Different reactions can be equally glorifying to God

You may have guessed I'm a bit of an emotions junkie, judging by blogs I've written before touching on sadness and grief. If you've spent any time with me in real life, you'll know the English stiff upper lip eludes me - my upper lip is usually wobbling in preparation to cry in response to anything that demands sympathy, and if I'm joyful, enthusiastic or indignant, you'll probably know about it.

I've spent a lot of my life feeling guilty about being so emotional and feeling like it's incompatible with being a Christian to embrace these feelings. I think this is more to do with British culture than the Bible; the human beings we get to know in both Old and New Testaments exhibit the full raft of strong emotions, and lived in cultures that were far more expressive than ours. Death was greeted with weeping and wailing, victories were celebrated with dancing, and arguments were thrashed out passionately. To be honest I think David, Job and the Apostle Paul would have been made to feel pretty uncomfortable in a lot of our English churches! 

When we go through tough times in life, I think we become even more self-critical of our responses as Christians - and probably as people in general. We aspire to a calm serenity in the face of trouble, looking to be "strong" like "a rock" (rocks don't have many emotions last time I checked). Being uncomplaining in the face of physical discomfort is especially venerated. These cultural values mean that displays of sadness, upset, confusion, anger and frustration can often be interpreted as sinful or immature.

I've been reflecting recently on how a whole plethora of human responses can be equally valid and wholesome. As Christians, what should our responses be? Glorifying to God. And there is no one size fits all way to achieve this. Being God-glorifying rests on trusting Him, submitting to His sovereignty, and enjoying his good gifts and attributes in the midst of human life - both in our joys and sorrows. And all these are possible while experiencing the whole spectrum of human feeling.

As a microcosm of this, I want to reflect on the last few days in our life, when my husband has been quite ill with Covid. The difficult backdrop to this can be found in this blog here, in which I outline just how difficult the last months of restrictions have been for us. After a strenuous and exhausting year, we're capping it off with a bout of horrible illness and exhaustion and a Christmas spent in isolation.

When we first got Aidan's test results on Sunday, I had an overwhelming supernatural peace. I had to take the decision to cancel and refund all the Christmas orders my home baking business had booked because it wasn't safe or legal to work on and distribute them. I had to tell dozens of customers that their Christmas goodies were being cancelled. Yet I had total and utter peace about this decision. I didn't even feel upset. I lost hundreds of pounds worth of business and felt a strong reassurance from God that this was all in his hands.

I was able to be completely at peace and selfless on Sunday and it was easy. I know so many people were praying for us that day and I attribute this peace to God entirely. One could say this is definitely a "God-glorifying" response in the culturally defined way, and I hope that is the case.

The next day, Monday, I woke up feeling absolutely hopeless and wretched. After months of not being able to socialise with other humans and weeks of not even being able to go to a café for a cuppa, the idea of being confined to the house single-handedly looking after three grumpy little humans, nursing a very poorly husband, running the house and getting ready for Christmas seemed a pretty desolate prospect. I was anxious that I would catch the disease and also get poorly (I am asthmatic) and not be able to cook Christmas dinner! I was conscious of the possibility of the long-term effects of Covid on Aidan. All day that day I felt like I was on the edge of hysteria; that if I stopped and thought about things too much, I'd burst into tears, so it was best just to keep going.

Both days I had got up and read my Bible and prayed. Both days I kept throwing myself on God and his grace. Both days I was reminded of His goodness, faithfulness and His unchanging nature in the face of the storm. Both days, I am sure people were praying for me.

So why one day the peace and the next the turmoil?

First, because God made me who I am! God made me with all these emotions and responses. He knew what He was doing. To fight against that and berate myself is actually to berate God for his idea of what this creation should be. And because he made me like this, it must mean that...

Both can be equally glorifying to God in different ways. One day the peace came easily - that was God's good gift. The next, I had to fight to cling on to Him - that was God's good gift of me growing in maturity. When people texted me on both days and asked me how I was, I had completely different responses. It was probably more uncomfortable for them to read my more upset messages on Monday than the happy peaceful ones on Sunday, but actually it means that they know what I'm facing and can see that I'm still trying to trust God and keep going in the face of adversity.

Jesus wept. I think of that verse so much. Jesus didn't live on this earth and ascend to Heaven to intercede for us so that our humanity lost its defining features. He got angry, he got sad, he got hungry and tired, he loved, he laughed and he cried. We have a great high priest who sympathises with our weakness. When we are weak, when we are sad, God is strong; he comforts us.

Yet we spend so much of our time trying to pretend we don't have this weakness! And therefore because we so often don't share these feelings and experiences, the idea that everyone else is a rock of stability grows and so does the guilt about our own difficult times.

For too long we have measured our glorification of God by our outward suppression of emotion. Actually what demonstrates our trust in God is not whether we are crying or putting a brave face on it, but whether our hearts are His. External calmness and "peace" can often be a veneer which hides a lot of anger and turmoil underneath too. God sees our hearts. He knows whether they are trusting in Him under the tears that are falling or the lip that is stiff. 

This is so encouraging to me. He has made each and every one of us completely unique. No two people can glorify God in exactly the same way; this is one reason each life is so precious. We all reflect a different part of our Creator. Whether we are naturally calm, or naturally emotional, we are all wonderfully made. Getting to know each other and understand each other in this may be challenging at times, but ultimately it's God-glorifying as we understand how each of our personalities reflects his image. And whether we are that "rock" or the emotional shipwreck (me), what matters is where our hearts and heads are at. 

Trusting in God may sometimes mean calmer waters and sometimes it may mean clinging on for dear life as we are buffeted around, and sometimes it's a bit of both. Thankfully he is the anchor in the storm no matter what. 

No Man is an Island

I wrote this piece for the Thought for the Week in Keighley News a while ago, which unfortunately isn't available online, so here it is in blog form.

“No man is an island”, said John Donne a long time ago, and then the main character played by Hugh Grant in About a Boy more recently. 2020 has definitely shown us just how much we need community and relationships. Some of us have spent weeks without the touch of another human being; mothers have found themselves constantly accompanied but feeling lonelier than ever without support; children have been separated from their friends; and grandparents have sorely missed the noise and mess of their grandchildren.

It’s a scientific fact that loneliness is bad for us – research has found that it increases the risk of premature death by around 30%. We need each other, and as great as Zoom is, it certainly doesn’t live up to a hot cup of tea at someone’s kitchen table or a shoulder to cry on.

Why do we need relationship so much?

The Bible tells us that we were created for relationship. God himself, as Father, Son and Holy Spirit, has always loved and been loved, spoken and heard. Genesis tells us that we are made in His image. We are each precious and we are not meant to be alone. We are designed to be in relationship with God, and with each other. Sadly the mess and madness of this world are often barriers to this. We may not know God and we may disappoint each other. But if the last few months have taught us anything, it’s just how important it is to love and be loved, to speak and to listen.

That shoulder to cry on might have to wait for now as we face more restrictions, but thankfully nothing, not even Coronavirus, can separate us from the love of God. He invites us all to be in his family: Creator and creation, Father and child. As his children we aren’t alone; he gave us each other. And one thing’s for sure: I’m not going to take any of those cups of tea for granted ever again.

 

What I want to give my children this Christmas

ETA: At the time of writing this, we were awaiting my husband's Covid test results as he had been really poorly with the symptoms. I obviously didn't want to publicise this on the blog in case it was negative! However, a few hours after writing this we got his results and he is positive. We had to tell the children straight away then and they realised immediately it meant Christmas in isolation. While I am afraid that one child did say 'stupid Boris Johnson' when I informed her the plans would have been ruined anyway due to the Tier 4 announcements, they bounced straight back and entertained themselves making funny and sweet videos for each other. They also said that they knew we would make it the 'best Christmas ever' even with the disadvantages. I was so humbled once again by God's goodness and generosity and so glad that I had woken this morning with the urge to write this blog. I never realised how much it would encourage me throughout the day. Here's to a Merry, if somewhat haphazard, Christmas.

Here's what I was desperate to give my children this Christmas: a shot of normality. We had plans to welcome my brother and mum here for Christmas Day, and then travel to my Dad's to stay with him, his wife and my step-brothers. We were looking forward to a change of scene, celebrating with family, hugs, fun and a much needed respite from the slog of the last 9 months.

Living in the Bradford area, we've been harder hit than most of the country by the Covid restrictions. Post-lockdown 1.0, after a blissful 30 days of being able to be inside a home with one other household (which we very much made the most of), on July 31st the government put us in local lockdown and we have never since been allowed to have another household inside our home. When the Rule of Six was introduced, as a family of five this meant we can't meet more than one person even for a walk on the moors. Our kids have no other kids to run off and play with or talk to, we can't even meet two grandparents at the same time: and it's all on us to entertain them.

We have three children, whom I homeschooled for three months, until they could return to school for three weeks in the summer term as my husband is a keyworker. He is a Deputy Headteacher and has endured all the stressful ups and downs of dealing with ever-changing government policy, incorporating new restrictions, acting as a Test and Trace centre and going into work every day knowing he could be bringing the virus home to his severely asthmatic wife.

My business was hard hit as it's weddings-based, two of my 20+ booked in weddings actually going ahead this year. Towards the end of the year things have picked up for me, which has coincided with the virus finally reaching our school and us living day to day not knowing which of our children would be sent home next. In this autumn term, I've had one child at home with me for 5 weeks of it, struggling to juggle work with their needs. Every time they isolate, we can't leave the house or garden, so I haven't met with another adult for around six weeks and haven't been for proper walk for over two as I write. It's one thing to entertain your children inside for a whole day at the best of times: doing it for nearly 4 months this term is quite another and often I wake up feeling completely hopeless and helpless at the start of the day.

Our children are old enough to understand both the reasoning behind the restrictions and to struggle very much emotionally with the constantly moving goalposts and uncertainty and anxiety that brings. They've had birthdays where lockdown was imposed two days before, haven't even been able to have a friend play even in their garden for much of the last nine months, and haven't seen one of their grandparents for more than five hours in total this year. They've been hugely upset and disappointed at every twist and turn that's defeated our fragile plans and have been left baffled and frustrated that we keep following the rules when so many around us are breaking them. One of our children has additional needs and struggles with changes in plans and routine a lot, often resulting in physical meltdowns which are very draining for the family.

Reading this, I'm sure many of you can relate to these experiences. Through lockdown, somehow God has kept us afloat, kept us sustained, given me more patience and love than I could have known, and always been there to forgive us and comfort us when we lost our rag. I'm fully aware that things are so much better for us than so many people. That doesn't cancel out the difficulties but it gives some perspective.

So when I say I was desperate to give my children a shot of normality at Christmas, being honest it wasn't just them I wanted that for, but all of us.

When Boris Johnson told us all yesterday that Christmas as we knew it was going to be cancelled, a flood of emotions engulfed us, as I'm sure they did many of you. Anger at the way the decisions had been made, heartbreak that we were not to see each other, disappointment and despair that we have to slog on alone, and most of all, devastation that we had to break the news to our children.

We still haven't told them this morning as we are waiting on other elements of the family to decide plans so we know what to say to them for "certain". But in my worry and upset over how to shepherd them through this latest crisis, my thoughts turned to this realisation:

It is not my desire to give my children happiness for Christmas.

It is not our goal as parents to make our children comfortable.

It is not our job to make the world safe and sound for our children.

It is our job to equip them for life in this broken world, to point them toward the refuge of God's love and to give them resilience through trust and faith in Jesus Christ.

This Christmas we may not be able to fulfil their expectations, but we can help them grow in love and understanding for our Saviour, the light of the world whose incarnation we especially remember in this darkest time of year.

That's uncomfortable for us as parents. I hate seeing my children upset and, let's be honest, I hate having to deal with it. It takes sacrifice to guide your children through tough emotions and disappointment. I need to model what I want to teach them - that I know what it feels like to have your hopes dashed, to die to self, crush my own desires in order to love them well, finding my joy and satisfaction in Jesus rather than in the comfort of happy kids who let me have a cuppa in peace.

Yes, our children have lost a lot of their childhood this year. But they have gained a lot too. They've seen us, their parents, being held up and strengthened by our loving Father God. They've seen our faith acted out in ways we haven't had the opportunity to demonstrate before. They've seen what it is to obey God even when it's excruciatingly difficult, trusting him to honour those choices. We've had many conversations around the meal table about just how much we have to be grateful for, focusing on the bounty of God's providence rather than complaining and griping about what we don't have. They've seen their parents upset and listened to us talk about our very real feelings and how we take those to God and find refuge in Him. They've been brought to the anchor and certainty of God's love on the Cross which holds in the stormiest of seas. They've been made to reflect on just how blessed we are materially, emotionally and spiritually, and grow in gratitude when it's tempting to moan. And they've been taught what it is to respect our politicians even if we wholeheartedly disagree with them (no, you can't call Boris Johnson a stupid man...).

So when we break the news to them about our changed Christmas plans, it won't be pretty, but I know I have a path we can walk with them. One that shows us this is happening because we live in a broken world, and the good news of the gospel is that Jesus came into that brokenness to give us salvation from it. This may be one of the darkest Christmases we will ever have, but the light of the Son shines even brighter because of that. The ground may be shifting beneath our feet, but his sacrifice on the cross and resurrection has won the victory securely already. It hurts living in this world. But we know the Man who will restore everything to perfection one day. I pray that instead of losing themselves in the short-lived comforts of this world, they would put their trust in Him and find eternal joy instead.