The Beauty of Ordinary

~ Susan Brown ~ 4 Comments

A two minute chat with a couple of nine year olds left me unravelled.

My daughter’s class were bush dancing for their PE session. Their knees lifted high and their heads bobbed as they heel-toe, heel-toed back and forth in front of me. It looked like so much fun that I decided to join in. (The school encourages parent involvement). Bouncing along beside them, I locked eyes with different ones and grinned as I copied their movements.

When the music ended, the PE leaders moved to the stereo to restart the song. The students clustered together, panting steadily.

I stepped close to a huddle of girls. “Phew, that was hard work.” I patted my stomach. “Especially when you’ve just finished breakfast.”

One of the girls looked at me, her lovely eyes wide. “Have you only just eaten breakfast?”

“Ye-es.” My mind raced, clutching at a good excuse. “I do that last. Today I finished eating on the way here while my son drove.” That was fifteen minutes ago.

She looked at me blankly, seemingly shocked.

I make a habit of chatting to my daughter’s classmates each morning. Somehow I’d missed this one. Until today. Right at that moment she was forming her view of me. Probably not a good one.

“I’m not an early riser.” I smiled apologetically. “Do you get up early?”

She did.

My mind flitted back to some things I’d heard about their family lifestyle. This girl would have been up for hours. Breakfast, for her, was a distant memory. Unlike me.

Another girl – one I knew well – leaned forward, tilting her head while tiny furrows formed in her brow. I could almost hear the cogs turning as her deep blue eyes questioned me. “So, do you brush your teeth before breakfast?”

I paused and took a deep breath. “No, I haven’t brushed my teeth yet.”

I could almost hear their gasp.

“I’ll do them when I get home.”

My flustered thoughts were interrupted by another question from girl number one. “Do you go out to work?”

I pictured the way I was dressed. Black track pants, joggers and an ugly red polar fleece – unattractive but warm. Perfect for a day at home. Unimpressive compared to a working mum’s stylish garments.

“No, I’m a writer.” Well, technically that wasn’t true. “I stay at home and do writing.” My voice faded as I ran out of words.

The music began and I retreated from the group to watch. My mind was in a whirl, struggling with the desire to explain all the good things I did. All the ways I fit the ‘perfect mother’ mould.

Far out God, am I really that insecure?

It took a little while to shake off the sense of failure. I’m not like the mothers of those girls. I don’t get up early and dress smartly for work. I’m not so efficient with the morning routine. Some days I don’t finish my breakfast till after everyone’s gone to school.

But I am loved.

One thing I’ve learnt in the past few years is that God’s love for me isn’t dependent on my performance. Because of His character, that love is faithful and steady. Unchanging. Regardless of my failings.

I’ve found that the more I face up to my frailty, the more I feel His boundless love.

Even better, that love lives in me. Because I’ve invited Him to flood my life, I carry His presence within me. I may be inadequate. He is more than enough. I may be ordinary. He is extraordinary.

God loves to do the unexpected. He puts treasure in jars of clay. Gives beauty for ashes; joy for mourning. Pours His overcoming strength into those who have nothing left.

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I can identify with the clay jar – an ordinary, insignificant household item in Bible times – a bit chipped around the outside and able to be broken. It’s God’s constant, loving presence that gives me worth. Because of Him, I always have something to offer those around me. Even on the most ordinary days.

My worth comes not from myself but from the treasure I carry. And it seems the more cracks I let people see, the more His goodness is able to shine through.

When God is present, ordinary becomes something beautiful.

“But we have this treasure in jars of clay to show that this all-surpassing power is from God and not from us…Therefore we do not lose heart. Though outwardly we are wasting away, yet inwardly we are being renewed day by day. ” 2 Corinthians 4: 7, 16.

(Photo taken from Homeschooling Against All Odds/Homeschool411.com)

Learning to Rest

~ Susan Brown ~ Leave a comment

It all began at a women’s retreat five years ago.

Twenty of us had gathered at Camp Clayton for a weekend of fun, relaxation and reflection. We’d just finished a beautiful time of singing and were waiting, with quiet hearts, for God to speak. I sat, eyes closed, smiling as I basked in the calm that filled the room. Any moment, I imagined, God would give me something to say. I was the leader. Surely He would reveal some powerful truth that would meet a need or bring new understanding.

Instead I heard, “I want you to put your children in school.”

Whaaaat?

Home schooling was my passion. I loved investing in our children. We’d been at it for almost a decade. Surely that wasn’t God speaking.

I opened my eyes to a half-squint and peered around the group. The women sat motionless, each listening for that still small voice. Oblivious. No one else had felt the earthquake that just ripped across my world.

Now’s not the time to think about that. I shoved the words into my box marked ‘later’ and continued with the retreat.

By September our children were enrolled at a local Christian school. God had spoken. The same day my husband started a new job – a wonderful opportunity which also held many challenges.

Our family was beginning a new season.

Change can be exciting…if you’re ready for it. I wasn’t.

Like a fussy mother hen I fretted almost constantly. How would everyone cope with all the adjustments? How would I cope?

That wasn’t all. Soon after, we laid down all our leadership roles at church. The time and energy required for them just wasn’t there anymore.

In a matter of weeks my whole world morphed into something unrecognisable. Almost every role that I’d held so zealously had been stripped away. Days which had been packed full with vision and activity suddenly seemed empty and aimless.

How did I cope?

I didn’t.

I fell in a heap.

I spent weeks lying on the couch, too tired to read or even pray. Anxiety flowed through my veins over the littlest things. My heart began beating in strange, thumping rhythms. I withdrew, avoiding conversation with anyone beyond family and very close friends.

It felt like my world was imploding. Burnout, some call it.

One afternoon I lowered myself into a warm bath, groaning inwardly. The weariness wasn’t lifting, no matter how much I rested.

“I’m going to bring you back,” God whispered. “Stronger than before.”

Really, God? I sighed. Is that even possible?

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In recent months I’d become the mouse in the wheel, frantically running in circles. My Father God saw what was happening and lifted me out, removing the wheel completely.

He lovingly stripped away all I looked to for identity, reminding me who I was when our relationship began. Way back then, midway through my teens, it was Him and me…just because. Nothing extra was needed. His love was enough.

Much as I thrived on all the busyness and accomplishments of more recent years, God wasn’t especially impressed. The most important thing to Him was the state of my heart.

Gently, He began to woo me again, reminding me how wonderful it was to just ‘be’ with Him. To sit in His presence and drink of His boundless peace. Such peace. He gave me courage to again lay myself at His feet and say, “Have your way, God. Do whatever you want. I’m yours.”

Then, oh-so-tenderly, He began to rebuild my life on a new foundation – one of rest.

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God’s rest isn’t like that stillness we seek at the end of a demanding day. It’s not a long, cool drink or a quick lie down. It’s not something external at all. It’s an inward condition of the heart. An awareness that everything we need is found in Him. Not in ourselves. When we understand that, we’re released from the pressure to struggle and strive (Heb.4:10).

All we need to do is walk with Him.

Jesus invites us to come in all our weariness and drop our heavy burdens at His feet (Matt. 11:28-30). He has a better way. As we look to Him He will lead us, one step at a time, in the way of rest. He will set the pace and He will set the limits. Best of all, He will shoulder the weight of any load we need to carry.

I’m still learning how this works out in practice. I have a feeling this particular lesson will last a lifetime. But the journey is an absolute pleasure. I couldn’t ask for a better travelling companion.

Death…and Life

~ Susan Brown ~ 5 Comments

Last winter I held my father-in-law while he took his final raspy breaths. My hair hung in his face as I stroked his balding head and planted trembling, tear-drenched lips on his forehead … over and over and over. I wasn’t ready to say goodbye. He was Grandpa to our children, the first grandparent to live near enough to visit every week. We’d only had him around for four years. Surely it wasn’t time for him to go yet.

Two winters ago I almost died. Sepsis – an unknown killer that masquerades as a virus – sent me into a nasty downward spiral. Hours stretched long as weakness and pain intensified, dragging me steadily to the end of my strength. Just as I ran out of fight, the process was halted. A myriad of kind hospital staff, fervent prayers and soft, warm blankets worked together to quietly but firmly pull me back from the brink.

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Doctors told me later how close things had been. I’d almost stepped through the veil into the heavenly realms. Part of me longed to know what that was like, to enter right into the fullness and wonder of God’s presence. The other part sighed with relief. I was still here to love and care for my family. Most of all I struggled to comprehend that my life had almost ended.

Was I really that frail?

The following days in ICU taught me how very fragile I was. The littlest tasks were either impossible or left me exhausted and breathless. Reality stared me in the face: I wasn’t the strong woman I’d always imagined myself to be. In a matter of moments everything could change. Or even end.

Those old, familiar, time-worn words echoed their truth loudly in my heart, “Life is a gift.”

I’ve known the wonder – four times – of clutching a warm, wet newborn to my breast, my heart beating in sync with theirs as my eyes drank in every inch of their perfection. Such miracles.

I’ve been overwhelmed by sorrow as I cradled the beautiful, lifeless form of a precious nephew, hello and goodbye tears streaming, mingled, from my eyes. Such heartbreak.

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Each of us follows a winding path through the years we spend on earth. We can’t always see what’s around the corner. On we travel through various seasons, some of great joy and some of deep sorrow, many which seem ordinary and insignificant. Through it all one truth remains the same.

We don’t have forever.

Our life on earth is transient. The miracle of conception marks its beginning and death its end.

Somehow I lost sight of this.

Somehow I believed I had unlimited years to follow God’s plan for me. There was time, I thought, to waft off-track chasing glistening, empty bubbles, just for the sheer pleasure of it. Surely those higher pursuits could wait a while.

They can’t.

There will come a time when each of us will take our last raspy breath. None of us know exactly when that day will be. Standing in God’s presence, we’ll have opportunity to look back and reflect on the path we’ve walked. Will we have regrets? Will we be satisfied? Will we wish we could go back and do things differently?

Hindsight is a wonderful teacher. But there will come a day when it’s too late to change course. Our life on earth will have reached its end. Now is the time to pause and consider the way we’re walking through our days.

King Solomon once said, “The wisdom of the prudent is to give thought to their ways.” (Proverbs 14:8)

Prudence, better known as good sense, is not out-of-date. If we will only take time to reflect and make necessary changes, we can live a life that has no regrets. Isn’t that what we all want…really?

This life we’ve been given is a treasure indeed. Let’s not waste it.

Hope in the midst of winter

~ Susan Brown ~ 2 Comments

Have you braved the outdoors lately?

It was mid-July, the deepest, darkest part of winter – the time of year when sensible people stay tucked up inside by the fire. Yet one unusually warm day the sun streamed through my window and beckoned me outside.

The moment I opened the door, the lilting warble of magpies filled my ears. I smiled and breathed deeply, inhaling the sweet fragrance of wattle blooms. I wandered around the yard, pausing in one place to watch the birds flirt and swoop, bending over in another to study the silent garden beds. Clusters of pale green spikes gave promise of daffodils and bluebells yet to come. Tiny pink buds formed little bumps along the stems of formerly naked trees.

All around me were signs of new life.

July is the coldest winter month, the one we often view as something to endure on our way to warmer weather. We bustle through the mall with hunched shoulders and pinched faces, darting from one toasty shop to the next, barely stopping to greet familiar friends in our hurry to get out of the cold. We battle coughs and colds and long for the carefree vitality we associate with summer. Yet in the midst of the chills and discomforts of our frigid days God gently whispers to us through His creation, “Winter will not last forever.

Spring is coming.”

Our family has had some difficult ‘winters’ in the last couple of years – long bouts of whooping cough, a sudden brush with death and slow recovery, cancer diagnosis for a precious grandpa followed by his rapid decline and passing.

The winters of our lives can feel terribly harsh. Unbearable. Like stark trees in the garden, we feel stripped back to bare bones. Completely void of life. We drag ourselves through each day, weighed down by the heaviness of the struggle, often convinced that it will never end.

Yet it will.

Winter, no matter how harsh, does not last forever. Spring will come. The darkness and heartache will pass and, while some things in our lives may have permanently changed, we will experience beauty and joy again.

Spring will surely come.

But here’s an important thought to ponder: The health and splendour of our spring plants is dependent on how well-rooted they were through the winter months. It’s in winter, when everything appears lifeless, that the plant is preparing for spring, drawing deeply from nourishment in the soil and forming its next season’s shoots.

We may not see much happening on the outside but there is a whole lot going on under the surface.

So it is with us. We can choose in our wintertime to put our roots down deep and draw from the living source. Or we can battle it out alone and just barely survive to emerge in the spring.

I’m reminded of a favourite passage in Jeremiah 17:7-8.

“Blessed is the man who trusts in the Lord,

Whose confidence is in Him.

He will be like a tree planted by the water

That sends out its roots by the stream.

It does not fear when heat comes;

Its leaves are always green.

It has no worries in a year of drought

And never fails to bear fruit.”

I want to live a life that—like spring blooms—can bring joy and beauty to others. How about you?

For that to happen, we need to stay connected with our Maker, through every season.

Only then can we be a channel of His life and hope.