The Mists Come In

 

Today was one of those wonderfully calm sunny august days, when the Northern Irish stumble out into the sunshine in shorts and T shirts, like so many cave dwellers suddenly enjoying the daylight. I even managed a dip in the Herring Pond this morning. The Promenade was thronged. The Strand was busy. Then in the middle of the afternoon, in the space of little more than half an hour, grey mists had rolled in from the ocean, swirling around the harbour, and we’re back in the dank atmosphere we had become used to since the beginning of the month, crowds grasping for hoodies and raincoats, and quickly heading home. It only takes a little bit of mist for the world to look that little bit different, and for spirits to sag just a little.

It was a bit like that for me yesterday. For no apparent reason. 

Not that I was sick or anything. Just feeling down. 

The whole experience of these last few weeks.

And somehow, I just couldn’t shake the feeling. Couldn’t get out of it.

But, then this morning I read the Fortieth Psalm. Of David.

And I understand a bit better.

Such graphic language he uses to describe his sense of feeling down.

The slimy pit. The miry clay. 

You can almost hearing the sucking sound as you try to find a foothold.

The mire pulls me down. Trying to rationalise my situation.

Trying to get answers, where there are none … just yet.

I can’t get out by myself. I give up trying.

And then. ..All of a sudden…

My feet. He sets them on a rock. 

A firm place. Now I can stand. Now I can see the light just that little bit better.

I’m like a sheep that has wandered off.

Away from the track, falling into a deep ditch.

Dark, and cold. Steep slimy sides. Unable to get out.

Bleating, struggling, giving up.

Until the shepherd suddenly comes upon it, grabs it, hoists it up.

Feet on a firm place. To walk. To run off and join the flock.

Now, that gives me a new song in my heart.

Mists have cleared. Day is bright again.

Comfort

 

Here’s a handy question for a table quiz. 

What word does Handel’s Messiah start with? 

And the answer is ….  ‘comfort’. 

The overture begins with sweeping strings, and then the tenor’s voice “Comfort ye, comfort ye my people.” 

The Hebrew words in the Bible sound even more melodic and soothing “Na-hammu, na-hammu, ammi.”

Drawn from Isaiah’s text, out of the mouth of God, it sounds at variance with the idea one might have of Yahweh.

Majestic, powerful yes, just and fair yes, but comforting..?

Yet, this is at the heart of the idea of the Judaeo-Christian God, and thus introduces Handel’s masterful presentation of the narrative of God as the one who saves the world through His Messiah.

He has an intensely personal, and intentional relationship with this world He has created, both with the peoples who inhabit it, and with individuals like ourselves

He is the God of all comfort who comforts us in all our troubles. 

That is so unlike the gods of ancient Greece (I’ve been dipping into Homer’s Iliad), whose interventions with mankind appear to spring from caprice, jealousy, even selfishness.

Also unlike the idea of God we get from any other religious world view where God appears distant and aloof. 

But the very reason this God can and does give comfort is that He is Almighty, majestic, in control, and has a plan and purpose in every circumstance that happens, no matter how awful - a plan that will find its glorious fulfilment at the end of time.

Which is why, I sense, that there is such a growing attraction toward the God of the Bible in the Farsi speaking world, both among Afghan and Iranian men and women.

And how in need of God’s comfort, that region of the world is just now.

So, as I, personally, find comfort, in a God who I know is in control of my own relatively minor circumstances, may He also give comfort to those dear people, whether friends of ours living in Athens and aching for their relatives and friends of whom they have not heard, or living in Kabul, and passing each day in fear of their very lives and futures.

 

Open Home, Open Heart

The devotional we have been following in recent months (https://www.24-7prayer.com/dailydevotional) has recently been focussing on the grace of hospitality. I say ‘grace’ because there is something deeply spiritual in the act of giving and receiving hospitality and the impact we can have on others. And it’s a lot more than simply inviting someone over for a meal or catching up over a cup of coffee. It’s about an open heart and a listening ear as much as an open door. In the devotional, Jill Weber says, about Jesus and his post-resurrection walk and talk with two men on a road to the village of Emmaus, ‘Jesus practices hospitality by listening deeply to them, giving space for the swirl of their emotions, then helping them to make sense of what they had experienced by unfolding the narrative of God's history, and allowing them to inhabit and find their place within that larger story.’ As we prepare to move, yet again, down to 29 Atlantic Circle by Portstewart harbour, where we will be for the next several months, I’m asking ‘How, Lord, do you want us to exercise this grace of hospitality in this new context?’

Together, we reminisce, thinking back over the random moments of hospitality that have marked our 41 years of married life across many different countries. There’s the French family who found themselves stranded at Lisbon airport with nowhere to go because of a missed connection. Then there’s the single woman who took ill on the Camino de Santiago and had to cut short her walk, and needed some days of respite, before flying home again out of Lisbon. And many, many more.

Our apartment, also, over a three year period, literally became  ‘church’ for the newly forming community that was meeting there - food, prayers, music long conversations, kids, birthdays, and more prayer. Some days, we would rearrange the entire living room for a day of prayer, with candles and readings, and quiet spaces for friends to sit and reflect. 

Yes, you do have to give of yourself, and be creative when you practice hospitality - it takes time, effort and intentionality. But, in our experience, you get so much in return. The blessing of deep relationships that are formed, the tears that resolve into laughter. The deep joy of walking with someone through a hard place, listening to them, reflecting with them, and eventually seeing them emerge strengthened, restored. Hearing people comment after they have visited us - ‘your home is peaceful. I feel really rested here’.

So having been ‘yanked’, as it were, from our new home in Athens, to dwell for now, for some months, in a new home in Portstewart, we are looking forward to knowing, God, who are the ones you will bring through our doorstep, and how exactly you will create a place of ‘Shalom’ in this new space.

(below - flashback to an earlier time, august 2009 to be exact, when the community of 'A Ponte' was meeting in our flat in Lisbon)

Numbering my Days

These days, there are times when I become really aware of my own mortality. I kind of think, my days are numbered, which always sounds a bit morbid when you say it like that, until you realise that, in Gods economy, they have actually been numbered ever since the day you were born. Who even knows what their number is? For example, for me, I am nearing the end of my ‘three score and ten’ that the Psalms spoke about, while,  on the other hand, with current life expectancy in the west, I potentially have a good ten to fifteen years to go, if not more. 

Strange thing is that, as humans, we tend to suppress all thoughts of mortality from our minds, until they stare us in the face. We are too busy living, and part of our survival mechanism, especially when we have chosen to deny ideas about god and eternity, is to subconsciously banish all thoughts about death and the empty void beyond. 

For me, something like this (the cancer), makes me take time to relish and enjoy every day, whether sunshine or drizzle (mostly the latter at the moment), and give thanks for the smallest thing. To live for the moment, appreciate family and friends, and at the same time, look forward to a future that is made fuller and richer because of Christ, and that will never end. In trying to get around how God measures time, I recently found an article by Jon Bloom in DesiringGod quite helpful to read  (https://www.desiringgod.org/articles/my-times-are-in-your-hand).  It has the enigmatic subtitle -  ‘Learning to trust the speed of God’. Now, there’s an odd concept - God and speed. Pete Greig recently remarked in an interview that ‘God has two speeds - slowly, and suddenly’. I think I’m experiencing both right now. 

The sudden diagnosis and being wrenched away from our life in Athens, which happened so quickly, was not easy. And now I'm in this slow process of medication and healing which the doctor says will last for twelve months and more. A whole year out, I'm thinking! But whether, things are moving too fast or seem to be too slow, according to my time frame, they are always moving at the right speed for God. For him, the author of time, a thousand years are as but a day that has just gone by, as the old hymn says that we sing every Remembrance Day.

                (Myself, contemplating time and eternity at the ruined Castle (circa 14th Century) at Renvyle, on the western edge of Connemara a few weeks ago!)

Angels at the Bridgewater

 

Yesterday - a touch of the reality I’m passing through

Since the first treatment cycle last Friday, I was due my first check up as to how I’m doing. 

First a blood test earlier in the week at my local Health Centre

Then a phone call to follow up any issues. 

So, when the call came, I expected a few routine questions as the week had passed fairly well, without incident. 

This I was not expecting -

"Mr Crawford, your blood test showed a higher than expected result. 

We need to ask you to come in today for another test to confirm this further."

"You mean up to Belfast?"

"Yes. There isn’t time for you to go to the local Health Centre.

We wouldn’t get the results back before the weekend. We can’t wait that long. 

You have to come to Belfast."

So we dropped everything, and rushed the 80 or so minutes drive past the familiar green fields.

Grey skies with patches of blue around Ballymena, to the Bridgewater Suite of the City Hospital once again. 

Another blood test. Another uncertain wait.

And finally to hear that the number has not increased further, in fact it has decrease a little, and you are fine to go.

So what might have been a stressful day turned out good.

It was helped also through encountering two angels at the Bridgewater Suite in Belfast City's Cancer unit. 

Well, they didn’t have white wings. But they had blue uniforms.

Leanne and Sarah are part of the team that is caring for me. 

They welcomed us, asked us how we were settling in, knowing that we had had to uproot from Athens at short notice in order to settle for a time in Northern Ireland for the treatment.

Asked about our family in London, and how they were coping with the news.

Showed compassion and a awareness about our situation.

Were able to explain how side effects to the drugs can flare up at short notice.

That any issue needed to be dealt with as soon as possible, hence the sudden call to come to Belfast.

It was so reassuring to us to see that this team, was not only professional and alert, but also caring and personal in the way they looked after people like me.

So, thank you, Leanne and Sarah

 

 

Rib Cage

I’ve never felt so conscious of my ribs before.

There they are humbly forming a guard of honour around my heart and my lungs. 

And I’ve hardly given them a moment’s thought.

Except perhaps when my 4 year old grandson decides to 

take a lunge for a grandad hug that feels more like a rugby tackle.

Now, however, I think I understand the term ‘rib cage’ better.

At nights, especially, when the odd twinge, or the  intermittent aches 

(and so far in the story, I would not call them serious pains), keep me awake. 

It feels as though my chest is caged. There’s this feeling of tightness.

That something weighty is pressing in on them.

That’s where they said the cancer cells had shown up in the PET Scan

Spots of light here and there, in the ribs, and on the hip bone, like hotspots in a war zone.

I still think of it from time to time in battle terminology.

These are my own body cells after all. And they’re not doing their duty.

Like rebels, they refuse to function in the way they were created.

A rib, that stops being a rib, is not going to help protect my heart, or anything else.

So, at times, I place my hand over the aching area, and assert my authority.

I speak to my bones. I order them to get into line.

Now, that might not seem theologically very correct. 

Or even physiologically accurate

But I have been given a God given autonomy over my own body, have I not?

I say to my arm, ‘Stretch out’ and it stretches, or to my eye, ‘Close’ and it closes.

And at times, I will speak blessing into those old bones.

God has blessed me, as His child. He has commanded that I bless others.

Can I not then also bless my own body?

Can I not, with Gods authority, pronounce a blessing over my own bones?

And so I say it. Be blessed, rib cage. 

Be blessed with health and wholeness.

In Jesus name!

Why? Why? Why?

 

Over the past three months of change, from one of moving positively into a post-Covid season of work and ministry opportunities in Athens to one of becoming absorbed into a world of consultations, scans, and blood tests in N Ireland, we have experienced a lot of mood swings. Sometimes, it’s a quiet resignation that all is in God’s hands. He will bring good out of it, as He always has done - we only need to be patient. But more often it’s the big question - Why?

Last evening, we listened in to the online Sunday service from HTB Church in London. **

The speaker, Rachael Wooldridge, talked about how it’s okay to ask the question Why?, even though it might make you feel unspiritual or somehow doubting God's goodness. Of course He has a plan. Who are we, as mere mortals, to question it? 

When every young parent is bombarded with incessant ‘Why’s?’ from their four year old, as Rachel pointed out, the ‘why’ questions are all part of developing the parent child relationship. Through constant inquiry, the child gradually figures out how this world works, and the parent guides and loves the young inquisitive mind through a maze of uncertainty and fear.

** https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kYM1bK9sSZ8

Questioning God is important.

God invites us to ask Why? Well then - here are a few of ours. 

If it was in your plan to tear us away from Greece, after just one year, half-formed as it were, then why…

Why give us that deep inner sense of calling, of rightness about this move, and all the changes it entailed, from Portugal to Greece, learning a new language etc?…

Why did you keep that apartment in Anatolis 85 prepared for us all those months  -  from Jan 2020 when we first saw and liked it to July 2020 when we eventually managed to get to Athens after lockdown., and find, against the odds, that it was still available You kept it there, clean and empty and unrented, till we could come, even reducing the asking price for us, all confirming for us it was your choice?

Why  provide all the resources we needed to set up a home just the way we wanted, and in a manner we really felt we could be us. Even down to the detail of  being a place where we could happily survive lockdown, surrounded as we were by trees and quiet places to walk?

Why help us through all the post-Brexit mess in record time, providing us with residence permits allowing us to stay and serve in Greece for the next several years?

Why excite and energise us with all the many opportunities to help and support, immigrants, refugees, Greek pastors and Christian workers, and place us in this vibrant city for such a time as this?

Why introduce us to so many, young and ..well, more our age..  Greeks and non Greeks, and help us develop strong bonds of friendship that normally would take years to grow, only to be snatched away again? …

WHY, LORD?

And to each and every one of those “Why’s?” There’s also a “Why not?" 

If it serves God's plan and purpose to have us where we are right now, 

to be planted and flourish, and make a difference here where we are..

Then .. Why not?

Therein lies wisdom. 

The Gloves are Off

 

The gloves are off. Now the battle is engaged.

At least, that’s how I felt yesterday, in my first session of immunotherapy at Belfast City Hospital’s Cancer Centre.

Sitting comfortably in a reclining chair, one of four in the ward, with a tube in my arm.

Various solutions are being fed in from a drip. First Nivo, then Ipi, and, in between, drips of saline flush. 

Each one takes between 30 to 90 mins, so the whole process lasts about 5 hours.

The doctors and nurses are amazing in their care and professionalism.

The sessions will be every three weeks, so I am back here at the end of August

Nivo and Ipi - not their real names, which are unpronounceable - are my two collaborators in this fight. 

These two chemicals are being sent in to reawaken my body’s natural immune system to the dangerous cancer cells 

that have been lurking in my body.

Thats the crazy thing about it. Cancer cells are actually my own body cells, that have gone rogue. 

They refuse to perform in the way for which they were created.

They have become rebels, and as such are doing everything to work against my own body.

Including inhibiting my own immune system from being able to detect that they are even there and that they are a threat.

Bill Bryson, in his book “The Body” puts it this way. 

He says “Cancer is, appallingly, your own body doing its best to kill you.”

That’s why I see all of this as a battle. Frontline are my two collaborators.

Plus my own self maintaining a positive attitude and healthy lifestyle. 

Behind this is all the technical support provided by the medical team.

Behind them are several cohorts of prayer supporters, in Ireland, in Portugal, in Greece, and elsewhere.

Our own wonderful family as well. And of course, my amazing Anna.

And, over of all this, is a loving, powerful God who deals in the supernatural

So let's see where all of this goes.

Yesterday, my friend Manuel in Lisbon sent me 

a reference from Psalm 16. It was brilliant because 

it stood in stark contrast to my earlier meditation on Psalm 23.

That psalm spoke of the 'valley of the shadow of death'

Here, it talks of 'the pathway of life'.

They are in fact one and the same thing. 

God's pathway to life often takes us via the shadow of death

What better way to celebrate this pathway of life

than to go down to the sea at Castlerock today!

          “You make known to me the path of life 

             And fill me with joy in your presence.”

A Long and Winding Road

 

** Restarting the Crawford Blog, after many years of lying dormant, to try and document over the next months what we have called in our email updates to friends and supporters our “Next Adventure”. That is to say, this lived experience with skin cancer and its treatment. An experience, that carries with it the personal knowledge of a good God, who holds everything in His hand, who knows where He is taking us, and who has much to teach us through it. **

………          

Tuesday, this week, was a down day.

I suspect there will be many more of these to come

And it is not so much because of physical pain or sickness.

Rather it is the overwhelming emotion of being on the brink of a journey I have not chosen.

It was a day of looking down a long and winding road to an undetermined destination. 

Sort of when you come to the brink of something … something you have been prepared for … something in which you are convinced, even now, that God is in full control

But at that moment you are filled with doubts and uncertainties.

The “what if..” questions crowd your mind, and you feel yourself slipping before you have even started.

 

And so I take my stand with the good Shepherd.

Even when my way takes me through the Valley of the Shadow of Death..

And remember that it is but a ‘shadow’ of death - not the real thing - a mere whisper, an imagined threat, of mortality

And there I find, a table set for me in that wilderness place.

A place of feasting, and even partial understanding of what’s ahead.

A cup that overflows with blessing.

And the balm of healing oil anointing my head.

And the overpowering knowledge that

His Presence goes with us, and He will give us rest.

Today, we are on the train to Belfast, for the initial consultation with the doctors on my case

Tomorrow will be my first treatment...