Empty

I eventually gave up on sleep.

My heart ached with emptiness as I went about my morning routine. I had hoped a new day would bring respite from the events of days past.

I felt completely empty, an unquenchable thirst had drained me, despite my attempts to console myself, leaving me barren.

I went outside to water the garden when a crisp cool breeze surprised me as it blew past, lifting the suffocating heaviness from the air. I lifted my head to see a crowd gathering down the street.

I dropped my water jug and ran towards them, desperate for something, someone to offer me respite from this vacuous affliction.

I crouched beside one woman who was relaying the most unbelievable story.

She said the man was no longer in the tomb. She said the man we had killed had risen from the dead!

My mind refused to believe it. That’s impossible, and yet she was sure of it. As she shared her story of the man they call Jesus something inexplicable happened, the pit of emptiness I had been carrying inside me started to lighten.

The tomb was empty.

And somehow this man, through his death and resurrection, had brought peace to me, a kind of peace that is beyond my understanding. As I listened my thirst began to be quenched!

I knew at that moment that I needed to know more about this man. I needed to talk to people who knew him, who know him! I needed to ask them how I can know him too because it seems he can reach into my ravenous void of restlessness and bring me peace.

Who is this man?

Jesus.

Jeremiah 29:13 .  You will seek me and find me when you seek me with all your heart.

#tryalpha

Thirst

I’m not a morning person at the best of times, but the next morning I woke up feeling desolate, empty, parched.

The day before I sat for hours waiting for the darkness to lift, clinging to a rock, I lay on the ground as the earth shook violently.

And then it was over.

The man died, the man they call Jesus.

I still tremble when I think of it. I decided to shake it off, embrace a new day hoping I could put the man’s gruesome death behind me. I made myself a cup of tea to calm my nerves.

I tried to keep busy but my day felt empty, in fact, the more I tried to fill it up, the emptier it felt. It’s as though my soul was groaning, I felt incomplete, like a part of me that I couldn’t identify had been torn from me, I was thirsty, desperately thirsty.

I went out into the street hoping to escape my solitude. As I walked I saw men kneeling on the ground, beating their chests in anguish. The mood was sombre and I started to feel afraid.

What had we done?

What was this unquenchable thirst that had come over me?

I sought solace with a group of women who were gathered nearby. They were saying that this Jesus was the son of God and that he was being buried in a tomb owned by Joseph of Arimathea.

I couldn’t believe my ears, how could this man be the son of God, and if he was why didn’t he save himself?

I couldn’t sleep at all that night, I lay awake, hungry for answers and afraid that I might have to endure this ravenous void in my soul for the rest of my days.

Who was this man?

The Thief

I don’t normally walk up the hill, partly because it’s a rotting cesspit of death, and partly because it’s a hill and no one needs my calf muscles to get larger.

But I did today.

You could smell it well before you saw it. Dead flesh, maggots, years of human blood, layer upon layer, drying in the sun like decoupage from hell.

I don’t know why I went, only that the story of this man was too compelling. I wanted to see him for myself.

I followed the crowd, some seemed to be in an excited frenzy as if death had crept into their soul with writhing anticipation. Others were full of fear and uncertainty, astonished that this man was to be executed. What had he done? Why didn’t he save himself?

I shuffled along, somehow buoyed by the crowd, over rocks, and through the overgrown weeds. As I came to the top I lifted my skirt and worried that my shoes would never recover from walking through the trash and filth. I covered my mouth as flies started to swarm around me and the air became think and dark, as if death was taking possession of life with sly suffocation.

My stomach churned as I came to the summit. I couldn’t see him at first, a hefty crowd surrounded him. I squeezed my way through, my morbid fascination drawing me towards him.

I should have stayed home, perhaps.

My foot crunched beneath me and I looked down to see myself standing on the bones of others that had gone before him.

Golgotha.

I pushed on and stepped up onto a rock to see him.

And I did.

There were three of them, hanging like meat in a butcher’s shop from putrid logs of wood soaked in blood, vomit and human waste. They were pinned there with well worn nails, straight through their hands and feet.

I vomited.

I looked away, and as I did I heard one of them say “Jesus, remember me when you enter your kingdom.”

I swung around, keen to hear the man’s response.

Surely he will tell him it’s too late for him, he is a thief, he deserves his fate. Or perhaps he will ignore him, choosing to preserve each painful breath, to prolong his life, to keep his final moments for himself.

I’m still reeling from what he said.

He pushed up against the nail in his feet, giving himself a brief moment of breath from his lungs and in agony and compassion he whispered these words of comfort.

“Don’t worry, I will. Today you will join me in paradise.”

Who is this man?

A realisation swept over me and I jumped down from the rock and started to run. Fear followed me as I ran, I tripped and fell to the ground. Tears fell into the dirt as I pushed myself up, willing my legs to carry me home. I scuttled down the hill and fell into the darkness.

The sky enveloped me. Darkness. Separation. Silence.

I waited...

Bread

So annoying right?

When the bible app spits up a corker.

Don’t mess with me bible app. I think I should suggest a 28 day cycle of verses that cater for the… shall we say… treacherous days?

Pfft! “I am the bread of life”

I’m gluten intolerant.

John 6:35 (NIV)

Then Jesus declared, “I am the bread of life. Whoever comes to me will never go hungry, and whoever believes in me will never be thirsty.”

I mean, be careful there Jdawg, that’s a pretty bold statement.

Cos I am ravenous.

Every waking moment I am in search of you, watching, waiting, hoping for more of you. Hungry. Thirsty.

Ok, well sometimes I may look for satisfaction elsewhere…

Perhaps my Bec Paraphrased Version needs some work.

“I am the bread of life, Whoever visits me once a week and enjoys Christian fellowship will never go hungry because they are bloated by their own striving for fulfillment, and whoever invited me into their heart in 1985 and has a worship playlist will never be thirsty as they shall inherit the wellsprings of Coke.”

Come to you.

Can’t I just friend you on Facebook? Or better still, follow you without friending?

How close do I have to get?

Where do I find you?

If only there was some sort of book, like a get to know you manual. I would definitely read it. Well, I’d read 150 characters a day if perhaps someone tweeted it. Perhaps you could constantly remind me of the same verses over and over using an on trend font via instagram? Just the good ones, tho. #instagoodnews

Sigh.

Being hungry is so exhausting.

Come to you.

Why is that hard?

Why do I satisfy myself with cardboard when there is bread to be had?

Stupid bible app. I’m going to move you to my second screen.

Maybe I’ll come to you tomorrow… cos that 100 percent post-consumer recovered fiber is lookin good.

Amber alert.

I sat in the front.

Yes, yes I did.

I sat in the front with the taxi driver today. I leapt into the front seat full of verve and bravado. I’ve got this, I’m a social whizz, he will be so blessed by my presence, watch and learn peeps.

I clicked my seat belt in and gave him the quick side eye once over. Covert. Slick.

Recon complete, I quickly searched through my mental list of witty opening lines ready to slay him with my friendliness.

I searched… and searched.

Amber alert.

Nada.

Nothing.

My brain. Stopped. Working.

Not surprisingly, my lack of brain function did not impede my mouth function... My lips parted and spewed forth such horror I shall forever recoil at the memory of it.

“It hasn’t rained much today.”

My words fell into the atmosphere, reverberating off the array of dashboard devices creating a tunnel of banality neither of us could escape from.

Yay.

What a winner.

The taxi driver replied with the tone normally reserved for the local checkout operator asking if I have a rewards card.

“No. it hasn’t.”

Epic fail.

It has to be said that so far it wasn’t looking like I was going to have the chance to segue into the 4 spiritual laws before I arrived at my destination.

C’mon Bec you can do it.

I muster the courage for a second attempt.

“It didn’t rain yesterday much either.”

*crickets*

Mercifully I arrived at my destination moments later and alighted forthwith.

Light of the World, that’s me.

So… sometimes I’m a disco ball reflecting your light all bejazzled and jiggy with it, and sometimes I’m a bit more like those key ring lights you used to buy to see your keys in the dark even though the batteries ran out before you used it in situ but we don’t buy them anymore cos we all use our phones now type lights.

Today I was a key ring light on its last legs, blinking a couple of times, illuminating nothing.

But praise be, I ain’t the only light. (Good plan God). So hopefully the next butt perched on that front seat was a freaking strobe light of missional success.

That’s my prayer anyways.

Shine on.

Still As.

What if my life is as boring as bat shit?

I hate bats. And apparently even their shit is boring, poor suckers.

My life is so boring that yesterday I tried to write a blog about rolling a gum nut down a hill. Because that was the most interesting part of my day.

Lord help me.

This morning I got so desperate for entertainment I Jiffed the sink.

The horror.

Do you know when it’s easy to trust God, to pray, to give it all to him? When you are hanging by a thread for your dear life from a cliff face. God and I are tight during the fearful, angsty, stress riddled days.

But what about those days when you start folding undies into origami or alphabetising your spices? Is God there? Do I care? Am I comfortable with the silence?

Is it enough to just be in his presence? Is he enough?

Am I so consumed with achieving things for him (wink, I got this God, you relax) that I forget to listen to him?

Can I stop asking myself challenging questions?

Sitting still. How dull. No filter on earth can make that Instagram worthy.

Psalm 46:10  (NIV)

 “Be still, and know that I am God;”

But don’t you have something glorious for me to do?

“Be still, and know that I am God;”

Surely you have some great plan? A bold vision?

“Be still, and know that I am God;”

Don’t I need to be in a position of influence?

“Be still, and know that I am God;”

Don’t you have something for me to say?

“Be still, and know that I am God;”

Ok, Ok!... But what do I put on Facebook?!?!

Status update: “Like dried up bat dung on a footpath, so these are the days of my life.”

OK, back up.

“Be still, and know that I am God;”

Let’s take this verse seriously for a moment (Not a bad approach generally I’ve found). Read it again.

“Be still, and know that I am God;”

CRIKEY. I get to KNOW that you are GOD. Like know, like in my bones. I can know that I know that I know.

What a gift. How Badassical.

Check this. I am going to march boldly into my laundry RIGHT NOW and COLOUR CODE my towels. Do I have an AMEN?

Because I KNOW that you are GOD, and I can be as still as.

Fist pump.

My obvious Olympic prowess

I could totes be an Olympic swimmer.

I just didn’t want to get up at 5am every morning. I mean, I’ve got what it takes of course. I can eat 12 Weetbix like the rest of them. Bring it on.

But no, I’ve chosen a slightly more…. shall we say… idle path. My beastly engine is idling in the garage, you know, to give others a fighting chance at the race. Plus, I didn’t really like the idea of wearing my bathers in front of the nation, and don’t even, with that swimming cap.

There was a small moment, in my youth, when I foolishly thought I could achieve great things.

PFFT!

Thank goodness I learned to squash those thoughts, or at least to keep them private. It was almost as though I heard God say, I have created you for a full life, a life of wonder and passion and drive. I made that engine for a reason, so we can work together and run the race.

Who does he think he is? A performance enhancing substance?

Hard work? No thanks. As for enhancing my performance …. Could you just keep it to Sunday feelies thanks!?

So yeah, I could have.

But you know, sitting on the couch in my dressing gown watching other swimmers, shedding the odd tear, and felling proud of ‘our’ achievements is good enough for me. I don’t need any skin in the game.

In fact, I find that when you don’t take your engine for a spin, when it sits idling, you don’t need much fuel. Sweet.

I’m ultimately working towards a fueless engine, completely self-sufficient.

Whilst it’s nice to loll about watching Olympians, I’m glad it’s only every four years. I mean who wants to be reminded of the fruit of sacrifice and years of hard work, determination, commitment and perseverance? Who wants to be reminded of their potential and the value of team work and comradery? Who wants to be reminded that we are all created with spirit, passion and promise?  I don’t need that in my life.

Podium finish?

I guess I could aim for a Jesus style podium finish, although that may be too many metaphors for one blog.

#mymediocrelife

Got this?

Stupid…mumble, scowl…. expletive…. Jesus following, mountain climbing, shit storm called life.

Why is it so hard?

I get that following you isn’t the easy life, but I thought it was the instant life.

You know. I ask, you give. #blessed

I thought I was a leaf in the fresh winding stream, gliding along the buoyant waters, twisting and turning as you make the way for me.

So, WHATS UP WITH THIS CRAP. My leaf hit a rock in the stream and is being pummelled by oncoming water. I’ve been there so long I’m getting slimy. Other leaves whisk swiftly past me singing, rejoicing and reminding me about your perfect bloody timing as they high five me at 40 knots.

Can I just say your timing is tardy Buster. (I’m using a capitol letter to maintain respect)

So what gives? And don’t give me some ocean dreaming, paddock gleaming Instagram tripe.

And don’t. I repeat don’t say “you go this”. BECAUSE I DON’T.

You do.

So please lift my slimy and battered ass out from against this rock, pleeaassse.

Let me not have this but have you have this even though I want to have this and I think you need me to tell you how to have this and I’m not sure all the time that you do have this but then I remember you do of course what was I thinking sorry for doubting you but sheesh I’m only a leaf, can you please help me?

OK… *clears throat*

Amen.

First steps

In case you thought this was romantic

Today I woke to the knowledge that we will sign up our house for sale. Our home.

I went for a walk. I walked and I cried. I cried that you would take this cup from me. I cried for the home I had made that my children will never hold in their memories. I cried that I am asked to take them to live among filth and depravity. I cried that I will not dress them in their sweet school uniforms or watch them dance along manicured paths picking up honkey nuts. I cried that my daughter will leave behind her purple bike with the cute basket. I cried that I won’t be able to eat cheezels anymore. I cried for all the times I was dissatisfied and wanted more. I cried, not my will but yours.

I’m afraid. Afraid of the cost. Afraid of failure. Afraid of living without comfort. Afraid of not being able to provide financially for my children. I’m afraid of you God. I’m afraid to follow you. I’m afraid because following you doesn’t mean an easy life; it means giving my life.

I’m grateful. Grateful for a husband who grapples these feelings and doubts with me. I understand that if I had chased the manicured life, if you hadn’t challenged me, then our relationship would not be as strong as it is today. Loving you, following you, shouting at you, crying to you, submitting to you has knitted us together and bound us to you, the 3 string cord that is hard to break. That cord, I have learned, is to be put to work.

I am at peace. I am ok to fail. I trust you.

I will follow you, but don’t be offended if I cry like a baby in the backseat, ok?

Coffee

 

In order to celebrate the last blog of my 30 day challenge I thought I would hit you with some honesty. A confession if you will. I should warn you, that this confession could disturb some readers, so feel free to avert your gaze. Also I will apoligise in advance. I’m sorry. Truly.

Ok here we go…

I like to drink instant coffee.

I know. Any slither of respect you may have had left for me after I used the word shitballs in my blog on clarity has now flown out the window. Heathen.

I know what you are thinking…. What the heck does she put on her insta feed? #blend43 #flatlayfauxpas #instacoffee #tbtfromthe70s

Given my shameful secret I find myself bringing my coffee from home in a keep it hot for ages type mug thingy. Today I took my keep it hot for ages type mug thingy to the school cross country event. Back in my day the parents didn’t give a rats about these type of things, but now apparently we do.

For some reason, these type of events make me teary. It’s quite pathetic. I just love my kids so freaking much it’s like I’m going to burst out of my skin. I stood at the sidelines of the running track with all the other bursting parents ready to embarrass my son with way too much cheering and jiggling up and down. Never fear, I had prepared with a sports bra after that incident last year when I knocked someone out cold….

Ahem. *sips coffee*

So, I was standing on the sidelines when my boy came to the end of his 2.5 km race. He came around the final bend towards the finish line breathing hard, running with all his might and smiling the biggest grin you can imagine. Somehow, in the midst of his exhaustion he managed to be beaming with pure delight. His whole face was alight, his eyes, his mouth, his whole being radiated. A few of the women around me awwwwed at him. Sometimes there are such precious moments in life, such unbridled beauty and innocence that I think I may be crushed by the welling in my heart.

He crossed the finish line, bent over, out of breath and smiled at the grass. Nothing could keep the smile off his face.

“You know, that’s what I want for you. I want you to run a good race, and yes it will be hard, and you will be exhausted and grow weary, but you can still have joy, you can find it in me.”

Psalm 51:12   New International Version (NIV)

 Restore to me the joy of your salvation and grant me a willing spirit, to sustain me.

It may surprise you to know that I’ve never been much of an athlete, in fact my Mum took pity on me and used to let me wag school sports day. So I don’t generally think of myself as a runner. I certainly don’t imagine myself SMILING whilst running. *snort*

But you do, you are cheering me on, you want me… to run. Dear lord. You want me to run… and smile.

Smile with sweet joy that pervades your very being, because you know, that you know, that you know that I am God.

How about you put down your crappy coffee, take my hand, and we will run together.

*grateful for my sports bra preparedness*

Ready (no), set (not really), go..... (whoo hoo!)