Light in the Darkness by Liz Carter part 1

On By auntyamoIn Darkness and Light, Guest Posts, Health, weight & wellbeing, Poetry, Writing, Blogging etc1 Comment

Continuing the theme of Light and Dark, I am delighted to welcome Liz Carter to the blog. She will be sharing today and tomorrow, and we’ll hear about her new book, Treasure in Dark Places: Stories and poems of hope in the hurting.

So, over to Liz…

With the clocks going back and the winter drawing in, many of us are living with a creeping sense of dread that coils around us like the fog on a chilly winter day. As the days grow colder and the nights darker, we often feel enveloped in gloom, and now more than ever, as we wonder when all this will come to an end. Winter seems to stretch ahead with no promise of hope, with no sparkles of joy to look towards and wait for with anticipation. Winter 2020 seems like a pit of nothingness, a black hole of rubbishness and sadness.

Perhaps, for some of you, it’s not just 2020 that feels that way to you. Perhaps you’ve lived through years where the nights are too dark and the air too frozen around you. Maybe you’ve been living with sickness, physically or mentally, or living with grief, or other burdens which have left you bruised and battered, unsure where to look for any signs of hope.

For me, this year has been tough, but my whole life has been lived in pain, to some degree, with a chronic lung condition from infancy. This year I went into shielding in March after receiving the letter that punched me in the gut with its words instilling more fear in me: I’d been identified, it told me, as someone with risk of severe illness if I caught Covid-19. I separated out from my family and lived in my room for almost five months, caged into a life without touch or the usual family interaction. It was tough. It sent me spiralling mentally, into restless, tearful nights and days that seemed to stretch too long at times.

But God kept sending me little reminders of his presence and his love. As I began to let go of some of my fear and pour out some of my restlessness into poetry and other forms of writing, God spoke peace into my heart, and even sparks of joy at times.

God reminded me that it is sometimes in the darkest places where we find unexpected treasure, where light is able to break through in even more splendour, puncturing the blackness and calling us on towards the hope we find in Jesus.

I wonder if you have ever felt that you should be happy at all times as a Christian. Perhaps you’ve even heard teaching encouraging you to claim prosperity and health in all areas of your life, that because God is a generous God he will give you these – you only need to ask. Perhaps you’ve felt unable to share honestly about tough times, because you have been led to feel that you are, in some way, failing God because of your struggle. You hear the great triumphant stories of healing and wholeness, of God coming through for people when they are suffering, of God’s great and miraculous provision. But when it doesn’t seem to happen like that in your life, you can be left sad and alone, hugging your suffering to yourself in the mistaken idea that you cannot share it with others, because it might put them off the idea of faith.

Yet the more I dig into Scripture, the more I find the most starkly honest writings there poured out for all to see, overflowings of emotion and anger and sorrow spilling onto the pages – most of the prophetic writings are like this and the Psalms are full of songs of lament as much as songs of praise. Tomorrow I will write more about that and share one of the poems from my book

Thank you Liz. It’s a blessing to read such refreshing honesty in difficult times.

I look forward to hearing more. In the mean time, Liz’s book Treasure in Dark Places: Stories and poems of hope in the hurting can be found here. Until tomorrow… A x

More on light and dark

On By auntyamoIn Darkness and Light1 Comment

So many people love this time of year. Autumn colours, pumpkin spice lattes, snuggly scarves, warm fires, falling leaves etc. It’s not my favourite season. I prefer Spring. The hope of good weather and the promise of longer days and brighter evenings. The only thing I love about this time of year is that I can get all my hats out and start wearing them again. I have quite a few. In fact those of you who have been following this blog for a long time will remember it was originally called, Just Another Christian Woman… talking through her hat.

As a kid, I hated the dark. My bedroom door had a glass panel above it and when the landing light was on I got the benefit of it. But it was always turned off when the last person went to bed. I often felt vulnerable once the light was off.

If everyone was asleep, who would hear if someone broke in? A fear of my home being broken into stayed with me for years; even now I don’t like to stay on my own overnight.

In my teenage years dark evenings meant I had to be in. I wasn’t allowed out after dark until I was 16 or so. Even then I had to fight for it. Until that great liberation, in the winter months, I’d run home from school, change out of my uniform and meet my friend. We’d do a quick lap of Tallaght, stopping off in the Town Centre to look at the make-up stall or visit the record shop, then run home to be in before the dusk curfew. When we were finally allowed out after dark, it turned out it was too cold to be hanging around the streets, (unless the was a boy to meet), so we’d end up in her kitchen or mine.

Sounds like a bit of a contradiction doesn’t it? I didn’t want the dark as a small child, but was eager to be out and about on a dark evening when I was a teenager. On reflection, I think darkness was ok, as long as was with my friend. I didn’t want to be out in the dark on my own. It’s darkness when I’m alone that gave/gives me problems.

1 John 1:5 says “God is light, and in him is no darkness at all.” If John had been Irish, he might have said, “there’s no darkness at all, at all.” No darkness what so ever. The closer we get to him, the less darkness there is. In a time of social distancing, it is such a comfort to remember that God is not distant. He is always with us. Not two millimetres away, never mind two metres.

Two things come from this for me.
1. I am never alone, God is always with me
2. If he is with me, there is no darkness at all (at all) 🙂

Thanks so much for all your encouraging comments and messages about my last post. I really appreciate it. It’s great to be back writing again after a long dry spell.

A x

photo credits 1. Mattiii photo The Long Shadow via photopin (license) 2. Annmarie Miles

Stepping back into the light

On By auntyamoIn Getting to grips with God stuff, Health, weight & wellbeing, World Mental Health Day19 Comments

I’ve been thinking about this post for a couple of weeks now. Not sure what to say or how to say it. Searching for the words to describe the last year or more honestly, without sounding like I’m grasping at the sympathy vote. Before COVID was a familiar talking point, before lockdowns were a thing, before facemasks were commonplace, I was already heading into isolation. I knew it was coming, I could feel it creeping up on me. The stress, the anxiety, the fear, the weight of perceived responsibility, the exhaustion, the disappointment in myself and worst of all, the distance between myself and God.

I cannot find who posted this but I give full credit to whoever it is. Sums it up perfectly.

At the end of December 2019, I shoved it all in a corner of my brain and we went to Ireland for Christmas. I had a fantastic time with my Irish family. I forgot about (well, ignored) my endless to do list, my inability to do my job properly and my lack of enthusiasm for church life. I was home and free and happy. But by the end of that trip I was ill; my usual winter lurgy, I thought. After we came home, I fell down a couple of steps hurting my already injured ribs. I went back to work for a few days, but after starting to cry when my boss asked me, “How are you doing?” I went home and rang the doctor’s surgery. In her treatment room I poured it all out. Sickness and pain, both inner and outer, which left me with no ability to pick up the load I had laid down before Christmas. The GP’s advice was to forget about even trying to go back to that life.
“For how long?” I asked. “I’ve loads to do.”
“You’ll know when you’re ready,” was her reply. I went home with my sick note, a prescription for the pain (both inner and outer), and sat down in an armchair. I sat in that chair every day for weeks. I didn’t cry again. I wasn’t pining for home. I didn’t want to binge eat. I wasn’t even sad. It didn’t feel like depression should feel. It didn’t feel like how it felt the last time. I was just empty.

It was clear that I could not return to the job I’d been doing, and should not return to all of the many calls on my time. It had never occurred to me that I could change things. I thought I was being lazy and selfish; a bad Christian and a BAD pastor’s WIFE (not a BAD PASTOR’S wife, you understand). But the doctor, and the pastor, and others I spoke to assured me that it was not only possible, but essential. I decided to give myself permission to only do what I could. I wanted to start running again but was worried colleagues might see me in the the park and think, she’s off sick, how comes she’s doing laps of the duck pond?

The Occupational Health doctor my employers put me in touch with, said I should get out there. He told me he’d prescribe it if he could. In his opinion, getting out doors and moving again is better than any pill he could give me. So I started an online couch to 2k, which went on to a 2 to 5k. I was running again and making good progress. This is me having just finished my first non-stop 5k. The elation I felt did indeed do more for me than the pills I’ve been taking (grateful as I am for them).

I’m officially finished work, but ‘under the doctor’ as they say in Wales. All this is just the start of my way back. I’m in no fit state to go job hunting. This is a time to reenergise, get my eating back on track, keep active, edit my book, and as from four weeks ago, venture back into church life. The irony is not lost on me, that I now wear an actual mask to church, at a time when I’m finally able to take the emotional one off.

I’m doing so so much better these days. Still have a way to go. But by God’s grace and love, I’m getting there.

Thanks for reading.
More soon. A x

Looking after the bricks and mortar

On By auntyamoIn Getting to grips with God stuff, Health, weight & wellbeing1 Comment

Helloooo! Am back after another blogging break. I have a good excuse though. I was nursing injured ribs. I almost called this post ‘Falling Slowly.’ I can remember every moment of the fall and the landing. I tripped over a few millimetres of crooked paving stone and landed with an extremely painful THUD! So I was out of action for a few weeks. Then I went on holidays…

We went on a road trip. Not as far and wide as we’d planned, due to my delicate condition. We went to Cirencester, the Cotswolds, Oxford, Kent, Chichester, Farnborough and our last day before returning to Wales, was a day in Bath. If you know me, you know I love Bath. I’m always up for a spot of Jane Austen spotting. But what really fascinated me on this visit was our walk around Bath Abbey. They have embarked on a major project of renovation and restoration. At the same time as repairing the collapsing floor, they are working on preserving the history of the building, and reducing their carbon footprint. They will be running the warm spa waters under the Abbey and utilising underfloor heating. It’s a super project called ‘Footprint’ and I’ll add the link below if you’d like to visit the Abbey website and read about it.

My first pastor regularly reminded us that the church is not just bricks and mortar. We met in a community centre and were delighted eventually to have our own permanent home in the loft space of a row of shops. But he kept reminding us, we were not get to caught up in our surroundings, but to get caught up with Jesus, and the Word of God.

As I entered Bath Abbey and saw the huge undertaking of restoration work, my old pastor’s words rang in my ears, and I confess I kinda snorted at what I could see happening. I know I know – a terrible attitude, but almost immediately God pulled me up on it…

God’s Word was all over the building. Each panel used to ‘fence off’ the renovation area had a Scripture verse on it. We found copies of The Lord’s Prayer in one of the small chapels, in a number of languages (including Welsh). There’s also an exhibition called, ‘Let My People Go.’ 23 beautiful pieces of work that reflect Bible stories from Creation, through to Moses.

Bath Abbey is definitely not JUST about the bricks and mortar, even though the bricks and mortar currently need some attention. I was blown away by it, I have to admit.

As I’ve spent some time healing from my injuries, I’ve been pondering my own efforts in physical restoration and renovation over the last few years. I continue to look after myself, staying active and trying to lose some more weight. But I too am not JUST about my bricks and mortar. I’ve written before about how I’ve mistreated this temple I’ve been given, and though I need to take care of my body, I also need to make sure I’m taking care of my spirit. I’m crumbling on the outside, there’s no denying it –  aches and pains, still carrying too much weight, laughter lines that have developed into hilarity tunnels. But… as long as there’s plenty of God’s Word on the inside, I reckon I’ll stay standing.

Go check out the Bath Abbey website… and do visit if you can. It’s a super place, inside and out 🙂 x

 

Remembering and believing…

On By auntyamoIn Getting to grips with God stuffLeave a comment

June (and the beginning of July) were just too busy – but brilliant. Each Saturday, there was something on, or I was away. Lots of travelling, long days and late nights. From the 1st weekend in June spent in Scargill House in Yorkshire, 2nd Saturday there was afternoon tea in our church, the following weekend I was in Bala, North Wales. Then next Saturday, I helped organise a fundraising coffee morning for Relay for Life in Pontypool. The last weekend in June was the Relay itself.  Oh and the 1st week in July was a church afternoon tea again. Last Saturday I was sitting down – it was weird, I felt like I should have been dashing about somewhere…

It’s a relief to be able to stop for a bit and review the non-stop weekends of busyness. In all the travelling and organising, there were moments when I was stopped in my tracks and made to be still. This is one of them…

When I was looking at our route back to Pontypool from Bala, I noticed we could travel via Aberfan. I’d wanted to visit Aberfan since hearing about the tragedy in 2016, 50 years after it happened. A colliery spoil tip collapsed killing 116 children and 28 adults. It engulfed the local primary school and some of the buildings nearby. I hadn’t heard about it before the anniversary, and was shocked by the reports I read about the tragedy. And that it happened only 20 miles from where I lived. I didn’t want to gawp or stare, or nosey into a town’s history of grief. But I did want to see for myself an image that had imprinted on my mind when I saw it on the news. Two rows of white marble scalloped headstones. The resting place of those who had lost their lives.

photo credit is my own

It was a steep climb up to the grave yard and sight of the gravestones took my breath away. Even now it’s hard to get my head around such heartbreaking history. Rich and I walked slowly along the row, without much conversation. There was nothing to say. Every so often I stopped and shook my head in disbelief as I read messages of love and loss on the gravestones. I stopped again at one grave whose flowers had fallen over. I fixed them as best I could and found myself talking to the 7 year old buried there. “Let me tidy these for you love,” I said, trying not to cry for the little stranger. “There you go. Can’t leave you untidy now, can I? It’s the least I can do for you.” It was overwhelming. A moment that will never leave me.

I spent many “why God?” moments after that. And though I don’t agree with those who believe God is cruel and uninterested, I can understand why tragic events bring those responses. It sent me back to the book of Isaiah, which I had been studying for a while. I’m not about to preach a sermon, but reading God’s Word reminds me that even in the most devastating situations, he is worth trusting. I get that many would disagree with me, but I still believe God is good.

Coming to the end of NFFD

On By auntyamoIn Flash Fiction, Writing, Blogging etcLeave a comment

Well I hope you’ve enjoyed the mix of flash fiction on here today. It’s one of my fave writing days of the year, and though I spend a lot of time on longer projects these days, I do love a short and snappy story.

So the final offering for today, comes from me and it’s a little darker than my usual tales… let me know what you think…

 

A Dream Come True?
by Annmarie Miles

My eyes opened; my heart pounded in my chest. I sucked breath in to my lungs and tried to work out where I was. My eyes darted around the room. In the dark I could just make out the shape of my jacket hanging off the wardrobe door.

You’re at home. You’re home, it’s okay.

I turned my head towards the steady breathing next to me.  He was facing me. Smiling. He always smiled when he slept. It was one of my favourite things about him.

My breathing increased as I looked at him. He was the villain in my nightmare; again. For almost a month I’d been dreaming about him. Every night, his aggression towards me increased. Tonight he was throttling me. Strangling the life out of me. I was losing consciousness when I woke in search of air. I wanted to move away from him, but feared I’d wake him. I needed to be further away from those images before I would feel safe next to him.

I wish I’d never gone to that party. I wish I’d never stopped to eavesdrop on what his colleagues were saying about his “latest obsession.” It took a while to realise they were talking about me. I thought they were jealous of the car. They sneered and jeered and the more they said, the more compelled I was to listen. They disgusted me with their envy and bitterness. They were describing a different man from the one who now filled my heart and mind. I was considering walking up to one of them and slapping his face when he said, “She’ll disappear like the rest of them. Mark this day she’ll go the way the way of the others. Buried in the woods somewhere probably.”

My feet wouldn’t move. I pulled my wrap around my shoulders as the cold breeze of their laughter swept over me. I returned to the table and he smiled that glorious smile then kissed me. Every night since, he has tried to kill me in my dreams.

The memory of that night shrunk my bladder. I slid from the bed and walked to the bathroom. When I came back, he was sitting up in the bed.

“You ok, Peach?”

“Yeah, I’m fine, something just woke me. I can’t get off again.”

“Well, if you can’t sleep, how about I tell you about my day. That should bore you back sleep.”

I laughed. The sound of his voice dissolved my fears and after my second yawn, he said, “My work here is done. Come on, let’s get you back to sleep.”

I lay down and he moved towards me, draping his arm softly around me. He nuzzled my neck and I sank into the curve of his embrace. Sleep surrounded me, and as it did, I felt his grip tighten.

 

Some bubbly Flash Fiction from @hortonious101

On By auntyamoIn Flash Fiction, Writing, Blogging etcLeave a comment

Please join me in welcoming back Martin Horton to the blog, with a bubbly contribution to Flash Fiction Day.

Don’t forget, if you’d like to catch up more of with Martin’s writing, you can visit his blog Hortonious101. Or follow him on Twitter @Hortonious101

 

Lost in Lather
by Martin Horton

I knew there was something special about the house the moment I stepped into that room. Something in the air. That made me linger, not want to leave. I was sold. Jane and I moved in the next week. It was the first thing we’d agreed on in a long time. We’d been through a rough patch and this house seemed to be the sanctuary we were seeking.

The next morning, there was a knock on the door. Pat, the previous owner, stood there holding a wicker basket filled with glass jars. ‘A little house warming gift’ she said with a twinkle in her eye. And then she was gone. We looked at each jar, our wonderment and curiosity growing as we read each exquisitely written label. ‘Lost in blossom’, ‘One night in Paris’, ‘Rhubarb rhapsody’, Coconut Crescendo, ‘Sex appeel’, that one put a glint in our eyes, and many more.

Then Jane noticed a handwritten note at the bottom of the basket.
Get lost in the lather and find each other again.

We raced to the bathroom, shedding clothes on the way. Which one first? Of course we went for the Sex appeel one. Who wouldn’t? The scent was subtle. Like from distant orange groves in Seville. Then the more we lathered the stronger it grew. Next thing we knew, we were sitting down to breakfast with a crusty old colonel, drinking Earl grey tea from china cups and been encouraged to try a vast array of marmalades, each with more zest and zing than the one before. It was after the fourth round of crumpets we couldn’t hold our laughter in, and then we found ourselves back in the shower again. Each with a wider smile then we’d seen in a long time. Which one next?

Flash Fiction, with some truth in it, by @georgietennan2

On By auntyamoIn Flash Fiction, Getting to grips with God stuff, Writing, Blogging etc2 Comments

Georgie is back! This time with a tale of how a Sunday can go gloriously wrong… 🙂 Don’t forget to catch up with her on her blog, and follow her on Twitter @georgietenna2

 

 

Not the Smoothest of Sundays
by Georgina Tennant

It had been the kind of Sunday that made me want to slam the church door behind me and post my resignation back through it.

It started during worship and went downhill from there. One of the more ‘quirky’ congregation members had a ‘word from the Lord’ that we should sing a song about ‘breaking dividing walls,’ holding each other’s hands and swinging them, symbolically, to ‘smash through spiritual barriers.’ The scene that followed, reminiscent of an Adrian Plass sketch, appeared to bemuse entirely the few visitors we had enticed in. Most of them exited discreetly for a toilet break, returning only when it looked safe to do so. As first impressions went, not the greatest.

Next was prayer. An old lady expressed to the Lord her heartfelt thanks for His hand on her life through the years, from the moment she – I quote – “exited her mother’s…” I’ll spare you the term, but suffice to say her scientific terminology was accurate. Eyes widened all around me and I stared hard at the floor, trying to make sure mine didn’t meet anyone else’s.

Sermon time arrived – an exhortation to yield to the holy spirit more. As I painted a picture of him as a peaceful dove, sitting on your shoulder, I realised too late the tongue-twisting potential of those words – the spoonerism was out; a memorable sermon in all the wrong ways.

Dejected and weary, I locked the church and turned to face the road home. “That,” said a kind, amused voice, emerging from the shadows with a face that matched, “was the best Sunday meeting I’ve been to in a long time.” Puzzled, I reached out to shake his hand, but he was already disappearing ahead of me, down the road, one small scar faintly visible on the palm of the hand that waved goodbye.

Tsunami – flash fiction by @lindy_greaves

On By auntyamoIn Flash Fiction, Writing, Blogging etcLeave a comment

Our next #flashfiction offering is from Lindy Greaves.

You can find Lindy on Instagram and Twitter @lindy_greaves and just search her name in Facebook and she’s top of the list 🙂

 

Tsunami
by Lindy Greaves

I cling on though the water is rising. My girls are with me. Tharushi and Kalpani shuddering against the surge. Tharushi won’t look at me. She knows – I think. I hang on. Kalpani, just stares wild into my face. My soul. Fear and trust searing me. Breaking me. Her hair is plastered across her tiny face and she blinks away swirling and filthy rivulets, holding her breath. My wrists are weak; my fingers brittle. I try not to see the body face-down amongst the debris that flows past. I recognise the red shirt. He is a neighbour. Was a neighbour. There is no neighbourhood now. I choke on a mouthful of silt and dread. That’s when Tharushi’s branch fractures. I snatch at her clothes with my one free hand. Grasping frail fabric. Wrapping my legs around the tree’s submerged trunk. She splutters. Holds on. To me. To the tree. Unspoken thanks in those deep wary eyes. She knows.
The water is rising. Nearby screams engulfed in the roaring. I hold on. I hold on. Tharushi is five. She knows I have to make a choice. Soon. My hands are weak. I feel my knees buckling under the tide. Leaves, limbs from trees, bits of houses churn by. A post cracks into my head. I look at Kalpani. Remember her scrunched up baby scowl. The painful pull on my breast as she sought her sustenance. Her grip is slipping. My fingers are weak. We will all die if I don’t choose. I look at Tharushi. Black eyes focused on the brown water. She knows. The choice no mother should have to make. I turn my face to heaven. And I let go.

More from me on this fine National Flash Fiction Day

On By auntyamoIn Flash Fiction, Writing, Blogging etcLeave a comment

Here’s another flash fiction piece from me. This one comes from my second collection of short stories, called A Sense of the Sea and other stories

Hope you’re enjoying the flash fiction today. Please let me know what you’re reading and writing today that’s flash-y 🙂

 

Finished
by Annmarie Miles

“Why don’t you drink the last mouthful of your tea?”

“Huh?” Her husband didn’t look up.

“The last mouthful, why do you always leave it?” She swilled the cup out in the sink.

“Dunno,” he said, chewing his pen.

“You never finish anything,” she said, rattling the cups in the sudsy water.

“What?” He put the crossword down.

“Well you don’t.” She kept her back to him. “The garden project, sorting out the spare room …” She slammed cutlery on the draining board. “You put that awful monstrosity in the hall. It’s been there two years, half of it sanded and the other half as mucky as ever.”

“That monstrosity was my father’s bureau.”

“And even the tea I make you – you never finish it.”

After a minute of silence, except for the dishes going back in the cupboard, he spoke.

“Leaves.”

“What?”

“Leaves,” he said. “Tea leaves. I don’t want to swallow them, so I leave them in the cup.” He would have smiled at his fabulous joke had he not still been smarting over the bureau comment.

“I don’t use tea leaves.

“I know that,” he said, with a sigh of regret. “It’s just a habit. I never ever used to drink the last mouthful at home. My mother always used real tea leaves. She taught me not to empty the cup, so I wouldn’t end up with a mouthful. It’s just an old childhood tradition.”

The mention of his mother made bile rise in her throat. She closed the cupboard and opened the fridge. “Pork chops do you for dinner?”

“I suppose they’ll have to,” he said from behind his paper.

She began peeling potatoes.

“I’m going to have a go at that bureau, since you’re getting so worried about it. I’m giving up on this,” he said, waving the paper at her.

After he left the room, she walked over to the table. She picked up the paper and read the one clue left unsolved.

12 down. The longest sentence, just for two. (1, 2)

She picked up the pen and wrote “I DO”, before going back to peeling the potatoes.

If you’d like to read some more from ‘A Sense of the Sea and other stories’, you can get it for Kindle and in paperback from Amazon.
Just click here… x