by James Webb
For many years I’ve been haunted by the spectre of underachievement. I’ve been convinced that I should have got more done by now; made more of a difference; that I’ve fallen well short of my potential. I’ve spent large chunks of my life frustrated with myself. It’s a form of perfectionism that has, at times, both motivated me and made me miserable. Read more
One Saturday, many years ago, Ruth and I were travelling to London by train. We were sitting, waiting for the train to depart, when a couple and their young daughter got on. The man found a seat, but the woman stood by the open door, finishing her cigarette. The young girl, who must have been maybe five or six years old, began to speak Read more
What can you build from dust and ashes?
From remnants scattered after flames?
Wealth of a life all burnt, destroyed,
Nothing of joy or hope remains. Read more
A while ago I had an idea for a short story that went under the name ‘A Balanced Diet’. It was about a boy who has a revelation whilst listening to a talk at the church that his family attends. The talk, aimed at children, was on the book of Job, and the revelation is this: If you’re really naughty then God’ll get you, but if you’re really good then the devil gets you, as Job experienced. Read more
As you might have been able to tell from last week’s post, I’m making my way through Jeremiah again. I’ve always had a soft spot for this particular jolly prophet. I think his melancholy, dragging-his-heels approach to obedience struck a chord with me long ago, and over the years my appreciation for his own brand of bickering faithfulness has only grown. There are two specific things that I think Jeremiah grokked that are worth careful consideration: Read more
I have an overactive imagination. Sometimes it’s good, sometimes it isn’t. It’s helpful for my writing, for one thing, but on the other hand, it’s very easy for me to miss what God is doing right in front of my face because I’ve drifted off into one daydream or another. Read more
(Our church’s annual Week of Prayer (we do pray at other times too) rolled around again, and once more I was asked to write one of the devotional reflections for the week. I’m posting it as this week’s blog post, just because I can.)
Let’s start these devotions for the Week of Prayer in an unconventional way – with some words from the 14th century Persian poet, Hafiz:
Fear is the cheapest room in the house
I would like to see you living
In better conditions.
I don’t know about you, but I can imagine God saying these exact words to each and every one of us. In fact, He does say these words, or words like them, through Paul in Romans 8:14:
“For you did not receive a spirit that makes you a slave again to fear, but you received the spirit of sonship.”
Fear is the cheapest room in the house, and God would like to see us living in better conditions.
Fear is a powerful thing. Fear makes us work hard. From a distance, frightened people look motivated, conscientious and diligent. But God would like to see us living in better conditions.
Too many of us let our lives be controlled by fear. Fear of failure, fear of poverty, fear of criticism, fear of embarrassment, fear of conflict. So many different fears. But God would like to see us living in better conditions.
As we head into this week, know that prayer is one of the gifts given by God to help keep fear out of our hearts; to help us take those first steps towards fearless living. It says as much in Philippians 4:6 & 7:
“Do not be anxious about anything, but in every situation, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God. And the peace of God, which transcends all understanding, will guard your hearts and minds in Christ Jesus.”
Perhaps this week will finally be the time for you to make the move into some more suitable accommodation?
Some of you may remember that about three years ago, Imogen wrote God a letter, the primary outcome of which seemed to be my scarring my daughter for life – or so I had thought. One day, about a year afterwards, she announced that she wanted to write to God again. It turned out that actually receiving a reply seemed to be a factor in her wanting to write a second letter. It ended up similar in content to the first one, primarily concerned with Space Hoppers it seemed. This caused me a little discouragement – I had hoped for more theological growth over the the prior twelve months (When I was four years old I was already reading Calvin’s Institutes – in the original French) but you can’t have everything.
Then it was my turn to freak out a little. What had I started? Now I would have to write a reply, like last time. I wasn’t sure where to go with it. Imogen is our fifth child, and pretty much the only one I think I haven’t managed to break so far, but if I went around pretending to be God all the time then her odds weren’t great. In the end I sat down and thought, “What do I think God would want to say to Imogen at this moment?” and it all came quite easily after that.
It doesn’t matter how clever we are, or aren’t. How eloquent and well-read. How persuasive. None of that matters, not really. We will never be more influential or powerful in our words than when we are doing nothing more than giving a voice to what the Holy Spirit is already whispering to somebody’s heart.
“What should I say?” is a decent question.
“What do I think God would want to say to this person at this moment?” is a better one.
So how was your 2018?
A while ago I suggested that there was only one question worth asking myself in any end-of-year reflection. It’s not so much about what happened, but rather how I responded. Did I grow in 2018?
As for those things that did happen, the last quarter of the year was hugely significant. We’ve been back from Australia for four years now, and most of that time has been spent waiting for God to make clear what kind of things I should be doing next. Every now and then I would try to take matters into my own hands, and bring order out of chaos. It didn’t work. God pushed back. But since the summer, the wheels have been turning.
Since the end of August, I have started (and finished) the first draft of a novel – something I have avoided for years, because writing a book that was just one story seemed so intimidating. Since the end of August, we’ve moved into a new home that is much more suitable for our oversized family. Since the end of August, I have been offered a position as an ‘Associate Bible Teacher’ in our church, and as of January will be working part-time in this role. In other words, the days since the end of August have been constructive, focused and have given some shape to the coming months of 2019. I like shape. It agrees with me.
Seeing things fall into place has been satisfying, like placing the final piece of a particularly awkward jigsaw puzzle, but that’s not the most important thing is it?
Have I grown in 2018?
I think so, yes. I’ve had my faith stretched in some good ways, and I’ve seen God work. 2018 has not left me unchanged. And that is, as always, the most important thing.
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?
