Trusting your Parachute

Last weekend everything seemed to have be about jumping in with both feet (have you ever tried jumping in one foot at a time?  It can't be done) and listening to advice from unexpected areas.  I’ll tell you the funny bit first before I begin a more hectoring part. 

Well, as you know I am directionally challenged (see previous blog ).  This weekend I was taking part in a Choir workshop.  There a nice guy in our choir who is blind and lives in Richmond and needed a ride so I offered to take him.  I set off early, feeling pleasantly selfless and kind .. and I got lost.  Quite quickly.  It was a good job I did leave early .  Anyway, after a few cold sweats and u-turns I found his place and very graciously picked him up along with his Guide Dog, Bounty (who really is the quicker picker upper – I’ve never seen such an instinct for a stray crumb –I think he might be part gannet).    I’ve been to Ryerson before so I knew where to go.  But at some point in the journey,  Richard told me I was heading the wrong way.  I’ll say that again.  RICHARD - the guy with the braille workshop notes and guide dog - told me I was going the wrong way.    Oh.  There are no words.  It just goes to show – good advice can come from the most unexpected sources.  I have to say I did not see that coming.  I bet he did though.

This picture doesn't really fit I know, but I really like it!

This picture doesn't really fit I know, but I really like it!

I’ll also tell you that I was hugely heartened by the Vestry meeting (although my note taking arm nearly seized up).  It was great to hear the enthusiasm and hope in the room.  The determination to get this done and the insightful comments about where our priorities should lie were invigorating.  The message I got from it all was “keep going!  We’re nearly there”.  Again of course the old loaves and fishes thing came up.  I found myself wondering, if I had been in that gathering of 5000 people what would I have done.  I would love to say “of course I would have given up my loaf of bread or my fish”.  But secretly, in the dark inner recesses of my heart, I’m not so sure.  I suspect I would have said “I’ll give mine up but I need to keep some back for my children”.  That’s not terribly faith-full is it?  Faith without risk – what is that?  It’s not faith.  I plan to examine that.  What example am I giving my kids – that they are equally important as God?  What kind of a nightmare person will that produce?  It also tells them I’m happy to put my trust in God for myself, but I won’t trust him with them.  When I write that down in black and white I’m quite shocked.  I think I need to go home and re-do my budget.  And this time, I’m going to pick a figure that scares me a little and it will go on the list of fixed expenses.  Not variables.  Not the “whatever is left at the end of the month” list.  My priorities are all wrong.  That’s not who I want to be.  My mouth is writing cheques my heart won’t sign. It's time to put someone else in the driving seat.

Now  that  is an act of faith

Now that is an act of faith


While I’m talking about giving to God I’ll just quickly tell you something he has given to me.  He has rescued me from addictions, brought me away from tarot cards, wicca, astrology and various occult practices I followed in a desperate search for some kind of power over life.  He has put people in my life who lead me to better things and most of all he’s protected me from my own desire to hit self-destruct more times than I care to remember.  I’m quite sure that my own mother and grandparents prayed for me constantly and brought me though some very dark periods indeed.  And then of course there was recovery from cancer and not just recovery but another child I didn’t even know I wanted.  

In the words of a song we sang this weekend “I got the sweet, sweet victory in Jesus, yes I do!  he is a mighty conqueror, in him I will trust, all my battles he'll fight!”

If I can be a tiny part of another person discovering Jesus’ love for them, through a Community Meal, Messy Church or just having a place to come and sit and be warm on a Sunday -  that’s who I want to be!



Oh and by the way - did you hear about the pessimist who was scared of sausages? 

He fears the wurst.



Flower Pearson