On walking alone part 2

About a year ago I wrote a blog called on walking alone reflecting on the challenges of being a single minister, particularly when moving south, far away from family. It’s been my most viewed blog (nearly 2000 views) and I’ve never been sure why. Perhaps it resonates with people. Perhaps someone accidentally keeps pressing refresh. Who knows? 

I’ve been thinking about how I ended up writing that as I’ve contemplated the idea of ending up in isolation on my own far away from family. It’s tough being on your own. 

As we went through our church lists and identified people with no close support and visited and talked to people who face the same questions of how might we manage if we lock ourselves away I realised that whilst we’re all in this together when you are in a single person household we’re in it together alone. And that’s hard. As I hear people worry about being locked away with family and I hear the plans for entertaining one another I wonder who is going to entertain me? Who is going to be there to pick the pieces up when the bits of life that have always been stable unravel and fall. 

And while this blog may seem self-indulgent, it’s a fact of life for many who are not able to reach out to family, friends and neighbours in the run of every day normality never mind in the new every day changes we’re encountering well, everyday. 

As I contemplate how life looks where my social distancing becomes more distant I wonder how I’m going to manage when the world closes in. 

Perhaps in the small things, the bird building a nest from my driveway or the flowers that will grow, oblivious to the crisis around speaking of the hope that takes us beyond the what ifs of the storm we are facing head on. 

Perhaps in the voices from favourite books or from comfort viewing of Gilmore Girls and Friends or the familiar faces of films we’ve watched a thousand times before.The songs that inspire singing and the faces in old photos that grin freely and speak of a life without fear. 

Perhaps in the ring of a telephone, the swoosh of an email, the envelope thrust through the door speaking news from elsewhere. The voices from faraway that remind you that together doesn’t have to be alone, instead a miracle of the drawing together of distance to be a little less than far. 

In this alone togetherness we listen, we wait, and we ponder and the one that never leaves us whispers here, I am here. 

“Don’t panic. I’m with you. There’s no need to fear for I’m your God. I’ll give you strength. I’ll help you. I’ll hold you steady, keep a firm grip on you” Isaiah 41:10 (MSG) 

Coming down from the top of the mountain

Last week I climbed up Helvellyn in the Lake District - it's the third highest mountain in England. We went up the steep way, because striding edge is a bit scary and because the steep way is shorter. I haven't climbed a mountain the last few years of being in the Lake District for our annual autumn holiday because I haven't felt fit enough. This year I was fit enough (mainly due to strange dance exercise classes) and was able to climb..... at my own pace... but climb. 

I got to the top and I felt my left knee do that thing where it doesn't want to bend any more.... where it doesn't want to play ball and work in the way it normally does. As we put our coats on as the clouds descended on the top I wondered whether it was going to last on the way down.... and it didn't. The descent was painful, mostly sidewards and accompanied at every step with loud shouts of 'ow' as my knee complained. I even got strange looks from the woman who had stopped near the bottom as her companions went up who said to me 'that's why I haven't gone any further'. 

I'm glad I did go further. I am glad I did get to the top.... but the descent made me question whether it was worth it. With hindsight it is and next year I am going to try and train my knees up to deal with mountain climbing, perhaps buy myself a couple of sticks and maybe try a different mountain. 

When you are at the top of the mountain it is awesome. You can see for miles. You feel like you've achieved something. But, at some point you need to get down as you wouldn't be able to survive up there for a very long time despite the awesome views. 

I'm now over half way through my ministerial training (can you believe it?) and it hit me a few months ago that the feeling of elation and excitement at doing what I am meant to be doing had gone away... that I was beginning to have to face the gritty reality of what this life can be like. I needed to begin to slowly descend that mountain where everything was awesome (I am sure I annoyed everyone by telling them how brilliant it was) to a place of balance where I can survive long term. 

The trouble is, on that descent, the knee problem sets in. It starts with a niggle, a moment of oh this could be difficult and then at times makes you cry out in pain. As you hit the reality of life in the descent there are times of blessing but there are also times of wrestling where you ask 'can I still do this?'. 

When you read testimonies of people in different forms of church leadership and ministry, one that stays at the summit of the mountain sounds glorious, but is it truthful? I've read honest accounts of real wrestling with God from people like Pete Grieg (God on Mute is a brilliant book) and heard stories of and seen people who behind the public face struggle with stress and depression. 

The reality is fantastically awesome on the mountain top (which is why I want to climb another one) but is painfully difficult when you are walking sidewards down a seemingly endless path of rocks.  

I was reminded yesterday of the poem 'If' by Rudyard Kipling where it talks about how if you can keep everything together when everyone else is not that that is the thing to aim for. It talks of being strong in adversity, of not being overcome by weakness. As I thought about it, I couldn't help but question that Kipling got it wrong. I think that a lot of people might see the role of the minister as being that person who holds it together - and perhaps there are times when that is true and only right. But.... 

2 Corinthians 2:19 says: "My grace is all you need, for my power is greatest when you are weak"

Being strong isn't all it's cracked up to be. Admitting you need God is. When we are at our weakest then God's power is at it's greatest. At the moment I can't expand on that further, but as I am descending the mountain and embracing the reality of ministry I need to admit that my knees hurt, and I need to remember that God is beside me, knees hurting too. 

"For I am the Lord your God who takes hold of your right hand and says to you. Do not fear; I will help you."                      Isaiah 41:13