By what authority?

Everyone's a writer. Or thinks they are. In this day and age there is no shortage of words, of opinion, be that written, spoken, blogged or vlogged. Get a cool graphic for your logo, build a Facebook, Insta or YouTube 'community', collect the likes and shares and you're away, the validation lending you an air of authority. Your community follows you. You speak a lot of truth. Perhaps they look up to you. Perhaps you're relatable because your self-deprecating humour makes them look and feel better about their own often-found-wanting lives. But then you say something that divides your community and now no-one quite knows what to believe. Perhaps your latest overshare shocks or disappoints. They don't instantly read your latest post, and the number of hits isn't what it used to be. From viral to sterile. Wait! I've got more to say! I'm still relevant. Aren't I?

The truth is, the Truth is, our words are merely a morass of mumbling, sliding about, drifting even, unless they're anchored to the Truth, a truth so timeless that even the least stroke of the letters that comprises these words of Truth never gets rubbed out. Every dotted i and crossed t remains. We can all have an opinion, sure, but our opinion reflects our worldview, and unless our worldview is rooted firmly in the unchanging, our opinion can have no lasting authority, and our community, our followers, desert us.

When Jesus taught people, "They were amazed at his teaching, because his words had authority." (Luke 4:32) Jesus, fully God, taught with timeless authority by very virtue of his being God, and this was evident to his listeners. Matthew puts it like this: "When Jesus had finished saying these things, the crowds were amazed at his teaching, because he taught as one who had authority, and not as their teachers of the law." (Matt 7:28‭-‬29) What's the difference between Jesus and the teachers of the law? Both taught using ancient holy texts, what Christians refer to as the Old Testament, but Jesus had himself and the Kingdom of God at the centre of his teaching. The Truth then, is Jesus. He does not change, and his words do not fail. We, therefore, cannot speak or write with authority unless it's derived from him. Our words will pass away.

Then Jesus came to them and said, ‘All authority in heaven and on earth has been given to me.
(Matt. 28:18)

That Trip to Ikea

Today we had that trip to Ikea, that trip to Ikea, where the child who has been stroppy and misbehaving all day ramps it up a notch and you find yourself - amid storage solutions - quietly hissing threats and consequences if attitudes don't improve but you know you're still a harridan really. Additionally it was also that trip to Ikea where your storage solution is discontinued in the colour you want as it matches the rest of your furniture and you are thrown and can't make an alternative decision, as finally in your head, you knew how to solve the Great Shoe Pile, but now you are thwarted. We decide to ponder our dilemma over meatballs, and weirdly it was also that trip to Ikea where child number 1 helps Daddy choose the free fruit for the little ones, only to select an apple - the only apple left - with a bite taken out a it. No quibbles in swapping it, and the apple basket replenished. It was also that trip where your two-year-old breaks free from Daddy's hand in an instant, and runs towards the lift, putting her hand on the door to steady herself so as to press the button to summon it, just as, still in that instant, Daddy shouts, "Fingers!" and whips her hand away, not before in that same instant the door has opened, swallowing her little fingers and bruising them and taking a small chunk out of a nail. Screams and shrieks, and all 6 of us piling in with the trolley, only for me to insist on First Aid, so we back out of the lift, still with much screaming. The Welcome Desk coworker doesn't know what to do. Ring someone please. We just need some ice or a cold pack ASAP. Eight minutes later a First Aider arrives. No cold pack. We send them to the restaurant kitchen. They have no ice they announce, with apologies. In the meantime another customer asks something and they leave us standing there while they serve her and answer her query about a chest of drawers. I order them to go and get at least a glass of cold water until a cold pack can be located. Fifteen to twenty minutes after the incident, which turned out not to be that serious, thankfully, a cold pack was located in the First Aid kit belonging to "Kitchens". I ask, "Shouldn't each one of your First Aid kits contain one? We just wanted to get something cold on her fingers straight away." "Oh yes they should, and they are restocked every night, but it's Half Term and we've had more children in than usual," replies the First Aider. They've been advertising extra Half Term activities for children, to bring more of them and their furniture-buying parents in, so they weren't unexpected. "There have been a lot of fingers trapped in lift doors lately. We've put warning signs on," says Mr Welcome Desk. "I'm afraid she's only two and can't read, and despite us being careful, she's too quick for us sometimes. We have been fearing those doors for long time." Hmm. It was that trip to Ikea where, unable to decide an alternative colour, we headed in desperation for the Bargain Corner and found one in our colour! But it was twice the size of the one we wanted! Twice the size! We mentally move furniture around and decide to buy it. It's huge, and already assembled, being ex-display. It's OK we are told, we can flat pack it quite easily, and have 24 hours to collect it from the Lock Up, so we will all go home and Daddy will come back With Tools later. A second trolley is found and we finally and precariously wend our way to the tills, only to be told the Lock Up is no longer in use following Manchester. Just that: Manchester. No explanation needed. We buy it anyway, as Daddy divulges that Mr Bargain Corner snuck him an allen key, so armed with the essential contraband, he thinks he can do it. Tired kids in the car. Mummy and Daddy disassembling a larger than expected Kallax on the car park floor, with much pulling and shoving of planks and dowels required, without scratching the veneer on the rough concrete. We are racing against time: Ikea closing time and Ring Road closing for Motofest time. Bit by bit goes in. But not all of it. "Erm Mummy, I think you might be walking home." I look outside to the torrential rain that has taken coatless, be-sandalled me by surprise after the last few glorious days and evenings. But in the end, he dashes home, unloads the planks belted into my seat, runs in with a small child ("I need a wee!"), straps her back in and comes back for me.

I had no phone on me, unusually. I had to sit on a toadstall-shaped bollard next to the open doorway, waiting, not browsing or Matching Three.  I listened to the two-tone rain, the constant rice-in-a-rain-maker background to the heavier drips and splashes, and thought that it sounded like the foleyed in rain in films, but that, hang on, I was listening to the real thing and the films were merely a mirror. I breathed. I smiled at passers-by, some laughing at the rain, most steeling themselves in it, all rushing. I remembered the kind lady who had lent me her charger in the restaurant so I could (unsuccessfully as it turned out) charge my phone, and her beautiful little daughters. I wrapped my cardi around me a little tighter against the cold, and wondered where Coventry's homeless would be right then, trying to shelter from the rain. I wondered if the drastic and recent increase in the numbers sleeping rough in Coventry would continue, or if Something Would Be Done. I tried NOT to think about the election. And then I saw them come round the bend for me. I was thankful to have someone to come back for me and also that it took no time at all. (Five minutes fewer than it takes to get an ice pack in Ikea, actually.) And thankful to have a few minutes alone. It was that trip to Ikea, but it was timely. And our race against time? We made it, back home to the mess and the sodden laundry on the line and the hundreds of tongue depressers all over the floor (from some long forgotten project and whose sole existence in our home is as a means for small children to torture me by chucking them about) and the Kallax in bits and the sandpit sand on the kitchen floor and decided it'll all keep till the morning.

The Strength You Have

‘Pardon me, my Lord,’ Gideon replied, ‘but if the Lord is with us, why has all this happened to us? Where are all his wonders that our ancestors told us about when they said, “Did not the Lord bring us up out of Egypt?” But now the Lord has abandoned us and given us into the hand of Midian.’ The Lord turned to him and said, ‘Go in the strength you have and save Israel out of Midian’s hand. Am I not sending you?’

Judges 6:13‭-‬14

Go in the strength you have.

I had a light bulb moment this morning, hiding in the loo from the children and reading the Bible on my phone. I've been struggling again with not being enough, not feeling good enough to carry out the tasks and mission to which God has called me, wondering whether He has called me at all or whether I'm just flailing around, playing at life, soon to be caught out, the search light resting on my terrified, frozen face. You see, I'm tired. Dog tired. Retreating to horizontal on the sofa as soon as (equally exhausted) The Mister walks through the door - tired. I am a fraud who cannot manage to do it all, whose husband has to step in and do the lion's share in the evenings and weekends, because I cannot stay vertical. I am not enough. Literally. I am absent from my children's lives most evenings. I feel guilty. My children are missing out and The Mister rarely gets a break. I know I'm probably not that lazy, but it feels like I'm just being lazy and I just need to pull my socks up. That is the narrative.

Go in the strength you have. Am I not sending you?

Oh-kaaaay. So God's got this, my meagre attempt at mothering, my children, my poor neglected husband, my physical inability to invest as much as I'd like in relationships with family and friends. The whole thing. Me. He knows. He sees. He loves. He equips. He is the strength. My limited physical strength is no hindrance. I have to go, to step out. If he is sending me on a mission, whatever that mission is, staying put and not stepping out is not an option.

But He said to me, "My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness." Therefore I will boast all the more gladly of my weakness, so that the power of Christ may rest upon me.
2 Corinthians 12:9

I don't know how this will end up working for our family, our children. I can't see the end. But I can trust, and it is very freeing. It's not about me at all, after all. God gave us those 4 precious ones to look after, but He also gave them a mother who wasn't always going to fire on all cylinders. He also gave them a father who would just get on with it, quietly serving faithfully with no fuss.

The power of Christ rests on me and I honestly don't believe that God is in the business of trying to catch people out, to make them look bad. God is not into schadenfreude. My feelings of guilt are misplaced, their root either in my pride - because I want to do it all, to be good enough, to excel on my own - and can't; or it is because I have listened to the Accuser of the Brethren whose narrative is never in my best interests and who wants me to get distracted and wants me to believe all kinds of things about what I should be doing or being.

It's not easy, but it is simple, uncomplicated. Before we go out on whatever our mission is, before we make breakfast and herd a pack of kids to school, being still even for a moment works wonders. Be still, and know that I am God. (Psalm 46:10) "Yes, yes, well it's easy to be still when you're horizontal a lot of the time. You're literally still." Yes you are, physically. There's more to it than that though. Turn off the telly, the radio. Put your phone down! Pick up your Bible. Pray during the racing thoughts. Keep praying until you are still. Be still. Be it. Then, don't empty your mind, fill it. Fill it with Christ, with His Word, the Bible. Know Him. Know that He is God. I speak to myself and for my benefit here too. Hide in the loo if you must. Be still and know that He is God. He loves, He speaks, He is the strength for the mission.

Diagnosis

Today we had a diagnosis for Big Grin. Autism Spectrum Disorder. If old terminology were used, Asperger's would fit the bill. It's not a shock; it's been a long time coming. Currently in Coventry, the waiting time for assessment is over two years. Right now, as her school is serving her pretty well, it doesn't really change anything. It doesn't change her. It's a relief though, that as parents, our hunch was right and now we have access to other support if needed. It's no surprise to Big Grin either. She's clever; and knowing. Over the next few days we may be privvy to her thoughts and feelings on it, or we may not. We shall see. At any rate, as I said to the diagnosing psychologist MH, with the right support, there's every hope for her future.

That was this afternoon. This morning I embarked on day 7 of our current Bathroom Renovation Morning Routine, which basically means getting everyone up and out a bit earlier than usual so the men can crack on, with a few extra jobs done like the breakfast dishes not only washed, but dried and put away too to spare them from the dust. It's all hands on deck and it's wearing a bit thin. But we are reminding ourselves that it's not forever, we're blessed to be having it done, and even with only having an inside toilet pan and a bucket with which to flush it, we still have more than a lot of women and girls in the world: a safe, inside toilet over night. However, between the hours of 8:30 and 4:30 the basic toilet is removed to make space for the guys to work, which means that the girls and I - including potty training Rizzy - have to stay out all day. It is exhausting. With 3 school runs a day we cannot venture too far, and after a morning at Nursery Biscuit is already quite tired. Sometimes we go to a friend's home, but that requires manners and continuing to be sociable when some quiet down time or even a nap might be preferred. Sometimes we go to the library or to Ikea, but then it is quite a dash to make it to the toilet for Rizzy. Sometimes we go to the park, but that involves the trusty Porta Potty. All of this is done on foot as I don't drive, and for the most part, Biscuit is being brilliant and uncomplaining. Even Rizzy though, who can fall asleep in the buggy, is showing signs of fatigue. And for Big Grin? She's coping as best as she can, but the upheaval is difficult. I'm proud of them all. Little Feet is most definitely bearing the brunt of the extra chores.

This morning after a straightforward school run, Rizzy and I had coffee with 3 lovely friends and their little ones, and I used Sarah's shower (so much nicer than the bucket arrangement at home). We then went back to school to collect Biscuit from Nursery, then walked to another friend's to eat our packed lunch. Having taken the afternoon off, The Mister collected me, we left Biscuit and Rizzy with our friend and went to Big Grin's assessment, via home and a quick word with the builders. After the assessment and diagnosis we collected the little 2, just in time for the Mister to run up the road to school with towels and shower gel, collect the big 2 from after school choir, and deposit them with another friend round the corner for them to have showers! And that's pretty much how we're operating at the moment. It struck me today how blessed I am with so many lovely people who have offered the use of their shower, let me and the girls hang out at their place for hours at a time, or who have minded our girls for us. Like Big Grin, I have struggled in the past with friendships, and it was good to think, actually, she'll be OK.

Then, to round off a full, positive day, The Mister cooked dinner and did all the bedtime routine whilst I first had a nap and then went out to a ladies' event at church. It was packed, and I got a seat at the back, but not before I bumped into the psychologist MH. It was awkward, weird, a bit flabbergasting, but made me realise that God had one of His people in that assessment this afternoon. My heart was singing as we raised the roof with "It is well with my soul" and "Every blessing You pour out I'll turn back to praise." Moreover, we heard in the talk that God has prepared good works for us to do in advance, and that He knows us so well that these works are for our good, and that God wants to draw us out into being the best, the fullest we can be, as He created us to be. The biblical woman used as an example? Esther. So our Esther, our Big Grin, is in God's hands. She has a diagnosis, but that by no means limits God's prognosis for her life.