Archives for January 2014

Have you had “one step forward, one and half step backward” struggles, otherwise known as the dread vicious circle?

I am delighted to say that, at the moment, I do not have any vicious circles in my life—those nightmare phases of life where everything you do has unintended negative consequences.

You know: You rush, and so you create a mess, and the mess stresses you, and so you eat some chocolate, overlooking the fact that chocolate will not tidy your house for you, and you cannot find things, so you own 6 pairs of scissors, and tweezers and combs and nail-clippers, more clutter, and you realise you are wasting money, and you feel bad about that and the stress of the mess and chocolate-weight makes you sleep a little bit extra, so you are late to things, and feel worse about yourself, and you pick up another chocolate bar and crisps as you rush, and now you are heavier, and feel even worse about yourself, and fall out with your spouse, and feel even worse, and need comfort and order a pizza, which has every one of the 1800 calories you were meant to consume all day. And then you don’t have the energy to tidy, or wake early or exercise, and so–guess what? Tomorrow you will need comfort again. Hello chocolate, my old friend.

Well, I have been in vicious circles like that—and that best way out of them is take one habit, just one, and stick at it, and slowly build self-confidence and energy and gumption. Flylady, overweight, depressed, in deep mess and debt, started an upward spiral by shining her sink daily–just that–which meant washing the dishes in it, and then she swiped the counters around it, and so on, and now has a house which can be made guest-ready in 15 minutes. Swoon.

Consistency and persistence will overcome any vicious circle or bad habit.

* * *

At the moment, however, I am tacking four areas of falling-short-of-the-glory-of-God, not generally advised, but on the other hand, I am enjoying the process of change and am energized by it.

I am waking at 6.35 a.m., but slowly pushing the alarm back. My Holy Grail goal is 5 a.m. Will I reach it? I believe so. This time round, waking early is easy, because I set an alarm at 9.35 p.m. to simmer down (yoga, tidy bedroom, read) for a whole hour before the second alarm goes at 10.35 p.m. for lights out. For the whole family, teenagers included.

I want a clutter-free house, and spend a couple of hours a week decluttering and tidying while the cleaner is here, doing the 365 less things project (getting rid of one thing a day) which has been paradigm-shifting. Asking: do I REALLY need this, rather than where should I stash it away?

Writing…. I am thinking of doing Jeff Goins 500 words project in February. I am sad to confess I did not write anything NEAR 500 words a day on my memoir this month, though I blogged. A lot. Yes, I did!

Weight. Ah, weight!! I have lost 15 pounds since I resolved to eat more healthily in November 2012, but that was 15 months ago. Very slow, very steady!

* * *

Ah weight! I left boarding school weighing 116 pounds, at 5’ 2” –considering myself overweight, since so many girls weighed 100, though looking at photographs, I see I wasn’t overweight, or particularly plumper than anyone else.

But I had a negative body-image—that I was fat–reinforced by nagging parents, so I sort of gave up, and steadily gained about 3 pounds a year since leaving school.

I broke that cycle in November 2012, and since then have lost a pound a month, 22 in all.

It’s not easy, but I plan to stay in the battle, aiming at losing half a pound a week, 26 in a year, and am meeting with a dietician to that end.

Being overweight is a mixture of dozens of bad food habits–what you eat, how much, when, why, where–and exercise habits. (See the Obesity Influences Map at the head of this post). It’s a difficult dragon to slay—because you must put dozens of good habits in place, but it’s a worthwhile dragon to slay.

Health risks increase with each additional pound. Overweight people are negatively perceived, which can drag you down.

And most significantly, just as the self-confidence from achieving one goal enables us to achieve others, discouragement about being unable to lose weight can affect our confidence when it comes to achieving other goals. And spiritually, the Enemy of our Soul will use this to drag us down.

* * *

Dr. Samuel Johnson, was a Christian, and great 18^th century writer, lexicography and polymath–though he is oddly best-known for being the hero of Boswell’s Life of Johnson, a sycophantic recounting of every bon mot which crossed the great man’s lips and there were several:

Boswell: I told him I had been that morning at a meeting of the people called Quakers, where I had heard a woman preach. Johnson: “Sir, a woman’s preaching is like a dog’s walking on his hind legs. It is not done well; but you are surprised to find it done at all.”

Well, Johnson produced a fraction of what he was capable of, much of his brilliance flowing into said bon mots in pubs and coffee-houses.

But as a Christian, and an ambitious one, he wanted to wake early, at 6 a.m. and write. This was difficult because he returned home in the early hours of the morning, and lay abed till 2 p.m.!!

But he never stopped trying.

Jack Miller in his Sonship course, which I went through, one-on-one with Jack’s son Paul Miller, describes Johnson’s efforts.

1738: “Oh Lord, enable me to redeem the time which I have spent in sloth.”

1757: (19 years later) “Oh mighty God, enable me to shake off sloth and redeem the time misspent in idleness and sin by diligent application of the days yet remaining.”

1759: “Enable me to shake off idleness and sloth.”

1761: “I have resolved until I have resolved that I am afraid to resolve again.”

1764: “My indolence since my last reception of the sacrament has sunk into grossest sluggishness. My purpose is from this time to avoid idleness and to rise early.”

1764: (5 months later) He resolves to rise early, “not later than 6 if I can.”

1765: “I purpose to rise at 8 because, though, I shall not rise early it will be much earlier than I now rise for I often lie until 2.”

1769: “I am not yet in a state to form any resolutions. I purpose and hope to rise early in the morning, by 8, and by degrees, at 6.”

1775: “When I look back upon resolution of improvement and amendments which have, year after year, been made and broken, why do I yet try to resolve again? I try because reformation is necessary and despair is criminal.” He resolves again to rise at 8.

1781: (3 years before his death) “I will not despair, help me, help me, oh my God.” He resolves to rise at 8 or sooner to avoid idleness.

* * *

Jack Miller put Dr. Johnson’s failure down to the fact that he had never learnt to rely on the power of the Holy Spirit.

* * *

Ouch. Touche.

My life blossomed in my forties when circumstances forced me to rely on God. I founded a business which I found exhausting, and was so outside my experience and knowledge and interests that I was forced to pray constantly.

And then I began to blog—I who had written careful, much-revised pieces.

My goal for my blog was steady month-on-month growth. And for that, I needed to rely on God. For blog growth depends on rapid writing and good posts, but far more, on people reading your posts, and sharing your posts, and you can do nothing to induce them to do either, but trust, and lean deeper into God from whom all good blogs flow.

* * *

And losing weight and getting physically healthy, an issue which has bugged me since my teens (unnecessarily so, at first)–How come I tried to do it by will-power?

Will power is over-rated. I am done with will power.

I am still in the battle to lose weight, because as Charles Duhigg says in his brilliant book “The Power of Habit,” each change you make makes a whole lot of other, unrelated changes possible. In study after study, people who’ve done one of these—lost weight, started budgeting, woken early, got organised—have found the strength, almost unconsciously, to progress in all the other areas. And that has been my experience.

I am hoping to lose weight as a branch in the vine, relying on God’s power, asking him for it, trusting that he will give it to me.

“Not by might, not by power, but by my spirit,” says the Lord (Zech 4:6).

To tell, the truth—I have never relied on God’s power, asking him for it, trusting that he will give it to me in the area of weight loss, though I do it when I write, for instance, or when I struggle to keep my temper, or to forgive.

So losing weight by surrendering the struggle to God, relying on his power, and trusting him to give me strength will be entirely new territory for me. For instance, I have been shutting my laptop and praying, just enjoying God, whenever I get tired or bored and I crave chocolate.

I will be blogging on this battle. And prayer for strength or victory will be appreciated.

My Experience of The Baptism in the Holy Spirit and of Speaking in Tongues

By Anita Mathias

So here I am, stressed and anxious. Or happy, at peace and joyful.

And almost without realizing it, I find myself praying. In tongues.

* * *

How do I find myself in Oxford, England, in the 21^st century, praying in tongues, this ancient First Century gift vividly described in The Acts of the Apostles?

Well, 30ish years ago, when I was 17, I was visiting my grandmother in Mangalore, a pretty Catholic seacoast town on the west coast of India, where my family was “from.”

And there was a visiting Spanish priest called Marcellino Iragui who was running a Charismatic retreat.

It was a little like the Alpha course. We went through forgiveness, repentance, renouncing occult involvement, and on the last evening, the priest prayed for the Baptism of the Holy Spirit.

Well, I gulped it all up; I drank it all in. Not so my father, who was amused, sceptical, bored—he was 63 and there was no way he was going to take up any new enthusiasms. He flatly refused to take me to the Charismatic Crusade for another day.

* * *

And so I asked a friend who knew the priest to introduce me, and asked him for the Baptism in the Holy Spirit there and then.

(I have an instinctive distaste for rules–Anita Antinomian, my friend Paul called me–and it amuses me that even in this most holy encounter, I sought to jump the queue, and do it my way.)

“Is she hungry?” he asked my friend, Joyce Fernandes, who later became a nun at Mother Teresa’s convent. “ Oh yes!” she assured him, having no idea at all. (Indian women can be very nice!)

And so we went through the theory: forgiveness, gifts of the spirit, fruits of the spirit, and then he laid his hands on me, and prayed for the Baptism of the Spirit, having me repeat the prayers after them after him. He asked for all sorts of wonderful gifts—prophecy, healing, miracles, wisdom, knowledge. All this I was game for.

When he came to, “And Lord, please give me the gift of tongues,” I interrupted him.

“I don’t want that,” I said. “It would be too embarrassing. My family would tease me.”

“You can’t pick and choose among the gifts of God,” he said sternly.

And so we prayed. I felt nothing. I was both disappointed– a bit “Oh well, it would have been exciting had it worked,”–and relieved.

I re-joined my father. “So are you now a Charismatic?” he said, amused by the whole business. “Have you the gift of tongues?”

“No,” I said.

We returned to my grandmother’s. “Do you have the gift of tongues?” everyone asked.

“No,” I said, with complete truthfulness.

* * *

Well, I spoke too soon. I woke that night with rushing, gushing joy, a river that felt like it would burst my heart. It was overwhelming: joy so ecstatic, so seismic, it was akin to pain.

I knelt by the side of my bed, and prayed, praising God for the beauty of the world, for Himself, for his goodness–strange, barbarous-sounding unintelligible language bursting out of me. I was praying in tongues

I prayed in tongues, and I prayed with my mind, in rapture, with emotions new to me, prayed in English and in my new spirit-language, thanking God for his incomprehensible loveliness, which I suddenly perceived. For himself

“Oh, Lord, I just praise you, I praise you, I praise you.”

* * *

And well, that language never left me. A month later, I was in Mother Teresa’s convent, as an aspirant, training to be a nun.

I asked her in a personal meeting, “Mother, what do you think about speaking in tongues?”

“One tongue is enough for a woman,” she said brusquely.

And that was that!

* * *

Well, but I still prayed in tongues; I couldn’t help it—remember that Anita Antinomian bit?–and have done so for the last 30 years.

Tense: I find myself praying in tongues. Anxious: Are we going to catch that plane?–I find myself praying in tongues.

And when my spirit soars, swells, and for no good reason I am unreasonably happy, I find myself again praying in tongues.

When I am joyful and exhilarated in my garden, or by the seashore, or on a mountain, I find myself praying in ecstatic tongues. And, more restrained but slowly coursing into peace, I pray in tongues when I am miserable

It is the greatest mood-changer, and wisdom-infuser I know. The greatest shortcut to joy.

* * *

And sadly, my spirit-tongue hasn’t changed, and, sadly, it sounds rather ugly to my years, barbaric even. It’s not Greek, or Latin, or French, languages I love. I heard a Vicar in Oxford sing in tongues once, and it sounded like Persian, something vaguely Byzantine, definitely sophisticated.

Mine, it’s a cave man tongue, heavy glottals.

And that’s just as well, for if I spoke Old French or Medieval Latin, I would have been tempted to show off about my lovely spirit language. Instead, I have kept quiet about it, and prayed quietly as God meant, no doubt, for the last thirty years.

Some people say that one’s spirit language develops as we mature. Well, I have matured spiritually (ask Roy what an angel I can be when he is impossible. Well, sometimes!), but my language has basically stayed static.

And isn’t it strange that the one gift I specifically said I didn’t want was the one gift I got? (Though, about 20 years ago, the gift of prophetic knowledge and insight began to manifest itself in me, and be recognised by others, and is now my most treasured spiritual gift.)

* * *

Rejoice always, pray constantly, in everything give thanks. How on earth is that possible?

Well, praying in tongues is one way. I pray when I go on a long walk, and flag. Or do manual work. Or in the winter when the night finds me too tired to read or write, too tired to pray coherently, but not tired enough to fall asleep.

And then the Spirit, left within my spirit as a deposit, guaranteeing my inheritance, prays in rough-hewn sounds without any words I understand, and God hears His intercession, and so I know that all will be well, all will be well, all manner of things will be well.

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Who can Stand Before Jealousy?

By Anita Mathias

Who can Stand Before Jealousy? (Prov. 27:4).

If Joseph, whose story in Genesis I am re-reading, realised the dangers of provoking jealousy, he could have avoided 20 hard years.

Joseph, his father’s favourite, given an glorious robe…. His brothers, of course, “hated him, and could not speak a kind word to him.”

Joseph, whose dreams are prescient. He is gifted prophetically–but not yet gifted in wisdom or prudence or sensitivity or insight into human nature.

These he will develop in the school of experience.

* * *

My sheaf rose and stood upright, while your sheaves gathered around mine and bowed down to it.

Was this a dream to share with jealous brothers?

“And they hated him all the more because of his dream.” (Gen 37:8). Of course, they did,

His next naïve revelation, “the sun and moon and eleven stars were bowing down to me,” dooms him.

“Here comes that dreamer. Let’s kill him,” his brothers say.

There is a reason God speaks to us in dreams, when the world is still and quiet, and there are no witnesses.

Dreams are meant to be kept secret. There is power in secrecy; power in containment.

* * *

I sympathise with Joseph. All my life, I have been a Joseph-Tigger-Kanga who bounds up to share good news—a prize, a publication, a financial windfall, career breakthrough… I often still do, instinctively.

It’s an extrovert’s reflex—joy seems more real when shared.

But is it safe? Not really. I have had things blocked by jealous people by sharing them before everything was signed and sealed. Sometimes, I can see a frenemy’s irritation rise as I share a success—pursed lips, a put down, the topic abruptly changed, a quick trip to the loo.

I understand Joseph’s impulse, but I do not want to land up in a well.

So the Tigger-impulse must be tempered by other principles.

1) The Golden Rule. Love Does not Boast (1 Cor. 13:4)

How do I feel about other’s success? If it’s a friend whom I, or my children, don’t feel competitive with–happy.

However, when old writing friends do far better than I—as many have done!!–I am happy if they are better writers, and disgruntled, if they are worse. I do confess it!

When old friends become famous, as some have done, I wish them well, but sometimes find it hard to continue the friendship as it was. Their success exacerbates my own guilt about my disorganisation, wasted time, time lost to turbulent emotions which I should have sorted out through scripture, prayer and surrender.

My joy at a friend’s success is not unmixed with sadness at my own relative failure. So why should I expect greater nobility out of everyone else?

2) Let another man praise you, and not your own mouth; someone else, and not your own lips. (Prov. 27:2)

This is something I often say to myself, both when tempted to show off, even obliquely, and when I hear someone praise themselves on social media.

Russell Baker in his memoir Growing Up, reported his mother’s aphorism, “If you don’t blow your trumpet who’ll blow it for you?”

Yes, what if another man’s lips don’t praise you?

So be it. So be it. Obscurity develops character just as much as celebrity, no doubt, does. “Humility, like darkness, reveals the heavenly lights” Thoreau wrote. Or, to quote Proverbs, “Humility comes before honour.” The way of humility has mysterious power, as the way of forgiveness does.

3) Boasting Cheats You of the Chance to Learn

Christian Twitter comedian Sammy Rhodes satirizes circuitous showing off: “This rain is really coming down. Speaking of rain, did I ever tell you about that time Rainn Wilson defended me on Twitter?”

It is a better use of time to turn the conversation around to the unique individual I am talking to and learn everything interesting about them, since I already know everything interesting about myself (well–until I go to therapy!)

As Estelle in Great Expectations was raised to break men’s hearts, I was raised to achieve, to be Amazing Me.

Ah, the freedom of leaving that behind me, and instead being who I am: the Beloved. To have relationships based on who I am, not what I’ve done.

4) Jesus

Jesus, ah Jesus, our role-model! How modest and discreet he was, secretive even. How he adjured people not to tell others about his miraculous deeds. How he was scolded by his disciples for acting in secret. How he left the region when people came hunting for him, seeking miracles, seeking to make him king.

I often think of what my friend Paul who discipled me said, “90% of wisdom is keeping your mouth shut.”

The sun, moon and eleven stars would have bowed to Joseph, anyway, for that was his destiny. He was gifted; he had impressive administrative gifts, integrity and, eventually, people skills too.

Joseph learned wisdom and prudence through twenty years of suffering.

But his story is recorded so we may learn without pits, wells and dungeons.

* * *

This was first published at my friend Kris Camealy’s beautiful blog

Why I Am No Longer a Roman Catholic

By Anita Mathias

I was brought up Roman Catholic, was taught that missing Sunday Mass was a mortal sin, except when you were sick. (And a mortal sin meant you would burn in hell, for eternity, unless you confessed it, and were absolved.)

How could I have believed that? Children believe what they are taught.

It’s taken me years to learn not to accept other people’s theology, but to question everything, including other people’s interpretations of Scripture. (As I’ve blogged in Inerrancy and Me, I’ve been to Catholic, Presbyterian, Baptist, Charismatic, Anglican and non-denomination churches. They all believed in inerrancy, and all taught different things.)

* * *

The first time I skipped Church (to study for an exam!) I was 21. And—incredibly–I wondered if I would go to hell if I died before I went to confession. (The whole system–missing Mass is mortal sin; we are only forgiven through confession–of course, bolsters the power and authority of the priesthood. But I didn’t see that then.)

And then, after skipping Mass again, I realised that since I was so often excruciatingly bored by the ancient words of the liturgy that I knew by heart, it was extremely unlikely that a just and merciful God would send me to hell for missing Sunday Mass.

Or that he would forgive me upon the say-so of a priest, when I wasn’t truly, truly sorry. Or that he would not forgive me without formal confession, if I were sorry.

Being a Catholic Charismatic had me reading Scripture, and Scripture did not say that missing Sunday Mass was a mortal sin.

And so I didn’t go the next Sunday, or the next…

In fact, because of memories of almost unbearable boredom during 21 years of Catholic Masses, I simply cannot force myself to go to a Catholic Mass now, even when I visit parents, in-laws, Catholic relatives or friends. (A minor case of post-traumatic stress syndrome, I suppose!)

* * *

As Martin Luther discovered, once you start questioning the extra-Biblical doctrines of the Catholic Church, there is no end to it. I questioned other things.

An aspect of my family’s faith which annoyed me was their large donations for masses to be said for dead relatives to spring them from purgatory. My mother still pays for masses for my little family, so let me not totally discount any spiritual blessing from this, because we have certainly been blessed.

I thought of Sister Josephine in school, who told me that she loved me best of all the students she’d taught over 40 years, and would use her discretionary “pocket money” to buy masses to be said for me in perpetuity in Rome. I would look at the Mass cards dubiously, and wish she had bought herself (or me!) chocolate instead.

But she would be delighted with the woman I now am, the life I now live, and my durable faith, so perhaps her intention of buying prayer for me was honoured by God—or perhaps there are still priests in Rome praying for me. Perhaps.

* * *

The shawl of faith kept unravelling.

Come on, did the words spoken by a priest change the host to the very Body and Blood of Christ? If it did, if I were indeed eating GOD, wouldn’t I be radically changed?

But after Mass, I, and everyone else at boarding school, was as bitchy as before. I mentioned that to Sister Josephine, and she said, “But how do you know what you would have been if you had not received Holy Communion?” And that indeed, who knows.

Nah, didn’t believe in transubstantiation any more. We do it in memory of him, that’s all.

* * *

Gotterdamerung. The Twilight or Destruction of False Gods. It’s very sad, very stressful, very painful—and very liberating!

And what was all this praying to saints? Wasn’t Jesus, God himself, who died to atone for our sins enough? Who could have enough devotion to pray to Therese, Catherine, and Francis in addition? To Anthony when you lose something, Jude when the cause is hopeless, Monica when your children are wayward? And why, why, why pray to this crowded communion when you can go up the waterfall, through the veil, to the presence of the Most Holy God himself?

* * *

And the dreadful Rosary, the dreaded recitation of 50 Hail Marys, 5 Our Fathers and 5 Glory Bes, which so marred my childhood with its unutterable noisy boredom, which blocked out the possibility of quiet communion with God.

Didn’t Jesus say we shouldn’t be like the pagans who think they will be heard for their many words? Instead how I suffered through the gabble, the noise of the Catholicism I was brought up in, the Novenas, the Litanies, the Rosaries, the Masses…

* * *

And all the extra-Biblical dogmas men with too much time on their hands have conjured up—the Infallibility of the Pope, the Immaculate Conception of Mary, the Assumption of the Blessed Virgin Mary into heaven, these “infallible dogmas” were mere invented ideas, conceits.

Oh, let me not get started!! Especially on the sentimental, ubiquitous, extra-Scriptural reverencing Mary. The prayers to her. Where is all this in Scripture, I used to ask? an anguished, roaring bull–knowing little of Luther, little knowing he asked the same questions 500 years ago!!

* * *

So what is coming from Catholicism to Mere Christianity like?

Imagine the Lord Jesus sitting by a quiet, still mountain spring.

You walk to him through the noise, the chaos, the cacophony, the music, the poetry, the art, the kitsch. Through all the apparitions of the virgin, dogmas, novenas, litanies, rosaries. The terracotta army of saints. The noisy crowd of witnesses . That was Catholicism for me.

And how grateful I am to the tormented Martin Luther for pointing out that a man is saved by Jesus alone, without all this paraphernalia.

We can come back to the heart of worship, which is all about Jesus.

* * *

And we must make sure we ignore the moneychangers and those selling doves in Protestantism too, steer clear of the noise of too many festivals, conferences, retreats; celebrities, big name speakers, big egos, all flogging their course, book, blog, their way to the Way. Their Latest Greatest Shortcut to Heaven. For the house of prayer always risks becoming a den of thieves.

But you, Man and Woman of God, flee all this, and come back to the Jesus you’ll encounter in the Gospels, those simple sparse first century narratives. Come back to the heart of worship.

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England: A Rhapsody

By Anita Mathias

I love England. I have now lived for at least 14 years each in three continents–Asia, America and Europe. If I could live anywhere I chose, I would choose England (as I have). (And if I could choose any English town to live in, I would choose Oxford–as I have.)

As I walked down the country lane outside my house, a cup of tea in hand, I saw a herd of cows, very attractive Guernseys, in our farmer-neighbour’s field. It was a beautiful bird-loud day. It could have been out of a Constable painting or a Dylan Thomas poem. Timeless England!

I read about 500 illegal immigrants living in tent cities in Calais, hoping to come to England. The writer explained why. He said, “Can you imagine 500 men, women and children sleeping rough in Dover?” The council would do something about it.

I thought of what V.S. Naipaul in The Enigma of Arrival calls “the curious humanity of the English state.”

I do love this country, warts and all! I love their sense of decency and fair play. I love the fact that the police prosecute for racist tweets, an everyday occurrence in other countries. I love that, in this country, calling someone a “bigot” is one of the worst things you can say, in the judgement of both accused and accuser.

In which Sarah Bessey Writes a Guest Post: The Genesis of a Jesus Feminist

By Anita Mathias

Jesus Feminist

Jesus Feminist grew organically out of my life in Christ.

As a writer and blogger, I love to write through my life to figure out what I think and believe and dream about God, as well as the Church, marriage, motherhood, community, global issues, all of it.

So as I was writing through these intersections of women and Scripture, the kingdom of God and missional theology, freedom and justice, through my own habit of storytelling, the book simply began to grow in my heart and mind. It wasn’t born out of anger or bitterness or even a need to set the record straight about anything.

Instead Jesus Feminist took shape out of my own history as a beloved daughter, in my experiences in the Church as a woman, in my heart for justice and wholeness for God’s daughters, my passion for writing out my life, and most particularly in my adoration of Jesus and commitment to live into the Kingdom of God. All those things came together and over the course of a few years, the book began to grow.

* * *

I define feminism as the simple belief that women are people, too. At the core, feminism simply means that we champion the dignity, rights, responsibilities, and glories of women as equal in importance to those of men, and we refuse discrimination against women. That’s it. [Read more…]

The Gift of Limits. The Gift of Learning to Say No

By Anita Mathias

Here’s a striking story from The Emotionally Healthy Church by Pete Scazzero.

Rabbi Edwin Friedman tells the story of a man who had given much thought to what he wanted from life. After trying many things, succeeding at some and failing at others, he finally decided what he wanted.

One day the opportunity came for him to experience exactly the way of living that he had dreamed about. But the opportunity would be available only for a short time. It would not wait, and it would not come again.

Eager to take advantage of this open pathway, the man started on his journey. With each step, he moved faster and faster. Each time he thought about his goal, his heart beat quicker; and with each vision of what lay ahead, he found renewed vigour.

As he hurried along, he came to a bridge that crossed through the middle of a town. The bridge spanned high above a dangerous river.

After starting across the bridge, he noticed someone coming the opposite direction. The stranger seemed to be coming toward him to greet him. As the stranger grew closer, the man could discern that they didn’t know each other, but yet they looked amazingly similar. They were even dressed alike. The only difference was that the stranger had a rope wrapped many times around his waist. If stretched out, the rope would reach a length of perhaps thirty feet.

The stranger began to unwrap the rope as he walked. Just as the two men were about to meet, the stranger said, “Pardon me, would you be so kind as to hold the end of the rope for me?”
The man agreed without a thought, reached out, and took it.

“Thank you,” said the stranger. He then added, “Two hands now, and remember, hold tight.” At that point, the stranger jumped off the bridge.

The man on the bridge abruptly felt a strong pull from the now extended rope. He automatically held tight and was almost dragged over the side of the bridge.

“What are you trying to do?” he shouted to the stranger below.

“Just hold tight,” said the stranger.

This is ridiculous, the man thought. He began trying to haul the other man in. Yet it was just beyond his strength to bring the other back to safety.

Again he yelled over the edge, “Why did you do this?”

“Remember,” said the other, “If you let go, I will be lost.”

“But I cannot pull you up,” the man cried.

“I am your responsibility,” said the other.

“I did not ask for it,” the man said.

“If you let go, I am lost,” repeated the stranger.

The man began to look around for help. No one was within sight.

He began to think about his predicament. Here he was eagerly pursuing a unique opportunity, and now he was being side-tracked for who knows how long.

Maybe I can tie the rope somewhere, he thought. He examined the bridge carefully, but there was no way to get rid of his new- found burden.

So he again yelled over the edge, “What do you want?”

“Just your help,” came the answer.

“How can I help? I cannot pull you in, and there is no place to tie the rope while I find someone else who could help you.”

“Just keep hanging on,” replied the dangling man. “That will be enough.”

Fearing that his arms could not hold out much longer, he tied the rope around his waist.
“Why did you do this?” he asked again. “Don’t you see what you have done? What possible purpose could you have in mind?”

“Just remember,” said the other, “my life is in your hands.”

Now the man was perplexed. He reasoned within himself, “If I let go, all my life I will know that I let this other man die. If I stay, I risk losing my momentum toward my own long-sought-after salvation. Either way this will haunt me forever.”

As time went by, still no one came. The man became keenly aware that it was almost too late to resume his journey. If he didn’t leave immediately, he wouldn’t arrive in time.

Finally, he devised a plan. “Listen,” he explained to the man hanging below, “I think I know how to save you.” He mapped out the idea. The stranger could climb back up by wrapping the rope around him. Loop by loop, the rope would become shorter.

But the dangling man had no interest in the idea.

“I don’t think I can hang on much longer,” warned the man on the bridge.

“You must try,” appealed the stranger. “If you fail, I die.”

Suddenly a new idea struck the man on the bridge. It was different and even alien to his normal way of thinking. “I want you to listen carefully,” he said, “because I mean what I am about to say.”

The dangling man indicated that he was listening.

“I will not accept the position of choice for your life, only for my own; I hereby give back the position of choice for your own life to you.”

“What do you mean?” the other asked, afraid.

“I mean, simply, it’s up to you. You decide which way this ends. I will become the counterweight. You do the pulling and bring yourself up. I will even tug some from here.”
He unwound the rope from around his waist and braced himself to be a counterweight. He was ready to help as soon as the dangling man began to act.

“You cannot mean what you say,” the other shrieked. “You would not be so selfish. I am your responsibility. What could be so important that you would let someone die? Do not do this to me.”

After a long pause, the man on the bridge uttered slowly, “I accept your choice.” In voicing those words, he freed his hands and continued his journey over the bridge.

* * *

Ironically, the closer you come to crossing the bridge to your dreams, the more people will appear jumping off the bridge, insisting that you and only you can save them from drowning.

And it is a lie.

While as Christians we are called to love our spouse, our children, and a few others, we only have two hands and finite time and strength, and so we need to be careful about which of the many ropes tossed to us we choose to hold. Which of the many calls on our time and compassion we answer. How many coffees we serve, cakes we make, meals we deliver.

* * *

Michael Hyatt writes brilliantly about this in a post called Success and Accessibility.

He writes, “The more successful you become, the more other people will demand of your time. As a result, if you are going to maintain margin for your most important priorities, you will have to make some difficult decisions about your accessibility.

He quotes Andy Stanley, who writes,

“The harsh reality is that the more successful we are, the less accessible we become. So then we are faced with the dilemma of who gets my time and who doesn’t, when do they get it, and and how much of it do they get.”

Hyatt continues, “Your time is a zero sum game. When you say yes to one thing, you are simultaneously saying no to something else. The more successful you get, the more difficult this becomes. You find yourself saying no to good things—worthy things—in order to say yes to your most important priorities.

After all, from the perspective of the one asking, it is not a big request. But to agree to their requests would require a major investment of my time. Add all the requests together, and I am soon eating into the time allotted for my own projects, friends, family, and health.

Hyatt suggests

1. Acknowledge your resources are finite. This is a fact. You have 168 hours per week. No more, no less. Every time you commit to something, you are depleting your available time. Your other resources are also limited, including your attention, money, and energy.

If you ignore this, it will eventually catch up with you. You will pay a high price when that happens—perhaps an emotional breakdown, a divorce, wayward kids, a business failure, or a health crisis.

2. Determine who needs access and who doesn’t. Not everyone needs full access to you. They may think they do, but they don’t. Therefore, you must prioritise your contacts and relationships.

Remember: once you let people in, it is hard to ask them to leave without creating misunderstanding or hurt feelings. Be intentional.”

* * *

“Hold the rope or I will drown.” The call comes to us from in many ways, and from many people.

Questions to ask: Will this person truly drown if I don’t hold the rope, or will they learn to swim? Will they drag me down, or will I pull them up? Is this person willing to change if I hold the rope, or do they want an audience for moaning and lamentation? Am I the only person who can hold the rope? Does God want me to hold the rope for this demanding person, or to cross the bridge to the destiny to which He has called me?

If you feel huge anger and resentment at this rope you’ve been tossed, if God has not called you to hold this rope as your unique call in life, Fail Quickly. Let go!

P.S. They will probably learn to swim, or find the next passer-by to fling their rope to.

Writing with the Wind of the Wild Goose of the Holy Spirit in your Wings

By Anita Mathias

Wild Geese fly in a V formation. The lead goose reduces the wind resistance; the others glide, almost effortlessly, in the currents she has created.

During a storm, the eagle waits perched on the edge of its nest for the wind to gain sufficient velocity. Once she knows the direction in which the wind is roaring, she spreads her wings wide, and effortlessly glides into the winds of the storm.

Have you ever seen hawks or eagles soar, wings outstretched, rising without a single beat of their magnificent wings, soaring, soaring? They are soaring on thermal currents—masses of air that rise when the ground rapidly warms up. Or sometimes, obstruction currents, when wind currents are deflected by mountains, cliffs or tall buildings. The resulting updraft lifts them to high altitudes at which they glide.

* * *

The Wild Goose was an emblem of the Holy Spirit in Celtic tradition.

And the eagle, in Scripture, is a symbol both of God, and God’s people.

Eagles never waste their energy flapping their enormous wings—they wait for, and then use thermal currents and obstruction currents to soar on the wings of the wind…

Flying is so much easier when we sense the direction the wind of the Holy Spirit is blowing in our lives, and in the world, and then open our wings and fly in that direction, using the energy he generates within us, and in circumstances around us.

* * *

I have been reading about “the anointing,” in R. T. Kendall’s splendid, “The Anointing.”

He writes: “The anointing is when our gift functions easily. It comes with ease. It seems natural. No working it up is needed. If one has to work it up, one has probably gone outside one’s anointing. If one goes outside one’s anointing, the result is often fatigue, that is weariness or spiritual lethargy that has been described as ‘dying inside.’”

* * *

I find that with my writing on my blog, and indeed all writing. God is speaking. Not God spoke, but God is speaking. He is by His nature continuously articulate, A. W. Tozer wrote. If I listen to what the Spirit is saying to me through the events of my life, record the mini-revelations or epiphanies given to me each day by the God who speaks continuously and is never silent, then blogging is quick, easy and delightful. And what’s more, it often speaks to people.

It’s when I write to grow my blog, wonder if I should write the topical posts that everyone else is writing, be strategic, capture the zeitgeist– that blogging feels heavy, a chore, work rather than play. Why? Because the wind of the Spirit is not helping me soar; I have to expend scarce energy with a mighty, exhausting flapping of wings.

There is a lightness to God’s work, an amused creativity—we get the impression He tossed off zebras, giraffes, toucans, morpho butterflies and orchids in a massive outburst of creativity. God was at play as these beautiful things came into being, step by step through the mighty forces of evolution. His work was deep play.

* * *

In his book, Homo Ludens, or Man the Player, the Dutch historian and cultural theorist, Johan Huizinga, suggests that culture stems from humans at play, humans playing with words, or music or paint or the sketches of mighty cathedrals.

And when I record the whispers of the spirit, write in the updraft of the wild goose of the Holy Spirit, blogging is easy, light and delightful. It has a bit of the playfulness with which I imagine God made the world. I am playing in the fields of the Lord, playing with God, thinking aloud, probably making all sorts of mistakes–but there is a fun and lightness to it all.