Where...there is ENOUGH

 

I was spent.

It was the end of a very full week, and I was utterly spent.

 

You see, there have been meetings and meetings and admin and programmes and planning and people and decisions and deadlines.

 

I’ve found that in the past few days the default answer on my lips whenever anyone has asked me how I am has been ‘Busy,’ and then, as an afterthought, ‘Busy, but good.’

 

I hate the word ‘busy’.  I hate when I use it to describe my life.

 

To me it communicates that there is no time, no space. It speaks of the fact that all that makes for fullness of ‘life’ is being squeezed out of life itself; drop by ‘busy’ drop.

 

But this week, through my own choices, I have lived as though ‘busy’.

 

Until this evening.

 

RiSE unplugged is one of my favourite spaces to be in. Our usual Sunday morning youth congregation comes together of an evening to create space and freedom.

 

Tonight that space was in the form of sung worship and ‘centring prayer’ – where we find a place amongst the cushions and ask Holy Spirit to speak a word in our ear.  A word to focus our hearts on, a word to sink into and allow God to speak to us through.

 

And Holy Spirit, well, she spoke a word to me in the midst of that place that resonated so sweetly.

 

It was ENOUGH.

 

There is ENOUGH of everything that is needed.

 

ENOUGH time to do all that God has called me to join Him in doing when I make good choices.

 

ENOUGH creativity to tap into so that life flows from a place of Spirit drenched vitality rather than a dusty landscape of drought.

 

ENOUGH love welling up within to share life with and journey alongside people fully and deeply without drawing from my own shallow well, resorting to living on only the surface of life.

 

ENOUGH resource for me not have to worry about what tomorrow might bring, but to live out what I have been called to today in the knowledge that tomorrow will worry about itself.

 

ENOUGH space in the world for me, my story and my words.

 

I was reminded of Elijah and the Widow at Zarephath who had only enough oil and flour to make bread for that day. But, in the economy of God, each time she came to bake bread she found that the jar of flour had not emptied and the jug of oil had not run dry, and so there was ENOUGH, day by day by day.

 

I was reminded that, in amongst the guidance given to the Israelites about Sabbath life and festival living, they are told to not harvest the whole of their fields but, instead, to leave the outside portions unharvested for the poor and immigrant amongst them. Because, when you live in sync with Gods heart there is always ENOUGH, and you do not need to scrabble around the edges, removing every last bit of life.

 

There is space and there is freedom and there is ENOUGH.

 

And so, this coming week I am choosing to not be ‘busy’.

 

I am choosing to re-learn ancient rhythms.

 

I am choosing that there will be space and freedom in the midst of a crammed diary.

 

I am choosing that, when people ask me about life and how things are, I will speak of ‘fullness’ and ‘wholeness’.

 

I am choosing to live in the truth that there is, and will always be, ‘ENOUGH’.



Where the fair is coming to town and the air is mountain crisp, but the ground is deadly...

 

From the 10-13^th September this year there will be a fair in London.

Over 25000 people will visit the fair, from dozens of countries.

 

What kind of a fair could attract such visitors?

 

Will there be carousels, candy floss, coconut shies?

 

No.

 

This fair is one of a different kind.

You see, once every 2 years the DSEi (Defence & Security Equipment International) Arms Fair happens at Londond ExCel centre. It is the world’s largest arms fair, allowing arms buyers and sellers to network and make deals.

 

Arms dealers from all over the world, from the worlds richest to the worlds poorest states, are invited to come together, network and make deals.
 

Weapons are sold to countries at war with each other.  Small arms, battleships, missiles, tanks, fighter jets, riot control equipment and more are all on offer. Some are sold to regimes that attack their neighbours or oppress and kill their own peoples. In previous years, fearless activists have found banned equipment such as torture devices and cluster bombs for sale.

 

Countries that are involved in humanitarian crises and human rights abuses are offered space, alongside delegations from countries who need aid to provide their people with education, healthcare and economic stability, but are invited to use their metaphorical credit cards in this store of horrors.

 

And, as if all of that isn’t scary enough, DSEi is subsidised by the British taxpayer.

 

British weapons are demonstrated to foreign buyers by soldiers provided by the Ministry of Defence.

 

The event is co-organised by the UKTI’s Defence and Security organisation, which helps British arms companies to make invites, export deals and also hosts guests.

 

And, at a cost of over £4 million The Metropolitan Police provide security for the event.

 

It all makes me sick.

 

It makes me sick because it reeks of everything that needs changing in this world.

 

It makes me sick because I am told that the Kingdom of God looks like people who ‘will beat their swords into ploughshares and their spears into pruning hooks. Nation will not take up sword against nation, nor will they train for war anymore’ (Isaiah 2:4)

It makes me sick because I have shared table and broken bread with friends who have seen little ones blown up before their eyes by cluster ‘bomblets’ which look like toys to the eyes of small people who, despite their lands being ravaged, still live in hope of wonder and joy.

 Photo by Khristo Newall

 

It makes me sick because not that long ago I journeyed with peace-loving, peace-pursuing friends through Northern Iraq to hear the stories of and learn from the peoples there, and their faces are still imprinted on my heart.

 

It makes me sick because I still have vivid recollection of heading up into the mountains bordering Iran to meet with local villagers whose fields get shelled each harvest and planting season.

 

 

We went to hear their stories, to stand with them, to accompany them from the relative safety of the larger town back to their family lands in the mountains.

 

 

A deep mud track winds up the hillside leading to a solitary building, standing proud despite its many batterings.

 

The air is crisp and mountain fresh but the ground is deadly and land-mined.

 

This track is all that is safe to walk on. 

 

 

This track and the small orchard at the back of the hut, which Kaka Mahmoud and his sons have cleared of mines. But at no small cost, the wizened old man explains, pulling up the leg of his trouser and rapping his knuckles on the crude prosthetic limb that his woven cloth covers.
 

 

He shows us around the small areas of safety, showing us spent mines and safe places to walk, telling us tales of brothers blown up by these insidious hidden killers.

 

 

And we spend the night on that mountain top, drinking sweet tea and eating bread that his wife has stored in the pantry there.  We talk of what peace might be, of what it might look like for these lands and peoples to dwell in harmony and, from our place of privilege and relative ignorance, we seek to understand their stories and more of what it means to live in this tension.

 

There are jokes told around the fire.  The men find it hilarious when a couple of us wonder about how to navigate our way in the pitch mountain darkness through the treacherous land to the long-drop-toilet at the back of the hut.  They find it even more hilarious to sneak outside at break of dawn and wake us up to the sound of them shooting at rocks outside the hut with their rifle, declaring that the Iranian shelling has begun early.  The humour of a land in turmoil I guess.

 

But, around that fire and amongst the broken bread and sweetened tea, bonds were forged and truths were spoken.

 

It makes me sick because I have stood in the graveyards of Halabja and heard the stories of families choking on the poisoned air, gasping for survival.

 

 

I have walked the paths of a town decimated by chemical warfare and seen the ruins of a community still trying to rebuild its former beauty.

 

I have seen their faces and heard their stories and loved them for but a moment.

 

 

It is real.

 

This stuff is real.

 

And in September this year the weapons that cause such destruction will be pedalled on our doorstep.

 

And we must stop it.

 

We might not change their hearts, but we can make it harder for them to walk through those doors without having to face the reality of their trade.

 

We can look at their badges and learn their names and speak to them of other people who also have names.  Of Kaka Mahmoud and his sons, of little ones who once played in desert sands with their toys of destruction.

 

‘All it takes for evil to prosper is for a good person to do nothing.’

 

So, we should do something.

 

Go here:

 

http://www.stopthearmsfair.org.uk/say-no-to-the-arms-trade-in-2013/

 

or here:

http://www.elaaf.org/#about

 

or here:

http://www.caat.org.uk/events/national-gathering/

 

to find out more.

 

Because there are names and stories and families and hopes and dreams at stake.
 

 

It is real.

Where...I share my ‘word’ for 2013

And so, 2013 is upon us, filled with all that comes with the ‘New’ – anticipation, reflection, hope, sweet longing, curiosity.

 

New Year is a freeing time…anything is possible.  We reflect on the year gone by and we have the chance to make different choices. Resolutions are made, hopes are articulated, plans are birthed and conspired.

 

This year I haven’t made any ‘resolutions’ so to speak. 

 

No, not for me the resolutions that fade into a mist of hazy guilt at non-accomplishment and vague failure.

 

But, rather, a word.

 

Inspired by http://oneword365.com/ and that community of glorious peoples seeking to live into all they can be, I have chosen for this next 365 days to live into MY word.

 

A solitary word, percolated up from my Soul and Being, forming into a solid sense of what I shall lean into this next season.

 

And, for me, this word is PURPOSED.

 

Purposed in endeavour.

Purposed in being.

Purposed in becoming.

 

To live fully, intentionally, PURPOSED.

To know that my journey with Jesus is leading forward, pressing in, going deeper.

And not by accident. But on purpose.

 

I shall try to no longer get to the end of a morning, a day, a week, a month, or even a solitary moment and feel it wasted for lack of choosing to live intentionally, or for lack understanding its purpose with that glorious gift of hindsight.

 

I shall seek to rise each day and live into the day ahead. 

 

I shall choose to look at the purpose of each of my endeavours and seek what Gods purpose is in each moment – in the people I meet, in the tasks I set my hand to, in the dreams that rise up within me.

 

When I meet with people to listen, hear their questions and wrestling and, when invited, to try to speak truth and love into their lives, I shall press into the purpose of loving, of re-building, of whispering that a different story is possible.

 

When I see a glorious sunrise or sunset, or have my breath taken away by creation, I shall press into the purpose of JOY.

 

When I hang out with the people who KNOW me – and I mean, KNOW me – I shall rest in that glorious truth of being ‘enough’ for them, and know that the purpose of these times is sheer belonging, love, delight and open honesty with no fear.

 

When I rest and re-create I shall press into the purpose of knowing true Sabbath – that *today* I can live as though all my work is done, because God is big enough and I do not dwell in slavery but freedom.

 

When I make my clothes I shall press into the purpose of creativity, self-sufficiency, good stewardship and freedom from the tyranny of the sweat-shop.

 

When I teach and lead our congregation I shall press into the purpose of community, of city-on-a-hill and lamp-on-a-lampstand life.

 

When I bake for people I will purpose to bake love into my creations, so that the gift of my time and care will nourish and feed.

 

When I am handling my money, be that in shopping or gifting or saving or releasing, I shall think about the purposes of these things, about where they fit into the bigger picture, about whether my choices bring life and freedom or tie me or others up.

 

When I find myself ‘wasting time’ I shall choose to remember Theroux’s quote, ‘As if we could kill time without injuring eternity!’, and I shall ask questions about what is being built in my life in these ‘down-time‘ moments – am I truly being re-created and refreshed or is life passing my by?

 

When my heart desires to go in a certain direction, make a connection, speak a phrase, voice an opinion, I shall ask myself the purpose of these things so that I don’t just let things ‘happen’, but live INTO them.

 

And, in all of these things, I shall seek to remember that Gods purposes far outweigh mine, that some of the most gloriously joy-filled-intoxicatingly-achingly-beautiful-significant-moments seem to happen as if by accident and that, whilst in my PURPOSED living my hearts desire is to be in step with Holy Spirit and all that She is doing, there must always be that space for Holy and Divine Surprise that leads us into spaces we have never known before, and open up whole worlds in front of our very eyes.

 

And so, to a year of living as though PURPOSED.

 

What are you living into this year?