other, taste the salt on our lips and brush tangles of wet hair out of our eyes. Summer days were meant to last forever… just as the sea and the salt and the sand and the sun would surely do so as well.

Cave Rock, Sumner Beach, Christchurch, New Zealand. This watercolour sketch was painted by artist, Peter G. Leitch. There is no copyright mentioned on the reproduction greeting cards that remind me of those days long ago. I hope if Peter should see his handiwork here that he will know it is only because I treasure it enough to draw attention to it, and similarly to the one below of Shag Rock, marking the other end of the sandy expanse where I played my eternal childhood summer days.

Shag Rock, Sumner Beach, Christchurch, New Zealand. There we waded sandal-footed in rock ponds, squatting in them getting our bottoms wet, searching for crabs and starfish, or picking out fascinating shells, the discarded little houses of various other sea creatures. The shags would perch high upon the rock and watch, no doubt hoping we would turn over and leave for them some tasty titbit for their tea.

Time moves on. Now another generation of children assume our places, engage our activities, roll over the countless endless days of the calendar as I and my brothers give them up to fond memories. The sea rolls in and out of those caverns under the dome just as before. The rock pools fill and empty, and fill up again, just as before. The shags and gulls are still perching there - or their descendants are - and waiting patiently for the offering of another snack.

Does anything last eternity? Even memories fade, presumably one day to be extinguished by that Grim Reaper who appears scythe in hand as our final heartbeat beats and in doing so has gone. Time moves on without us. And we move on into timelessness, into the realms of eternity.

Any frequent visitor here could rightly predict my own belief about what exists beyond, one that was long ago revealed to us. There is indeed an eternity and how we live our lives here really does matter, and matters greatly. No moments are truly lost, no words or thoughts or deeds. We meet with them again, and they will sift and measure us against our Creator’s yardstick. Would you seek justice? None of us will receive injustice at His hand, but think carefully if it is justice that you seek. As idyllic as those childhood memories pose themselves, even as supposedly “innocent” children playing on the sand, laughing at the surf and at the shags, we must surely know deep within us that our souls were not truly free at all, not even in entertaining our very best desires. Who wanted the best view, the best foothold, the longest turn, the most shells, the best shell, the only crab, the biggest starfish, the dry towel, the unbroken bucket, the shared spade, and not to go home just yet when we should? Those who know that they were never ever truly innocent, who know they have always had a natural inclination toward self gratification and promotion at the expense of others… they will not be so keen on justice when eventually their eternity comes face-to-face with them. No matter my own very best memories such as these of Sumner Beach, rather than justice it will be mercy that I seek, and there is only one Redeemer given us in whom that will be found.

Greetings Charles!

If you have found my Journal and are reading this, please know that I am thinking of you.

For others who are wondering what this is about, I would like to introduce you to someone who, just a few months ago, was diagnosed with ALS (Amyotrophic Lateral Sclerosis, better known in the USA as Lou Gehrig’s disease). This is a progressive motor neuron disease and quite debilitating. Charles is now confined to a wheel chair, doesn’t get around very much anymore, and the disease has virtually paralyzed his tongue, rendering his speech difficult to understand.

He started writing a journal - Charles & Life - to share his life and faith with others. I don’t think this is getting any easier for him, writing a blog, and I am hoping that he gets all the necessary assistance to keep it going for as long as possible. Why? Because he is a man who has much in his heart to share - the frustrations, heartaches, losses and griefs of this hugely debilitating condition in the way that can impart insights to the rest of us, but even more importantly and beyond it all, his love of God and how this helps him to overcome such circumstances regardless. Charles says he chooses to remind himself of specific biblical wisdom – as a man thinks in his heart, so is he (read Proverbs 23).

Meanwhile, there are others unprepared to submit to God’s providence and who are seeking control through voluntary euthanasia. After all, so they reckon, since we must all depart this life sooner or later, if life becomes utterly intolerable, why not depart it sooner by one’s own decision than wait it out until later with no prospect of anything better than more and worse suffering?

As Charles has written about in his journal, it certainly is a matter of choices, but of ones not always considered.

The options are closely related to worldviews. If I restrict my options to the gloomy ones above, based on the view that there is nothing ahead but worsening fortunes, increased suffering, and the infliction of that on others around me by virtue of my needs, then it probably makes some kind of sense to bring an end to matters now. However, I seriously and strenuously disagree with a worldview that is so hugely impoverished. Although it may sound callous to say so, that constricted view shares much in common with the actions of the child who throws his toys out of the sandpit when he cannot get what it is he wants. But I say that with a far deeper compassion than may be appreciated - if you can’t see any compassion there at all. I am not Charles and do not have to cope with the same struggles with which he is faced. But I do know that, as he points out, we still have choices even when damaged nerves and muscles fail, even when losses mount up, even when grief becomes overwhelming. One can (and does!) choose one’s own thoughts, what to entertain in one’s mind. That in turn impacts the “heart”, affecting one’s quality of being, in a way far beyond the circumstances of daily life.

I was touched by the account Charles gave of the help he received from the small group of boys, and the email from one of them later. Who can possibly say that his needs were merely a burden on others? They were certainly not! Those youngsters demonstrated their own growth in understanding, compassion and love for others. Who wouldn’t like friends and neighbours like them? This is a situation where love increases, not where meaninglessness and despair has a place. Charles writes about this as demonstrating the Body of Christ. And so it does. We may see only glimpses of the Big Picture, but we know without a doubt that “in all things God works for the good of those who love him, who have been called according to his purpose” (Romans 8:28)

Charles, whatever the particular future that faces you, and no matter the struggle, the love between yourself and our Saviour will continue to exist. It shines forth from within you, and will remain your witness to others through how you live the rest of your life. To God be the glory. You will be in the prayers of many who read of you here, and who visit your journal. As you will already know…

…in all these things we are more than conquerors through him who loved us. For I am convinced that neither death nor life, neither angels nor demons, neither the present nor the future, nor any powers, neither height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God that is in Christ Jesus our Lord.

(Romans 8:37-39, NIV)

Charles has now come to the end of his earthly journey. That is so sad in that he will be much missed by his family and all who knew him, especially since (as his son wrote - see his note copied below) that Charles had a lot more to say that would have benefited all.

Saturday, August 22, 2009

Final Post

From Tim Hodge:

I am deeply saddened to make this entry for my Dad. Early this morning, just after midnight, he breathed his last and made his final journey. He is Home.

Thank you for your love and support. If you would like to find more recent information, please visit here.

If you are one of the regular followers of this blog, you have already noticed that my Dad hasn’t posted an update in many months. Since the spring, he hadn’t felt much like writing. We are al the poorer for that because he still had so much to say.

Early in the morning, on New Zealand’s eastern shore, the sun was barely halfway up and barely dressed before the people came with rods and bait, willing up their breakfast feast from Neptune’s salty store.

I will make you fishers of men, I heard His words once said, and remembered how He told them then that life was more than bread.

The light was shining in the east and spread across the bay, gilding touches to sea and sky with all their shades of grey. No ball of fire, no solar disc, no heat to scorch the air but just a glimpse of glory hidden out beyond the sphere.

I am the light of the world, I heard His words again, and remembered how He told them all to follow Him and then no more would darkness reign.

The people stood and faced the light, but watched their rods and lines, or clambered up the driftwood beach not looking at the signs.

If you love me, my commands obey, I heard my Master say, and watched the people pack their things and blindly drift away.

They left me standing on the beach gazing at the light, seeing only He who beckons me, a captive to His might. My line is cast, the sea is wide, the people need a prayer. And if some enigmatic breath rustles in the air then know that I am fishing… and that He is very near.

There’s a corner of my garden where I love to sit and be. It’s peaceful there and pretty; it tastes of sanctuary. The jasmine scented quiet, the little chapel roof, the paving stones, the timber… it all adds up to make this a rather special place for me.

You may join me for a coffee, or perhaps a cup of tea. Or if the afternoon is creeping on, a glass of pinot gris. We can watch the Fantails catching insects on the wing, and listen to the Tuis as they chirp and chat and sing.

Above the sky is azure blue and the sun is beating down, but here my garden bower is cooler with a hint of breeze around.

You’ll often find me sitting here when household tasks are done, and daily burdens weigh too heavy ruining my fun. I come here for the peacefulness, the loveliness I find, and breathe in the quiet beauty that soothes my anxious mind.

For around me is His glory, I can sense Him here with me. It makes this corner sacred, a very special place to be. There is nothing else so blessed than being here with He who is so holy, righteous, powerful, tender, loving, and to my humble awe is also very willing… to share this place with me.

You will keep in perfect peace all who trust in you,
all whose thoughts are fixed on you!

(Isaiah 26:3. NLT)

I have some clever “crafty” friends who visit here. For them in particular, the photo alongside is the now finished afghan that featured in the previous post, dumped in its unfinished heap showing only the colours and a glimpse of the pattern. It doesn’t take long to finish these items, but I still have a great deal of yarn left in my stash. Several consecutive lifetimes just might be necessary to see it used up… unless I can figure a way to churn them out in my sleep!

I have often wondered why some people gather up and collect things, unable to let them go, nor sort and dispense with them when no longer useful. Many years ago we inherited a lovely old oak writing desk. It came complete with stuffing - over 40 years of receipts for everything imaginable! It was so fully stuffed that it could not be used for that which it was made - as a writing desk. Not anymore, and it is a now a lovely and useful piece of furniture gracing our home.

For most things on this planet I find I am perfectly able to appreciate them, enjoy seeing them, but not have to own them. It is simply good that they exist in the world. I can admire but not want them myself. This is a happy way to be, especially when some things cost more than one might be able to pay. On the other hand, I am not coping with hunger nor any other deprivation of basic needs, and I am well aware that my happy disposition in relation to things might be quite different if that was not so.

Throwing out rubbish is one thing, but deciding on what is rubbish in the first place is something quite else. It is said that one man’s trash is another man’s treasure. But go back a step and consider why one acquires something in the first place… and often takes more than one needs. My collection of fabrics and yarn arose from far more than project leftovers, but on a “need” to have more for future projects. Quilters liken their fabric stashes to an artist’s palette where plenty of choice is necessary for creative expression. But look in my pantry and you’ll see it is well stocked as well. Clearly I don’t like to run short. Same goes for yarn.

For me I suspect that has something to do with my past. Hospitalized as an infant at a time when down-to-earth nurses hustled mothers out of the ward saying “she’ll be just fine”, I was left for a fortnight, too young to understand, to despair and grieve the loss of my mother. The family legend has it that I refused anything to do with her when 2 weeks later she returned to take me home, and for weeks afterwards grabbed and clutched food in both hands instead, whether hungry or not. Thanks to the research of people like Bowlby and Robertson in the field of separation anxiety in young children, we now have a more enlightened approach to treating sick infants (and their mothers) such that these adverse effects are largely avoided. But perhaps that accounts for my well stocked pantry… and yarn and fabric supplies!

It is often said that we come into this world with no material possessions, and we leave the same way, unable to take anything with us. That being so, and personal history aside, I am endeavouring to be a good steward of those material possessions I have acquired in between. I have more than I need, recognizing that “want” and “need” are often two very different things. As I write, some of the worst bush fires in Australian history are raging through the state of Victoria, wiping out entire towns and communities, incinerating people, their pets, the wildlife, and leaving just cinders behind. Those that have escaped with their lives and nothing else are saying “we’re alive, and that’s the main thing” as their lost possessions are weighed up in relation to what really matters the most. It is worth giving a thought… what really does matter the most?

And why do you worry about clothes? See how the lilies of the field grow. They do not labor or spin. Yet I tell you that not even Solomon in all his splendor was dressed like one of these. If that is how God clothes the grass of the field, which is here today and tomorrow is thrown into the fire, will he not much more clothe you, O you of little faith? So do not worry, saying, ‘What shall we eat?’ or ‘What shall we drink?’ or ‘What shall we wear?’ For the pagans run after all these things, and your heavenly Father knows that you need them. But seek first his kingdom and his righteousness, and all these things will be given to you as well. Therefore do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will worry about itself. Each day has enough trouble of its own.

(Matthew 6:28-34. NIV)

I cannot take any of my possession with me when it comes my time to exit this world, but I can share them wisely with others - as a good steward of that which I have been given. My eternal security is not found in grabbing such things and clutching them close to me, as I did as a devastated infant, but in giving them away wherever genuine need appears on my path through this life. And doing this with wisdom from above, I can be assured that I will not go without in those things that really do matter, ultimately, eternally, most of all.

The Cold Knees Project is a fun name for my attempt to make a dent in my stash of yarn that I have collected over many years.

Being someone who was taught to crochet and knit from the age of 4 years, and enjoying these needlecraft activities ever after, it will not be surprising to fellow “yarn-aholics” that I now have quite a hoard of brightly coloured balls of wool - well, wool and many blends of wool and various other fibres.

On a drive to downsize my material possessions, I spent a day hauling out all these packages of yarn, sorting them, deciding what to give away, and what projects I could use them up on. Much of it was re-packed into sacks to go to the “To Russia With Love” project. A number of dedicated knitters use donated yarn to make warm clothing for children in Russian orphanages. This seemed a very worthy project, and so I lessened my stash considerably by making a donation in that direction. But what of the rest? Then an idea came to me…

The City Mission had mentioned in a newsletter how they work to keep the elderly living in their own homes for as long as possible, rather than having to go into residential care, but during the winter it gets increasingly hard for these folk to keep warm when the cost of electricity makes adequate heating unaffordable. I’m all for people being able to live in their own homes for as long as possible, if that is what they want to do. Perhaps those balls of yarn could be turned into afghans which might help to keep cold knees a little warmer in winter? And so my Cold Knees Project was born.

My friend Donna, who has recently learnt to crochet, is just discovering how addicting it is to collect yarn with all kinds of projects in mind. She is just a beginner when it comes to yarn - read her confession here - although from what I have heard, her house positively bulges with collections of other craft materials!

Another friend from Sleepy Cat Hollow is crocheting scarves to donate to the Kids Kottages, protective shelters where police or social workers bring children after they have been removed from their families. Most children at Kids Kottage are there because their families are suspected of severe abuse or neglect, but some children are placed because no one else is available to care for them during parental incarceration or hospitalization. As well as the scarves, and being a quilter too, she is also planning to make and donate quilts. Hmm, quilts are on my inventory list for the Cold Knees Project too. If only there were more hours in the day… I could certainly use them!

Yet another friend from Sewing Sunsets is hopelessly attached to her sewing machine and addicted to dressmaking. As well as publishing sewing tutorials, she has found a mission for herself in churning out clothes for children of needy families, and in making gifts to cheer others and help brighten their days.

There is a wellknown saying that goes “It is more blessed to give than receive.” Value cannot always be measured in monetary terms alone. A gift that has special meaning is often treasured beyond the monetary value of the item as appraised by some objective criterion. There is treasure in the gift, plus more accrued to it by the one receiving the gift, and even more again by the blessing received by the giver. The accumulation is treasure indeed.

A friend and I both learnt exactly that when I gave her one of my quilts. Seemingly tragic events in her life had provoked her to make a serious attempt to end it. The circumstances were intensely humiliating, and she was still struggling with shame and a clinical depression when the quilt arrived “out of the blue”. I learnt some time later how much that quilt meant to her, and was humbled to know that something I enjoyed making could help that much. She pulled through, often burying herself in that quilt for consolation, and turned the corner to be living a much more rewarding life achieving goals she had once believed were totally out of reach.

Do not store up for yourselves treasures on earth, where moth and rust destroy, and where thieves break in and steal. But store up for yourselves treasures in heaven, where moth and rust do not destroy, and where thieves do not break in and steal. For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also.
(Matthew 6:19-21)

The Christian worldview accepts that every action and every outcome must sooner or later be measured against an ultimate norm for its ultimate value. This kind of treasure is not stored in this temporal world but is weighed for good measure in the eternal one that continues beyond. Good deeds in themselves will not secure anyone’s salvation, and so it needs to be said that salvation is itself a gift ~ from God through our faith in Christ. But wherever you invest your treasure, there indeed will your heart be also.