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.