Life in limbo...

The days immediately after a death give you a strange sense of "life in limbo." The loss of your loved one is so fresh, so recent, and there are so many things to be done to bring closure to the time that that person lived on earth: the death has to be registered; the funeral has to be planned; you have to think about who still needs to be told about the death - not just friends and relatives, but also cancelling pensions and prescriptions, changing the names on bank accounts.....

An added complication to our own situation is that Mum and Dad were scheduled to move house on the day that he passed away. We are going daily to the new house, unpacking the hundreds of boxes that have been delivered there. Those boxes were packed up by the construction people (builders and electricians) who were working at the old house, so it's a bit of a treasure hunt trying to find all our stuff, and throwing out huge amounts of junk that had accumulated in the attic at the old place. We could never have done it without the precious help of half a dozen friends from church, who have spent hours there every day, opening and sorting through the many boxes - both with and without our being there.

Once our beds have been moved in, Mum and I will be able to move from the temporary accommodation and begin to get settled in Mum's new home. In the meantime, we're trying to organise a new phone and internet package, register her at a new doctor's surgery and all the little details that need to happen when people move to another town. The rather strange thing about it is that the new house is literally a hundred yards along the road from my childhood home - the house where we all lived for 20 years in the 1960s and 1970s. And my brother (and often my niece) now live in the street that runs parallel with that one.

I think so much of our grieving for Dad was already happening over the past few weeks, that Mum and I are fairly at peace now. All the usual post-death experiences of loss are there (it felt really strange to throw Dad's false teeth and his hearing aids into the bin) but, as believers, we know that he has gone to a better place, that he is with the Lord now, free of the pain and suffering of the past four months. As we chat together, we share precious and sometimes funny memories about his life - talking about how Mum and Dad met (when Mum was only 16 years old) and about the good life they have had together. (They had known each other for 74 years and would have celebrated their 70th wedding anniversary just a few weeks from now.)

We don't yet have a date for the funeral, and have heard that there is a 3-4 week waiting list. Obviously this has implications not only for all that needs to be done here in Scotland, but also for my own move - the fact that I am supposed to move out of my present home in Málaga by the end of February. Now it's looking as if I won't be back in Spain by that time.... and of course, I still haven't found a new place to move to. Even as we're busy unpacking all of Mum's stuff - two whole lifetimes packed into brown boxes - I'm only too aware of the fact that all my own packing and unpacking of boxes still lies ahead. My own situation is very much "life in limbo" too.

Reading my Bible this morning, 1 Peter 1:8 speaks of how we love God, even though we haven't seen Him with our physical eyes. It's incredible to realise that Dad is with Him and seeing Him now, and that there is no barrier to that. 

As it says in Psalm 73: 23 - 24, "You hold me by my right hand. You guide me with your counsel and afterwards you will take me into glory." As I face impending "homelessness," I am still in the stage of seeking God's counsel for so many future steps... but Dad has moved beyond that, and we know that he is in glory now.
 

In the valley of the shadow of death...

In yesterday's blog post (see below this one) I was writing about what it means to trust that the timing of our lives is in God's hands. Little did I know what lay just around the corner.

just an hour or so after writing that post, I was juggling the "rehoming" of two dogs, trying to bring a little order to the chaos of my preparing-for-a move house, and packing a small suitcase for my trip to Scotland to be with my family in what seemed to be the last days of my Dad's life. When I caught a breathing space, I made a video call to Scotland, to ask my Mum how things were going at home. And I'm so glad I did.

Mum told me that Dad was no longer eating, drinking or speaking... but that he was still able to hear. (Apparently our hearing is usually the last faculty to go.) So I was able to speak to him, telling him that I was on my way and that I would see him that evening. Mum, and the friend who had come to be with her, told me that he moved his eyes in response to what I was saying.

I went to continue packing my bag, and ten minutes later, Mum phoned to tell me that Dad was already gone. His nephew had arrived to visit and had just been saying to him that it was okay for him to go and be with those who had gone before. The friend who was with my Mum confessed that she had also prayed the previous day that God would take him quickly. And so I didn't get to see my Dad when I arrived in Scotland last night, but Im thankful that I was able to speak with him just minutes before he passed into eternity.

This morning, in my time alone with God, my readings in the Psalms included several verses about allowing God to refresh and restore our soul. Psalm 62:1 says that true rest can be found in God alone. And even as I was reading the Bible and writing in my journal during that early morning hour, my Mum was fast asleep in bed, exhausted from all the stress and grief of the past weeks.

Psalm 23 seemed an appropriate one to read today, this first day without my Dad. It assures us that, with God as our Shepherd, we have everything we need - whether that means a new home in Spain, or the strength to face everything that needs to be done here in Scotland - things like planning a funeral and unpacking boxes in the new home that my parents were supposed to move to yesterday. Those green pastures and still waters are a picture of all that God wants to give us as He is restoring our soul... and that is true even when we walk through the valley of Dad's death.

Verse 3 was traditionally translated as, "paths of righteousness," but in some Bible translations, like the NIV, it actually says, "He guides me along the right paths." I am very aware of my need for God's guidance as I take my next steps, both in Scotland and in Spain. He is always there for us, even when we can't see the way ahead.

The last verse, vs 6, declares that God's goodness and love will follow us all the days of our lives, and then we will dwell in the house of the Lord forever. Dad is there now: he'll know no more pain or suffering, but can enjoy God's presence for all eternity.

The traditional version of that verse speaks of, "goodness and mercy," and I was reminded this morning that I prayed a few days ago for God's mercy in our situation. I wasn't thinking in terms of Dad's death (as we were all hoping he'd live to see the new house and perhaps even be around for my parents' 70th wedding anniversary in just a few weeks' time). I was more thinking about God's mercy and compassion in all the stress and grief that my Mum had been carrying... and in my own, so far fruitless, search for a place to live...

But our Shepherd, in His wisdom, has seen this as the most merciful outcome for all, and our souls can rest is knowing that He is good.

My times are in your hands...

There's a prayer in the psalms of the Bible that includes the phrase, "My times are in your hands," and I found myself wondering what it actually means in the original Hebrew.

Does it mean that the length of my lifetime is in God's hands? Does it mean that He lovingly orchestrates the seasons of my life? Is He watching over my hours and my days, seeing my choices and encouraging me in the good ones? Does it mean that He supervises the timing of things that happen in my life?

The Hebrew word ʿēṯ can be understood to mean all of those things; it's also sometimes used to refer to our fortunes or misfortunes - not to say that God pre-ordains misfortunes for us, but rather to say that even those hard situations are in His hands too.

I've been thinking a lot this week about "timing." My many weeks of fruitless search for a new place to live have left me this week with an awareness of a deadline approaching and almost a feeling of "time running out" if I've to move house at the end of the month.

Then there's my parents' situation. After months in temporary accommodation, they were to move today to their new home. Their belongings were transported yesterday, a hospital bed and hoist are already installed... and an ambulance was to transport my Dad today to his new home. So it seemed singularly bad timing when Dad took a turn for the worse yesterday and the doctor said he was too weak to be moved. Now it's beginning to look as if he will never in fact move to the new home that was bought with his disabled needs in mind.

I believe that God does sometimes intervene sovereignly to plan the "perfect timing" of our lives... but I know that's not necessarily always the case. Sometimes the timing of things is just due to circumstances beyond our control and the outcome can feel either good or bad.  It's part of living in a fallen world.

And so I'm flying to Scotland today... in the anticipation that Dad may not have much time left. It makes the timing of my house hunting feel out of sync; I was hoping to find a new home before now, so that when I went to the UK it would be without having to wonder where I'd be living when I got back.  But it hasn't worked out that way.. and yesterday I needed to write to my landlord, asking him to grant me a time extension in my present home if I'm not back in time to find a new home before the end of the month.

But even when the timing feels bad or wrong.... God is not out of the picture. Our times are still in His hands and the Bible tells us that He will work to turn everything to good in the end - even the hard and painful things - for those who love Him.

 

Holding on and letting go...

Still reading through the book of Joshua, this morning I arrived at chapter 23 and the heading in my Bible says, "Joshua's final words to Israel." Someone's last words before they die are pretty significant because they usually highlight what is important and valuable to them - what really matters in the long run.

Joshua's instructions to the people were basically about holding on (vs 8): holding tightly to God and holding on to His Word. He reminds the people that every promise God made to them has come true, not a single one has failed, and so He urges them to have the same faithfulness towards the Lord as He has shown to them.

The Bible is full of declarations that God will never let us go; that He lovingly holds us in His eternal grip. As one verse says: "I have loved you with everlasting love." (Jeremiah 31:3)

Perhaps because I'm in the middle of a transition at the moment, this morning's meditation brought back a memory of a previous big transition, in 2008. I remember that God clearly spoke to me then about things I needed to hold on to and things I needed to let go of. 

My reflections had been prompted in part by my experience the previous year, 2007, of packing up and preparing to leave South Africa. I seemed to have accumulated so much stuff over the years and, when I was packing my suitcase, I constantly had to make decisions about what to bring back with me to Europe and what to leave behind in South Africa. I discovered that you can't pack fourteen years of your life into a suitcase, and the airline's baggage restrictions forced me to become ruthless: to recognise that there was no room to take everything with me, and that I needed to give lots of things away or simply leave them behind!

Shortly after arriving back in Europe, I went to Spain for a few weeks - to house sit for friends, looking after their dog and cat while they were on an overseas trip. Their dog, Brandy, was a border collie and I used to take her for walks on the mountain behind their home. That was a bittersweet blessing, as I'd had to leave my own border collies behind in South Africa when I left.

I remember that one morning when I took Brandy for her walk, we were playing a game of fetch with an old stick that she picked up on the gravel road. The game was fast and furious, but the stick was so dried up and brittle that it sometimes cracked and broke into two pieces when it struck the ground. I soon noticed that whenever Brandy went to fetch the stick, she always tried to bring both pieces back to me. Even if the broken piece was barely two inches long, she would faithfully arrange both pieces in her mouth, as if she had a responsibility to bring the whole stick back, instead of simply choosing the part that was most usable.

It was such a funny, quirky thing to do, and yet, even as I watched and smiled, it struck me that sometimes we can approach life in this way: just as the dog didn't want to leave part of her stick lying in the roadway, sometimes we are also reluctant to leave behind or "lose" things that have been part of our lives. And so we try to take all the pieces with us - sometimes even the "broken" pieces that are no longer useful or helpful to us. And sometimes carrying these things is just as awkward for us as it was for Brandy to pick up two pieces of stick in her mouth!

That experience was what prompted me to reflect even more deeply on the things we really should be holding on to and the ones that God would actually want us to let go of. I searched the scriptures to find out what God says about it and I even preached on that topic a couple of times.

I was thinking about that again today and praying about what it means for me in this present time of transition. What are the things in my own life in this current situation that I need to hold on to at all costs? And what are the ones it would be better to let go of, in order to be able to move forward?

For example, I need to move house by the end of this month but it's become glaringly obvious over the past five or six weeks that staying in this town, Alhaurín de la Torre, is somewhat beyond my present means. I'd probably find cheaper accommodation options if I started looking in smaller towns and isolated villages further inland, further from Málaga. Yet I've been convinced for fourteen years that God has positioned me in this town and that it's where I'm meant to be. 

The idea of "starting from scratch" in a new town, having to make new friends, getting a new doctor, dentist and vet; trying to find a new church (or facing the prospect of driving 40 km on a Sunday to the church that we planted here)... None of that sits well with me. 

But I'm very aware of the days ticking by and the time running out. Should I continue to hold on to the hope of finding a new home here in Alhaurín or do I need to let go of that and start looking for accommodation in another part of the province?

I've been considering this topic from a biblical Christian perspective of course, but it seems to be a universal truth that pops up in other streams of thought and in other faiths too. For example, a 13th century Persian poet and Muslim philosopher is reputed to have said that all of life is a balance between holding on and letting go.

If you think of the question in terms of balance, the logical conclusion is that holding on to something we should have let go of (disappointments, resentment, unforgiveness, unfulfilled dreams...) and failing to let go of something that is weighing us down will throw our lives out of balance and make it easier for us to fall. The same is true of the times we give up and let go of something that we really should have held on to (a friendship, a vision, a goal or a skill to be learned...)

Brandy's commitment to bringing back the whole stick was admirable... but it would have been much easier for her simply to make a choice and to leave one of the pieces behind. As I go through life, I pray that I will increasingly learn to draw on God's wisdom to do the same: to know which things are important enough to hold on to and take with me... and which things are the pieces I need to let go of and leave behind me on the roadway.

When we're quick to judge... (and what to do about it).

In my Bible reading this morning, I came to Joshua chapter 22. The chapter heading in my Bible says, "The Eastern tribes return home." So, who are these Eastern tribes?

They're often also known as the "transJordan" tribes. You see, when the people of Israel were coming to the end of their 40 years of wandering in the desert and were getting ready to cross the Jordan river and enter the promised land, there were a few of the tribes who liked the look of the fertile land right where they were - on the eastern side of the river. In Numbers chapter 32, we read that the tribes of Reuben and Gad asked Moses for permission to have their territory on that side of the Jordan.

Concerned that they were perhaps unwilling to do the hard work of fighting to conquer Canaan, Moses granted them the transJordan territory on one condition: they were to cross the river with everyone else and fight alongside their brothers until the promised land was won. Reuben, Gad, and half of the tribe of Manasseh agreed to do that. All throughout the book of Joshua, they have been fighting alongside their brothers, facing the same challenges and dangers as the rest of the people.

Now, in chapter 22, the land has been conquered and it's finally time for those two and half tribes to cross the river again and go back to the place that will be their home from that time onwards. Joshua commends them for not deserting their brothers, encourages them to remain faithful to God, and sends them on their way.

One of the first things they do when they get there is to build a replica of the Lord's altar - not for making burnt offerings and sacrifices, but simply as a symbol that they are part of the same people, worshipping the same God. Because the broad Jordan river separated them from the rest of Israel, they didn't want to take the risk that some future generation would say, "You are not part of us and you have no claim to our God." Taking time to build the altar was visible evidence of their allegiance to the God of Israel.

But what happens? Their own kinsmen, who have benefitted for years from the support and solidarity of the transJordan tribes, are quick to judge them, to believe the worst of them and to accuse them of doing something terribly wrong. After such a long time of fighting side by side, the tribes on the west bank (see vs 12) now prepare to go to war against their own people.

Fortunately, despite having already judged them in their hearts, they had the good sense, or the godly wisdom, to send a delegation first - to listen to their brothers and to find out what was really going on. If only we would do that whenever we find ourselves judging and criticising others; if only we would speak directly to them, instead of constructing our own theory about the terrible thing we believe they are doing.

If speaking directly to their brothers was a good move, the way that they did it was not exactly diplomatic. They demanded to know (vs 16 - 18), "Why are you betraying the God of Israel?" and their speech was littered with accusations such as, "rebellion", "sin", and "turning away from God." The judgement in their hearts was evident in the way that they spoke. How much kinder it would have been to take an approach along the lines of, "It looks to us as if you're building an altar. Can you tell us more about what prompted you to do that?"

Fortunately, the eastern tribes responded in humility and were able to explain the true motivation for what they had done. An all-out war was avoided, and the western tribes went home in peace.

We may never completely avoid making the mistake that the western tribes made. It seems to be human nature to judge others' words or actions and forget to "believe the best" of them.  But we can at least choose to respond to our critical thoughts in a godly way:

1. We can begin by confessing them to the Lord and asking for His forgiveness.

2) We can speak to the other party directly and hear their side of the story. It may be nothing at all like what we judged it to be.

3) When we do make an approach, we can be careful to use respectful and non-accusatory language, always being open to the fact that we may have judged someone completely wrongly.

If God's people would only respond in this way, we could avoid so many conflicts between individuals, so many misunderstandings between churches or groups, and so much unnecessary "going to war."  May God give us the grace to deal with our judgements in a positive way. 

Discovering what people know about you...

I don't usually introduce myself by saying that I'm a missionary. It's not that I'm trying to hide anything; it's just that, here in Spain, people's usual concept of a missionary means that you must be a nun, an ordained worker in the Catholic Church. So I usually introduce myself by saying that I do voluntary work with a Christian organisation.

That's why I was kind of surprised by two encounters that I had yesterday. I had gone to the town hall in the centre of town. I was trying to track down a contact for a house that might be available, but not having any success in reaching the owner. Because the town hall keeps a list of registered residents of the town, I hoped perhaps to be able to find a way of contacting this man (even though I knew that data protection laws might mean they wouldn't be able to help me.)

While I was waiting to be attended to, a young woman came in and joined the queue. She was wearing a brightly coloured jacket with a website address on it and carrying a bunch of posters for some upcoming youth event. After a while, I asked her what her organisation was about and, sure enough, it was about volunteerism and other activities for youth. 

It seemed to be a completely secular organisation, so when I mentioned that I also work with youth and with projects in Europe and Africa, I was totally surprised when she asked me, "Are you a missionary?" (I didn't think I looked particularly like a nun!)

Sure enough, when I said that I was a missionary, her next question was whether I was a lay person or whether I was a "religiosa" (a nun.) I think it's the first time that a Spanish person has ever asked me whether I'm a missionary.

What happened later was even stranger, though. A town hall worker came to help me with my enquiry and it turned out to be a man who lives near me. I didn't even know his name, but I had often seen him walking his dog and we had said hallo to each other.

Despite searching their computers and making a few phone calls, he wasn't able to help me with what I was looking for. In the course of the conversation, however, I explained that it was because I needed to move house and was looking for somewhere to live. "Oh, give me your contact number," he said. "I know someone who sometimes has information about flats for rent and I'll ask him to contact you if anything turns up."

So I told him my phone number and I was still standing next to him as he sent a text message to the person he knew. I was close enough to read what he was writing and I couldn't believe my eyes when I saw him write, "Es buena persona; es misionera." (She's a good person; she's a missionary.) I didn't even know the man's name, yet somehow he knew more about me than I realised.

"How do you know that I'm a missionary?" I asked him.

"I think my wife told me," he said. "Everyone in the neighbourhood knows.  Everyone knows you as the neighbourhood dog trainer, but sometimes you wouldn't be around for a while and people would say you'd gone to Africa because you're a missionary."

I was genuinely surprised. It's true that I've lived in my neighbourhood for 13 years and I've made no secret about what I do, but I never imagined that all kinds of casual acquaintances know such details about me. 

It's made me aware that my current situation is being observed - especially by those who know me well. Non-Christian friends have even made comments along the lines of, "Your God will have a solution for you, but it must be hard in the moment to keep looking and not finding somewhere to live."

I've said before that I know I need some kind of miracle this year. Now I'm more aware than ever that the miracle, when it happens, could be a powerful testimony of the reality of God.

Completely different inheritances...

Yesterday and today I've been reading those chapters in the book of Joshua that describe the allotment of the promised land given to each of the tribes of Israel. (See yesterday's post here.)

This morning I was reflecting that two small cameos in those half dozen chapters show us two "extremes" when it comes to our attitude and expectations of inheritance. Not extremes in a bad way; just two completely different scenarios. The first concerns the people known as the Levites, and the second concerns a woman named Acsah.

I've often reflected on the fact that the Levites, those who served God full time in the Tabernacle (and later in the Temple), were to receive no allotment of land like the other tribes of Israel did. I read it recently in the book of Exodus, and it came up again today in Joshua chapter 13 verse 14. Everyone else received land of their own, to farm and be fruitful.... but the Levites were never to be landowners. Instead, "the Lord Himself was their inheritance," and they were to be supported by the tithes and offerings of the people who did own land of their own. The Levites knew this and so they had no expectation at all of living out their lives on their own property.

Often throughout my lifetime, I've wondered if being an overseas missionary means that I'm in the same category as the Levites: that I will never have a physical inheritance of my own, but will live my life in rented accommodation, supported by the offerings of other people who do have a salary and perhaps also a long term home of their own.

Of course, the tribal structure of Israelite community meant that the Levites continued to be provided for, even when they stopped full time service and retired at age 50. (See Numbers chapter 8 verses 25-26.) I've wondered sometimes how that will work out in our modern world, where "full time workers" such as missionaries are supported by the gifts of people who believe in the work/ministry they are doing and want to partner with them in that. How does it work when you're 90 years old and no longer as actively involved in ministry and service?

That answer was clear for the Levites, however, and they simply had no expectation at all that they would ever have land of their own. 

The other scenario is the situation of Caleb's daughter, Acsah (Joshua chapter 15 verses 18 - 19). After her marriage to a man named Othniel, her father gave her/them some land as an inheritance. However this land was in the Negev. The Hebrew word נֶגֶב actually means "dry land" and, because it referred to that semi-desert territory in the south of the country, the word also came to be used to mean "southern land." Even today, the driest parts of the Negev only get an annual rainfall of around 2 inches, with the least dry parts getting only 10 inches of rain annually.

Acsah knew this. So, while she wasn't ungrateful for the piece of land she'd been given, she dared to ask her father for even more. "My land is in a dry place," she said. "Please can you also give me springs of water." And we read that Caleb generously gave her both "upper and lower springs."

I had to smile when I realised the parallel with my own life. Like Acsah, I live in a southern land, a hot and dry region with little annual rainfall. Right at the moment, I'm trusting God to show me the part that will be my "promised land" for the next season. And there's that word again - springs! I'm daring to ask God to help me find accommodation right here in Alhaurín, a place of upper and lower springs. (Several Spanish rivers have their source in Andalucía and there are some waterfalls to be seen in the region.... while Alhaurín itself was historically famous for its underground springs.)

But which scenario is to be mine? Am I to ask for land like Acsah did or am I to embrace having no physical inheritance, like the Levites did?

Finding rental accommodation has proved to be really difficult over the past five weeks - due to the fact that you need to give proof of salary in order to get a rental contract. And so people have encouraged me to pray about whether it's a sign that I need to step out and buy a home, instead of trying to find one to rent.

Buying a home would be an Acsah inheritance. Renting a home would be a Levite inheritance. Either of them would need a miracle of provision. To be honest, there's no "easy option" in the mix. And so today I'm asking the Lord what kind of faith I need to have as I continue my search this month. Do I need to trust for Levite provision or do I need to trust for Acsah provision? Both are dependent on the generosity of my Father God.