Honesty Over Silence

Two years have passed since my last post.  Thankfully and incredibly, we didn't need a Plan B.

Charity status, funding and a full-blown-proper-grown-up job-running an organisation ensued and the last two years have been a learning curve that has sometimes felt impossible but always breathtaking.  Hope at Home has now been operating for almost two years and we shake our heads in wonder at the journey God has taken us on.

But this blog has mostly been about the realities of family life and our attempts to raise our boys to be worldchangers.

And so, two years on, we now find ourselves parents to an 18 year old, a 15 year old and a 12 year old.  Muddy forest walks and tree climbing have been replaced by x-box games, driving, girls, expensive trainers and part time jobs.  Our lives are unrecognisable from those years of marbles, ice-sculpture-making and breakfast bible reading.

I decided that honesty over silence might be beneficial, not simply for me (as writing helps me process) but for others who feel the weight and sometimes shame of family life not being the one you'd expected.

So, here's our current reality (prepare yourselves for some eye-watering honesty):

1. Despite years of solid faith and foundations, two of our young men are not living a life that we expected them to live.  They don't come to church with us.  We don't pray as a family anymore.  I don't know if they pray when they are on their own.  They drink. They smoke.  They do other stuff that we find unbearable to watch.

2.  Good mental health is a daily battle. We have both seen a therapist over the last couple of years.  Depression and anxiety tap us on the shoulder continuously as we wade through the trenches of life.

3.  We are still waiting for promises to be fulfilled.  Promises over our boys, our marriage and our life.  Currently, they look impossible.

4.  Working together, living together and parenting together has been one of the hardest aspects of running Hope at Home.  Our marriage has suffered.

5.  All those smug feelings of being a good Christian parent have come back to bite us on the bum.  Did all our efforts work?  We don't know.  That feels scary.

6.  We swear.  I know.  Those naughty words that we didn't allow the boys to say are now regular features of our conversations.

7.  Speaking of conversations, our mealtime chats (when everyone is actually there) aren't about dinosaurs and zombie apocalypses anymore.  They're about gender identity, feminism, terrorism, human rights, the death penalty, masturbation, atheism and sex toys.  (I warned you it would be eye watering.)

8.  We wait up at night to see if our young men will stick to their curfew or not.  And when they don't, we worry.  And when they do, we still worry.

9. An ADHD diagnosis has brought understanding but also more challenge as we navigate life with a new lens.

10.  It all flipping hurts.  And we cry.  Lots.

(And even while I've been writing this blog there has been a blazing row about the whens and wheres of going out.)


We know we are doing the right thing with Hope at Home.  It's progressing at a pace.  It's changing lives and sometimes even saving lives.

Everything else?  It's (insert swear word or other more polite word of your choice).

But.

I have a choice.

Do I bow to the sadness, the shame, the feelings of despair?
Do I give up and give in?
Do I stop loving the One who made the promises?
Do I decide it's not worth it?
Do I still believe God is good?

I have to choose to keep going.
Keep believing he keeps his promises.
Keep trusting my boys are in his hands.
Keep declaring he is good.
Keep lifting my eyes up to his goodness and mercy above the depression and anxiety.
Keep remembering his faithfulness over the years.

So, we choose vulnerability and honesty over silence and shame.  

We open up our bruised hearts, allowing others to stand with us, and we wait for the Promise Keeper to do what he says he will do.

Plan B

I’m a pray-er.  

I totally and utterly believe that my God can do the impossible.  (Letting you into a little secret, sometimes when I pray I feel like Wonderwoman taking ground in enemy lines.  It’s pretty exciting.)

But I currently find myself in a period of waiting for a really important answer.  I’ve prayed about it for so long that I think even God must be getting bored of my prayers now and I’m certainly running out of words.  My prayers have become an inner longing, a groan.  In the waiting I find my praying has become a minute-by-minute closeness with my God.

We’ve given up jobs and time and, quite honestly, our whole lives preparing for the answer we are waiting for.  The last three months we have spent slogging over policies, procedures, website content, forms and things so complicated that I still don’t understand them as we are in the process of setting up our new charity, Hope at Home.  We have lived and breathed it.  It’s been a full time job for both of us and one we know, without any doubts, that God has asked us to do

But if we don’t receive the charity status we’ve applied for or manage to find an insurer who agrees to insure our scheme, all our efforts will grind to a halt.  We can’t operate as a charity without those two things.

It’s completely out of our hands.  All we can do is wait.  And pray.  Really pray.

I think about Shadrach, Meshach and Abednego; three characters found in the book of Daniel.  These guys lived in Babylon with a dictator of a king, Nebuchadnezzar, who forced the whole nation to bow down and worship him.  The three men refused.  They would only worship their God and they could not compromise.  And so Nebuchadnezzar decided to throw them into a fire.

Now, I know my tendency is to be somewhat dramatic.  Clearly if our prayers aren’t answered, we are not going to be thrown into a fire and burnt alive.  But there will certainly be ‘fire’ in the disguise of difficulties, decisions that need to be made, financial struggles and wondering what our God is doing.

But Shadrach, Meshach and Abednego didn’t have a plan B.  They told the King that they were absolutely certain their God would deliver them BUT EVEN IF HE DOESN’T, they would still not bow down and worship anyone else.

I was struck by this.

What is it that my anxieties about the future cause me to bow down to?

Fear?

Discontent?

Knowing the outcomes?

Lack of trust in my God?

Self reliance?

Supposed job security?

In the waiting, I choose to be like Shadrach Meshach and Abednego.  I refuse to bow down to these ‘idols’ because I am confident that my God will answer my prayers and deliver us.  I know he will make a way.  

BUT EVEN IF HE DOESN’T, I am still not going to make a plan B.  I am still not going to worship the cultural idols of job security and self-reliance.  Even if God does not answer my prayers in the way I think he should (and that’s a whole other blog), I still choose to trust him.

Why?

Because I know he is good.

I know he works all things together for my good and ultimately for his glory.

I know he loves me

I know he is faithful – he has proved this to me over and over again.

I know that he already has the victory.

I know his heart beats for justice.

I know his plans are perfect and that he always completes what he starts.

So, without a plan B, I choose to trust.  I choose to put my hopes, my dreams, my time, my finances, my family and my future into the hands of the One who knows what is coming next.

And I wait for his answer.

A Black Friday for Women

It's Black Friday. But while shops are full of bargain hunters and the introverts amongst us clog the online airwaves, the rest of the world are marking a day far more important than a good price for the latest X box.

Today, 25th November, is the UN's Elimination of Violence Against Women day.

It might come as a shock but the UN website tells us that across the globe, 1 in 3 women experience some form of violence in their lifetime. 

A recent report I read told me that 1 in 5 men in Cambodia admit to having raped a woman. (Cambodia Daily newspaper)

More than 700 million women alive today were married as children. Girls under the age of 18 who marry are far more likely to suffer violence from their husbands. (UN website)

30% of women in Bangladesh report that their first sexual experience was forced. (WHO)

As I read these statistics a few weeks ago for another piece I was writing, I put my head down in front of my laptop and wept. I wept for the women and girls who know no different. I wept at the injustice and I cried tears for the girls who have nobody else to weep for them. And these girls have haunted me ever since. 

These numbers not only alarm me, they make me angry. I find it difficult to understand how women and girls can still be treated as property to buy (not unlike the X boxes and televisions fought over today). I can't bear living in a world that causes so much pain.  Every time I read another statistic, I think of another girl facing yet more violence and injustice and I feel her fear, her pain and her helplessness.

I want to scoop all these women and girls up and give them the life they deserve. A life in which they are honoured, respected, cherished and loved. A life that offers them opportunities of education and careers. A life where they can be who they were made to be without simply having to survive the dangers around them. And, in my small

Worcestershire town, I feel helpless too.

Until I realise I am raising three young men who are world changers.

I'm not a mum of girls. I can't teach my daughters to fight for equality and justice for themselves.  But I can teach my sons.

As a mum of boys, I can teach them to treasure women and treat them with respect. 

I can teach my boys to honour the women and girls around them - giving them dignity and equal status.

I can't teach my daughters how to protect themselves, but I can teach my sons how to protect women. I can teach them to stand up for women when friends are making sexist, uncouth jokes. I can teach them to step in when they see a woman facing violence. 

I can teach them that women are more than their bodies. I can teach them to listen to women's ideas instead of guessing their bra sizes.

I can teach my boys that when we love someone, we don't hurt them. 

I can teach these young men, who will grow up to be husbands and fathers (I hope..) that sex isn't a weapon or a form of control.

I can teach them that, unlike the Black Friday deals of today which will be rubbish by next Christmas, women are to be loved and cherished for life and not simply thrown away when a newer model comes along. 

And so, I realise that there is so much I can do in my small world to eliminate violence for women. 

I'm determined because the consequences if I don't are too far reaching. My young men are reformers in a broken world and my job as their mum is to train them to be those who bring change. 

Black Friday will come and go. Violence against women is a reality every day for millions. And I'm committed to seeing this change. 

Deep Calls to Deep

We went to visit a huge waterfall in the summer holidays.  The exciting thing about it was that we could walk behind it. Standing in the spray, unable to hear each other speak over the top of the powerful roar was thrilling.  I never knew how majestic and awe-inspiring (and actually quite scary) a waterfall could be.  I had always thought about gentle trickles but this was like something I had never experienced.




This morning I was bringing my many friends before God who are seriously struggling.  Pain, heartbreak, grief, exhaustion, depression and anxiety are high up on the list.  I am finding life tough myself with so many burdens to carry and feeling the pain of others so intensely.  And then I read these words of David in Psalm 42:

"Deep calls to deep
    in the roar of your waterfalls;
all your waves and breakers
    have swept over me."

I've read them before but, if I'm honest, I always skipped over them.  I thought it was a bit weird to suddenly start writing about waterfalls.  This morning, however, was different.  I remembered the power of the waterfall we'd seen in the summer.  I remembered how it hit the water below with such a force that I was worried the boys would be swept away.  And I realised that it's with that power that God's goodness meets our depths.

It doesn't matter how deep we go.  It doesn't matter how low we sink.  The depth of God's riches, his faithfulness, his goodness, his grace, his sustaining power, his justice, his mercy, his love, his constancy is flooding down to meet the depth of our pain, our sorrow, our exhaustion, our confusion and our overwhelming brokenness.  He roars with power as his love and gentleness sweep over us.

His deep goodness calls to my deep pain.

Deep calls to deep.

Can you hear the roar of the waterfall?

Wasting My Life?

I have some incredible friends.  They are teachers, nurses, doctors, lawyers, psychologists and other superhero type careers.  They amaze me with the way they manage to have such polite, fun children, clean houses AND demanding jobs.  I try my best to celebrate their successes with them and support them with life is tough.  I'm not jealous in any way.

BUT

Recently I have noticed Comparison tapping me on the shoulder more and more often.  While my awesome friends are putting on their capes and teaching classes of 30 noisy children, treating cancer patients, completing intelligent sounding training courses and racing around with their important busy lives, I am cleaning bathrooms, cooking meals, making myself available to our lodger and boys, hoovering, taking in odd pieces of writing and other such mundane tasks.

Comparison whispers in my ear, "Look at all of them!  They are doing important things.  You're not." Comparison tells me I should be doing more, earning more, training more and that unless I do, I am not worth much in our society.  I am purpose-less and unfulfilled.  I have no real ambition and am wasting my life.

Comparison doesn't realise that this is all lies.

This morning, I read the truth in 1 Peter 1 (paraphrase mine):

"You were chosen.... to be obedient to Jesus Christ."

Right there is my purpose.  Obedience.  If Jesus had asked me to be a teacher, a doctor or a lawyer, I would have said yes.  But he hasn't.  He's asked me to stay in my home pouring myself out over and over again to the people who he's given me to love.  This includes my boys but is also our lodgers who need to know the consistency and faithfulness of a love that won't give up on them.

No ambition?  I have a ton of the stuff.  My ambition is to see the people I love, who come to us so damaged they are almost beyond repair, find total and utter freedom.  I want to see them throw their heads back and laugh extravagantly.  I want to see them finding independence and a new life for themselves.  I want them to know how precious they are.  I want to see them find love for themselves and one day marriage and a family.  I want them to see the beauty in them that others see.  I want them to feel proud of who they are.  I want them to know they are worth an education.  I want to see in them an audacity that can only be found in those who have been through hell and come out the other side.  If that's not ambition, I don't know what is.

And so, Comparison, my friends are being obedient to Jesus by doing their incredible jobs whilst my purpose is obedience through staying home.  The races marked out for us are different ones.  As boring as it sounds (and, like all jobs, it IS pretty dull some days), I wouldn't give up what I am doing for anything else.

If I'm wasting my life on obedience and love, I'm happy to go with that one.  After all, that's what Jesus did.

Why We Haven't Bought A New Dishwasher

Several weeks ago our dishwasher died. Full of greasy bacon pans and plates from a Saturday morning men's prayer breakfast, it just gave up. I can understand this. I would've given up too. My heart sank. Yet another expense to pay out. It hadn't even occurred to me that washing up longer term might be an option. 

I spent the whole weekend washing up. This made me feel very cross. I had now become the dishwasher. 

So, I devised a rota. Everyone is on the rota at least twice - once for washing and once for drying. And, guess what? We've actually started to quite like this arrangement. 

Here's what we've learnt:

1. As the boys have grown older, they have started to slope off after mealtimes and we don't see them. If they're on the washing up rota, they have to hang around even longer than the meal which makes family time last longer.

2. Washing and drying up together gives us chance to chat. Time together is becoming more rare now they want to be with their mates instead of us boring and embarrassing parents, but this time working together gives a precious opportunity for one to one talking. Oh the revelations we've discovered in the last few weeks....!

3. Drying up whilst a particular child is washing gives us an excellent (and breath-holdingly uncomfortable) chance to learn patience as they leave the hot water running and squeeze half the bottle of washing up liquid into one plate. 

4. Our boys had no idea how to wash up. Seriously. I was shocked. They can do their own laundry, clean toilets, empty bins, cook meals and hoover but they couldn't wash up!  It was a sharp learning curve. 

5. My kitchen actually looks tidier. Instead of everything piling up ready for the dishwasher, it's washed, dried and put away and it leaves the kitchen clean.

6. It doesn't take as long as I expected. Ten minutes max (unless Max is washing up, and then it's slightly longer due to the   extra time added when he is surprised each time he is told he has to wash everything and 'no, you haven't finished yet'.).

7.  Glasses are really quite breakable in the slippery soaped-up but enthusiastic hands of an eight year old. 

8. Tea-towel whip fights can leave quite nasty marks.  The wetter the tea-towel, the redder the mark. Bet you didn't know that.

And so, we might not actually go back to having a dishwasher.  Rather than being another expense to pay, we've actually gained masses.

Will we ever have a dishwasher again?  Ask me in another few months... the novelty may have worn off and we may have no glasses left...

Say 'No' to Squandering (For my teenage friends)

Since joining some social media sites, I have had a growing horror in my insides at the photos that are posted online and over the last few weeks this has developed into a letter to not only my incredible and beautiful teenage friends but to a whole generation who holds no value for purity and who are being failed by adults who have not explained there is always an option to say 'no'. 

So, here's the letter:

To My Teenage Friends,

Imagine the scene.

You have a shiny new phone – the latest upgrade.  It’s your constant communication tool with friends and family.  There is no other way to be contacted and all your important information is stored in your phone.  Not to mention all your music.  It’s precious, so you treat it with care.  If you were to go to the London underground where there are big signs everywhere saying ‘Pick pockets in operation’ you would keep your phone safe.  You would not let a corner of your phone peek out of your bag, just to tempt the thieves.  You wouldn’t flash it around so they know you’ve got it.  Of course you wouldn’t!

Your virginity and purity is the same.  Except that phones are replaceable and your virginity is not.  Once it’s gone, it is gone forever. There are thieves in operation all around the world – in our nation and other nations.  Don’t throw this away when, for other women it is being violently stolen day after day and sometimes hour after hour. 

How do we know it is so precious?  Sit in a room with one of these women, as I have, and hear her sobbing as she speaks of her pain at this precious, most intimate part of her being stolen.  If it was easy to throw away, like an old crisp packet at the bottom of our handbags, then there would be no heartache.  There would be no need to be afraid of men.  There would be no need to feel anxious about going out of the house in case it happens again. You would not feel like a captive to your own past.  Your life would not be affected in any way by throwing away an old, useless object.

But this? 

This is to be prized.  This is to be kept sacred.  This is to be cherished and treasured, not wasted in the pursuit of ‘fitting in’ or wanting to grow up. 

The thieves are prowling, ready to steal your purity.  Don’t give them a sneak peek by posting naked selfies online.  Don’t give yourself away just for a laugh.  Don’t seek value in what others say about you.  You are worth more than that.  The women who’ve had their purity stolen know all about worth.  They feel worthless now that it’s been taken.  You can say no, they couldn’t.  You have a choice, they didn’t.

Value yourself.  Value your virginity.  Keep it safe as your treasure until it's the right time to give away to someone who adores you for the incredible person you are.  Stop squandering yourself.  You are loved.  Your life has value.  You are beautiful and courageous and clever.  There is more to you than pouting selfies.  There is more, so much more, to your life.  You are free to choose.

Say no to squandering. 

Say yes to freedom.