Tag Archives | longing

When You’re the Only One Not Invited

13th October, 2017 6

When I was eight, I was chosen to do a reading at the school’s Advent service. It felt like a very important role, and I practised it for days to get the words right. I got to sit in the choir stalls, which was an important place. I wasn’t, however,

I wasn’t, however, chosen for the choir. My voice was judged inferior* – at least that’s what I remember feeling, even if that wasn’t the full reason. Whenever the choir sang, they all stood up; I remained seated in the stalls. Gradually, I realised – I was the only one sitting down when the choir stood up. All the other readers were also singers.

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A Spacious Place

11th August, 2017 35

God, dwelling with God’s people, shared their desire to dwell somewhere more permanent, safe, and beautiful than just a tent in the wilderness. We have a God-given longing for a ‘spacious place’.

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How to deal with discontent

10th February, 2016 3

Sometimes the church tells me that I should not be sad, because Jesus is enough. My longings tell me that though Jesus may be enough, I do not always see Jesus clearly, feel him near. Jesus may be enough, but I do not yet have enough Jesus.

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When your holiday is not heaven

30th August, 2015 33

When the grief of chronic illness strikes, I am Adam and Eve, homesick for Eden, looking at the angel barring the way back. My sickness is part of the metaphor that reminds me of the brokenness of the world. When I am paddling in the clear Mediterranean, I am John in Patmos, with a glimpse of heaven and the riches of eternal life with the Creator.

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Cloud of witnesses

12th October, 2012 29

You always run faster when there is a crowd cheering. I noticed this at the Olympics – how many personal bests were achieved, records broken. Some of that will have been from the thrill and challenge of competing, and beating others. Some of that, I suspect, is from the volume of the cheers, and the […]

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Halfway up the stairs

24th September, 2012 18

I remember sitting on the stairs, halfway up the stairs, in my childhood home. In a family that was bouncy and exuberant, full of colour and noise, it was important to me to spend some time half-way up. There I would sit, bony knees touching my chin, hand resting on the white paint of the […]

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