The post Chapter 27:You’re My Saviour and Tea with Jam and Bread (or Toast and Jam!) by Jenny Moxon first appeared on Bryony Wood.

The post Chapter 14: Oh Help! Tea with Jam and Bread by Maggie Scott first appeared on Bryony Wood.

They were right. I do like it… A lot! It arrived on Christmas Day framed and gift wrapped and as they all expected- it brought tears to my eyes as I read it.

In the middle of this dark January; in the middle of lockdown with all its frustrations and fears, limitations and loss I want to share this with you.

The text she gave me was written in glorious multicolour and set out in a most creative way. Below is a simpler text but worded exactly as she wrote last month. This insight of a nine year old mirrors the faith that Jesus commends us all to seek – that of a child. May these words bring you the joy it gives me and may it shine a light for you in this season.

Thank you Sophia, and thank you Jesus!

Him

When I feel warmth in my heart I have one question in my head, can it be him? I already know the answer is yes. I feel my sins and fears are fleeing away from me, or without a doubt, it’s almost like he kindly told them to run away, or he’s turned them into aspirations.

I can already know he’s forgiven me. But sometimes I don’t even need to say sorry to him, THAT’S how amazing he is.

He can be Perfect!!
He can be Astonishing!!

He can be Great!!

But there is no word good enough to say how

Amazing

Forgiving

Powerful     HE IS

I can’t decide if he is great or more. What he is more, more than more, I’ve decided he is my forever friend. I’ve already decided you can never learn too much about him. No-one knows what he looks like. But his book explains, his book paints an image like a hologram. It answers all our questions; it gives us all the advice we need. There is no person better. He is HUMBLE, KIND, POWERFUL, NO WORD CAN EXPLAIN HIM IN; FORGIVING. No.1

He IS JESUS

The photo above is a copyright free stock image and not of Sophia- She might be ready for international fame one day – but not just yet!

The post Him first appeared on Bryony Wood.

The post Getting Closer, Seeing Clearer… first appeared on Bryony Wood.

”I used to work for Matthew, back then he was a collector of taxes, a sort of civil servant working for Herod Antipas .Not an easy job I can tell you…

Those high and mighty Jewish people, called us the scum of the earth. They’d  cross the road to avoid us – afraid even a touch of our cloak, or walking in our shadow would pollute them. But we were Jews too; well we were born Jewish, but what had religion done for us? Apart from make us pariahs in our own community?

We had to do business with everyone, including the Greeks and Romans and those Torah-bashing Jews hated that. They sneered at gentiles and anyone who associated with gentiles.

My boss, Matthew always said, ‘Gentile money buys just as much as Jewish money’. He saw through their hypocrisy. But according to The Law, tax collectors were, well, still are – considered ritually unclean – as polluted as you can get, both inside and outside of our dirty, despised, dishonourable, bodies. Not only were we expelled from the synagogue, but the Pharisees taught that telling lies to a tax collector was fine – a good thing to do in fact; because we didn’t deserve respect or honesty, not from anyone.

It was all because we worked for the ‘other side’; The invaders, so by gosh you developed a thick skin.

Deep down though… whenever someone spat on you or turned their back… well it just chipped off another little piece of your humanity. We got to believe what they said about us – that we were the vultures,  bloodsuckers, outcasts.

Of course we pretended not to care, but who wouldn’t be affected by such loathing? Tax collectors are still people, even if the Pharisees don’t think so.

So it became easier to fight hatred, with hatred, and so we justified our reputation, fighting back against the hostility.

If only they’d understand that we had no choice but to take the taxes Herod demanded. He’d got his pet projects see, and these taxes his way of funding his dreams. His own personal gold mine.

Of course we’d add a little bit extra on top of his demand. Heck, you’ve got to make a living somehow! There were essential luxuries to help to ease the tension at the end of each day. Comfort costs money you know, especially when we have to pay for ‘comfort’, well you don’t need the details; but those women weren’t cheap… not in that sense of the word…..

It’s not exactly a career choice. unless you’re born into it, like Matthew. He and his brother James followed the family profession.The family were all outcasts anyway, might as well be paid well for the inconvenience!

Funny how both the brothers did that and then they both became part of Jesus’ closest circle. Alphaeus, their dad became a believer later on too. Strange though… those he chose, the worst of the worst…..

Anyway, Matthew and I were often sitting in our tollbooth on the main road, the one that runs past Lake Galilee. Such a busy road, a good place to catch everyone travelling between Damascus and the sea ports. All the locals from down Capernaum used that road too, and we knew all about the locals. We knew who’d had a good crop, who’d had a rich harvest, who’d received a bonus in their pay packet. It was our insider knowledge that made us useful to the authorities. A nod here and a wink there, we knew who to tap up for that bit extra.

Until that one day. Jesus the Rabbi; he’s been around for a while, teaching and stirring things up. Some said he did miracles. Some said he was a prophet; some said he was a blasphemer or even the devil in disguise. What I did know was that wherever he was, huge crowds followed. He caused a lot of trouble, a LOT of trouble. The Pharisees seemed to hate him, sometimes more than they hated us.

Then suddenly there he was, just a few paces from our booth surrounded as usual, by a heaving mass of people.

He stopped; stopped his walking and talking, stopped speaking to his friends and he looked over to us.

 Everyone held their breath, waiting…looking…between us and him. This bird screeched in the distance as a rumble started to ripple through the crowds. I think they were expecting him to do what rabbis always did. Sneering God’s judgement upon us, condemn us for treachery and sin. But he didn’t.

He stood. Just stood.

We tried to ignore him. 

‘Perhaps he’s come to pay his taxes,’ I muttered to Matthew. He’ d done that before, paid his Temple Tax. But he just stood there, looking at me and Matthew. Really looking as though he could see right into our soul. I crumbled under his gaze and slipped away and wangled my way to the back of the crowd, no one noticed me go, they were all fixed on Jesus who was still looking at Matthew

I peered back, through the crowd and saw Matthew finally look up, half way through filling in his accounts; like he could feel Jesus watching him as he worked. I saw Matthew trying to dodge his gaze. It was as if the love in Jesus face was so pure, Matthew didn’t know how to deal with it. He wasn’t used to kindness.

Then Jesus made this kind of gesture, taking in the whole scene. The booth, the piles of coins, the scrolls, the globs of  spittle on the table top, a look which seemed to say, ‘Is this the life you want?’ ‘Is this what you’re made for?

There is so much more…

With a kind of shrug, he gestured as if weighing up two options that seemed to offer Matthew a choice .

This……. Or…….?

It was as if, in that moment, his life was held by a thread, in balance pending a decision

Then Jesus stepped towards him  and with barely a whisper, I saw him speak two words.

Just two words – but that’s all it took.

‘Follow me.’

And Matthew stood up, his eyes fixed on Jesus and turned his back on the table and followed him.”

I’ve written this narrative, a story based on the account of the calling of Levi in the bible, Mark 2:13-14.. It’s too easy to think of those first disciples asn being special and good and chosen- but they, like all of us, had to take that first step of faith.

The post The Calling 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.