Fall on your knees.

I'm flawed and selfish. I am too young for wisdom and too old for innocence.  I do not know how to begin to love another as myself, at times even loving myself is too much for me.

In a facade of humility I strike up a parade of focus on me.  When I don't know the right answers I build up my walls and scramble to stay standing.

But one greater than I has strode in; one who knows how to love perfectly.  He is relentless in bringing me to my knees.

Never meant to stand in my own strength, I'm accepted whilst riddled with flaws.  My fickle heart must look up from the mire towards its maker if it is to learn anything of love.

Returning to England; life outside the bubble.

It is sweet, so sweet to be home again. My joy is complete, being back among family and familiar places.

But England feels cold.  Had I forgotten how secular the atmosphere is here?  Today catch ups have come with the news of affairs, suicide and people 'taking a break' from church.  My bubble was popped.  It seems there is a consensus of disappointment with life...with the church.

Tonight, as I headed back to Jesmond for a carol service, I reminisced on my school days.  How different was life with only one other christian in my year? How did I cope? Yet how much more disciplined was my witness! I had an awareness that for some I was all they would see of Christianity, and I took that responsibility seriously.

Let me remember this feeling of being worn out by the ways of the world.  How long it had been since I last crawled into bed craving the Lord's presence.  How long it had been since I felt this genuine ache for the salvation of others.

As it turns out, I quite like people after all.

I love all the articles circulating recently about understanding introverts. They help me understand and relax into quirks about myself that I used to fight.  I have always loved spending time in my own company, if I go too long without 'Lucy time' I become quiet and unable to interact with those around me.  I'm no longer myself because I haven't been able to recharge.

But in the past while, the way I view people has changed. My heart has been softened and opened by a delight in those the Lord has placed around me. It has been a blurred cycle of lovable personalities and a change in my attitude.  Beauty in people has altered my attitude and an altered attitude has allowed me to better see this beauty.

Returning to Texas was a surprising joy; I had anguished over whether it would still feel like home, yet so quickly the hospitality there overwhelmed me once again and I became firm in the knowledge that wherever my life journeys, I will always have family in Ft Worth and a bed to sleep in.

Then back home to N.Ireland, where I have independence and routine. I never have plans here yet delight in the almost constant company of others. I find security in the community of my college and my church but even more so through the investment of great friends; friends that are opening my thinking and growing my confidence.  Never have I more desired the will of God in my life, or spent more time contemplating that plan.  Perhaps I allow Him more trust as I get to live out the good plans He has directed me in so far.

Thirdly, being away from home.  The friendship I have found in my parents and sister.  My greatest supporters live on the outskirts of my life, yet a phone call home brings the laughter and council to mend any situation.  I am thankful for this distance that has made the heart grow fonder, but I am bursting with childish excitement to fly home on Friday.  Returning to Whitley Bay doesn't just bring family, but also the group of friends who know me best.  More than ever, since Summer, we have kept in touch, pounding each other with prayer requests and speaking support into each other's lives and decisions.

So, I ask myself if life has ever been so sweet? And I thank those who make it so easy to enjoy.

Soli Deo Gloria.

The OTHER love story.

It was just a fling of summer adventures in England; late nights, giggles and charming my families affections.

It grew with the switching back and forth over the summers, I stayed with her in Texas, she came back to England.

It became sisterhood when she moved in with my family for a year.  We became partners in crime; forever in trouble for staying up too late, sleeping in the same bed, making too much noise...or too much mess. Sharing secrets, winding each other up.  We had a special way of making coffee, a constant stream of little notes, we put our names together: Meredith + Lucy = Mercy. We traveled together, wept together, danced in the rain and wore each others clothes.  We were accountability partners and every night we prayed together.

Then she moved home...and I moved there too.  We fell out, we missed each other.  We fell back together.  Trips to the lake, roadtrips, lunch dates more cups of tea. Visiting her at Uni, boyfriends, break ups, tears and laughter.

I came home and started a life in N.Ireland, came back to Texas visit.  Waffle house, life talks, matching mugs... our boyfriends living together. Us missing living together.

Long distance sisterhood, letters and packages.  Texts and skype calls.  Tears and joys shared, break ups and growth. Always missing each other.

And now she is getting married.  The first of my sisters.  I have to hand over her snuggles and kisses and secrets to somebody else. It's weird and it's lovely and she is in good care.  Always a sister I chose for myself, part of my family and part of my heart.  So many things she introduced me to, or brought out in me, a thousand ways she has helped me to grow.

So in a few days I'm skipping class to fly thousands of miles to be there to see Chad and Meredith get hitched!!!  Here's to the next season, with a reflection on the last. "Mercy is splendiferous." 

 p.s. I love you.

Questions I have asked God this week.

I am, by personality, a thinker.  This runs into every area of my life and I am not unfamiliar with the advice, "Lucy. I think you might be over thinking this..." 

Studying theology is therefore deeply satisfying for me, but also a great source of frustration.  This week has been a headache because of two burning questions that I can not seem to resolve.

Firstly, "God, why am I not a Muslim?"

This may seem a strange thing to ask, but the issue was raised in class as we studied pluralism, inclusivism and exclusivism.

 Do all religions worship the same God?   It has been suggested that the religions all emerged at a similar time because God was revealed and then interpreted differently in different cultural contexts; forming the different world religions.  I was shocked to hear that some Christians refer to God as 'Allah' when praying because they believe both are the same.

Or should I approach my religion as separate but true only in that it is right for me? Whereas Buddhism may also be true because it is right for my friend.  Must I simply respect their beliefs and not seek to convert them to my thinking?

If the above are incorrect then why do I get to assume the superior religion? Because I have experienced God? Because Christianity has a Holy Book that tells me so? Would these arguments stand against the testimony of a 20 year old girl of another religion?

And so my mind echoes the question that has been put to me before, If I was born in the Middle East with a Muslim mother, would I not be Muslim too?

Secondly, "God, since when did you approve of Genocide?"

This was raised by an essay on the conquests of Joshua where I have anguished over finding a conclusion.  The arguments available follow that the story is either historically true or a myth. If it is true then God divinely sanctioned and therefore approved of the total destruction of an indigenous people in Canaan. But if it is a myth, which archaeological contradictions would seem to agree with, then my whole viewpoint of the bible must open up and change.  Tempting though it is to dismiss the moral dilemmas raised and understand it all to be story, the opportunity to recreate an idea of God's behaviour that suits the ethics of today's society does not sit well with me.  

I am therefore exposed to the issue of an apparent inconsistency with the loving and compassionate God of life I think I know.  i've always known the Old Testament is violent but what I once pushed to the back of my mind now seems unavoidable. I read the other day the suggestion that those who say they love the bible, probably haven't read it all. Is this true, am I unable to love it all?

Stopping for a moment to count my blessings.

This week I have been given a good glimpse of God.  Not so much directly from him but through the reflection of his beauty, enabled by his grace.

I have seen him alive in the people I have spent time with. Specifically in my new church family, where my heart has been softened by people remembering my name, inviting me out and delighting in sharing in my life. I have overheard people praying for me, and I have been given the opportunity to share about my home.

Also in my bible college friends; the security of their love and the testimony of their faith.  This week I have seen friends be bruised by life yet faithfully cling to the love of the Lord, allowing us to find laughter amongst their tears. I've had family time over games nights and shared meals.  And together we have basked in frustration at the trauma of having to actually read over reading week!

I have been shown God in his creation. I was whisked off on a girls weekend to Carlingford just across the border into Ireland.  It was a retreat of girl talks into the early hours of the morning, lie ins, walking adventures, board games, and much laughter.  How sweet it was to get to know those girls and their enjoyment of life.  But also how clearly I could gain perspective when faced with the beauty of that place.  Views God had created out of the extravagance of his nature, no detail idly overlooked; for no other purpose but the display of his glory.

"If they keep quiet the stones will cry out."

And yet again exploring the North Coast...

This week I have also been given a glimpse of myself.  Especially today. I have moaned over slow computers, and requirements of my course.  I wanted to cry at having to walk an extra 10 minutes on the way to Tesco because I forgot my purse. I have been impatient with others and envious of their blessings. Worse, I have been impatient with God, demanding a fresh and exciting revelation.

How far I am from his perfection and how quickly I let go of who he is. This week has been a gift wrapped in grace yet like an ungrateful child I have quickly become unsatisfied and demand more. So should I now strive to replicate his awesome perfection? Perhaps  not. But can I stop for a minute to count my blessings? Well that's what this post is about.

Make a map of it.

Having grown up a Christian, there are things I do not know or understand for myself.  I never had a conversion from disbelief, I never thought this life is all their is, and I have never been an outsider in the church.

Until I moved away for university that is, where God quickly began to change my experience of the latter.  For the first time last year, I found myself venturing out into the different denominations, looking for a personality fit, a housegroup and a group of friends to journey alongside.

I was met with none of these.  Over the last year and a bit, I have worked my way through several churches, in a turbulent cycle of optimism, pessimism and always a final (or sometimes immediate) loneliness.  Falling asleep in sermons, being made uncomfortable by huge chandeliers and expensive sound systems, stumbling through songs I don't know.  Again and again I have found myself in a morning of awkward small talk or left to stand by myself. Recently, more than once, I didn't take communion because I was intimidated by the tradition; I had never gone up and knelt before; did I have to be confirmed?

I have officially been an outsider in church.

Finally, I have found a church.  A small, local Baptist church, where the Pastor remembers my name, the girls invite me to socials and I have friends from college to sit with.  I can relax with a church home.  But I can't shake what the Lord has opened my eyes to during the journey to get here.  Yes I need to remember to move over and talk to new comers, but isn't a bigger solution needed? If this is the experience of somebody who has been attending church for 20 years, what is it like for those coming for the first time?

My first home!

I wake up with achy muscles, the kind that accompany a move.

This is a new stage in life; my first home! Two great friends in a beautiful house, doing life together in Northern Ireland.  So far, I love this stage.

I look out of my bedroom and can see what us English call mountains, what the rest call hills. I'm right by college so I can still...well... get to class last.

This home has been prayed for and prayed over.  It's not what we expected but a thousand times better.  A gift from our generous God to be accepted and passed on, hopefully as a gift to all who may spend time here.

My prayer is that we create a space for our own friendship, and our own growth.  I need to learn diligence in routine and cleaning, my housemate needs to learn to cook!  Both of us studying and getting to know our God better.  But also a space to welcome the joys of our friends, to get to know new friends and to simply love the broken-hearted.

I can only hope that we don't hold on to this blessing, that this year doesn't fly by too fast.

Little sister syndrome.

It has suddenly dawned on me that I am SUCH a little sister.

Sometimes time with the wider family brings fresh clarity.  This weekend everybody came up for my Grannie's 80th birthday weekend.

My big sister went for walks with the family, was the designated driver for dinner, emptied the dishwasher without being asked, succeeded at keeping conversation flowing...

Meanwhile, I slept instead of going for walks, was driven (by the sister) to meet friends for drinks, I, again, slept during the cleaning (to be rudely woken with a water gun by an equally immature uncle) and managed to make a bombsite out of the spare room whilst my double bed was lent out.

And then this morning, as I bravely wrestle the cruel grip of man flu, my big sister went to meet friends, leaving me tucked in her bed, with her teddy (which I usually make fun of her for...but is surprisingly comforting) and a freshly made cup of tea (vaguely resembling dishwater, but the sentiment is all the same.)

So in the midst of a comfortable sick day I wonder if us little sisters really can consider ourselves 'young and free' by nature? Or is our carefree independence a privilege of somebody bigger looking after us and shouldering an extra bit of our responsibility?

Therefore be shrewd as snakes and as innocent as doves.

Depression.  The kind that isn't ongoing but lasts a few days.  Medically, I don't even know if that's possible, from experience I can tell you it is.

The days when you can't stop crying, where being alone is lonely, you can't make plans.  I'll go on Facebook and everybody is getting engaged or married.  People genuinely asking what I'm doing that day are mocking me and prying. I fear my life amounts to nothing, my thoughts are dramatic, I can't stop crying. I'm alone.

This can last for two or three days.  I'll lie in bed till the last minute because I can't find the energy to go to church, people's conversations are too loud, I want to get back to bed.

And then every time the Holy Spirit speaks to me, either in  my spirit or through somebody else and simply reminds me of something about to happen.  Something good, for the glory of the Lord.  Today it was the reminder  of youth camp starting tomorrow, where as a leader, I have the opportunity to be a vessel through which God's grace will impact lives.  And all of a sudden the sadness is exposed as an attack.  Once acknowledged, it begins to fade.  I can pray against it.  It starts to pass.

Let me clarify that this is a specific and short term attack that the enemy uses against me.  I do not suggest that ongoing depression will necessarily pass once acknowledged.  Rather, let this be a reminder that we are warned to be shrewd as snakes, for the enemy roams, ready to paralyze us in our service and seeking to steal our joy.  Sometimes, we have to ride out the attacks, sometimes we can pray and are delivered, but it is important to know the ways (whether big or small) Satan finds a foothold in our lives so we can expose and overcome them.

The Princess and the Pea.

Though the Princess and the Pea has been criticized in many ways and some believe it to portray that women must be 'thin-skinned,' I do not see this.  I have decided i'm quite fond of this fairytale.  Because in the midst of many girls claiming to be princess but turning out to not be, the Princess has to allow her true identity to come out by itself through her sensitivity.  Whilst the Princess is bold in knowing and proclaiming who she is on entering the castle, her nature is discovered rather than proclaimed.

I have no desire to be, or be thought of as a princess.  But I do value integrity and good character.  The kind that is slowly built, kept sharp by the weathering of life.  We can be quick to proclaim who we want to be seen as, but in the end, like the Princess, our true character will be revealed.  The Princes was suited because of her heritage; we choose our character ourselves.

Twenteeeeeen!

Its the end of the teen years in 8 days!

In January I resolved to be 19, whilst I'm 19.  One of the best decisions I've made.  It's been a whirl wind of girl time, alone time, singleness, good books, craft days, cocktail nights, dancing, learning and dreaming.  Everything being 19 should welcome.

There's so much immaturity still here.  Way too much sleeping time, no job, messy room, short skirts, general unladylikeness.

But some maturity too.  Finding a house to rent, travel, forming my own opinions, study.

And now it's hello twenty! The next phase!

Here's to understanding life a little more, whilst still knowing nothing of it!

Understanding growth.

I have felt myself changing since this time last year, and I know others have seen it too.  My freedom in myself, my strength, my self esteem, my oneness with the Lord.  Through hurt I decided to chase after godliness and the life I was called to create. I've had to restart and refind myself.  For the first time ever I found myself truly lonely, and i've had to work through that and adjust how I view the world and other's hearts, in accordance with a greater understanding. Then I have felt the love of sincere people. It's been easier to pursue the Lord, and more enjoyable.  My affections have naturally fallen on him.

But my enjoyment has been limited by the niggling voice of the past.  Because I've deeply known the battle between spirit and flesh and the crushing knowledge that life on this earth is a dirty battle with sin. And now I shy away from embracing my part in the battle because I know there have been times that I have walked away.

But this isn't true to the story of the bible.  Never does the Lord define people by what they did yesterday or two years ago because he urges that we simply turn away and walk in newness of life. I am finally grasping the obvious, that growth takes us from a lower position and celebrates the beauty of moving forward. Growth is not hypocritical because we were once weak, rather it is powerful because we now find ourselves strong.

Grace restores me and carries me forward and it does not dismiss my battles. Everything I think and do can be used for His glory and to equip my ministry, should I let Him.  Grace is for me, today, be it in my weakness or my growth.

A letter to a friend.

The roller coaster of life has leveled off for now and I can see you looking around.  Do you get off? Is it a peak coming up? Or are you headed for a fall? I'm glad to see you unsettled, I have a feeling you weren't designed for the humdrum life and yet my heart longs to surround you with comfort and fun.  So I wanted to encourage you on this level ground because I have no doubt that there are mountains to come, and my word for you would be formulation.  Formulation of confidence, responsibility, experience, adaptability, the softening of the heart that comes with understanding loneliness, the strengthening of the heart that is expectant of change.  With every season I get to see you grow and develop who you are.  But my message isn't of growth, important though it is, but of affirmation of who you are.  You desire to make the Lord proud and I'm jealous of that but if you could stand in my shoes you would see, that you already do by who you are; the influence of your love, frustrations, thinking and creativity. My favorite thing is that you are fun, and I find fun goes a very long way, to brighten corners is a ministry in itself. 

So now I come and go and your life is different to mine, and there are parts that I don't understand.  But my heart is with you in the transition stage, and know I'm excited with you for now and for what is to come.

5 GREAT sources of joy.

The other day I finally had enough light and mirrors to see that I had an infected piercing.  I had to laugh that it took coming home to be able to realise this... which got me thinking about the things I absolutely love most about being home...

Firstly, the food.  There is not one 'Tesco value' item in my house, avocados are no longer my 'treat of the week' and salads can now consist of more than just spinach..which makes them rather more tempting.

Second, seeing the beach almost every day.  The ocean makes me feel small...and I need to be reminded that Lucy is small...well almost every day.

Third, driving.  But only locally and at night when its just me and taxis because the rest of the time its scary. (okay, so maybe driving isn't so much one of the highlights).

Fourthly, my girls.  Snuggles and cuddles and great sense of humors.  Just being in their presence realigns my opinion of myself: to take myself less seriously, and to take who I am more seriously.

Fifth, rest time to think and...well...rest. I do sleep a lot at Uni as well but there is nothing sweeter than the odd day of doing nothing which nobody knows about.  I know, I'm boring, but its kinda a victory for me.

"I have found the paradox, that if you love until it hurts, there can be no more hurt, only more love." Mother Teresa

At 6am this morning goodbyes came around again as another team from Texas left.  Sometimes I feel like the Christian walk is full of goodbyes, but I am reassured by the thought that goodbyes only hurt much when we are not afraid to love much.  

Their time over here tied in perfectly for me with coming back to start a summer at home.  Each of them has consistently shared their faith and their joy, looking around for opportunities and keeping their hearts open to and soft for revival.  I shared on one of the nights that after years of pausing in the song 'greater things are yet to come, greater things are still to be done in this city,' due to lack of vision of change, I can finally come home and see my church reaching out to youth inside and outside of the church.  The youth center is redecorated, we have a passionate and relational youth worker, and young people with no church background are being creatively welcomed in. 

My diligence towards evangelism and building relationships has been challenged, watching the Normandale team, but also being reminded this week of the impact that others have had when they invested in me. 

I've been homesick for my church all year and it's hard to know that my partaking in the vision here is limited to holiday time, but I am excited for this summer of rest and restoration but also of intentionally being a part of a growing and vibrant community.

Frustrations.

I find it so powerful how the Holy Spirit not only meets us in the moment but at times goes before us to break or mold or equip us.  One of the ways I see this clearly is in our personalities, how our likes and dislikes can be a guide and preparation for our calling.  There are those things that always make you cry, or angry or excited; the random things you can't shake from your mind.

 Lately I have found a curiosity into whether there is a disconnect between Christian culture and Christ-likedness.  Obviously this is completely culture subjective, but I have been worried by, and debated, the extra rules we have added to Christianity and the resulting judgement passed on those who do not comply.

I couldn't understand why it frustrated me so much, beyond the usual hurt pride, when people comment on my clothes or lifestyle until I considered it in light of the burden of my heart.  I realised I am worried, worried that as much ministry the Lord may have prepared for me for women in the sex industry, they not be accepted by or feel at home in the church.  I feel like I want to prepare Christian culture for openmindedness and sensitivity and acceptance; but how are we to balance this with the integrity of high standards? How do I turn my frustration into constructive preparation?

I am desperately small in the face of my calling, but it is amazing for me to see my heart being formed.  That it is not just my affections that can guide me but my frustrations too.

"He has made everything beautiful in its time." Ecclesiastes 3:11

A good friend passed this wisdom on to me today, I felt it was worth remembering.

 "In my garden back home, we had grapes growing.  One time a lady brought me one of the small unripe grapes and told me to eat it.  I didn't want to because I knew it would be bitter, but she told me to remember how it tasted.  Like the grape that hasn't yet had enough sun, nothing tastes as good as in the right time."

She was talking about relationships, but I know in all things I have a tendency to try and race through life, feelings first. Yes life is fleeting, but for everything there is a proper time.

"They shall speak of you as the ministers of our God..." Isaiah 61:6

Years ago, before I was familiar with the voice of God speaking directly into my life, I was given the passage Isaiah 61 as a mission statement for my life.  Since then, the Lord has used the journeys of my life to slowly realize its meaning; one verse at a time.

Tonight I was reading 'Multiply' by Francis Chan and I had the meaning of 'minister' redefined for me.  Chan shared that there is a disconnect between the church's belief that the great commission is still relevant and our actual living out of discipleship.  We leave ministering to ministers and excuse ourselves from investing in people, because we "are not called to be a minister", "are busy" and "have our own issues."

But each of us has been called to make disciples and have been crafted and equipped to do so.  "The pastor is the equiper, and every member of the church is a minister."  The calling is simple but the implications and cost are heavy.


A minister:
3. An authorized diplomatic representative of a government, usually ranking next below an ambassador. 
4. A person serving as an agent for another by carrying out specific orders or functions.

To minister: 
1. To attend to the wants and needs of others.

Did Jesus have a six pack?

Last year Holly befriended a couple of Mormon missionaries, while we were living in Texas.  One time we were chatting with them and I made a joke about how white the Jesus on their pamphlet was.

But we are just as guilty.  Easter week they showed a reenactment of the crucifixion at my church, and Jesus had a six pack.  Now maybe you know some historical evidence that suggests it would be typical for people to have amazing abs in that culture, but I had to laugh at the thought of Jesus doing sit ups.

And it is comical, but it is also quite scary.  The other day, somebody showed me an image of what Jesus is actually likely to have looked like.



Its scary because I have become comfortable with my images, I know the Jesus whose arms I would run into, I know what Jesus looked like when he let the little children come to him.  I know MY Jesus.

But what if the man above came and sat in my living room?  Would I be awkward around Jesus?  That scares me. Perhaps I need to let go of MY Jesus and open my mind to the 33 year old Jewish man who death couldn't hold.

I've been thinking about thinking.

I have always been afflicted with thinking too much.  It comes naturally to me, sometimes helping me approach the world around me with better understanding, other times simply driving me to exhaustion and head ache.

A theology degree is a great privilege, I know there are many who long to be equipped with such teaching who simply don't have the time, tied up with the responsibilities of life.  All I have to do for the next three years is dive into the bible, the culture of the old and new testaments, be taught in theological thinking and trained for pastoral care.  I spend just 9 hours in class and the rest of the time I am guided in reading, essay writing and the formulation of my theology.  Its delightful.

But its becoming evident that this is more than a study; its a formulation and growth of me.  And the Lord is not willing to let the hard questions be avoided.  My strongholds are being shaken, my comfort of who my God is has been constantly tested.  My pride is unveiled and my security laid bare.  More than ever I barely look up as I ask, "who is this God that I serve?"  And every temptation is to pull away from the intellectual study of God, I revel more than ever in worship, it is finally my JOY because worship searches me when I am tired of searching God.

So yes, I take a nap most days and I have a backlog of thoughts in my head.  But I am reminded that I do not labour in vain, I am being trained for service.

"So I do not run aimlessly; I do not box as one beating the air." 1 Corinthians 9:26

Wait, where did it all go?

I've been dropping things lately, like sand falling through my fingers.  I have peace about each decision, but all of a sudden I realise there is nothing left in my hands.

I have stopped working with Teen Challenge, though have not quit on this ministry to which the Lord has called me.

I have left the Church I was at, though look for a new body to challenge and enthuse me

I have no savings, yet a job application form sits in my recycling bin.

In fact, apart from my studies I am holding on to very little right now.  And from the outside I'm sure it looks rather unrighteous and illogical.  Its certainly unsettling.

So with nothing to bring to the table, I ask the Lord to fill my hands once more. And meanwhile I must be content to trust in the mystery of his ways.

"Would you like an Earl Grey or are you more of a Coke person?"

There are several girls I hold in my heart as sisters.  These are the women whose weddings I will sob at, children I will devote myself to and achievements I will wholeheartedly celebrate.

Recently I made room in my heart for another.  She is Northern Irish.  She has to have cereal before she goes to bed, she never says no to a cup of tea, she can't tell a story sitting down and she captivates rooms full of people.  Without fail she captivates rooms.  We bicker like an old married couple, we nap together, we can have conversations by looking at each other. She's the one who talks me through my (frequent) tears.

And I want to share this evening as a snapshot of how she revives my spirit.  She came into my room (she doesn't bother knocking anymore) and sat on my bed with her guitar.  She played some worship but didn't sing.  Now I've sat by her in chapel before so I know she can sing and asked her to do so now.  But she refuses, she says she can't sing.  Eventually I persuade her to and she plays me a worship song she has written, with the beautiful voice of one who recognizes her source of grace.  She does not see the weight of who she is, through no fault of her own.

She then made up a song about me and the fact she had caught me wearing a facing mask, my big feet... cute stuff like that.

Then we worshiped.

And she is beautiful and talented and sweet and humble and strong.

And she is my reminder that it's okay that I don't have a valentine this year.  And she is my reminder that i'm far from being alone.

Revival begins in the Home.

The one body, the bride, to whom our lover will return.  The bride is Schizophrenic.

If you are yet to discover the dysfunction, split ideas, paranoia of the bride, I suggest you move into a Christian community for a few semesters.  You will soon find she can't decide if she loves or hates herself and has tragically cold feet about whether her groom is worth her commitment and soft devotion.

I live in a diverse community.  People from different upbringings and cultures.  I love my home, I love that there is always something going on, stories to tell, jokes to be made, somebody to have midnight snacks with, a sister to cry with.

  But there are also times when I am in despair at the craziness.  Two days ago we had one girl bring her sock draw downstairs so we can reclaim our stolen underwear.  We disrespect each others time by not cleaning or washing up.  Nobody takes the rubbish out.  We make fun of each other (especially when international students pronounce words wrong...endless hours of entertainment).  We fight over fridge space.  I have struggle with gossiping like I haven't in years.  The other night I couldn't sleep for the guy in the room below me playing his guitar at 1am, "worship the Lord in the MORNING for goodness sake!" I wanted to scream.

But the groom will return soon and he considers his bride to be pure and beautiful.  What a challenge, what a charge.  Where is my patience? Where is my appreciation? Where is our unity?

He has never left me and I'm yet to be forsaken.

Googling whether there are riots on tonight that will cause roads to be closed.  Studying a map of the city centre for the thousandth time.  Wrapping up in a hundred layers.  Okay I am exaggerating but I was nervous to be back at placement after the Christmas break.

I drove in, I got lost, I can NOT grasp the one way system and let me tell you there is nothing more frustrating than going right next to where you are supposed to be and then being in the wrong lane so end up doing U-turns up the Shankill.  I called local friends, no reply.  I called the women I work with; wounded pride.

Got lost several more times, parked and walked.

For the first time no women came to the bus.  When we did our rounds it was dead on the streets.

Drove home, got lost, found my way, and the tears came.

I have been given such a specific call over my life; it is impressive and exciting.  And I absolutely can not do it.

Humbled.  Defeated.  Disapointed.

But I am certain those prayers of loneliness and desperation when I'm lost in an unfamiliar city and it is just the Lord and I, I am certain that they are the purest.  In those moments I'm not a Christian, or good, or a theology student;

I am simply lost and I need my God.

Peace mine to hold.

I've been in the buddy system before and it doesn't work.  The younger is nervous of the older and the older has no time for the younger.  So when we were assigned 'buddies' at the start of college, I wasn't so much skeptical as just uninterested.

So, I was introduced to a beautiful red headed girl who asked for my number asked if I had any questions etc and that was that.  However she has persisted to keep in contact with me, asking how things are, letting me know she saw me in Chapel and that she liked my dress, filling me in on how module choices work, eating lunch with me and letting me know she is praying for me.

She text me over Christmas to check in on how its going with family and with studies.  Then last night she sent me a text about how her sermon at Church had been on peace and how it had impacted her view of study.  She encouraged me to claim my Prince of Peace.

I so often overlook peace.  One of the most soothing and transforming gifts on offer, just waiting to be received. I thank the Lord for this renewal and hope to remember if afresh each day.

Compulsory reflection of where 2012 took me.

• Lived in America
• Jamaica (missions)
• Working with a homeless charity, a school and Normandale Baptist Church
• New Orleans (Missions)
• Austin (shopping haha)
• Moved back to England
• London (to visit my sweet sister)
• Centre Parcs
• Thailand (Missions)
• Moved to Belfast
• Started Theology degree
• Trip to America
• Started serving with Teen
• Home for Christmas

Lengthy rant about the secret hazelnut famine.

Welcome to today: Was woken up to my Mum saying goodbye as Emma and her were going for a girl day. Awesome, thanks for the invite.  Hadn't heard from the girl who had asked to hang out today.  So I thought well hello home-alone-pyjama-day.  Because I was feeling fragile and we all need one of those every once in a while.  I decided i'd try a Nigella biscotti recipe as its my current favourite food.  Turned out Mum had used the hazelnuts in a fruit and nut mix so I thought no worries, I'll pop to the supermarket round the corner.  Now remember this is a pj day so whilst I did put jeans on, I kept the pyjama top and Mum's Aran cardigan under my giant coat.

Well as it goes they didn't have hazelnuts and what felt like days of defeat later I returned from a hot and bothered trip around Whitley (couldn't unzip my coat, messy hair, bad skin) with NO hazelnuts.  I tried every supermarket and nobody had hazelnuts   Why?  At this point i'd wasted half of my 'relaxing day' and headed home (with a complimentary text from a guy letting me know he'd seen me...brilliant!) to recover by indulging in too much Ben and Jerrys.  New Years resolution regarding comfort food: broken.

Tried to study but too frustrated, had a wave of determination that this biscotti WOULD be made.  Picked the hazelnuts out of Mum's fruit and nut mix, had T-pain blasting and then I realised we didn't have enough plain flour.

You know these days, its not the first, it wont be the last.  But I switched to some worship music and was reminded that learning to hold tight is a valid lesson from the Lord.  In these small frustrations I've forgotten that I'm blessed, that I'm being molded, that I do need patience and a soft heart.  And whilst some will learn these lessons setting up an Orphanage in Africa ,today I'm learning them up to my fringe in sticky biscotti dough.

You'll be pleased to know self-raising flour seems to have done the trick and I have some rather beautiful biscotti cooling next door.  But I assure you next time I buy biscotti in Starbucks, I will be glad to pay that £1.