Haters gonna hate

I am 26 years old, and finally realised something this week.

It's time to grow up.

I imagine a lot of us go through life worrying about what other people think of us. We worry about other's approval, our status, people's perceptions of our success. We think of ourselves as independent, rebellious, self-sufficient, but suddenly someone says something someday which can make us question the whole of our self-worth - even if for a second. People's praise can make our day and people's criticism can break it.

I don't think this is just me.

It feels nice to be liked. That's the truth. And who doesn't want that? Who doesn't want to be respected, praised and looked up to? For most people, other people's estimation of us matters. I think this is fairly normal. It's an inevitable side-effect of human nature being fundamentally relational. We are made to be in relationship with one another.

But this week it all struck me.

You see - we humans are fickle creatures. We are imperfect. We back bite, sling mud, and hurt each other. We crucify one another.

I thought of Mother Teresa's words. Her children's home in Calcutta reputedly had this written on one of its walls.

People are often unreasonable, irrational, and self-centered. Forgive them anyway.

If you are kind, people may accuse you of selfish, ulterior motives. Be kind anyway. 

If you are successful, you will win some faithful friends and some genuine enemies. Succeed anyway. 

What you spend years creating, others could destroy overnight. Create anyway. 

If you find serenity and happiness, some may be jealous. Be happy anyway. 

The good you do today will often be forgotten. Do good anyway. 

Give the best you have and it will never be enough. Give your best anyway. 

In the final analysis, it is between you and God. It was never between you and them anyway.

I like to summarise this wisdom as follows:

Haters gonna hate.

 
It may not come as a huge surprise to many of you, but I tend to overthink things. When I receive any form of criticism I tend to take it to heart and think about all the ways in which the criticism is true and all the ways in which I fall short. Exhausting, I know.

But yesterday I was thinking about this taken to its logical extreme. I realised that even if I were absolutely perfect and the kindest, most gentle, most true and capable person in the world, I would still be hated by some.

Because I thought of Jesus. I thought of this amazing and flawless man who was also God, and I thought of how he was crucified and torn apart.

Even for Jesus - haters gonna hate.

So I leave you with this thought today. Some people will always hate you. For some people you will always be wrong. It may or may not be to do with you. But the truth remains: some people won't ever like you. To live consciously or subconsciously at the whim of other's approval is a waste of time.

Do the best with what you have. That is enough.

Monday blog hop: Graham Criddle

Today I am honoured to host my father in law Graham Criddle's answers for the Monday blog hop. Check out his blog When Kingdoms Meet for more.

As part of the “Monday blog hop” engagement Mel, the lovely wife of our youngest son, asked me to write a post for her blog. On it she writes powerfully about what is going on in her life – the highs and the lows – giving a deep insight into what she is experiencing and her journey with God. Always challenging, sometimes hard to read, real, honest and open.

I was asked to comment about four things regarding what I write:

What am I working on?

Why do I write what I write?

How does my work differ from others in its genre?

How does my writing process work?

What am I working on?

I write for lots of different reasons – notes for sermons, church documents, my blog and academic papers. The academic papers are for assignments associated with my MTh in Applied Theology with the most recent being “the church, the world and the kingdom of God” while the next will be looking at the area of Christian Leadership.

These are all very different with different intended “audiences” with academic papers probably just being seen by one or two people who will be looking for a disciplined approach to reasoning and argument while notes for sermons help me to prepare to communicate God’s message to people in a church service who are looking to meet with God and grow in their relationship with Him.

Whatever I am writing it is an opportunity to explore new ideas, to grow in my understanding of God and what He is calling me to be, to think about my relationship with Him and to try and work out how living as a Christian in my particular context works.

Why do I write what I write?

My blog is focused on exploring the idea of two different “kingdoms” – the kingdom where God rules and the power structures of the world in which we live – and how these intersect and challenge each other.

Many people think about God, if they think of Him at all, as some powerful being in heaven who has no involvement in what is going on in this world. Others look at the things going on around us, and the injustice and suffering which is so prevalent, and blame God for not intervening. Jesus, in the prayer He taught His first followers recognised that God did reign in heaven but that His will was not being fully seen on earth – but that this was something to look forward to, to pray for and to work towards:

“your kingdom come, your will be done, on earth as it is in heaven.” (Matthew 6:10)

On the other hand, it is easy to look at what is going on in society and to accept things as they are without really reflecting on them and questioning whether they are “right” – in the sense of whether they are in line with God’s will or opposed to it. Some examples:

Are our politicians engaging properly with the challenges and issues which we face and, in particular, how are they providing for those who are marginalised and suffering in our society?

Should we simply accept “the market” as an impersonal force which can’t be challenged or should we ask questions as to whether some of the things done in its name are appropriate?

Is the incredible power and influence exercised by the media a good thing and do we too readily accept the messages and biases which it presents?

Is being a “consumer society” a good thing or do we accept it too easily and not explore some of its implications?

As a Christian I believe that I am a citizen of God’s kingdom while also being a citizen of my country. This dual-citizenship gives me dual responsibilities as I am called to live as a representative of God in the country in which I live. One of the things which this entails is speaking out against things I see which are not in line with God’s ideals which include love, justice, grace and mercy. I don’t believe I have the right to do this in a strident or arrogant way – I don’t speak from “a place of power” - but believe it is appropriate to “speak to power” when I see things which are wrong. As such I seek to be a voice in the debate around what our country should be.

But my main focus is on reflecting on a Christian response to what is going on and to think about how Christians should engage. And my primary target for these musings is me as I try and work out how I can most effectively live out this “dual-citizenship” role. And if other Christians read what I write and find it useful that is great.

How does my work differ from others in its genre?

I don’t really know the answer to this one. I do look at a range of different blogs but haven’t found one which approaches things in exactly the same way I do. This is probably a reflection on the relatively narrow focus of my blog which, while self-imposed, I sometimes find a bit constraining!

How does my writing process work?

I tend to treat the screen (I do all my writing on computer) as a blank canvas and write in a fairly sequential way. I often end up producing blocks of text which then need to be manipulated and worked together to produce something which flows more coherently. If I were more disciplined in producing an outline and “storyboard” before I started it would probably be much easier to write and result in a better product but I’m not convinced that is going to happen!

When writing a blog entry it is normally in response to something which is going on, something I have seen or heard, something which is reported in the news which triggers a thought and it goes from there. Normally, it isn’t a long process, probably a couple of hours from start to finish. One time when I was on holiday I saw something to which I wanted to respond but wasn’t able to until I got home a week later. That gave me time to think and reflect and get some ideas together while I was away, which probably resulted in a more thought-through article, but I did find it frustrating at the time!

Next week I am hoping to host a blog from my good friend, Vic Van Den Bergh. Vic is a vicar in Tamworth with involvement in many different areas of life with a real heart for God, for God’s people and those who need to experience God’s love. He has been blogging for seven years and  his blog is at http://victhevicar.blogspot.co.uk/  

Thank you so much Graham! Your wisdom, integrity and commitment to engaging with our society in a way that is faithful to God's teaching inspires me. Check out Graham's blog next week to follow the Monday blog hop trail.

Monday blog hop

Last week, I was nominated by my lovely hubby Dave to be part of something called the Monday blog hop. The idea is that you answer the following questions about your writing:

What am I working on?
Why do I write what I write?
How does my work differ from others in its genre?
How does my writing process work?

Your response to these questions is hosted on another person's blog, and you get to nominate another one or two people to answer the same questions. You then post their responses the following Monday on your blog.

You can find out more about why and how I write on Dave's brilliant blog Limping into Truth.

Next week I'll be hosting my wonderful father-in-law Graham's post for the Monday blog hop. His blog When Kingdoms Meet is a great place to reflect theologically on current affairs and issues. I am excited to hear more about his writing process next week!

You died

Lately my internal monologue has been dreadful. Unforgiving. "You can't do this," it says. "You're bad at everything. You're useless. Maybe you should give up. It would be better for everyone." And on and on it goes.

It has made being a leader difficult. Contending with a hectic work environment, other staff members' differences, and the needs of extremely vulnerable people, with a torrent of criticism of your own manifest inadequacy, is at best stressful and at worst punishing.

I was reading Colossians the other day and this really struck me.

"Since, then, you have been raised with Christ, set your heart on things above, where Christ is seated at the right hand of God. Set your mind on things above, not on earthly things. For you died, and your life is now hidden with Christ in God. When Christ, who is your life, appears, then you also will appear with him in glory." - Colossians 3.1-4 (emphasis mine)

The other night we had dinner with two dear friends of ours. In frustration at our very human nature, my friend mentioned this. She said, "But of course we do this. We are dead. Dead! We are dead in our sinful nature. We need God to be alive again."

We are dead.

"You died," Paul writes. "and your life is now hidden with Christ in God."

There is a lot of power and poetry in Paul's writing. Elsewhere he elaborates, "Your sinful nature was put off when you were circumcised by Christ, having been buried with him in baptism, in which you were also raised with him through your faith in the working of God, who raised him from the dead." (Colossians 2.11-12)

Dead. Buried. Raised again.

Most of the time, I don't live and go about my everyday life with the knowledge that I am dead. That what happened when I came to faith in Christ was that I died, my old self was buried, and I was raised back to life through Christ.

That I died, and am now alive only through, because of, and in Christ.

Everything about me - my mistakes, my flaws, my internal monologue, my pain and illness and regrets - all these things died and were buried. All my strengths, my successes, my sources of pride and love and passion, are what they are because they have been resurrected by God.

I cannot be alive outside of him.

I think living totally dependent on God's power must be pain and misery before it is unbridled freedom and joy. For to truly die a full death in this way is to feel and know and live in what you were, and then to feel the agony of death and surrender of things that were part of you. The death comes before the resurrection.

It must be amazing to know and fully live the power of Christ's victory. To know that God can give you all strength when you are weak, that you are an empty vessel waiting and ready to be filled by all the inconceivable power that God wants for you. To know that you are nothing without him, but that that is the point. That he wants you to be nothing on your own so he can fill you up.

That nothing can be accomplished living as your dead self.

I pray that I would be able to fully understand this on this side of heaven.

The dark room and the man from Bethesda

"Come out of the dark room"

Recently at church we have been having times dedicated to praying for healing. I went up to ask for prayer from my pastor and his wife on Sunday, for my health and also, on a deeper level, from my fears.

My pastor said he felt God was saying to me, "Come out of the dark room."

He said to me that he sensed that I was more at home than I have ever been before, but that I need to let go of things and fears which I have lived with for a long time. Fear of failure. Fear that my life hasn't turned out the way others hoped it would. Fear that I will struggle with depression for the rest of my life.

"Come out of the dark room," my pastor felt God was saying.

I have been thinking about this a lot. Talking with Dave about this, I have realised some things.

"Do you want to be made well?"

In John 5, Jesus encounters the man at Bethesda. This man has been an invalid, living amongst the blind, the lame and the paralysed, for 38 years. Before he heals him, Jesus asks, "Do you want to be made well?"

At first glance, this seems a no-brainer. Of course he wants to be made well. It's obvious!

But I have been thinking about this. This man has been an invalid for 38 years. 38 years. An unimaginably long time. He has spent his life as an invalid. This is what he knows. His income would have come from begging. His friends would have been others who lived around the Bethesda pool, rejects despised and shunned by society, fellow comrades struggling with him through the difficulties of being ill and looked down on in the worst possible way. 

This was his life. He would have seen himself as an invalid. This was his identity.

So when Jesus asks this question, he is cutting through 38 years and getting to the core of this man's heart. 

"Do you want to be made well?" 

Are you ready to give everything up? Everything you know, everything you are?

For me?

Comfortable darkness

I don't know if many other people feel or know this, but sometimes it can be comfortable to be in the dark room.  

When I say comfortable, I don't mean that it's enjoyable. I mean that there is a great deal of comfort from familiarity. If despair and exhaustion and depression are all you know, sometimes it is easier to live within their shadow than to move into the light. If it is part of your identity and who you are, it may never occur to you to let it go. 

Dave told me about a bear that was held in captivity for many years, confined to a cage where all it could do was pace in a small square. When this bear was eventually and thankfully released back into the wild, it didn't know what to do with itself. For a long time it continued to pace in the exact same dimensions that it did in its cage. 

After a lifetime of captivity, the chains that kept the bear subject had become part of its identity. It had to be challenged to break free of them.

The bear had to be taught how to live freely outside the cage.

Breaking the chains

When my pastor said "Come out of the dark room", and my husband reminded me of John 5 and this bear, I realised a few things about myself. Depression is a major part of my identity. The symptoms are the bane of my existence and my greatest fear. I hope and pray and worry about the struggles. It is by far the dominant force in my mind. But the truth is that it is a deep, deep part of me. 

Many people forget that chains can bind you to other people. Depression has given me the capacity and understanding that has allowed me to love others more fully and more deeply. To understand, come alongside, and fight for others who are in pain and alone. I would not trade these lessons for anything. 

During the service, I asked myself something. On a deeper level, a real, complex, soul level, did I want to be made well? Did I really want to be free from depression? Was I ready?

If I were completely healed from depression, would I be confused and at a loss? Would I feel that my mission was compromised? Would I have doubts about who I am? 

My pastor had prayed that the chains of my fear and my depression and my past would be broken. The truth is that I have not prayed that prayer for many, many years. I had assumed that my depression would always be embedded deep inside me and I would never be free from it. That it served a purpose from God. 

I had given up. I had given it a hold over me.

The man from Bethesda

The man from Bethesda is my soul brother. In him I see me and in me I see him.  

I have struggled with depression since my earliest teens, which means that I have lived with it for over half of my life. It is really difficult for me to understand life without it, in the fullest, most complete sense. It is a part of my identity that I have not fully laid down to God. 

Jesus asks me, "Do you want to be made well?"

Are you ready to give this up?

God tells me, "Come out of the dark room."

Step into the light of what I want for you.

Let go of the warmth, comfort and familiarity of the dark room. The dark room of how you think of yourself and your life. The memories of your past and what you think you deserve and are capable of. Your ideas of what you are here for and what you are capable of. 

Follow me.

On emptiness

"And this is the simple truth - that to live is to feel oneself lost. He who accepts it has already begun to find himself, to be on firm ground. Instinctively, as do the shipwrecked, he will look around for something to which to cling, and that tragic, ruthless glance, absolutely sincere, because it is a question of his salvation, will cause him to bring order into the chaos of his life. These are the only genuine ideas; the ideas of the shipwrecked. All the rest is rhetoric, posturing, farce." (Soren Kierkegaard) 

For the past few days, I have been overwhelmed by a feeling of emptiness. It has been intangible, impossible to put into words. It has been like a shadow hanging over me. Strange that nothingness can have such a domineering presence. It is hard to blog about it now.

Nothing in particular has happened. I have not been ill, or depressed, or in pain. Life is going at a steady pace, rolling by with the every day. There have been no particular tragedies or drama. Things have been ordinary.

Kierkegaard famously said, "The biggest danger, that of losing oneself, can pass off in the world as quietly as if it were nothing." I have been thinking about Kierkegaard. The poet of emptiness.

It is possible to live life unanchored. Drifting. To go along with the current without stopping to think. It is possible to lack connection to anything. To people, to nature, to God. To be empty inside, without thinking of how to fill yourself up. To be incomplete, and to feel it.

Now and then I find myself in this place.

A dear friend of mine came to visit yesterday. In talking to her I realised that for longer than I can remember, I have lacked that sense of connection that allowed me to say: I feel nothing. I feel empty. I feel far from people and far from God. I feel unanchored inside. I feel bored. I said these things to her yesterday. In doing this I realised things I had been insulated from in the vaccum.

The truth is, I lose connection now and then. It is a lonely place to be. It is a place that keeps you alone.

I live a middle-class life. I have a husband, a job, a dog. I love them all. I live in a house that I am happy in. We pursue stability and we have found it. We have friends and a social life. I have hobbies and I engage in them.

I have been looking around and inside myself these past few days. I have been thinking: This is it.

Is this it?

I know what the emptiness inside my soul points to. This isn't it. This can't be it.

"To live is to feel oneself lost," Kierkegaard said. To feel lost is to seek after the One in whom we are found. Without this awareness, we are nothing. We float along the tides of life, seeking the things we think we lack. We look for a house, a car, a job, a salary. We look for comfortable friendships and comfortable relationships. We lose ourselves because we lose what it means to be in debt and in ransom. To be saved by our Maker. To be married to Christ.

As St Augustine put it, "You have made us for yourself, O Lord, and our hearts are restless until they rest in you."

I know these things are true. But what to do with the knowledge? This is the human condition. We know what to do and yet cannot do it. We realise we are wrong yet cannot save ourselves.

In the vacuum it is hard to reach after Him. It is hard to feel anything or do anything at all.

All I can do is pray for God to help me. And I know He will.

Grief pt. 2

Last night, Dave and I enjoyed a long awaited movie night. We watched 'I Am Legend', a film which I had been wanting to see with Dave for ages and which I had watched for the first time when I was a teenager. My memory of the movie was fuzzy, outside of brief themes and outlines, and the feeling that it was sad and dramatic and amazing.  

There is a scene in 'I Am Legend' when Sam, the lone protagonist's only living companion, a wonderfully loyal German Shepherd, is attacked by the infected while fighting them off her master. Holding her to him in her last moments, the protagonist sees that she, badly wounded and weak, has become infected and is 'turning'. When the transformation becomes complete, a stoic but heartbroken Will Smith is forced to choke Sam to death with an embrace. Sam dies, and without his only friend, he is more alone than ever.

In hindsight, before last night, I did remember that there was a really sad scene in which the protagonist's dog dies. I remembered but I didnt think I might not be able to handle it. But I couldn't, really. I sobbed and sobbed and images and memories of Ralph alive and Ralph in a body bag on that horrible night flooded through me. And for the first time in months, I felt the agony of losing Ralph afresh.  

I wonder when grief ends. A few days ago, my friend found a photo her daughter had taken of Ralph in 2012 and posted it on Facebook. Dave was sad that day. He missed Ralph a lot. I did too, but I felt alright. I didn't feel the stabbing pain. I was able to smile and hold Mika and I remember wondering whether this meant that I was over it all. That even though I thought of Ralph often, wondering what he would do in a certain situation, how he would get on with Mika, I no longer felt the ache of loss. That I wasn't grieving anymore. I wondered if it meant that I was okay now with his death, which left me feeling mildly guilty about moving on too, if I am completely honest.

When does grief end? Last night, I looked at Mika and I held her, and I missed Ralph, his smell and his coat and his wilful, no nonsense nature. I felt the tragedy of it all and how much we had poured our lives into his. I just missed him, and wished I had never taken him out that day.  

I love Mika so much. She is so different from Ralph in every way. I couldn't have asked for a sweeter, more loyal companion. And most of the time, life is full of Mika adventures and the hole Ralph left in my heart is veiled and dull. But maybe some grief never ends. Ralph's death was horrible, unfair, random, tragic, and we loved him. It is right that we should still feel it all sometimes.

Maybe grief will always be this complex, this mysterious. Changing and masking itself in new forms, hiding till it gets forgotten, then reappearing with a vengeance.

And maybe it will be a while before I can watch scenes where dogs die.

An open letter to dog owners of the world

Dear dog owners of the world,

As a fellow dog owner and lover, I expect a semblance of shared experience to exist between us. A feeling of mutual understanding, an unspoken knowledge of the ups and downs, the funnies and not-so-funnies, of having a dog in your life. The rolled eyes and laughter of understanding when a dog jumps up and gets too excited, for example. The knowing nod and smile when a dog strains against your lead to get to a dog on the other side of the field, dragging you along in a clumsy half-run.

I have never disliked going to the vet with my dog. Never have I felt inconvenienced or ashamed. I have enjoyed the experience of getting professional help, meeting friendly receptionists and staff, seeing people smiling at my dog and bonding in silent ways or over pleasant small talk with other dog lovers. Until today.

Fellow dog owners, no one likes to be judged. Especially when you feel like you haven't been given a chance. Maybe you and your canine friend have always been perfect, poised and contained. Maybe you have never needed to train your dog or rein them in, and you have always sat there, graceful, composed and statuesque, with no problems and creases to iron out between you. Maybe. But I doubt it. I doubt very much that you are unlike every other committed dog owner I know, who loves the idiosyncrasies about their dog, adores their strengths and acknowledges their weaknesses, and has to bow to the powers of time and patience and perseverance to get the whole dog-human relationship right. Unless there is a superior canine ownership club that I have not yet heard exists.

This is Mika, dog loving friends.

You may have noticed that Mika is a Staffie. In fact, at the vet today, this seemed like the only thing you could notice. You looked past her excited frenzy from going to the vet, full of smells and other dogs and animals, and the faint trace of treats and food. You looked past her gentle and calm demeanour when she was sitting between my legs, her natural state when settled, looking up at me with those adoring eyes, ready for a rest and a stroke but unable to contain her excitement at this new adventure. You looked past her eagerness to scramble off the lead and towards other dogs to have a smell and say a friendly hello. All you saw was her stout, muscular Staffie body, her occasional protective growl when dogs walked past me, which I tried every time to root out, holding her firmly and safely. All you saw was her strain to get off the lead, and the hyped up headlines full of drummed up hysteria screaming out: "Staffies kill people", "Staffies eat kids", and lots of other tragic tales that are really about abusive, neglectful, irresponsible upbringing and lack of training.

You looked at Mika and you judged her.

Dog owners, I don't know if I need to labour the point that Mika is not a man-eating killing machine. I don't know if you would believe me. I don't know if there is any point telling you that we rescued her from being put down by clearly irresponsible and neglectful owners, from a known rough neighbourhood, who had not speyed or vaccinated or wormed or fleaed Mika. That she is the sweetest, more affectionate, loyal and loving dog, and she has exceeded all our expectations of her. Everything I tell you could be swept away by the arbitrary labels that come with breed. For Mika could have acted the way she had and been a cross breed, as was true with Ralph - who was universally loved and doted on at the vets, despite acting so similar to Mika. If she was a golden retriever or a poodle or a Yorkshire terrier no one would have bat an eyelid. I have seen quite a few yappy and aggressive Yorkshire terriers around this area.

Instead, I was told by two separate people that I had a "handful", and by one incredibly rude and presumptuous lady that she was "terrified". This lady scoffed at me when I told her Mika was fine at home, and when she had entered the vet and looked at Mika the first thing she said, completely unsolicited, was "I'm glad I didn't bring my cat."

At first it was quite fascinating to me, canine fans. Many a time I had sit there with Ralph and I can say with certainty that it was a completely different experience. People did not drag their dogs away from him, for example, or hide them in thinly veiled fear. They saw that he wasn't scary or dangerous - or maybe they just saw that from his colouring and body shape. Not so with Mika.

Fellow dog owners, I am assuming that under the layers of preconceived ideas from the media and hearsay, you remember what it is like to have a dog who needs work. I don't believe that no dog needs work, really. Every dog is learning to be a better companion, and every dog owner is learning to be a better leader. I want to level with you. We have had Mika since Saturday, and we are getting to know her better every day. I believe I have picked up on a few things that we need to work on already, and we will. We will love her and train her and guide her in the best ways we can. And we will see her as she is, with all her flaws and her amazing strengths. For example, Mika likes to sleep in our bed, and she is wonderful at sharing the bed and burrowing under the duvet to give us space. A flaw and a strength!

Friends, I know that Mika's growling is bad and needs to stop, and I know that she can be overexcited, and these are things we have training strategies for. What I don't have a strategy for is that you will judge her before you know her. You will judge her unfairly. That upsets and angers me. I am sick of the fact that Staffies are feared without being given a chance. Because it's bad owners that create 'bad' dogs. Any dog of any breed could become aggressive given enough neglect, abuse and irresponsible ownership. I thought that much was obvious. Maybe it isn't.

In America, pit bulls are arguably the equivalent of Staffies in terms of being the marginalised breed. A dog rescue worker in the documentary 'Shelter Me' states that 90% of the time when pit bulls in America are seen just walking on the streets, they are reported as 'being aggressive'. An awful statistic.

So I end this letter with a request. Please give Staffies a chance. Give every dog a chance. Wipe the slate clean and forget everything that you've heard about how this breed is aggressive and how that breed are known to kill. How this breed should be kept away from kids and that breed should be locked away. Every dog has a different temperament. Every dog can be trained and loved and helped to be the best that it can be. They are dogs, not wolves. Dogs can be domesticated and can live alongside us. That's the way it works. Dog loving friends, as a dog owner, you should really be more knowledgeable about dogs. It's a basic requirement, isn't it?

Yours sincerely,

Mel, lover of all dogs and of Staffies in particular.

2013

I recently received a Christmas card from our dear, dear friends (love you, Listers) with the words: "Your honesty and vulnerability shows great courage." Having a husband who is within blogger fame naturally makes you think about your own blog, what it is, what category it might fall into, and other demographic-related issues - but my friends' words made me think about my blog in a new light. I think my blog is a channel for me to be honest and vulnerable. Nothing more, nothing less. And with that confession in mind, I wanted to write about some of my musings and reflections on 2013, some things I learned and others I struggled to learn. 

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2014!?

Every year I am amazing at the passing of a new year. Time passes so fast, the years and dates roll by, and what once seemed a lifetime away seems to come in the blink of an eye. When I was a kid I used to think of the 00s and dates like 2014 as though there were sci-fi universes full of flying cars and mind-control technology. Yet here we are, at the start of another year, after the rollercoaster of 2013 - coming into a new adventure, so similar from the last year but so pregnant with possibilities. Life goes on - life in all its chaos and pain and beauty and power. We are here to live another day, to grasp the hours with all our might and make the most of it all. A strange mystery and minor miracle, being alive.

This too shall pass

I am 25 years old and this year I think I really came to terms with the fact that I will likely live with depression for the rest of my life. It has been a gradual realisation, calmer and more accepting. Not cynical, not angry, but looking at the world with tempered eyes. It is part of me, like some people struggle with back ache or bone problems. It will come in bouts, peaks and troughs, sometimes brief and sometimes dragging through what seems like endless shadows. Sometimes I will bounce back, every bit the fighter as I always wish I was, and it will quickly feel like none of it happened. But sometimes I will be in the depths, and all that I will see and feel are the waves and the choking. I will feel like life was always like this, and I will wish that life was not life. 

This year I have dipped and risen up many times. It hasn't always been related to circumstances, and it hasn't always felt the same. 2013 was the year when I learned that the depression that is part of me will come and go. It will change in its expressions through time, as I change, and it will pass, it always does. It is part of me. But the dark periods will always end, no matter how prolonged or deep and desperate. Life will bounce back and burst full of joy and beauty, full of normality and peace. There will be rainbows as well as rain. 

This is what I struggle to remember - that my life is more than my depression. That my light and my dark come hand in hand. 

Love and grief 

Our baby dog Ralph was run over a train in November. He died, it was traumatic, and we loved him. This year I learned about grief in a way that I hadn't experienced before. Grief was its own monster, raw and powerful, a master of stealth attack. Sometimes it still grabs me, and the ache in my gut pulses, like it never left. I learned how it feels to lose something you love more than you thought possible, to see their absence in everything, a gaping hole of your regret that you took him to that place at that time, that you didn't do this or say that or give him this. Your nights wondering what might have been. To feel your heart rip in every move, and the tears which burn as they surge out of you but never stop.

I have said this before but I think that you grieve in proportion to the amount that you love. For a while I was scared. There were times when Dave would come home late or he wouldn't answer his phone, and I would be pacing around the house in a frenzied panic and in tears, praying that he hadn't had his life taken by a tragic, unexpected accident. There were moments when I thought that I could never love someone as much as I loved Ralph again if I was ever going to survive this life. But even in those moments, I knew that I would never stop loving. We loved Ralph so much. He was so special to us, and I regret nothing about the love and care we tried to give to him. I wish we had loved him more and given him more. We were blessed to have had him.

I think Dave and I have come to terms with Ralph's death now. If not completely, then almost fully. I think of him often. I miss him. To my hope of heaven I add another hope. One day I will see him again, happy and healthy, made whole. It will be as though none of this ever happened. 

Slow burner

2013 saw me start a new job and move towards what I consider my calling to be. With that has come challenges, a new working environment with new colleagues, a demanding role, and a gradual settling into new team dynamics. It also saw our move to Chalfont St Peter and our deepening of friendships built at church and at small group. I have spent so many hours doubting the point of relationships. Burdens and baggage make trust in people difficult for me. At the start and even middle of this year I thought I would never make 'real' friends. That it was the end for me, and I had had my share of close friendships from the past. Now, I was too broken and busy, too encumbered by social conventions and facades, to invest in a real way in new people. Especially with my history and my health problems. No way. 

I am humbled and a bit ashamed, really. Because we have made friends. Great friends with whom we share the everyday ups and downs of life. I have been honest with them about my story and my struggles, and they are still my friends. They are not 'weird' around me, they have shown me that they love and appreciate me, and they still want to share life with me. 

Looking back, I realise again that I am a slow burner. Only now, 6 months into work, do I feel that I have got to know a few people a bit better and settled into a comfortable dynamic with them. It takes time for me to make friends and to build relationships. What I need is patience and a willingness not to give up. A realisation that the type of friend I want and need is someone who is in it for the long game. It might take longer, but it is worth it.

Make love not war

I have never really been part of a church for longer than 2 years at a time. From the time that I became a Christian at 17, I have moved churches every 1 to 2 years. I have never really felt like I really belonged to a church. I think this has been to my detriment. Many of you will know that I have a anti-institutional bent when it comes to my faith in churches. I have been angry, disillusioned and extremely antagonistic at times to church structures, politics and rules. It has been something which has rocked me to my core, given that Dave is called to be part of the church as a leader. Most of the time these are churches that I would not naturally align myself with, and do not feel a part of as a result.

I am still on this journey. I have so many questions - not just about church and theology but about God and his nature. I am by no means anywhere near resolving most of them. 

But I realised that recently I have mellowed. I no longer feel militantly angry at church and everything that 'they' do. I no longer feel I need to declare war. I have realised that I have met some godly, kind and amazing people who work for and belong to Gold Hill, our current church. I feel humbled by them, loved and affirmed by them, and supported by them in a way that I would never take for granted. I love them.

I feel humbled by my husband and the commitment he has to the church and the people in it. The kindness and grace and godliness he shows by not 'slagging off Christ's bride'. 

Nowadays, I can see the good in an imperfect and broken system, led by imperfect people seeking to follow God's will. I feel like I can align myself with these people, these lovers of Jesus, trying to make the best of a bad situation. I admire them for being better than I could ever be, these brothers and sisters of mine.

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So there. These are some of my thoughts on the second day of this new year. To all of you reading, I wish you every blessing and all my love for 2014. May this year be better than your last, and everything you want it to be!