Posts Tagged ‘rain’

Today marks my return to the world after being in exile in the Lakes for the last 2 weeks. It’s been a good couple of weeks hanging out with family, friends and the mountains. Week 1 involved lots of rain, a small cottage in the Southern Lakes with Mum and Dad. In week 2 I headed up to Keswick to a larger cottage, which involved lots of sun, and some sitting in a tent on the UCCF stall for the convention.

Highlights in no particular order:

1. Amount of books read. Here’s the list. 

Bit of a Blur- Alex James

The Shack- William Young (yes I loved it, no it’s not perfect or the Bible, get over it…)

Touching the Void – Some mad mountaineers 

Liberating ministry from the success syndrome- Kent and Babs Hughes. (better than the WA incident)

The Outcast – Sadie Jones (random novel, not really sure I’d recommend it…)

Utopian Dreams- Tobias Jones (Read this now. Go on.)

2. Mountains climbed, looked at, walked past. Top 3 walks in no particular order:

Traipsing up a mountain pass with Dad through the middle of the Lakes, finding hidden valleys, the rain finally stopping and the strange figure who looked a bit like a character from Hound of the Baskervilles sweeping round the mountains. 

Climbing up Catbells on the one blue sky day. Having it all to myself due to the early hour and seeing all my favourite sights on the drive home. 

Climbing Great Gable with my brother, singing stupid songs, the moment the mist went to give genius views across the fells, the Lord of the Rings referencing and the general joy of coming home after a good day in the hills. 

3. Moments that made sitting on the stall more fun:

Actually, there is only one of these but it kept us amused for the entire week. We were sat opposite the stand for an organisation educating people about drugs and alcohol abuse. They had some genius goggles to simulate vision whilst hammered. Cue hours of endless fun as time and time again people tried to walk in a straight line, shake someone’s hand, high five and catch balls. Most of the time they failed to our great amusement. You have to understand, it was a very quiet week on the stall…

4. The Birthday surprises of Roz, Mark, Jo and Tudor turning up in my favourite place in the world. Nice one. And discovering turning 30 really isn’t so bad, but it may warrant a blog post all of itself… 

5. The general hanging out with lush people: Mum, Dad, Mark, Roz, Karen, Emma and others.


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Our kind of church on a Sunday morning far away, chatting, reading the Bible, praying, grateful as ever for friends who’ve know me for a long long time, who I can bear my soul to, who love me as me. Glad to share their lives and deeply glad that we have real solid hope. The cosy cottage keeping us safe as the storm rages outside, good times to use the phrase pathetic fallacy. Sitting in the best deli/cafe and consuming more incredible food, paper buying, curling up on a sofa reading. Ending the day with much roast joy, a warming fire and a good film. Happy sighs all round.

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I’m not sure how the disciples of Jesus felt the day after they’d seen their Lord, Master and friend crucified on a cross. I’m not sure whether they would have remembered his talk of rising again in the pain of their grief. I’m not sure if they wondered what on earth it was all about and I’m sure they didn’t know how to deal with the pain of loss and separation. Easter Saturday reminds us of such times.  In a way it was entirely fitting that today we went to a uber amazing restaurant to eat incredible food and drink everflowing wine (well as much as the lovely Sarah Meagher would pay for) to comemorate what would have been James’ thirtieth birthday. It was the right day for it to happen. Mainly because this day is about so much of the darkness and pain of this world. But the things we did today pointed towards a time when we would see him again, when the glory of tomorrow will come because Jesus did rise again. We sit on such days and feel the sadness, but it is a sadness tinged with hope, even if it’s in the brief glimpses of sun and blue skies on an otherwise rainy day. Here’s to James and all the others that we miss right now, and to all in inexplicably hard situations. There is a final day, there is more than this, and that final banquet will be a pretty good feast. 

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This week has been a strange one in the world of Hoveactually. Illness has bound me to the sofa, memories of this time a year ago have made me muse, and the constant sunshine has made me smile and think that something might be ok after all.

Things of note this week:

It’s been a year since the lovely James Meagher went Home. Quite apart from the strangeness of the passing of time, it’s weird that it’s been a year. We wonder how we cope with life, how people manage to keep walking through the pain of this world. And there is no quick answer, sometimes it’s like walking through the rain on a windy day, head down, face set and just the effort of putting one foot in front of the other. This life has many of those moments in it. Thankfully they are tempered by the times when the sun shines through the clouds, or even when the rain eases up a little.

I always turn to Martyn Joesph at these times:

“Sometimes I’m tired of the struggle, sometimes I’m tired of this face.
We shall overcome, just like the man said.
We’re walking on , we are walking. We’re walking on, just like the man said.”
“And though the bleak sky is burdened, I’ll pray anyway,
And though irony’s drained me, I’ll now try sincere,
And whoever it was that brought me here, will have to take me home.”

I’ve therefore been pondering the resurrection a whole lot more this week. It’s the one thing to hold onto. I have so many questions, so many things I don’t understand about this world and faith in it’s Maker. But I do know that He lived, died and rose. And that makes all the difference in this crazy world. Eternity is out there. Now we walk through valleys of shadows, one day we’ll be home.

Being ill is fairly rubbish, even for a little while, but when you wake up and your head is clear, your body has stopped aching and the sun is shining, the relief is wonderful. Times that by a million billion and you’ll not even come close to the sense of relief when we stand on the new earth, sun streaming on our faces, and the sure knowledge that we have come home.

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