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The post Chapter 13: Strength Doesn’t Lie in Numbers, and Tea with Jam and Bread by Ann Hinton first appeared on Bryony Wood.

So back to the book…As she leaves the abbey, Maria starts to sing. Her song starts slowly and thoughtfully, more of a melodious pondering than a rousing chorus…

I have confidence you are going to love this book!

The post Chapter 12: I Have Confidence. first appeared on Bryony Wood.

The post Texting God? first appeared on Bryony Wood.

Inwardly I protested most forcibly to God. ‘That wasn’t what I’d prayed for when I’d asked you to fill her with faith and help her find her vocation! I meant a vocation in THIS country, near me. I didn’t mean take her so far away – permanently’.

I tried to encourage them as they prepared to take such a huge step of faith, but the anger and grief was crippling. I railed at God as they sold up and packed up all worldly goods. Their excitement and trepidation was real, all I could do was outwardly support them but at great emotional cost.

One night shortly before departure day, I was driving to church. The car was a safe space to sob and the stereo was gratifyingly loud as I tried to sing along to drown the grief with a favourite praise and worship CD. One song ended then I listened to the next track. In the middle of the song was a musical interlude with a softly spoken scripture verse I’d not noticed before. A familiar verse in John’s Gospel

For God so loved the world that he gave his only Son so that whoever believes in him may not perish but have eternal life.

John 3:16

In that moment I knew God was asking me a question.

‘You say you want all people to discover my love but are you prepared to love the world so much to be willing to give your only daughter, so that those who come to believe in me, through her, may have eternal life?’

That bible verse suddenly became very personal. A massive question. Could I release her to God’s care, knowing he loved her more than I ever could? Could I trust his plans and purposes? Could I allow him to strengthen me if I released her? I knew I had a choice; to resent it and feel bitter, or release her and willingly give her into his care.

The day they flew off was desperately hard. Long after that last good-bye my empty arms continued to ache in a physical remembering of the last hug. Yet I knew I had found a peace that replaced the resentment. The challenge in the car had been a turning point, ‘Yes Lord I trust you enough’. Somehow, despite the loss I began to discover a strength to carry me and bring profound peace…

A year later my daughter and son in law walked through the arrival gate at Heathrow to come home. Not for any ‘failure’ or change of mind, but because she was expecting a baby and needed UK health care because of some initial complications. Those health needs were enough to bring them back and keep them here but with no long-term implications.

A few months later I cradled my newborn grandson utterly overcome with emotion and love and in awe of God’s generosity. Something quite profound had happened; in the process of ‘letting go’ of two people we were blessed to experience three people come back, safely and for good. A wonderful example how so often  what we offer to God eventually brings spiritual and sometimes practical return, seeds sown in faith always bring a harvest!

What was really weird though – that track with John 3:16 embedded in it? I played and replayed that CD and never ever heard that reference again– it was if it was never actually on the disc…

The post Giving Away Not Giving Up first appeared on Bryony Wood.

I felt as if I was neck-deep in a quagmire, that challenging place where doubts and fears swirl. A place that felt scary and lonely and I had lost my usual route map to navigate back to any place of peace. All I could do was hang on by my fingernails to keep me from going under.

A classic example of the kind of situation that prompts the painting. My painting is therapeutic, messy and rarely leads to anything worth keeping as actual finished artwork; but the process of being vaguely creative can be cathartic. On that particular day, it was as if God himself was with me, inspiring and guiding the imagery that was forming in my mind’s eye as I started to squeeze the acrylics on the palette.

I started painting the bottom left corner, a place that was dark and miry, a swamp of unknowing with weeds of doubt. But as I painted I noticed a post in the swamp. It was the kind of post often found on causeways where at low tide an island is joined to the mainland. The kind of post that sticks deep into the mud so that at high tide it pokes up high enough above the incoming sea to mark out the hidden route.

This rough wooden post was in my swamp- it spoke of the truth I could hold on to, the absolute truth that I do believe in God. Whoever, however he might be. A God who has always been with me, even when I did not acknowledge or recognise him.  A holy God who belies my understanding yet nevertheless, is real. And if I could just hang onto this truth in my swamp, then the swirling sea couldn’t sweep away all my faith.

From that vantage point, I realised there was another post coming into view. The second post was real enough and just close enough to reach. This second post was a post of truth that spoke about the reality of Jesus. The man who walked this earth who was God himself in human form. The embodiment of God made known to me so many times in my life; how could I forget those times!     If I could, just hang on to that second wooden post sticking up out the mud; then I would not drown for I trusted he was with me.

I hung on for dear life, reminded of the cross on which he hung. A real historical wooden cross, stuck into real ground in a real place in Jerusalem. And the truth of that took me forward to the third post appearing through the gloom. I did believe with both my head and heart that the cross and resurrection happened. That was something I knew that I knew in my deepest being, and that his act of love and sacrifice was not wasted on me.

I found it easier to reach for the fourth post, the post that God’s Holy Spirit was real and personal, that had encouraged and empowered me so often that I knew he would not stop now. As I remembered that truth, I could see the next posts, which seemed placed much closer together.  These posts were leading me through the quagmire out of the darkness into a pool of light.

From post by post, I made my way. Yes, God has called me into his family. Yes, he was with me in those hardest of times. Yes, he has promised to never leave or forsake me. Truth by truth to hold on to, through the mire, to a place where the mud had gone. I could see now that the posts were stuck into a bedrock, firm enough to stand on without sinking.

Circumstances had not actually changed, but in that new dawning light, I was able to place my struggles into a bigger picture. I had recalibrated my perspective with a glimpse of God’s perspective allowing me to see more clearly. Each post of truth had stayed firm, even as fears and distractions swamped the bedrock of faith that usually underpinned all that I knew, but so easily forgot.

The picture I painted that day would not win any art prize, and I completed it almost without thinking. It evolved through tears and heartache, a visual parable to show there is always a way out of the mud. It hangs on my study wall as a reminder that those posts of truth are set into a solid bedrock of faith, forever.

The post Painting The Posts first appeared on Bryony Wood.