James’s Blog: Encouraged by the Past.

James’s Blog: Encouraged by the Past.

I’ve touched on this subject before. A while ago I wrote about how beneficial journaling has been to me over the years, while more recently I wrote about the way that the past can ambush you and make you feel irrationally discouraged.

When I say that the past can ambush you, it’s really your memory of the past that is doing the ambushing, and your memory is pretty good at lying. A year or so after I started journaling I decided that I would set myself a task in response to what God was doing in my life at that time. I made a list of all the Bible passages I could find that related to the topic of ‘suffering’, and decided I’d study them. By that, I mean I spent a week on each passage (regardless of length) and jotted down my thoughts and conclusions on how it related to the subject at hand. I took some time off in the middle of it all somewhere, but in two and a half years I had applied this method of study to 72 different passages from the Bible.

Recently, I’ve been revisiting those passages and my studies. Like most things that we did when we were younger, there’s a bit of embarassment in facing up to it. I didn’t really understand much when then, but I thought I did. The difference now is that I know I don’t. But still, there’s some good stuff in there, and this time I find myself being ambushed by unexpected wisdom. When I remember those days, my memory doesn’t always paint me in a particularly good light. When I actually read what was going on, and not just remember it, I surprise myself. God has always believed in me more than I have.

However, the cherry/icing/giant sparkler on the cake was on the very first page. Before I began the studies, I wrote a little introduction explaining what I was doing and what my goals were – and that stuff is excellent. I mean, what I hoped for and desired 24 years ago is pretty much unchanged from what I hope for and desire now. It almost brought a tear to my eye to read how earnest young James was, and how much of young James is still here in the heart of old(er) James. And it encouraged me, because it made me realise that – despite my youth and the things I wrote that are a million miles away from what I would write or think now – there was a solid, unbreakable core in that fragile young man, and that core would carry me all the way through the years, half-way across the the world and back again, to where I am now…and that same passion is what will carry me the rest of the way. It was a surprise to me, but God’s always known.

James’s Blog: The Desert is Good.

James’s Blog: The Desert is Good.

I know that the title looks like I mispelled ‘dessert’, but it’s actually correct as it is.

Being in a spiritual desert doesn’t sound appealing, and certainly anyone who has experienced it will know full well that it’s about as fun as it sounds, and yet…

Luke 4:1 tells us that Jesus, being full of the Holy Spirit, is then led into the desert by that same Holy Spirit. It’s like the closer you get to God the more likely you are to end up in the desert – and not because you took a wrong turn, but because it’s where God was wanting you to be all along.

Jesus is in the desert to be tempted, or tested, and in this way his journey mirrors that of Israel herself. Deuteronomy 8:2-3 tells us that Israel’s time in the desert was that they might learn humilty and be tested, and that they might understand that we don’t live by bread alone, but by every word that comes from the mouth of God…hang on, I’ve heard that somewhere before…

What I’m getting at is that desert time proved to be a central part of Israel’s identity. It was in the desert that God provided for them out of nothing, it was in the desert that He gave them the Law, it was in the desert that they learnt what it meant to belong to Him. Equally, the desert was Jesus’ training ground, where he learned what it meant to love God and get his identity from Him alone.

In short, if you want to grow, deserts are inevitable, because it’s only in the desert that you learn this type of lesson. As much as we wish otherwise, you can’t learn what it means to follow God from the comfort of a sofa, TV blaring and a cream cake in your hand.

But the desert is not supposed to be our goal. It’s a stop along the way, but it’s a crucial one, and a good one. Every now and then, you might find the Spirit of God steering into the dry wilderness once more, in order to be reminded of a precious lesson that you are in danger of forgetting, or to sit another exam, but He’ll always bring you out, stronger and fitter than when you went in.

I’m not telling you that you have to be happy about it, but the desert is actually a good place.

James’s Blog: Repairs.

James’s Blog: Repairs.

I once met a man, a connesieur of D.I.Y. if you will. I watched him at work, skilfully carving, cutting and fixing. The thing I noticed is how old his tools seemed. I’d expected him to be equipped with the latest and best, seeing as how he was an expert and all, but instead he used a patchwork of old, venerable tools.

“Why don’t you chuck that lot away and get some new stuff?” I asked him.

He looked at me as though I was an idiot.

“Why? There’s nothing wrong with these. The blades are still sharp, the heads still solid. They get scuffed and damaged over the years, and need to be patched up – a new handle here, a sharpening there – but they’re still good. Better than good actually.”

“Ah, sentimental value,” I said.

He nodded. “A bit, but not just that. They do the job, and do it well. Those new tools are alright, but they don’t make them like this anymore.”

I knew a man in Christ who had been broken but got up again, and been broken but got up again, and been broken but got up again. He limped his way along, leaving the fragrance of the Kingdom of God wherever he went.

“Why don’t you use someone else, God?” I asked. “That guy’s had it.”

He looked at me as though I were an idiot.

“I don’t throw things away, James.” Then He looked at the man with such love in His eyes. “They don’t make them like this anymore.”

James’s Blog: Moving Furniture.

James’s Blog:  Moving Furniture.
When you move to a new house, you have to decide where to put the heavy furniture. The goal is to put it somewhere good, so that you won’t have to move it again. If you play your cards right, you’ll end up with a nice, eye-catching feature than defines the room and serves a purpose. Over the years that piece of furniture will become a comforting, familiar presence, perhaps soothing you as soon as you enter the room. Get it right, and you won’t even want to move it. But eventually it will need to be moved, and then you’ll discover the delights of what lurks behind a heavy piece of furniture that has lain undisturbed for many, many months. Cobwebs and dust, yes, but also missing toys or coins, or carelessly discarded raisins and bits of dried, shriveled orange peel. There’s almost no limit to the surprises waiting for you behind an immobile piece of furniture. Now where’s the heavy furniture in my soul? What are the things that I’ve plonked down and left untouched for years, either because they look nice where they are or because I just can’t be bothered to move them? Maybe it’s something that’s actually impractical or even dangerous, but its constant presence has become comfortingly familiar to me. Is it time to shift something, either to get the vacuum cleaner in there, or just in case I happen to find some sparkling treasure that I thought was lost forever many years ago?

James’s Blog: An Advent Poem.

James’s Blog:  An Advent Poem.

There are those who think it odd,

that you came as man and not as God.

A God would make things right

with shows of power, glory and might.

 

A God would shake the stage,

smiting evil-doers with holy rage.

A God, you see, will get things done.

A baby can’t. He needs his mum.

 

A baby is no use to us;

a baby screams and makes a fuss.

A baby doesn’t clear up mess,

solve problems, or bring progress.

 

But as for us, we’re not so hot,

we’re babies too, don’t pretend we’re not.

We need to scream, need a nappy,

we need our toys to make us happy.

 

We haven’t grown up in years,

so only a baby could share our tears.

We’re still learning how to crawl,

so I’m just thankful you came at all.

James’s Blog: Look Before You Leap.

James’s Blog:  Look Before You Leap.

Travis was looking down at the piece of paper on the clipboard when he heard the polite cough. He looked up. It was Nigel.

“Hi Nigel,” Travis said. “Good job today. You’re demonstrating some excellent technique.”

Nigel looked pleased, but only briefly. He then returned to looking like a man with something on his mind.

“Thanks Travis,” he replied. “Errr, did I hear right at the end of the lesson? Something about going up in a plane next week?”

“That’s right,” said Travis. “We’ve done about as much as we can on the ground for the moment. Time to get up there, and get a taste of what it’s like in the sky.”

Nigel looked as though Travis had just confirmed his worst fears.

“Going up? In a plane? Why do we need to do that?”

“Like I said. Just to give you some experience,” explained Travis.

“But why do we need to do that at all?” said Nigel.

“Sorry, mate. I’m not following.”

“I’m just asking, is the plane thing compulsory?”

Travis looked confused. “Well, it is eventually, mate. You can’t do skydiving without going up in a plane. The clue’s in the name – sky diving. But don’t worry. It’s just a taster. No-one’ll be jumping out of any planes next week.”

“What?” said Nigel. “Who said anything about jumping from a plane?”

“Sorry, mate, I must be confused. You do know you’ve been doing skydiving lessons for the past four weeks, don’t you?” said Travis.

“Yes, absolutely. That’s what I signed up for.”

“And that a big part of parachute jumping is the actual, you know, jumping.”

“I signed up for skydiving lessons. I wasn’t really aware that you were going to make us do an actual parachute jump at the end,” said Nigel.

“Let me get this straight,” said Travis carefully. “You wanted to take skydiving lessons without doing any actual skydiving?”

“That’s right. You really should have made it clearer in the literature.”

“Mate, I thought it was pretty clear, in the whole concept, you know? What would be the point of doing the lessons without the end product?” said Travis.

Nigel tutted, as though he’d just been told that his taxi would be five minutes late. “It’s just that I don’t see why I can’t just have the lessons so I know what I’m doing, and leave it at that.”

“Mate, it’s your money, but didn’t you think it a bit odd that we charged you for things like the plane and actual parachute if you weren’t going to do any jumping?”

“I saw that more as a donation. To support the general concept of skydiving and subsidise those who really wanted to do the actual jumping,” explained Nigel.

“And what about all the waivers we made you sign? Didn’t they give you a small clue?” asked Travis.

“I signed those because I agreed with the principles behind them. The safety instructions and stuff. And, as I said, I’m a big supporter of the general concept of skydiving. I wouldn’t have signed them if I’d known you were actually going to make me do it,” said Nigel.

Travis shook his head. “So what’s the point then? Why bother doing the lessons?”

“Well,” said Nigel, beginning to get excited, “I was thinking that I could take the stuff you taught me, go home and teach my friends how to skydive. Run my own courses, as it were.”

“Mate, you can’t do that! It took me years to become a qualified instructor! Skydiving is dangerous!”

“Oh don’t worry,” said Nigel reassuringly. “None of us would actually do any skydiving. You wouldn’t catch any of us going anywhere near an actual plane. No fear!”

“So you’re telling me that you want to take the lessons, but not actually do the skydiving?” said Travis suspiciously.

“That’s right,” agreed Nigel.

“And then you want to go and teach your friends what you’ve learnt, and then none of you will actually do any skydiving?”

“Right again,” said Nigel.

“And no-one is going to jump out of any planes?” said Travis.

“Too right,” said Nigel. “Why would we want to do something like that?”

“Yeah,” said Travis dryly, “what a crazy idea. Imagine learning how to do something and then actually going and doing it? Madness.”

“Good, I knew you’d understand.” Nigel clapped his hands together. “See you next week then…oh wait, no I won’t. The week after that. No planes the week after, are there?”

“No, mate. No planes,” said Travis.

“Thanks Travis,” said Nigel, turning away and heading towards the exit. He called over his shoulder as he left. “Keep up the good work! You’re a great teacher!”

“And you’re a great pupil,” Travis muttered under his breath, “but you’ll never be a great skydiver.”

James’s Blog: World Book Day.

James’s Blog:  World Book Day.

Today is World Book Day at school. Imogen is dressing up as a pirate from the Captain Flynn books and Xanthe is dressing up as a character from Ratburger. I don’t know the character’s name – I haven’t read the book. We’ve planned for Parker to go as Robin Hood. He’s recently enjoyed the book, and has been prepared for it for a couple of weeks. He’s seemed almost excited about it at times. Granddad has repaired his bow and made him a couple of (harmless) arrows from bamboo. I bought him some camouflage trousers especially for the costume, and we’ve cobbled together a pretty good outfit from our dressing-up box.

I like non-school uniform days, but I don’t like themed dressing-up days, for a couple of reasons. It’s partly because it either costs us energy or money, neither of which we have in abundance these days, but it’s mostly because we have a son with autism. He’s fine with non-school uniform days, but there’s something about the themed ones that set him off. Sure enough, this morning is no different.

Despite having plenty of advance warning and a pretty good Robin Hood costume, he’s still in his pants at 8.05. He won’t put anything on. What do you want to wear, Parker? “Nothing!” he says. He doesn’t want to wear his costume. He doesn’t want to wear non-school uniform. He doesn’t want to wear school uniform. He’s angry and difficult, throwing aggressive insults at everyone in the house. Normally this would cause a full-on sibling riot, but Xanthe and Imogen (to their eternal credit) have realised that this is Serious Business and are tying to help. Unfortunately, their best efforts sometimes make things worse.

“If you don’t know what you want to wear, I’ll choose something for you,” I say. I pick out some jeans and a shirt. I dress him. He complains, but doesn’t resist. I relax and go and clean-up the kitchen. I tell Imogen it’s time to leave, and put her socks on for her. Xanthe has already left. Then I see a pair of jeans and a crumpled shirt at the top of the stairs. A scrawny figure in underpants runs past. I shouldn’t have been surprised.

I try a different tactic. I take the underwear-clad Parker into the bathroom and we sort out his teeth and hair before going back to the bedroom. I am, unbelievably, still calm. I tell Parker that it’s time to go. This has the desired affect. I have, through bitter experience, worked out that the fear of being late often steamrolls over the top of his other fears. We negotiate an outfit through trial and error (“What about this top?” “NOOO! Anything but that one!” “This one then.”)

Imogen is ready, and behaving like the perfect child. Parker is now dressed, but dawdling on the issue of putting on a coat. We’re finally outside, but we have to pause for a few minutes while Parker tries to break back into the house.

Then we’re on our way. I am already mentally chalking this one up as a victory. Once we’re underway things often calm down, and by the time we arrive at school he’s usually fine. He’s still angry though, and saying all kinds of nonsense to his younger sister. Every now and then she appeals to me, but mostly she ignores him. “Parker’s only saying that because he’s angry. He’ll regret it later,” she says to me, with a wisdom beyond her five years.

We get to school, but Parker hasn’t calmed down.

“I really hate stupid World Book Day,” he says, through tears, as we enter the school grounds.

“So do I, Parker,” I reply.

My plan is to escort Parker to the door, send him in, and then walk Imogen round to her class, taking that opportunity to commend her for her stellar behaviour this morning. But Parker is in no mood to make things easy. We’re at his door but he won’t go in. I take him to one side, and threaten him with the loss of screen time over the weekend, but I regret it as soon as I say it. It makes things worse and he bursts into tears. It was a schoolboy error. When he’s like this, threats don’t work. I take it back and restore his screen privilege as only a parent can do. He calms down almost instantly, but he still won’t go in.

So the three of us walk round to Imogen’s door. “You’ve been a really good girl this morning, Imogen,” I say. “Thank you.” She kisses me and goes into the classroom. I take Parker back round, but he still won’t go in.

“I’ll walk you in,” I say.

This is the Big Play, the Silver Bullet, the Nuclear Option. For Parker, there’s no greater embarrassment than a parent actually being in the school building (which makes it awkward for his mum, who teaches at the school). This always sends him scuttling inside, but not today. It’s the first time it’s failed me. Instead he’s physically trying to restrain me from entering the building.

“Just let me stop crying,” he says. This is a fair request, so we stand to one side and I try to think of ways to cheer him up. I’ve got nothing.

Then Mrs Wheeler, his class’s TA comes out. She’s dressed as a wizard or something.

“What’s wrong, Parker?” she says. Parker says nothing.

“He doesn’t like World Book Day,” I say.

“But you like books normally, don’t you?” she says.

Parker shakes his head. A lie.

“Would you like to come and help me?” she says. “I have a few jobs I need to do before school starts.”

Parker nods. Just like that, she takes him into the building, arm round his shoulders.

She’s dressed as a wizard or something, but at that moment, as far as I’m concerned, she’s an angel.

I know what happens next. Parker will be fine now. When I collect him later he’ll be cheerful and talkative all the way home. I walk back to our house, thinking about how to reward Imogen for her maturity and grace this morning. I got Parker to school, and nothing was broken. Definitely a success, but for a weary and sensitive soul like me, successes often feel like defeats. But that’s just parenting, isn’t it? The rules are always changing, but you do you best, don’t you?

I think I’ll buy Imogen a book.

James’s Blog: Talking About Yourself.

James’s Blog:  Talking About Yourself.

I’m probably the only person in the world who thinks that preachers need to tell more stories about themselves. Not only do preachers not tell enough stories about themselves, I also think that when they do, they tell the wrong stories.

Let me make up an example. Let’s say that I’m listening to a sermon on evangelism. Let’s also say that the preacher tells a story about a time that he had a leaking pipe in his home. He kept meaning to get round to doing something about it, but he never had the time. When he finally got to it, the persistent leaking of a single drop of water had caused some big wooden boards to rot. Imagine that the preacher then suggests that sometimes evangelism is like that – a consistent, little effort that can, over time, have a huge impact.

It’s a nice image and an illustration that might be quite helpful to someone, plus it’s exactly the sort of metaphor that I enjoy. Nothing wrong with that – I would happily include such a story in one of my own sermons – but maybe the congregation also needs a different story from the preacher’s life? Perhaps a story in which the preacher himself tells of a situation where his own consistent, little effort made a huge difference. In other words, a story of how he put his preaching into practice?

I know very well the internal debate that comes from deciding whether or not to include a story that makes me look good, but sometimes my hesitation is just another refusal to get over myself. Refusing to share something that might be helpful to your congregation because it reveals something positive about you? Well, that’s just a different way of making the sermon revolve around your ego.

When I was in Cornerstone I learnt from many men and women who shared stories of how they actually went out and did the things they were talking about. Sometimes it was a story of how things went wrong, but more often it was a story of how this God stuff actually does work. As someone who finds the theoretical easier than the practical, it was informative and inspiring. Those earthy stories that backed up the theory actually changed me, for the better. That’s what a congregation needs – not just to be taught the truth, but to be inspired to live it. Stories from our lives of how we put things into practice may be the little push that encourages someone to sweep away the years of fear and act.

So preacher, tell more stories about yourself. Tell the congregation about worship that drew you closer to God, or prayers that didn’t. Don’t just share the disastrous attempts to explain your faith, talk about the times when you got it right. Share the tools you use to survive the moments when God seems distant, and shout from the rooftops the tales of how God showed up in your hour of need.

Of course, I do have the nagging fear that the reason we preachers don’t tell many of those kind of stories is because we don’t have many of those kind of stories to tell. In that case, perhaps we should step down from the pulpit for a while, until our actions have caught up with our words and we actually have a life to preach.

James’s Blog: It’s True.

James’s Blog:  It’s True.

Dear Reader,

I’m writing to you because there’s something that I want to tell you. It’s something that I overheard once, and although it wasn’t originally meant for you, I thought I should pass it on, because it is meant for you really.

You are God’s favourite.

Knowing you, there are a few different ways you might react to this news, but all of them are saying the same thing: “I don’t believe it.”

You might find it hard to believe because you don’t think you should be God’s favourite. You’re not good enough. How can you be God’s favourite when you’re such a terrible person? Well, I wouldn’t go that far. I certainly don’t think you’re a terrible person, but you’re probably right that you don’t deserve to be God’s favourite, and yet you are.

You might be wondering, what about everyone else? Well, I’m not writing to everyone else, I’m writing to you, and I am telling you that you are His favourite.

Perhaps you’re rolling your eyes right now, because you think this is typical of the rubbish that I come up with. Maybe it even makes you angry, that I would dare to write such a thing. That doesn’t change anything. You’re still His favourite.

Maybe you’re worried about what might happen if you really believe it. Would you get too big for your boots? Would you start to look down on other people? Now, don’t be silly. Do you think God is happy when we settle for a lie because we’re scared of the consequences of believing the truth? If His biggest concern was us abusing or misunderstanding His words then He’d never say anything. No, the truth is that you’re His favourite, and He wants you to know that.

And surely that’s got to mean something, right? That’s got to change the way that you think about yourself, and the way that you think about God, because it’s true. It really is true. You are God’s favourite.

Yours faithfully,

James

James’s Blog: Self-Pity and Lolly-Sticks.

James’s Blog:  Self-Pity and Lolly-Sticks.

Like all the best people, I’m prone to self-pity. “Why me…?” I might say, or maybe “Everyone else has it better than me…” or “They never have problems, unlike me…” and sometimes “Why can’t I just get a break?” etc. It feels quite good, but it’s really just a way of saying, “Life isn’t treating me the way that I’m entitled to be treated”, and as such self-pity is nothing more than cleverly disguised pride.  Well, for me, at least.  I’m sure that for you your whining is entirely justified. Read more

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