Rest

What does it really mean to rest? I Googled it (because dictionaries are outside of the comfort of my snuggly blanket) and it defined rest as to cease work or movement in order to relax, sleep, or recover strength.

In case I haven't complained enough, I'd been fighting tonsillitis for over 3 weeks. One week after 20 days of antibiotics and I'm finally feeling more normal again. Everyone told me I should rest so over Christmas I took it really easy. I did very little. I finished antibiotics and all the symptoms reappeared within 24hours. Highly inconvenient. I feel like I've been sleeping more than I've been awake. Not for one moment though do I feel like I've had any sort of break. 

The other week was a bit random. My boss text me on Monday night inviting me to stay for the rest of the week to get a bit of a break. I was hesitant at first. How on earth could staying with my boss, her husband and their 2 small children possibly be considered a break, let alone restful? See above definition; none of it says "go spend a week with children who play ukuleles and sing Let It Go at 6.45am on your day off" (yes, that is *exactly* how I was woken up one morning) and yet, for some bizarre reason, this is exactly what I needed. 

No, I am still not 100% healthy. Yes, I still feel tired. But I feel relaxed and I feel like my strength is returning. I have certainly not ceased work nor movement. Am I not resting? Am I changing the definition of rest? Or did it not encompass everything in the first place? 

For me, I feel most rested when I'm content. My joy comes from spending time comfortably with people, seeing other people laugh and smile, agreeing to last minute trips to the zoo, just feeling a part of something. According to the dictionary, I'm doing this whole rest thing wrong, but I know what restores my strength and I'm going to keep doing that.

The Lord replied, "My Presence will go with you, and I will give you rest" -Exodus 33:14

Reflections

In the process of going about writing my annual "look back at the year" blog, I discovered a draft from a month ago titled "Reflections". I'd not actually written anything in the post and now have no idea what was actually going through my mind when I thought about that post. Reflections seems an apt titled for my thoughts on the past year though, so I'm going to run with that.

Initially I considered doing a month-by-month description of this year. That's quite long-winded, and in case you didn't guess from the above paragraph, my memory is terrible. I, then, considered reading last year's blog post about my goals for 2017 and reviewing those, but that would just be documenting my failures. I'm not quite sure instead what form this post will take. I'm just going to write and see what happens.

My word for 2017 was speak. A terrifying word.

Here's what I learnt when I speak.

*I have a voice
*People listen
*I am capable
*I am making a difference

Here's what I learnt when I listen.

*I'm trusted
*I'm safe
*I am valued

Here's what I learnt when I let God speak.

*joy
*peace
*happiness
*contentment
*love

Here's what I learnt when I listen to God.

*God's got this
*I am right where I'm meant to be

This year has been a big year. My life has changed unimaginably. I started the year expecting to be in the full time role of the job I was already doing part time. I'd be at the same church. I'd have the same colleagues. I'd continue to deny the longing to not be in an office job. I'd be snuggling the same children once a week and thanking God for the one block of time where I could be me. I'd be battling my brain forever. Staying safe in my comfort zone.

I'm in another part time role, in a new church with brand new colleagues. I don't have a proper office job. I'm happier than I was. I've bounced back from mental health lapses quickly. I'm learning my passions. Finding my heart for children to know Jesus in new ways. Pushing myself further and further out of my comfort zone.

I wouldn't have gotten to where I am now staying still in my safe place. I don't know where I would have been if I hadn't stopped on that Wednesday morning to listen to what God was speaking so clearly.

I'm not ending 2017 in a place of regret or dread. This is the first year I feel hope in a tangible way. More so than ever before. This year hasn't been easy, please don't read this post as that. I don't want to spend time dwelling on the bad stuff any more.

I'm so excited for more. Come at me 2018.

For everything there is a season, and a time for every matter under heaven:
A time to be born, and a time to die;
a time to plant, and a time to pluck up what is planted;
a time to kill, and a time to heal;
a time to break down, and a time to build up;
a time to weep, and a time to laugh;
a time to mourn, and a time to dance;
a time to cast away stones, and a time to gather stones together;
a time to embrace, and a time to refrain from embracing;
a time to seek, and a time to lose;
a time to keep, and a time to cast away;
a time to tear, and a time to sew;
a time to keep silence,  and a time to speak;
a time to love, and a time to hate;
a time for war, and a time for peace

Ecclesiastes 3:1-8

It is well

It was my birthday 8 days ago. One of my friends presented me with the gift pictured below. I don't think she had any idea how much my inner being is saying this at the moment. Despite the turmoil and the uncertainty of the past few months, I feel at peace currently.

2 days ago Gilbert joined the house. Gilbert is a one year old tortoise. I've wanted a tortoise for almost 2 years now, but it has never quite been the right time. Last November was a real battle for me, but I promised myself if I survived til spring time, I'd be allowed a tortoise. In March, I got permission from my landlords, but life was still a bit shaky. After turning 27 and managing, for the first time in at least a decade, not to have a birthday-related meltdown, I couldn't see a better time. I cried happy tears in the car driving home with Gilbert, because buying him was me committing to living. A tortoise isn't like a dog or cat in lifespan. The whole likelihood is Gilbert will outlive me, but he will outlive me when I die of old age, not by me ending my life prematurely. My housemate has already nicknamed him Dr Gilbert, because he's my new therapist, and yes he will keep me alive and somewhat sane, but he's also my reward for surviving until now. He will be the reminder of the promise I've made to myself. I don't break promises to others, and I'm praying that now I can keep this promise without external accountability. Meet Gilbert...

There's another reason I'm blogging today; not just to be excited about life and tortoises, but because it's an anniversary. 10 years ago, I was awoken by the phone ringing at 4am. My dad answered. A phone call from New Zealand, my uncle had cancer. He had days to live. I went to school that morning. I remember snapping at a friend who offered me Haribo, because how could I eat sweets when my uncle was dying halfway across the world? Less than 10 hours after the initial phone call, the second came with the worst news. My dad picked me up at the end of the school day. My family only seem to be able to deliver bad news in the car (I can count at least 3 more times I've been told bad news while either mum or dad were driving). The next weeks were a whirlwind. This happened 2 days before mum's birthday, he'd been diagnosed on mine. Flights were booked to the funeral. I realised I'd never speak to my cousin again. I met people who weren't who they said they were. I'd hugged my uncle at Easter for the first time in years, did I know then it would be the last time saw him alive? The mask I'd been hiding behind was rudely ripped off. My mental illnesses exposed after 5 or so years of being hidden. Everything was attributed to my uncle's death but it was far more than that. My diary entry on this day 10 years ago read "It shouldn't have been Graham. It should have been me." These sentences repeated in entries for at least another year, but it wasn't the first time I'd contemplated not existing.

My uncle was like a second father to me. I remember fondly the times he'd take my cousin and I shopping. The times we'd drive him crazy. His baseball caps. His sunglasses. The way he'd never raise his voice, just change the tone if we were in trouble. I notice it in my own voice now when telling children off. When I spoke to him on the phone and he'd ask me how learning Latin was going. He was one of the only people who I felt ok talking to on the phone. His visits were special. Christmas dinners with the compulsory brussels sprouts. Nana and Grandad's joy at having their son home for a little while, mum spending time with her brother. His love of travel became mine. In a couple of weeks I'm going to Canada. I always remember Graham speaking of Vancouver and it's been on my bucket list since he went. It seems fitting to be going this year. I remember when my uncle first bought his car- it was so exciting that he didn't have to hire cars anymore so always knew it was him when the car pulled up outside the house. That's my car now and while I want to replace it, it does still hold a special place in my heart. I knew he loved me dearly.

So much has happened in 10 years. I think he'd be surprised to see where life has taken me. But I think he'd be proud of me too. I've fought hard, faced challenges I don't think anyone could have expected. It's taken 10 years for me to be able to feel ok with life again. And for the first time since depression hit me, I want to live and live well. I want to enjoy every moment for now on and hope I make Graham proud.

I'm finishing this post with the title. An old hymn (by Horatio Spafford) that's been in my head for a few weeks.

When peace like a river, attendeth my way,
When sorrows like sea billows roll;
Whatever my lot, Thou hast taught me to know
It is well, it is well, with my soul.

It is well
With my soul,
It is well, it is well, with my soul.

Though Satan should buffet, though trials should come,
Let this blest assurance control,
That Christ has regarded my helpless estate,
And hath shed His own blood for my soul.

My sin, oh, the bliss of this glorious thought!
My sin, not in part but the whole,
Is nailed to the cross, and I bear it no more,
Praise the Lord, praise the Lord, O my soul!