Scars and Bruises

Last month oldest son had a freak tennis accident. He was running for the ball when he collided with the tennis net post and cut his leg badly. His doubles partner continued playing and even went on to win the point while oldest son was on the floor. Alas although they were ahead in the match, a set and a break up, they then had to forfeit due to the injury.

The first I heard was a phone call from the tennis coach.

“Your son has cut his leg and needs to go to A&E to get it stitched.”

Fortunately the nearest hospital is only a few hundred yards along the road from the tennis club but I never realised just how dangerous tennis was before.

“You can see the bone.” I was informed by my son when I arrived shortly after. I didn’t want to look.

We waited and waited and eventually we were seen by a young doctor, a very young looking doctor – isn’t that when you know you are getting old?

Anyway because this young medic was also a keen sportsman he erred on the side of caution and decided not to stitch up the wound straight away but get a plastics consultant to look at it to assess if there was any tendon damage.

And so we waited for another two days before finally oldest son was operated on under general anaesthetic. Fortunately there was no tendon damage but it’s always better to be safe than sorry and he has a tale to tell.

“You’ll have a great scar,” I told him, “and when you get a girlfriend she’ll love it!”

He looked at me with all the distain of a teenage boy to his mother, as if I was mad.

“I’d rather not have a scar at all.”

Yes wouldn’t we all! 

No scars, no bruises, no visible marks to show the life we have lived.

Andrew had his appendix out when he was six or maybe it was eight, all I know is he was a very young child and he had been very poorly with it. And so he was left with thin scar on his abdomen which completely fascinated me as someone who’d never had an operation. 

As we lay in bed sometimes I would run my finger along it, just because as his wife I could, I wouldn’t recommend you go up to anyone in the street and do it.

I was amazed at how he’d been stitched back together and that although he had “nearly died” (his words but apparently true as his appendix was twisted almost bursting or whatever the medical terminology is) here he was all mended. Sometimes I even thought he was saved just for me so we could be together – melodramatic I know but I have some crazy thoughts that run around my head!

Now of course it is me who wears a scar, an invisible one that runs across my heart, cracked and broken, patched up but not totally mended, it never will be.

We all have scars and bruises, that’s what makes us human. It is those blemishes and marks that tell our story, show what we have lived through. 

Our scars show our vulnerability and they can be strangely attractive.

One day I have no doubt oldest son will find a girl who will trace the line below his knee and be captivated by his story of bravery and how he got his “war wound” – seven stitches in total. 

OK so there will probably be a lot of laughter to go with it because let’s face it running into a tennis net post is essentially a stupid thing to do, especially when you are already winning the match and the point isn’t crucial.

But it shows the character of my son, his determination and drive to do the best he can.

My own scars show I have the ability to love deeply.

One of my favourite songs this year has been Bruises by Train and Ashley Monroe, I know all the words and sing along in the car at the top of my voice, complete with American accent.

I would love to fix it all for you

I would love to fix you too

Please don’t fix a thing whatever you do.

These bruises make for better conversation…

You’re not alone in how you’ve been

Everybody loses

We all got bruises

Of course the most important scars in the whole wide world are the one’s Jesus has on his hands and feet from being nailed to the cross. I’ve read somewhere that these scars will always remain, even in Heaven, when we have new bodies and everything is made whole.

While our bruises fade away Jesus’s scars act as a reminder of what he went through for us – now you can believe that or not but I for one can’t wait to see those particular scars for real, perhaps even touch and marvel at the immense love they show…

God's not done with me yet...

I was asked yesterday at church to share something about New Wine last week, so I scribbled down a few notes and afterwards decided to use them as a starting point for this blog post too – recycling – don’t you just love it?

As it happened I got up early Sunday morning, made myself a cup of tea, resisted the urge to switch on the computer to check Facebook and Twitter and I thought about what God had said to me over the last seven days. I actually wrote over four pages in my diary and I’m only up to day one! I didn’t think God had that much he needed to say to me!

Last year God spoke powerfully to me in the shower, this year he spoke to me everywhere, a few words here and there which apparently adds up to a lot. Similar themes came up again and again – well I never listen the first time! 

Much of it is personal, one particular speaker, Jo Saxton, seemed to have a hotline to my thoughts – some of her stories are so similar to mine its uncanny!

Leaving aside the personal stuff for Sunday morning’s impromptu testimony I started with the lyrics of my favourite New Wine song this year.

 

You Found Me by Ian Yates and Sam Blake

You found me

You’ve stolen my heart

You’ve stolen my heart

You found me

Awakened my heart

Awakened my heart

When all around is sinking sand

You’re the rock on which I stand

You’re the rock on which I stand 

And in the pain and suffering

You were stretching out your hand

You were stretching out your hand

To me

There was just something about this song that grabbed hold of me from the start. I have been surrounded by sinking sand over the past couple of year since Andrew died yet God has remained steadfast and faithful and reaching out to me at every step, never letting me fall.

Each time I sang these words I was reminded he will never leave me and that demands a response from me. One particular morning I just had to kneel down to sing, God's awesome presence was overwhelming and I am so thankful he has brought me this far and kept me close to him.

As you may have figured by now if you regularly read my blog I am a planner, a plotter, a daydreamer. I really do like to know where I am heading and how I am going to get there. I am all too fond of telling God the best path we should take but he is determined to take me on a mystery tour and travel the much longer scenic route.

my new journal...

God reminded me this week I need to surrender my own map book and atlas, give up my “secret” plans, which he knows all about anyway, all I need to do is follow him, one footstep at a time.

...with a verse I always cling to!

One of the lovely things about New Wine is the Art Venue called 3:16. It is run by a friend of mine and everyday a group of talented artists share their skills and lead some fantastic workshops. 

Last year I had a go at prayer weaving, it was incredibly peaceful, God spoke to me as I worked with recycled material, fabrics, wool, buttons and beads. The lady who ran that workshop this year did one called stitch a prayer.

I obviously had some notion in my head from the start of how my prayer would look but once I got my hands on the fabric my thoughts changed and I let God lead me in a different direction.

It started as a stormy sea then as I turned the fabric round I decided it should actually be a waterfall of tumbling thoughts made up of discarded plastic bags, net fabric and felt all stitched rather haphazardly. 

There’s a swirl of chain stitch as I try to make sense of things by myself. I try to get things in order but only end up stirring the mess with my own hands and going round and round in circles. Eventually the stitches dissolve into single chains reminiscent of tear drops. 

They lead down towards the cross and another pair of larger scarred hands.

 

Across the bottom of the material I stitched a colourful piece of fabric, this is all very neat and tidily enclosed by blanket stitch. There are two pairs of feet, the smaller ones following the larger footsteps.

It seemed to me even in my sewing God was saying, leave all the tangled mess behind and just follow me…

On my last evening at New Wine there wasn’t just one big talk but several smaller ones covering a variety of serious issues. Each person who spoke was incredibly brave, opening up and sharing some of their own stories.

The testimony that really spoke to me was a video shown on the screen. The woman who spoke had a huge infectious smile on her face as she told us how much she loved life. She appeared to be so jolly with not a care in the world.

Then she shared how last year she found a lump in her breast and she talked about having cancer. She fiddled about with her wig, finally discarding it and talking honestly about JOY. With God’s help she had chosen to be joyful, even through the toughest of times.

She was an inspiration and although my own story is completely different I decided I wanted to choose to be joyful in my own circumstances too.

None of this is going to be easy, surrendering my own plans, following Jesus and choosing joy. I’ve set myself a bit of a challenge in the coming weeks and months. OK a LOT of a challenge! Although in some ways it's pretty basic Christianity I just need to be reminded daily that this is the path I have decided to take.

However as it says in the song at the beginning God reaches out his hand to us and is always there to help.

I bought a new Tshirt at New Wine too.

It inspired today title and serves as a reminder that actually I am still a work in progress, on my own I would fail, spectacularly, but with God I just might be able to stand on the solid rock…

The Musings of Martha

I have always had a soft spot for Martha in the Bible. 

Maybe it has something to do with the fact that my great grandmother was called Martha and you can read a little bit about her and see a photo in this old post from unravelling-edges.

Perhaps it's because I can relate to Martha's practical nature, the attitude of getting things done albeit sometimes grudingly!

Last week at church the gospel reading was from John 12:1-8.  It gave another glimpse into Martha’s world.

After church I decided to write some more to the story, imagining her thoughts as she remembered her encounters with Jesus. I thought I would share it with you as we begin Holy Week and we remember.

The Musings of Martha

When I wake at my normal early hour the lingering scent of expensive perfume makes me smile as I vividly remember the furore of the day before.

It had started off so ordinarily, I was busy with my extra chores readying the house for the Passover. I’ve become more content recently in my daily routine, accepting that Mary is the daydreamer and I will always have the greatest share to do. Besides I wanted everything perfect, Jesus was coming to stay again. He is such a dear friend to us all. How could I not want to please the man who had raised my brother from the dead?

While the men reclined, as is the custom, I served the wine and made sure our guests wanted for nothing. Suddenly I became aware that Mary was missing from our gathering, when Jesus is around, she usually hangs on his every word.

Then she appeared with a jar, I recognised it at once as the expensive perfume we keep in our room. Sometimes we would open the lid just for a moment to inhale its glorious aroma.

My sister resumed her position at Jesus’ feet and proceeded to pour the oil on them. Not just a few drops either but the entire jar was lovingly spilled out.

Well I wasn’t the only one who gasped at such an act but this was only the beginning.

She hadn’t thought to bring a towel; it’s typical of her to be ill-prepared. Instead she undid her hair, it tumbled freely and she shamelessly used it wipe his feet.

Such extravagance, such love. I have learned over the past few weeks that my sister has never deliberately tried to win Jesus’ favour over me, this was just the way she was. I felt a tear roll down my cheek as I watched wishing I could be so daring.

Then Judas spoke up, denouncing this wasteful act. 

“The money poured out here could have been better spent on the poor and needy.”

As the one responsible for our household budget, I know the cost of this oil and once I might have agreed wholeheartedly with Judas. 

But Jesus is so wonderfully special; he brought my brother back from the dead. I’ve seen his miracles but more than that he has looked into my eyes so deeply I know he sees my very heart and loves me in a way no other ever has.

Jesus reprimanded Judas saying he will not be here with us for long and I am fearful of what the days ahead will bring. I don’t know how this story will end. 

But as long as his fragrance fills this place I will always remember.

Doodling with Jesus

I always have been the sort of person that loves nothing better than having a good cry at a weepy movie. As a teenager I remember crying every week watching the Waltons yet it was still one of my favourite programmes.

I cry quite a bit in church services too, worship song lyrics particularly set me off depending on my mood and there have been a several sermons over the years that have touched me so deeply the tears start to flow. 

However I can’t remember a time when I’ve cried as I read the Bible, until today when I could have sobbed I was so overwhelmed.  

The problem was I was in a prayer meeting and I’m not sure I could have explained my tears there and then so I surreptitiously dried them trying not to make a fuss and draw attention to my emotional outburst.

But all day I have been left trying to unpick the verses we read wondering why they squeezed my heart so and because it’s what I do I shall write it down to clear my thoughts and if I’m typing it anyway I may as well share it with you in the hope my thoughts may be helpful to someone else.

The passage we read was in John chapter 8 verses 1 – 11. You can click on the link to get read it on BibleGateway.com or read what I’ve paraphrased it here:

A woman is caught in the act of adultery and brought before Jesus by the Pharisees, they are hoping to trap him and ask should they stone her for her sin as it says in the law of Moses.

Jesus stoops down and starts writing in the dust.

The Pharisees grow impatient and keep asking for an answer.

Eventually Jesus stands up and says, “only those you have committed no sin may stone her,” and he returns to his doodling on the ground.

One by one, starting with the oldest, everyone leaves and when Jesus looks up again he finds only the woman is left.

“Did no one condemn you?” He asks.

“No sir,” she replies.

“Then neither do I. Go and sin no more.”

What totally overwhelmed me this morning was the tenderness of Jesus to the woman, he was so gentle with her, never publically rebuking her or treating her harshly as the Pharisees had.

I could palpably feel his compassion poured out on this woman and thereby poured out on me. I may not be an adulterer but my sins are just as black when compared to the sinless Jesus. Like everyone else in the crowd I can’t cast a stone at her. 

What also struck me was the fact that Jesus deflected all attention away from her by drawing in the dust. His actions were strange, he seemed to be taking very little interest in what was going on and yet his words as usual are profound and have stuck as common parlance.

But his drawing in the dust also puzzled me and this is the bit I’ve been stuck pondering all day.

He is seemingly doodling, ignoring everything else that is going on. Was the woman just a tiny bit annoyed by his actions? I know I would be.  Actually I know I am often cross with Jesus,  he doesn’t seem to be answering my prayers, instead he’s tinkering with other stuff and I don’t really understand what’s going on.

As much as I sense Jesus’s compassion in this story I also have a sense of frustration that nothing is happening here.

So just what is going on down there in the dirt?

The Bible says Jesus was writing, my friend said today maybe he was doodling – well I understand both of those being an avid doodler and writer!

Essentially they are creative pastimes.

Right at the start of the Bible it says “in the beginning was the WORD.” God spoke the universe into existence. Words are incredibly powerful.

So was Jesus writing the woman’s story, drawing it, creating something new from the dust?

When he finally spoke to her she was alone and maybe that was the most special moment of all. Did she see his whole picture; get a glimpse of his plans for her marvellously put together?

My wise friend, who first suggested Jesus might be doodling, said maybe Jesus wants me to join him on the floor for a bit of scribbling  – just imagine what we could draw and write together? 

Now that makes me smile and my tears for now are wiped away.