The February Experiment

February 26th I want to go on with this. I don’t want it to end. This has brought me so much life, I don’t want to give it up. I don’t want to go back to “everything you do should have a meaning and a purpose and be profitable if it’s going to have God’s blessing on it.” I had slid into a mindset – been conned into a mindset! – that said if I was just doing something for me and the joy of doing it…well, that was okay for a little bit of time, but it was just a stopgap thing, a pause until I got back into the game. It was like you sort of tolerated it Jesus, were willing to wait until I’d finished (as long as I didn’t spend too long over it) but it wasn’t a real thing to be doing. It wasn’t a place where I would meet you in deep intimacy. But it is.

February 25th Inviting you in, doing something creative for the joy of it, with you Jesus… That was where all this started. That was – is – what this month has been about. And what has it shown me? That I had forgotten how to do that, lost that skill. That I thought you wanted me to cope, to gut it out. That I thought you were only really present when I was Doing Things For Other People. It showed me how battle-weary I was, and how hard these two years of covid have been. Because the whole covid thing hasn’t been the hardest thing I’ve ever experienced, then I’ve tended to dismiss it as lightweight, as something that shouldn’t really have affected me. Something I should have coped with, no problem, because it isn’t as bad as… It’s shown me how battle-weary I was, and it’s shown me your rest, Jesus.

February 24th. No matter what is happening in my life, no matter the season, no matter the landscape… No matter what is happening in my life you, Jesus, are always inviting me into deeper intimacy with you. But it’s going to be a different type of intimacy in different times, isn’t it? The intimacy of grief is not the intimacy of joy.

February 23rd I’ve just realised something huge, something that all this inviting-into-joy has shown me. Two things, actually, both about the post-natal depression years.. One, I stopped believing that you wanted to come in to what I was doing. Two, and much bigger, I couldn’t see what you were inviting me into. I thought you were just giving me a load of things-to-do in those PND years: love your child, take care of her, protect her childhood: bring love and laughter and play and care and being present to her into it. Which I did, because I did love her. And I wanted to do what you were asking, because I loved you too, God. But you weren’t inviting me into anything desirable. That’s the message that got in. You weren’t inviting me into anything, you just wanted me to do a load of stuff. So did you really love me, care about me? Emily messaged me again, and sent me this song link. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QSIVjjY8Ou8 And what it showed me was this: it’s all

February 22nd Inviting you in, Jesus – into the FebEx things, into making bread early this morning, and into painting tiny cabbages and cauliflowers onto a game tile… I lost the ability to feel joy, to know joy, in the PND years. Lost it so thoroughly that I thought you took no joy in me at all. And then it came back a little – I could take joy in other people’s joy, be genuinely delighted for them when something worked out well, rejoice with those who rejoiced. But did you rejoice over me? The huge message was: “You are getting it wrong. You are failing.” And I know, I know – it was attack; that’s what depression does to you; you can’t hear God clearly when you are depressed. But I didn’t know that, back then. And if I was failing, then you wouldn’t rejoice over me, or with me in anything. That’s straight from my earthly father: unless you’re a success (which means being first in everything, all the time) then I’m not interested in you. In fact, I’m disappointed in y

February 21st I thought inviting you into joy would be as easy as opening a gate or crossing a stile and going for a walk in a field or by a stream. Going back to a place I hadn’t been to for a while (and there’s been a lot of that with covid). Taking time out to go there with you, Jesus and rediscovering a place I loved. Sharing joy with you. Setting aside the time: that would be the challenge. Prioritising it. I wasn’t expecting this spring-loaded fire door that I’m trying to keep open. Wasn’t expecting to find that I don’t know how to do this any more. I was expecting…easy? Not lightweight, because I knew this mattered. But I wasn’t expecting this much depth, Jesus. Today’s pop-up? Inviting you into “doing something for the joy of doing it” has revealed my deep conviction that I have to Get It Right, otherwise I’ll be rejected. And I’ve multiplied that by minus one and turned it into “If I’m rejected, then I must have got it wrong” as well. How do you do this,

February 20th So here’s a message I picked up in my early Christian life… If I am miserable, if I am unhappy, than I am living out my faith wrong. Okay, if a major tragedy happens, I am allowed to grieve. Within certain parameters, and I should still be okay singing happy songs in the Sunday worship time (I remember one time in particular: a young couple in our church had just been involved in a really serious car accident. He’d been killed and she’d been left paralysed from the neck down. And a couple of Sundays later, the church leader started up “I am H-A-P-P-Y” and was actually less than chuffed that people weren’t joining in. They did things differently in the eighties). But actually, the rest of the time I’m supposed to be happy. Because I’ve got Jesus! If I’m feeling sad, then I’ve lost sight of Jesus. And – more pernicious than that – I’ve lost contact with Jesus. Because he’s only to be found in the happy places. But what if that’s not true? What if, when it

February 19th The times I've seen you, Jesus, in a picture for me over the past nine years or so, you've been wearing combats. And mostly, so have I, though not always. This has been a long time of battle. Rob says you need to change your clothes, Jesus - go to your wardrobe and pick out something different to wear! Made me laugh, anyway.

February 18th It's hard to invite you in to the things I do for pleasure, for joy, for relaxation, Jesus, because... Because I think you'll spoil it. Which makes no sense, so what's underneath that reaction? Because it's just been all about battle for so long now. And if I invite you in to this activity, will it just turn into more battle?

February 17th Brick wall. It feels like I’m hitting my head off one. What is stopping me from inviting you in, Jesus? Inviting you in to doing something together for joy, for delight, for the sake of the creativity itself. What’s the problem?!!!!! I think it might be fear. I am afraid to do that, in case… In case of what?

February 16th How do you take a picture of prayer? Because that’s what yesterday’s time mostly went on. Listening prayer – which, when it’s me doing that for myself rather than others, could also be called arguing prayer. Like Jacob, I wrestle, and like Jacob I say, “I will not let you go until you bless me.” Unlike Jacob, I frequently say, “Not like that, though! That wasn’t what I meant! Oh. It’s what you mean, though.” So I decided lego was the answer (I reckon it’s the answer to quite a few things). Because sometimes listening prayer just feels like a tray full of bits and pieces, and I’m trying to sort out what they’re supposed to make, and it would be really helpful, Jesus, if you’d tell me where you’ve hidden the instructions because I need them. And you’re taking me to some places I don’t want to go – emailed a friend with yesterday's blog and a covering note that said, “Why is Jesus so fond of taking us to the I-don’t-want-to-go-there places in our lives?

February 15th Drawing little trees – and, over and over again, having to invite Jesus in. I shut you out so easily in this area of my life! I don’t do it when I’m listening to others. I invite you in, open all the doors and they stay open. I long to hear you, to show you, to bring you to others because you are their answer. Why am I having to open and re-open the doors here? Is it because it’s all about coping? What I realised today was that all anyone wants – wanted – me to do with my grief was cope with it. In so many arenas. Starting at the outside and working in… Work. Work just wants you to cope, to function properly. Whether it’s paid work in an institution of some sort or whether it’s just household tasks, the demand is the same: Get the job done. And church-the-institution is actually the same, though a bit gentler. But the demand for you to function is still there. People? Well, that covers a broad range. There’s the “Please cope because I certainly don’t

February 14th I didn’t have two hours free yesterday, and that’s fine. I knew there would be some days when I would only have a little time, but looking to find the two hours if I can has made me realise that – at this point in my life – I do have time to spare. Time is a bit like money, isn’t it? Sometimes it’s genuinely in short supply and I have to stretch it round everything carefully. But sometimes it can be a currency I’m just frittering away. And sometimes I’m supposed to be saving it up and not spending it. I think that’s called rest. I played Anno 1404, and I played it as a bit of a wind-down after a full day. And I’ve played it as a coping strategy before now, and what it made me realise was that coping strategies shut out…everything, really. But especially relationships. Especially people. The wife who copes with her husband’s angry moods (this is not me! He’s the one I would marry all over again in a heartbeat!) or the husband who copes with his wife’s cont

February 13th There is no one-size-fits-all. No two landscapes are identical. Sure, they have the same components – rocks, earth, plants, water…but no two landscapes are the same. So there can’t be a “This is how you do it: follow these rules” manual for the spiritual landscape either. We each walk different ones. Which sort of begs the question: Why do we make up rules about it? Why do we prefer law to freedom? Because…Because: if I Get It Right, then you’ll…Like me? Love me? Reward me? Protect me from getting hurt? And if I get hurt, if things don’t work out well, if there is tragedy and loss and heartbreak? Then I must have failed to Get It Right, mustn’t I? I want to believe that I have some control, that I can influence the outcome. But when I try my hardest, and the outcome is a disaster, that leaves me asking hard questions. Or swallowing devastating lies: God didn’t care enough to come through for me in this one. I suspect, if I was a man, it would be “I

February 12th It’s so helpful, doing this as a community, hearing other people’s stories. Listening to what they’re doing, and why, and where it’s taking them. And it’s all the same story in one way – Jesus, or Father, or Holy Spirit, I need and want more of you in my life. Where’s the landscape that I need to be in, to meet you, to find that more I so need? When I said: “I want all the freedom you have for me, Jesus,” my husband says that was a declaration of war. It was. I am going to take back all the territories that have been stolen from me, gain freedom from the places where I have been enslaved. I didn’t actually think of it like that at the time, but Rob’s right. Yesterday’s FebEx activity was trying the game out last night, and Rob thinks that it has potential. And we found various rules that need tweaking for better gameplay. Two heads are always better than one. Community again. It’s not just “It’s so helpful doing this in a community.” It’s “I was designe

February 11th Coping. I don’t have to. More than that, I’m not designed to live like that or called to live like that. Coping is a do-it-in-my-own-strength thing. Which is actually, at the bottom of it all, sin. “Grant to me the grace of your healing and deliverance and a deep and true repentance.” Daily prayer quote, and more and more I’ve realised that the order is right. The grace of your healing and deliverance first, and then I am free to repent. Because you’ve shown me the root of all this, Jesus, in your grace. And it comes from my mother, and it comes from her deep wounding, her backstory with her parents. “You shouldn’t mind about anything.” “You should be able to cope with anything.” But that’s not actually true. You minded about things, Jesus. You wept, you laughed, you were angry – and all the emotions in between. You minded . And I am not called to cope. I’m called to abide, to rest, to stay rooted: all in you, Jesus, all in you. Coping has strate

February 10th I didn’t get much sewing done yesterday. This is it. And here’s why. “You will have cut out 4 pieces…” say the instructions. No, I haven’t. I’ve only cut out two. I don’t have what it takes to make this garment up. I don’t have what it takes. But I’m supposed to be able to cope with anything life throws at me. Isn’t that the definition of Being A Good Christian? Never being weak, never being needy, never failing, always having read the instructions properly and cut every piece out in advance. I have some spare fabric. I can cut the extra pieces. But shouldn’t I have been prepared in advance? Shouldn’t I be prepped and ready for every eventuality? In fact, let’s go a bit further. Shouldn’t I be able to foresee every eventuality? And if I can’t, I’ve failed? Oh, and by the way, I don’t need you, Jesus. It’s all down to me. All the foresight, all the preparation, all the resources: I have to do it all. Hmmmm. “I’m supposed to be able to cope” does

February 9th This is all about inviting you in, Jesus. And I also thought it was probably going to be about giving myself permission to do something solely for the joy of it as well. It’s turned into something else. Not unrelated, though, I guess. It’s turned into me seeing, finding out, how hard it is to invite you into the things I am doing for joy. Not: how hard it is to invite you into my life. You have all of it. I’m not actually deliberately holding anything back. It’s not: You can’t come into this. It’s: I don’t know how to open the door. There’s something in the way, and I don’t know what it is. I want to open this door to you, and I thought it was just about setting aside the time to do it, more consciously. But it’s turned out to be: I don’t know how to do this. How to invite you into joy. There’s been a lot of grief. I cut out these pieces this morning, talking to a friend who has also known deep grief. Deep grief and a deep journey into the heart of Go

February 8th Jesus, I wish following you was as simple as following lego instructions. And that it was as easy to know if you were getting it right. As it is, I feel like whatever I’m trying to build, the brief keeps changing – and sometimes the brief doesn’t seem to match the bricks at all. And sometimes I put my heart and soul into the building and an enemy destroys it. And I end up thinking, Why bother to build at all? Picking up the broken pieces, to rebuild what was shattered, hurts. And you’re not too good with anæsthetics are you, Jesus? I know, I know. I know that what you offer is healing, not numbness. And I know that we live in a war. Well, actually, we live in a love story set in the midst of a war – but sometimes it’s hard to find the love part for the noise and the hurt of the battle. And I just want to Get It Right, because surely if I do that, then I won’t get hurt again? And instead of following you, Jesus, I can just follow the instructions instead.

February 7th A hard day, a hard anniversary - and what I saw was the difference between me doing it with you, Jesus, and deliberately trying to shut you out. This was all about shut you out, find a coping strategy, keep you at arm's length. Why? Because you say - and I do believe you - that my healing and my comfort over this deep loss will be found in my grief. That is where you will meet me. But sometimes, I just don't want to go there. I am rebuilding a partially demolished model. Is this what you are doing with me? Rebuilding the shattered, the demolished? The Lego company talks about the clutch power of their bricks: does it hurt them when they are pulled apart?. All the stories I write, and all the stories I love most of all, are about rebuilding, restoration. Overgrown gardens, neglected houses: they call out to me, "Come and restore us." Why do I fear you doing that with me? I could have photographed the finished bits of this build. But th

February 6th Slow growth here! And I’m going to have to find someone who can draw people for the character cards, when I get to that bit. Play. I got to thinking about play and talking to some friends about it. It’s a bit like worship, isn’t it? We all have languages we worship in (and mine isn’t singing, which makes things a bit tricky) and I guess we all have languages we play in too. I was sort of thinking about this in the context of the wedding prep course we’ll be creating soon for a couple we know. So: the theme of the whole course is communication, With each other and with God, both separately and together. In the context of money, in-laws, housework – and all the other flashpoint places in a marriage. And we’ll do the love language quiz with them, and the apology language quiz, because you really need to say sorry in each other’s language. But what about a play language quiz? And what different play languages are there? And I think maybe that in today’s media

February 5th I started on some art work for the game, with Gregorian chant playing in the background – very soothing. I still have to keep inviting you in, Jesus: I flip to shutting everything out so easily. I’m making playing pieces for my game. And it got me thinking about play itself. I know it matters. I know it’s essential. As essential as story. And I’ve never had a problem doing it, never had a problem playing. Which is probably partly why I was more attracted to primary school teaching than secondary, I guess! So what I’m wondering is: what happens to our hearts, to our souls, when we are denied permission to play? Is this one of the open doors to adult addictions? You can’t have that child-like play any more (even though, Jesus, you said we have to receive the kingdom of heaven like a little child?). And adult play looks different. I don’t play with my dolls any more, Rob doesn’t build a weather station in an old shoe box, complete with Stevenson screen. He

February 4th I wasn’t expecting this to be about more healing for the post-natal depression years. On the other hand, Jesus, you did say to me, at the beginning of this year, “Will you invite me into that time?” And I, very reluctantly because I knew it was a time of great grief and hurt and I Didn't Want To Go There Again, Thank You Very Much, said yes. Okay, I don’t regret that yes. You have healed so much, and you are healing so much. What I resented was that the healing was necessary in the first place. We’re back to board games, aren’t we? I thought you were inviting me into Happy Family Picnic, and I found myself somewhere else completely. Somewhere dark and scary and painful. Especially painful. And what do we do with pain, us fragile mortals? We take an anæsthetic. And we need them. They’re necessary at times. So what does an anæsthetic do? It kills the pain and enables us to carry on, to survive, to continue the journey. And not all anæsthetics are a

February 3rd It’s all about story, isn’t it? Everything needs a narrative, even a board game. And so I’ve been making flow charts. And we are always trying to make sense of our story, making flow charts in our minds and hearts. Doing this challenge has already shown me so much more of my story, and my interpretation of it (yes, I’ve listened to the WAH podcasts on interpretation. Many times. I’ve needed them). It’s been hard to believe that you want to be with me in the small domestic things, and doing this is revealing that, oh so gently. I choose to do this with you Jesus, and I want that with all of me – but I am out of practice, out of habit. It isn't that I want to shut you out, want to exclude you from parts of my life. Not at all. It's that I think I'm supposed to be able to cope. And I know where that comes from, know where I lost that particular intimacy: and oddly enough you spoke to me about it through pictures of board games! Four years of und

February 2nd More pieces raided from other games: and I’m thinking, this is a kind of metaphor, isn’t it? Each new scenario I face in life, it’s a bit like a game board and I’m trying to find out the rules, trying to work out how to play it (and win – or at least, not lose), but actually, I can bring in bits from other games, pieces from other scenarios. Resources. I caught myself thinking, What if I don’t finish this? and thought, Where did that come from! Because one of the parameters for this experiment is that I don’t have to finish anything. So I looked underneath the thought, lifted it up cautiously like a bedcover when you’re not quite sure what you might find under the bed, and found “I will have failed.” Which is nonsense in this context, and I know that. Because this isn’t about the end product. This is about the journey. The journey with Jesus, into something more, something closer. It’s about journey, not product. I don’t have to Have Something To Show F

The February Experiment. What am I trying to do? Put something in my day, each day for 28 days, that will deepen my relationship with Jesus, basically. Last year, I prayed for people, listened to God for them and wrote to them: a hand-written letter if I could, and it pulled me round to facing outwards again. February was a hard month, and the pull is always to disengage. This year is so different. This year, what I realised I needed was a new kind of intimacy. My closeness to Jesus has been about fighting on a battlefield together, shoulder to shoulder and back to back, until our swords dripped blood. Closeness, yes, but so tiring. So what I’m doing is to do something creative each day. With Jesus. And for myself. Not to give away, although I do a lot of that, and still will, but for the joy of the doing and of the company. And I don’t have to finish it either: I can try something and leave it half-done if I want. It’s about the joy of doing something with a close friend,