The miracles of Haiti

When reading these stats today tears filled my eyes.  Tears of joy for their rescue and tears of sorrow for the fear and terror they must have been going through.  Tears for their loneliness and desperation, but also tears of hope for their future.


MIRACLES DON'T JUST HAPPEN IN THE BIBLE. 


Darlene Etienne, 16 - rescued after 15 days

Rico Dibrivell, early 30s - rescued after 12 days

Wismond Exantus, 24, found after 11 days

Emmannuel Buso, 21 - rescued after 10 days

Marie Carida, 84 - saved after 10 days

Mendji Bahina Sanon, 11 - trapped for eight days

Lozama Hotteline, 25 - pulled out after seven days

Elisabeth Joassaint, 15 days - buried for seven days, half her life

Ena Zizi, 69 - rescued after seven days

 

Life Without God

Imagine a moon without its shimmer.



A life without God is like a shimmerless moon.

Diversity

I work in a job where I deal with many different people throughout the day - usually by telephone as the staff I'm responsible for work overseas. It's a daily occurrence to ring my colleagues in India, to e-mail the office in Nairobi, send some money to the man in Sri Lanka and make sure the man in Iran orders his new uniform each winter. In Israel the staff are a mixture of Arab Christians, Muslims, modern men and the odd Bedouin. They're a varied group and we get along well. But dealing with them has so much complexity attached. In Israel we can only locally employ a Christian Arab on our administrative staff. If we employ a Jew, the Muslim staff will not be happy and they will not deal directly with them. In Jakarta if we employ Christians they are in danger. In India the managers speak and write fluent English, but some of the gardeners are illiterate. It's not unusual for us to send translated documents to them that have to be read out and to then receive their acknowledgement of receipt back in the form of a fingerprint.

In Northern India, a very tribal and at times hostile environment, the managers are much more in tune with modern thinking. To them I'm Karen. In the south the Regional Manager is quite westernised and to him I'm Karen too. To the other managers my salutations range from Respected Madam to Mrs Karen. Similarly, I respect their salutation preferences and they range from first name basis to being addressed as Mr ....x.... Again, in Northern India, tribal dominance is incredibly important. In the areas we operate the powerful Angami tribe are influential in all areas of business. Anyone employed in the region must belong to this tribe or one approved and on good relations with them, such as the Lotha tribe. All men who work there must have Naga citizenship. If we advertise outside their region such as Delhi, Kolkata, Madras or Kirkee, we must state they should have a Nagaland work permit - to omit this would be foolish and ignorant on our part. It is their culture and their heritage and we have to respect that.

In Japan our manager is learning English. It's a standing joke in the office that when he calls he addresses our colleague Hilary as 'Hairy'. But in our laughter we respect the fact that his English is far superior to our Japanese. Sometimes on the phone it's great to hear him and Hairy laughing over some of the items he's written on his accounts.

In Cannakale our manager is a French guy. We've never quite worked out why he applied to work there - but he's loving it. The staff have welcomed him with open arms and he's making welcome changes to the way they work. We have a Welshman in Israel overseeing Arabs, Christians and Muslims. Last year I retired our man in Singapore who returned to his native home in Malaysia.

In Nairobi, our office administrator has had to take days off work due to local riots along the main road she takes to the office. I ring her occasionally, just to see how she's doing. Sometimes, again due to language barrier we can spend quite a while sorting out accounts as we can't always understand each other. In Gaza we keep a special eye on our men out there when hostilities rise up. At times we've had to pay them salaries months in advance due to blocks on currencies imposed by the government. Last year we sighed sighs of relief when the bomb that landed in the cemetery didn't harm anyone. We marvelled at the humanity of their neighbouring colleagues in Israel who clubbed together to buy sweets for the children and supplies for their colleagues and arranged for the Defence Attaché to take stuff across the border for them as they knew times were hard. Their nations were at war - they weren't.

With my job I feel very privileged. I feel honoured to be able to participate in the lives of so many people across the world who experience different faiths, whose skins are all different colours, who speak various languages (some of them four or five even!) Some who can read and write, some who can't. Some who are single and some who have ten or more children. Some who live in relative luxury, others who report to us that their mud hut home has been washed away in the monsoon. We have staff who are young and fit and others who are getting elderly and not so fit.

In the office we have two men in wheelchairs. One who has never walked - one who has succumbed to the ravages of MS. They're not treated any differently. When the non-smoking ban was introduced, one of them had to wheel himself outside in the cold and rain just like his walking colleagues - he didn't expect to be treated any differently. But in this, we're still mindful that when the lift only has room for one more, he gets to go in it and us lazy lot have to take the stairs.

I remember a few years back at work going on a Diversity course and the woman running it had wild hair with streaks of purple running through it. Dressed like a warlock and really rather zany. Imagine somebody like that running a course encouraging everyone to accept each other and engage with one another when the directorship is made up of over 400 combined years of civil servitude that has generated from the origins of a military set up!

But I digress. On this course we discussed issues such as race, religion, gender, sexuality, tattoos, body piercing etc and we were shown a series of images. From these images we had to say whether we thought the person was nice, friendly, warm, hostile, criminal etc. Then the images were enlarged to show the whole picture. The one that stuck with me most was a picture of a fierce, huge bald man with tattoos all over him looking menacingly at the camera. To me he looked like a naked Hell's Angel. On panning the picture out he was cradling a newborn baby in his arms. How wrong was I?!

At church we're just entering a series on Diversity. I missed the first one but I'm looking forward to the rest. I'll be honest when I first heard what the series was - I sighed and thought, oh for goodness sake, it's rammed down our throats by the media, we're constantly told to be pc about this and that, I'm faced with thinking about it every day at work, the children have it stuffed in their faces about fairness, bullying, don't pack nuts in lunch items - I don't need five weeks of this.

But I do.

It's not right for me to be complacent about it just because I work in an environment where it's normal to deal with different people. I shouldn't look for a cosy escape outside the office. I worship in a church that has all manner of people and each one, created by God, LOVED by God and cherished by Him. Is it too much to ask that I stand in line with my black friends, take time to talk to the blind couple as they can't seek me out, to stand in front of my deaf friend so she can read my lips, to rejoice in the numerous multi-cultural marriages? I love it when my white English friend turns up to church wearing a Ghanian outfit, sharing the cultural dress of his wife. I adore seeing the little girl in church with Down's Syndrome eagerly tottering her way to creche along with all her other knee high friends, holding her Daddy's hand all the way. Then I feel bad that I haven't even bothered to find out her name.

It's fantastic. So I stand humbled now and a little ashamed that I had a grumble and I look forward to hearing more about how I can be open to change, to grow in my love for people different to me, to break down my barriers of ignorance and be a part of a united church just as Jesus intended it to be.

Pint sized devotions

I popped into Quench yesterday during my lunch break. I love it in there. Ever since it was taken over and the art shop at the front entrance was 'relocated', it is evident from the front window it's a Christian bookshop.

And so it should be evident. If John Lewis, Waitrose, Monsoon and all the other retail outlets can stick a huge great big sign above their door, why can't a Christian Bookshop? And changing the name from St. Andrew's Bookshop to Quench was a smart move too. More modern and 'with it'.

Anyway, I digress. My initial purpose was to buy myself my next round of study guides. Bought with a renewed vigor and intent to actually knuckle down and do them. Finding time for daily devotions is hard for me, I get distracted, side-tracked, bogged down with day to day life and before I know it, it's 11.00pm and I'm done in. Andy wants to study with me too, so my dilemma was then at a fork in the road - do I buy just one study for us to do together, or two, one for me to do solitary as it's MY time with God as well. I opted for the latter.

Then I felt the children needed something, so into the basket goes Discover and Jesus and Me. Thinking they could share copies I only bought one of each. I got home and there was moaning, so out today to buy more. I was tempted to photocopy them, but I was prodded with the copyright conscience.

I desperately want my children to get into the habit of reading their Bibles and enjoying them, but I know they also need me there to guide them. With working, having the house to run, meals to cook ......... and homework assignments to assist with, I'm getting stretched thinner and thinner and I fear my elastic band is about to break. But this is important, so please pray for me that I find the time and patience to sit with them and help them with this.

Where Exactly Is He?

The conversation in the car this morning.

Samuel: 'God's with us ALL THE TIME isn't he Mummy?'
Karen: 'Yep, ALL THE TIME, it's like having your best friend over for breakfast, lunch, dinner and sleepover - how great is that?'
Maddie: 'He's by our side all the time isn't He Mummy?'
Karen: 'That's right Maddie'.
Eleanor: 'What side is He on?'

One day, I'm sure of it, I WILL crash the car!

Prayer and Fasting - The Novice's Approach

At church we are embarking on four days of prayer and fasting. Sitho asked all bloggers on Sunday to write about it and so here I am, writing about something I know pretty much nothing about. Well, the fasting bit anyway. It's a part of Christian life that was never taught to me in great depth, never encouraged and never partaken by any previous church I've attended.

So, here I sit. A total novice with limited knowledge and absolutely no authority on the subject at all.

But, in myself I don't feel inadequate. I don't feel pressure to suddenly leap into 40 days with sack-cloth on my head resisting the tempation of every jammie dodger that passes my eyes, or the nasal allure of the chippy on the way home. I'm entering this with an open mind, no expectation and a huge amount of humility and uncertainty. To the more experienced Christians it may well be a doddle to get on with it (or maybe not) and enjoy the time with God, but to me it's pastures new and I'm viewing it as another step on my journey with God. Another step towards achieving a closeness that was suppressed for many, many years.

By nature I am not an immediate 'doer'. I like to know why I'm doing something. Who said I had to do it and how do I do it right? I don't fall in with the crowd and I don't follow the leader. Well, not to start with anyway. There are times when I do, like leafletting for the church healing meeting this week. We all delivered hundreds of leaflets. It was good to do. Although I admit, it wasn't so great being allocated the road I'm certain had the most number of 'Beware Of The Dog' signs this side of Watford. I also admit to a certain amount of trepidation treading the path to the front door of one house that looked like it could well have housed the HQ for the chainsaw massacre fan club! I'm sure they were lovely people really! But I felt led to do my bit. I had a responsibility and a duty to minister this way and serve God. It was simple and needed no explanation. This probably isn't my best example of my point, but I'm presuming you're getting my drift here.

With this frame of mind came all sorts of enquiries when I first learnt of the prayer and fasting this week. Not the praying side. All Christians can pray, note I say 'can', not 'do'. There are plenty out there failing in this and while I'm in no position at all to criticise it's not something that comes easy to some people, even the most 'experienced' Christians may well admit to days where it's near impossible to come near to God because of time, wrong attitude, guilt etc. Heck, even some non-Christians pray and they don't believe in Him. It's amazing how life's extremities can lead to a momentary chat with God even when you're an unbeliever. Prayer's hard. It requires time, silence, discipline and humbleness. Sometimes I feel like I'm a flippant prayer because I talk to him all the time, but not always in great depth, just a bit of chit chat here and there. The children often ask who I'm talking to in the car on the way down the M4. To the guys driving by years ago I would have looked a loon talking to myself - now they just think I'm on hands-free. But in essence I am, on the direct line to God. Yay!!

But I'm digressing...

But fasting? The word itself caused a momentary panic. No food! Aaarrggh!! How long should I fast? What does fasting involve? No solids? No liquids? What if I fast too long? What if I don't fast long enough? How long is right for me? Do I avoid ALL food preparation? Heck, who's going to feed the children?!! Do I pray when I would ordinarily handle food? Can I fast at work but not pray during the day as I'm working and still pray later in the day and be OK skipping breakfast and lunch too? Or should I only fast when I'm praying or pray when I fast?

Questions, questions, questions. Typical me. Present me with a situation, ask me to do something and I come up with 101 questions. It's part of my processing nature. Part of me that's not happy to embark on anything until I have made investigations, sorted my doubts, sourced my answers and evaluated the results. Only then, will I be content to take part.

Maybe this seems evasive, arrogant even. I assure you, it's not meant to be. But, in reverence to God, I am not doing this if I am ignorant to the facts. I am not going to dishonour Him by starting it with the wrong attitude and mental approach. I want to be right with Him. So, yesterday, instead of fasting I continued to eat and drink and spent the day asking Him at intervals what I should do? I don't even know if that was right. Maybe I should have fasted anyway and made that my prayer. But like I say, total novice. Just as a parent doesn't yell at a toddler for stumbling when making their first steps, I know God won't view me with displeasure at my faltering steps when making a first approach to fasting. As a parent guides and encourages, I know He'll guide and encourage me and He'll teach me where my 'right' is.

So, today I know how I want to do this. I'm not sharing here. It's between me and God. Just as prayer and fasting is between each Christian and God. It's personal. That's what makes it so amazing. I've learnt there is no right or wrong way to do it and as I've said before, He'll teach me my 'right' and I'm certain He'll also point out my 'wrong' too! What I also know is that the time I spend with Him will be sincere. It will be my uniterrupted time with God and I'm really looking forward to it.

Which leads to my next question. How on earth do I find the time to be alone with God? With four young children demanding attention from the moment they wake (well, from the moment I wake - we all know that early mornings do not exist in my time clock), school run to take on, dash off to drop off Sam, day at the office with 30 minute lunch break (open plan office, so no time alone), home, chores etc, dinner. Where is my time? This is the one fundamental thing that people fail to appreciate for a working mother. There is no 'me' time. I know that stay at home Mums have the same problem. Constant desired attention from their children, chores to do, errands to run..... where can we go to be alone? If I do get time alone, I'm burst in upon and asked if I'm OK. Why are you on your own Mummy? Can I sit on your lap Mummy? It's long been known that the best way to get your child's attention is to sit down and look relaxed!! It's something I struggle with. I long for just a day sometimes where I can book a day off work and be alone, but it's not something I can plan just now. So, at the moment I'm finding it hard to find the time to pray alone. To get time to earnestly put my mind at ease, rid it of errant thoughts here and there and to purely focus.

But on a more light-hearted note, if I manage to get through the day without nibbling or snacking it will be nothing short of a minor miracle! But again, testimony, I know, that He's carrying me through this as I must be one of the planet's most prolific between-meal nibblers. For me not to snack is rare - to skip a meal - unheard of, unless I'm ill. But I'm enjoying this. Not to prove myself to anyone, not to show that I'm resilient, not to prove a point, but to spend time with the God I love, putting His needs before my own during a time when I'd ordinarily be satisfying my own needs through the solace of food.

Complacent Budgeting

I have been reminded quite often lately of the good provision that is given to me and my family and I have been struck at just how easy it is to become complacent about what you've got and how simple it is to become flippant with money and how it's spent.

The past year, having probably been my most unhappy emotionally, has been steadily improving financially. But for four or so years prior to that, money was incredibly tight. Tight to the point of sometimes having to rely on my mother to buy groceries as I just couldn't seem to get through the last week of the month to put food on the table. Dire, dire times. Times that were out of mine and Andy's control and no fault of either of us.

But tight budgeting became a challenge for me. I'd meticulously look at our incomings, work out the tax credits and child benefit dates of payment, match them to Direct Debits and Standing Orders going out, to ensure that enough money was in the account at various times of the month to meet our financial obligations and then set myself a weekly budget for food and petrol.

As food and petrol prices increased, my disposal income for these decreased in real terms and I found myself becoming more and more thrifty and almost adopting the mantra of the 1950s housewife and slowly turned into the Mrs Beeton of Lower Earley.

And in a warped kind of way, I found myself actually enjoying the challenge of walking around the supermarket with my calculator being determined to get all the things on my list within my budget. I abandoned using my debit card, withdrew cash and boldly paced the aisles knowing that if I didn't get my calculations right, I was on my way to looking a complete dork at the checkout if I had to put items back.

I look back now and I see that all through these times we were carried. At times I'd be in tears wondering how on earth I was going to provide packed lunches for the children, how I was going to give them hot meals at night with barely anything in the cupboard and at times Andy would withdraw completely from the problem. I understand now that it wasn't due to uncaring, it was panic and worry. Worry that his family were suffering. But through it all, I'd constantly tell him that I believed we were being looked after, that something would always come along and get us out of the mire we were in. I knew what I was talking about, but I never had the boldness to actively say that I believed God was looking after us.

But I find myself now in a position where financially we're a little better off. Not a lot. We can afford our bills, petrol and food. That's it. We don't have money left over for luxuries. I struggle to send children on school trips, I feel guilty at buying things I don't really need and I feel totally frivolous that a new sofa has been ordered, despite the fact the one we have is uncomfortable and falling apart.

However, it's easy to fall back into the trap of complacency. It's easy to sit back and just take it for granted that you're in a secure job and the pay cheques will follow one after another. It's easy to nonchalantly put things in the shopping trolley because you've just been paid and it's easy to get carried away when you pop into town for one item and come back with three bags full of things you want, but don't really need.

So, I've realised lately I need to get back to budgeting. I need to sit in the study, pull up the accounts and set my priorities straight in the money department. Not because we're struggling, but because I've been stirred by something I heard at church. The money has been given to me to use wisely. It's not really mine and abusing it is abusing the one who has given it to me so generously. It's only right that I pay due respect and honour by responsibly allocating it.

By Her Childlike Faith She Moved a Mountain!!

Eleanor is totally stonked that her little prayers were answered. It only took two days and in my limited wisdom, I know that God decided two days was long enough for a five year old to wait for results!

The first morning we prayed together, Sam stood by the door and cheekily said, 'It won't work, I'll get up early again'. Rather annoyed at seeing the dark one at work in my three year old I positively told Eleanor it wouldn't be the case and that I was sure he would sleep in. At this point I was praying a bit harder than she was!! The next morning there was a 20 minute delay in his efforts - he slept in. But for Eleanor, it wasn't long enough, so again, as promised, we prayed he'd sleep a lot longer the next morning.

It worked!

Sam has now found out that even a determined three year old can not break through the prayers of a five year old elder sibling.

And to aid the continuation of this, we've introduced a sticker chart for Sam. Five smiley faces in a row (one for each night he stays in bed and doesn't wake his sister in the morning), he gets a small prize. Fill the whole chart up (20 sleeps), he gets a big prize.

I know the result is due to Eleanor's prayers being answered, but I don't think God minds too much that we've also enhanced His work with a little love induced bribery!

The Simplicity of a Child's Expectation

I'm still thinking. I'm not actually thinking of anything profound or mind-blowing. Just rather contemplating how I'm going to write it, as I don't want to offend people. But in that, I want to be honest.

But, never mind that. My post for today is centred around a very simple statement Eleanor said this morning. She's now getting rather irate at Samuel's daily routine of waking up early and trotting into her bedroom to wake her up so they can either play together or watch television.

Sam likes company. He's not a child who likes to be on his own and Eleanor's his best friend in the entire world. He adores her, and similarly she adores him. But not at 5.45 each morning! She's now getting grotty each day when it's time for breakfast, becoming an incessant moaner when asked to wear a pair of socks she doesn't like, whinging on when she has to have her hair brushed, etc. etc. And while this tests my patience to the limit, as I'm also a crabby old wench in the mornings, I do sympathise with the fact that she's still tired and needs extra sleep.

So, this morning while she was wailing on, I'm ashamed to say I snapped at her and ranted, "Just what exactly do you expect me to do about it Eleanor? I can't stand guard at your door and stop him coming in, when I'm asleep too!"

Her answer was plain and put me to shame. She didn't look for obstacles and explanations. She didn't put things in the way and lay blame somewhere else. She simply stated, "If you can't do it, ask God to".

Point taken. I popped her on my knee and putting her little hands together we prayed a little prayer that a certain little somebody would sleep in tomorrow morning, just for a little bit longer. And we've made a pact that we'll repeat that little prayer sitting on my bed, her perched on my knee, until he does.

It's the first time she's prayed with me. It was a small prayer, but special. For a few moments, she shared my faith. To me that's huge.

Matthew 28 v 1-7

Mark 15 v 21-47

The Uncertainty of 'Probably'

I love this. I love the fact that even the atheists out there are still not 100% convinced by their own argument.


'Probably', doesn't cut it. They're still not sure are they? They're uncertain in their own faith.

'Probably' incites doubt. Doubt leads to questions, questions lead to answers, answers lead to learning, learning leads to truth.

Without realising it, they've invited people to question God's existence. Maybe people who've never given it a thought before. For that we need to thank them.

Goodness Through Grief

There is something about this picture that captivates, haunts and mystifies me.

But it also uplifts me.

Here is a woman completely immersed in her grief, being private, yet globally public in her loss.

And through it she's reading the Bible. And whilst I rejoice in the comfort she's finding in those pages, I find it so sorrowful that people only turn to God in times of distress. How much better for people to turn to Him before life becomes sour, to find Him in times of joy and happiness.

I pray her devotion to the reading continues. I pray she finds peace at the loss of her daughter and I pray she finds the God in those pages real and alive, just as I do.

Fitting In

This is a long one. I'm on a journey.

There are a lot of things about me that friends don't know, colleagues don't know and even family don't know. Over the years I've revealed things about myself that I'm not proud of. I've behaved in ways that contradict what I believe and I've said hurtful things to people - at times deliberately as they've hurt me and at times without realising it. I've acted inappropriately, I've sworn and been deceitful. We all do it, but I've had my moments where I've really excelled myself and I'm not proud.

The past few months have been a minefield and it's taken me six months to evaluate my place on this planet. A year ago I was ready to leave it. I'd worked out the sum my husband would receive both in tax free benefit, yearly allowance and quota per child upon my death and I was pretty much at the point where I'd carry it through because I knew the financial strain we were in would be lifted. The thought of the impact on my children is the only thing that stopped me. I'd had enough of life. I was desperately unhappy and nobody noticed.

A year ago I also visited the doctor because I thought I was a freak. I thought I wasn't functioning properly as a person, as a wife and as a mother. I thought I was going mad. I'd been signed off work for three weeks by my doctor after having a breakdown in the office and still I had no idea what was wrong with me. I was told I was normal. Well, normal sucked and normal hurt and normal was not what I wanted to be.

The longer I remained in this mental state the more people thought I was strong. They all marvelled at how I coped through our huge financial strain. They marvelled at how I kept a smile on my face and they marvelled at how I was such a great Mum to my children, while holding down a full time job and fitting in the other 101 things I tried to do. What they didn't see was the crumbling, frantic, impatient, worthless and completely destroyed woman who shut the front door each day.

And all through it I denied my Christian faith. For years I've turned my back on the one person who could have helped me through it all. For years I hid my beliefs away from my friends, my family and kept away from churches. Sure, I joined a few, but I never felt I really fitted in. Either I didn't feel right or the children didn't enjoy it and the minute too many questions were asked, I backed right away.

Trying to learn to cope alone makes you build walls around yourself. Big inpenetrable walls that nobody can break through. The more they hacked at the bricks, the more I piled the cement on in a desperate bid to keep them away. I now look back and see that some people were hacking because they wanted the gossip. They wanted the news to tell their friends. But some people were genuine with their hacking. They wanted to help. But depression brings on paranoia and with that, suspicion. Suspicion that people are trying to hack into your weaknesses, so the natural reaction is to repel them. Exposing your vulnerability magnifies your weaknesses and when you're not ready to back down and accept help for fear of being labelled incapable, it can have an extremely devastating effect on you and those around you. Especially the people who love and care for you.

Things went wrong at home. Terribly wrong and I did something I should never have done. I'm not going to go into detail here. I've said my sorries, I've repented, I've regretted and I've asked forgiveness and all I can do is hope that it's enough. All I can do is put a line under the hurt I caused and push away the hurt that was caused to me as I need to move on and build a stronger life for me and my family.

But I'm struggling. I'm struggling to be the wife, mother, friend and daughter I want to be. I'm struggling to have people understand that I'm Karen the Christian woman who as a young, tender 11 year old made a bold decision to trust in somebody the world has more fun ridiculing than trusting. I entered the Christian faith and made a vow to live by the example that Jesus set in the Bible. I followed this up by being baptised at the age of 14, in front of my mother, and the people I went to church with. My Dad refused to come and to this day remains a firm atheist.

But a few weeks ago a very good friend of mine sat me down and for an entire evening I cried and cried whilst pouring out my heart to her. She listened and gave me good advice but one comment struck me; the fact that I'd been trying to do it all myself and I needn't have had to put the strain on because there was somebody waiting desperately for me to ask Him for help. Now, I haven't prayed properly for years, but something clicked in me. The next day we went to a church that her pastor has recommended for me and that morning I walked in that door a weight lifted from my shoulders, my eyes were opened and I felt a huge surge of love, welcome and compassion. The vibrancy, friendliness and devotion were overwhelming. The welcome my daughters and I were given is nothing I had experienced before.

During the previous evening I had spoken to my friend that I felt like an overgrown garden. My head and heart felt completely overrun by choking, suffocating, deep rooted weeds. I explained how I felt that the surface weeds were easy to deal with, but as they grow so prolificly, I was expending all my energy pulling them up and never having the time to really dig out the stubborn ones, the ones with underground tubers creeping along unnoticed, doing more and more damage, depleting the earth of the nutrition and slowly killing the beautiful flowers that were planted there so tenderly years before.

At church that morning, a very soft spoken elder lady got up, and spoke that she felt somebody in the church had been dealing with weeds and was trying to clear a garden. You could have punched me in the face, it hit me that hard. At that point I broke down completely and poured out months and months of hurt, frustration, bitterness, sorrow, hurt and pain. I had always doubted when people said that God could speak to them so directly, but I knew that message was from Him for me. I spoke to Brenda afterwards as I felt she should know that the words she was led to speak were not in vain, that He had led her to speak for me. I don't know if anybody else in the church that morning were doing their own bits of weeding, but I know I was and I know that message was for me. That was my turning point. I turned to my friend who by this point was hugging me rather tight and said, 'this is it, I've found the jigsaw where my pieces fit'. It all made sense.

As a background, I spent from ages 4 until 19 at a Brethren church. Women wore hats on their heads as the Bible commanded that a woman should keep her head covered. Women did not speak out loud at all, neither to worship, pray or preach as the Bible taught a women should remain silent in church. I was not allowed to take the bread and wine at communion until I had been fully baptised by immersion, just as John the Baptist had baptised Jesus. I attended a Sunday morning Bible class, went to Breaking of Bread after it ended and returned again in the evening for a ministry service and then went to the house of one of the elders in the evening for the youth group. The church was strict in its application of Biblical teaching, but within that strictness was a love unabounding.

However, through all this, strangers were accepted with caution. The cup was passed by them in meetings if it wasn't known for certain they were baptised believers. Women who turned up in trousers or hats were looked upon with disdain and as I grew older I began to question this. Clapping did not happen in services and goodness me, you kept your bum well and firmly on your seat. I think it was Adrian Plass in his hilarious books that once made the joke about Brethren churches having the option of 'hands down for coffee'.

Although I make these observations on that church, which is still a small but very close and devoted church today, I look back with fondness. I thank them profusely for my vast Biblical knowledge. I thank them at the age of 8 I was encouraged to learn the books of the Bible in order. My prize being my very first own King James version (had to be King James!!). To this day I can still reel them off in order without hesitation. I thank them for the opportunities to go to Scripture Union camps and to become a young leader on youth holidays. I thank them for giving me verses to learn each week so I could learn more and more about the God within those pages. I thank them for giving me an education that surpasses all academic subjects and gave me the understanding to have the answers to those who doubted and misquoted the Bible to suit their own purpose.

But what I gained in that respect I lost out on learning how to really open myself to the freer side of being a Christian. The ability to walk into a church and throw my hands up when I really feel God is talking to me. To clap my hands and shimmy a bit when the music moves me and to allow my children to run freely and express themselves when the drums are going and the electric guitars are twanging. To feel confident to stand in front of people and speak when I feel moved. I wanted to go to the front today to speak of my love for my favourite verse, but I couldn't do it. I felt I was doing something 'wrong', because my years of teaching had taught me to stay still, to be silent. I'm only just comfortable at the moment clapping my hands when the beat shifts it a notch and I watch with complete joy when I see women freely opening themselves up and coming to the front and sharing and I long for the day I feel led to do it myself without hesitation or caution.

But I've felt it these last five weeks. I've felt a freedom I've never known. I've realised that it doesn't matter what people think about my faith. It doesn't matter that I've never told them before, because I can tell them now and it doesn't matter if they think I'm a loon dancing at church and declaring a faith in a person they think doesn't exist, because I know He does. In my heart I KNOW IT.

So, I'm trying to turn my life back around. I'm trying to do the right thing and I'm trying to become the person that God wants me to be. I have one life on this earth and I intend to do my best now to get it right.

My favourite verse in the Bible is Revelation 21v4. It is the hope I have. It's what it's all about. I don't know where your beliefs lie or whether you have a faith in something else or where your strength in your future is held, but I know where mine is.