Space

Am away to the Barn later today where I usually write this. And it feels like a time to go offline, hence writing this now.

For the past couple of months I've been dividing my time between Hull and the Barn. The Barn being a converted granary mill by a river about 10 miles outside of Hull. Transformed by friends and now inhabited by them and a few others. A great place to be and to write.

When I first started going, I felt full of stories and ideas and thought words would pour out of me.  And being in such a quiet, beautiful place would be wonderfully conduicive for that. But it's not been like that at all. More of a slow release. And often, it's felt like hard graft. Albeit with a lovely view.

It's not been what I've expected anyway.

This weekend, however, I had a PING moment whilst talking with a friend. And suddenly things made sense.

This writing process, for now anyway, is about clearing space. Reclaiming ground. Digging deep. Uprooting things that are getting in the way and/or draining energy. And moving into a new season of life.

So as much as I can see it, I'm not there yet. I'm beyond it in some ways but still have a long way to go in fully letting go, fully falling.

What's hard especially is that it's revealing crap stuff that's been hanging around for years. Which for the past few weeks has felt like heavy shit. But, this morning, it's occurred to me that one man's shit is another man's manure. And there's no such thing as death to a gardener. As much as it stinks to me just now, it's rich fodder. And as much as I need to let go and let things die, nothing is wasted. It's all good in the grand scheme of things.

So, I'm off for a few days of space now. Away from the laptop, away from screens. A time to breathe and rest. And let my soul be shepherded for a while.

The Eternal is my shepherd, 

He cares for me always.

He provides me rest in rich, green fields

beside streams of refreshing water.

He soothes my fears;

He makes me whole again,

steering me off worn, hard paths

to roads where truth and righteousness 

echo His name.

Psalm 23:1-3 

(The Voice version)

Expectations

Here's something that's been coming up a lot lately. The idea of expectations and whether having them is a good thing or not. I've always liked to think it is. Being a generally hopeful, positive person. But how much do expectations weigh us down? And lead to unnecessary disappointment and sadness?

Just this week I found myself saying to a group of friends that to the 19 year old me, my life now would seem very disappointing. And I'd probably have thought I'd failed. Back then I was part of a Christian culture that was extemely visionary, prophetic and very very exciting. At least to that younger me. Who'd left home, at last, and was free to have adventures, at last, and Do Stuff for God.

At the time I loved it. Loved going on mission teams to what felt like extreme places - Burkina Faso, Tanzania, Morocco, inner city Belfast, Derry, Amsterdam. Loved the rough and tumble of living by faith, not knowing where the money would come from but it coming, nonetheless, usually at the last minute. Loved the sense of belonging and community and being among people of a similar ilk. Loved the opportunities to fly by the seat of my pants, leading worship when I could barely play guitar, leading teams I'd only just met. A lot of the time it was great. And I saw myself living that way for years to come. Like the couples in leadership I really looked up to. And the missionaries overseas I thought were amazing.

And I have done a lot, it's true. So many of those things I'd hoped to do, I've done. And yet that 19 year old me, when I think of her, is peeved. Peeved that I'm not fully living the dream. That I'm not doing some amazing work overseas still. That I'm not married to an amazing warrior-man. That I'm not completely together and outrageously bold. That I'm not a spiritual wonderwoman for goodness sake...

But now, when I remember that 19 year old, I just want to give her a hug. And let her know it's OK, whatever happens. That she's OK just as she is. That she's a gift to people around her, wherever. And that she's enough. More than enough.

But then, none of that would have made much sense back then. I had no idea of my limits or who I really was. Just who I wanted to be. What made sense then was that God was doing a work of transformation in me. And I needed to change. And the work I was involved in was as much about changing me as about changing the world around me. 

I'm not saying now that there's no truth in that. God does bring about change in us as we work with Him. But it's not about being inherently bad and Him making us good. It's about us becoming more of who we really are by being loved enough to want to change. And let go of things that hurt us and those around us.

So as much as I feel sad when I think of that 19 year old and all the pressure she put herself under, then and in years to come, I don't feel annoyed with her. If she hadn't been a zealous evangelical she'd have been a full-on something-else. And that might not have gone well for her at all. 

What I feel mostly these days is relief. Relief not to be living in that hotbed of extreme expectation anymore. Not to be carrying that heavy weight of trying to be more than I am. Relief to have had enough mishaps to know that life can still be good. And God, still loving. And relief to still be here, still breathing. Happy to be a falling woman. Learning to rest in the mystery. Yet with eyes still on the horizon. Hopeful for things to come.