A REAL LIVE MISSIONARY

Many years ago I was introduced to the children as ‘a real live missionary.’ We have laughed about it ever since. But when, recently, I was introduced as someone who used to be a missionary that made me sad, for I know that being a missionary is a calling and does not depend on location, financial support or lack of it, or even age, and we should all be missionaries.

I had to learn to be content to be a missionary in the East End of London before ever I went to the ‘uttermost parts of the earth.’ 

I had read about Mary Slessor, but did not know anything about present day missionary work when God first spoke to me. It was through hearing the scriptures read of how Jesus sent his disciples out into the villages. Somehow I knew this was a word to me. I presumed this would be the villages of UK as I had heard about a Caravan Mission to Village children.

Then God led me into the Apostolic Church and my eyes were opened to a wider field and  met some ‘real live missionaries.’ Whenever they came to visit, from Africa, India or elsewhere, I felt God challenging me, Was I willing to go there?

Maybe I had to be willing to go before I could really pray for them?  I told the Lord I would go anywhere for him, but not alone. I was hardly of the calibre of my friend Esther, who had already gone as a single missionary.

But Mr. Right did not appear, God’s call became more persistent, and teaching in London’s East End became even tougher. Was I regarding my missionary work as a way of escape?

I was praying, asking God where I was to go. Maybe Southern Ireland? It was certainly a mission field at that time and I had contacts there, and no scary mountains or vine bridges.

Then God spoke to me through his prophet. ‘Your calling is not to a person or to a place. It is a joyful abandonment to your God.’

And so God made me willing to be a missionary just where I was, and I believe God did do great things through me in those few years, though I didn’t see it at the time. But still his word persisted, that I would go abroad.

 

At last a request came for teachers or nurses with a missionary call to volunteer for the Australian mission fields and I knew I must answer. No Mr Right, or conviction concerning the place, but I wrote, expressing my willingness. There was a two year delay, and I must admit to some relief thinking that maybe all God had required was my willingness, but eventually I was all packed up and ready to go as a teacher to the Highlands of New Guinea.

A holiday, shortly before leaving, I stood on a bridge, watching the waters rushing over the brink to fall on the rocks below.  I had to turn aside. This is what it felt like for me to answer this call, but the Lord gently assured me, ‘The river is not afraid.’  

He reminded me of his word concerning a joyful abandonment to God’s will and knew he would work it all out.

Friends were coming to the airport to see me off. Again the fear engulfed me. ‘Lord, I won’t be able to do it,’ I whispered, ‘to leave all my friends and everything I know.’

In a picture I saw Jesus standing at the doors. He told me,  ‘I am going. You can come with me or you can leave me.’

There was a crowd at Heathrow airport, singing and praying. The call came for my flight. I almost ran through the doors, for I could not leave Jesus, and he was there waiting for me.

A month in Australia before another long and scary lap of the journey, but again the Lord spoke. ‘Rejoice in your going forth,’ and gave me the wonderful assurance, ‘I am pledged to come with you and you will be able to turn readily and easily to me at all times as to a friend who is alongside.’ These words God was speaking to me are all in the Bible, but the Holy Spirit brings them as a living word to our hearts at just the right time. They are still hidden in my heart and continue to be a strength to me.

At last I landed at Laiagam in the remote highlands of Papua New Guinea. I hadn’t any previous convictions concerning this place, but  it wasn’t long before I wanted to live and die there and when after five years I returned to UK and was told I could not return, the Lord had to remind me of his word, concerning a joyful abandonment to his will and that my calling was not to a specific place.

And so God made me willing to work again in UK until I was eventually asked to go to Ghana and there again I felt at home in God’s will.

In Australia I had been given a word, to ‘gain a knowledge of the language in the place where you are going.’ Having learned the Enga language, now I had joy in learning Ashanti Twi.

After yet another five fulfilling years in Ghana  God spoke about moving on. Was I to go back to Papua New Guinea? No, this time it to UK and specifically Wales, for I was to marry a Welshman. Yet another language to learn, though I have not yet become fluent in Welsh.

Five years as a minister’s wife and then Joel was retired from being a pastor with the Apostolic church, but we never considered ourselves retired from God’s calling in our lives We said we were re-tyred and used every opportunity to still serve him. When he died I had to learn the significance of those words, ‘…not to a person,’ and now as a widow and an octogenarian, many doors are still wide open for me to minister.

Why am I sharing this with you? Because I believe we are all called into the ministry, in whatever capacity, and we each need to know our calling is ‘not to a person or to a place, but a joyful abandonment to our God.’ And we can each turn to him as to a friend who is alongside, for he has promised he will never leave us or forsake us.

So have joy in being a ‘real live missionary,’ just where you are, and may we together prove what is that ‘good and acceptable and perfect (just right) will of God.’

(Romans 12: 2)

 

 

 

     

BLOG – MEMORIES OF A BIG BROTHER

One of the joys of family is the memories you share. We were four siblings – at one time aged two, four, six and eight. Now my brother, the oldest, was not only living in the antipodes but suffering from dementia. Seeking to awaken something of our precious memories I wrote this little poem, thankful that though I could no longer  contact him by phone, I was able to send it by email to be read to him.

 

BIG BROTHER

 

Three little girls, just one boy, our big brother

 

And oh, it was fun as we grew up together

You might taunt us and tease us, but always we knew

Your support and protection as together we grew

And always in all we were there for each other

 

Out of childhood and youth you were still our big brother

And boldly we stepped into new life together

This life of adventure, of faith and of fun

Knowing in all that the race must be run

Always sharing our faith with John, our big brother

 

And now, older grown, what far paths we have trod

In life’s great adventure of walking with God

And though memories fade of our blessed yesteryear

Yet strong is that bond that still holds us each dear

And we’re thanking God for you, still John, our big brother.

 

But now my beloved big brother has been taken from all the pain and indignity of old age to his heavenly home.  His Australian  wife and family were looking to me for memories of his earlier life. As I tried to fill in the gaps for them I had a sweet recollection of our cycling days. (I wrote this story for The Upper Room.)

As a family we had wonderful outings on our bicycles. It was war time and hence few cars on the road. John was the eldest, and the only boy at that , so of course he liked to be ahead – though we still laugh at the time we thought he must have already reached our destination, when we saw him, head down, cycling on the other side of the road and about to pass us by. When at last he heard our shouts he was flabbergasted, until he realised he must have come full circle round the roundabout by mistake.

But there were times when it was no mistake. I would be struggling uphill when, from somewhere behind me a strong hand was planted in the middle of my back and I felt myself pushed up to the brow of the hill. He had been willing to give up his lead to come back to help his struggling little sister.

I think that is a lovely picture of what my ‘big brother’ meant to me as a child, and what he has meant to myself and to so many others through his life.

But in his fairly recent relationship with his Australian family and his increasing dependence, John was always appreciated as a gentleman, and the tribute which is very special to me is by one of his step daughters, who wrote of him as the Gentle Man.

With so few who may share my memories, it has been a joy to have his treasury of family photos placed now in my care. My beloved grandmother, and yes, Gran, my great grandmother, and Bob the dog, (how I had loved him) - and of course these wonderful albums of four little ‘angels’, as the photographer had made us out to be, that were presented to my father for his  birthday, every other year. 

Memories, how precious they are, and how we need to record them while we are able. It has been a joy to read these blogs that are being recorded on the web site of the Apostolic Church, of those pioneers in the faith, so mightily used by God;  many of whom paid a great price that we might be able to enjoy this fellowship and this grace wherein we stand.

 

So as we treasure our own special memories of yesteryear, may we appreciate and love each other just as we are, for today is the present, God’s gift to us.  Tomorrow cannot be taken for granted, and Jesus says, -‘Behold, I come quickly.’  May we all live in the light of his soon return.

GUARD YOUR JOY

Nearly time to get up, I suddenly turned up the radio for I was listening to the most amazing Christian testimony. Anthony Ray Winston, an innocent man, had just been released from 30 years on death row.

‘You must be so bitter,’ his interviewer questioned. ‘They have robbed you of thirty years of your life.’

It was his answer that arrested me. ‘No,’ he affirmed. ‘I won’t allow anything to rob me of my joy.’

In those thirty years when it must have cost the state thousands of pounds to guard him from escape, he was busy guarding his own heart against bitterness and anger, and now he had spoken into my heart.

I listened later to hear his testimony again, and also looked it up on the internet, but I did not find these words repeated. It seems the media wants to keep God out, but I had heard his words and I am determined to share them where and when ever I can.

I was challenged. Am I always full of joy, or do I allow the enemy to come and rob me of my inheritance? I have learned, the hard way, to guard my purse, so may I, through Winston’s amazing testimony learn to let nothing rob me of my joy.

Jesus not only left us peace as our inheritance, but he said, Ask and you will receive that your joy may be full.

For many years I knew God wanted me to go as a missionary. I thought it would be very hard, but God gave me a wonderful promise; a promise of joy and peace. Single and going alone, I realised that many women had a husband, children, a fine house in a civilised land, but without joy and peace they had nothing.

So I eventually went to work in the remote highlands of Papua New Guinea. Many times I would remind God of his promise of joy, and he is faithful. He always answered.

Now, back in UK, and struggling with widowhood and old age, I still do a lot of asking and God does a lot of answering, anointing with the oil of gladness.

We were young, not long out of college when one of our friends was struggling with a broken relationship. I was ready to encourage her in her self-pity, but Esther spoke out strongly, that nothing can rob us of our joy except sin.  She quoted the parable of the prodigal son. When he had confessed his sin and returned in repentance to the Father, ‘they began to be merry.’

I still have to remember this lesson. If we are indulging in self-pity, then it is self who is on the throne and not Jesus. But thank God, he is only a prayer away and we are immediately forgiven, restored, and able to rejoice without ceasing.

So what is it that can steal our joy? We can only imagine the devastation of the disciples when they had seen the Saviour killed and buried but, thank God, we can experience the joy of Easter morning when Jesus appeared and gave them the glad assurance that he had conquered death and hell, and that through the Holy Spirit they would always know that he was with them.

So is there anything that can steal our joy? Can tribulation, hardship, famine, or other unspeakable suffering? Paul assured us that in all these things we are more than conquerors, and God is able to take the worst the enemy can do against us and turn it into a testimony, even as he is doing for Anthony Ray Winston. And so we, like Paul and Silas in jail at Philippi, can always sing joyful songs of praise to  God.

Yet, even so, there may be days when we seem to be smothered in a blanket of depression; and when we even may have to accept the help of medication.

In my teens I suffered from depression. I thought this was caused by guilt and so looked round for the cause, but once I came to know Jesus as my Saviour, he helped me to put right whatever was wrong, and so, knowing I was right with him, I had to wait for him to heal me from what was physical depression.

Soon after my husband died I had been to a house group and then struggled against wind and weather to return to my car. ‘Oh Lord,’ I complained, ‘I don’t like being a widow.’ The next moment it was as if Jesus was beside me and we were laughing together. I realised how awful it would be if we did like being widows. Now I tell people, God does not take away the pain, but he does give joy and peace. Hallelujah.

God’s gift to us all is contentment. It was in my single days in New Guinea that he taught me to claim his word and to say, ‘I am delighting myself in the Lord and he is giving me the desires of my heart.’  I am still affirming this truth.

I wonder what Ray Winston’s testimony is, of how he survived that terrible ordeal, - of 30 years, made up of long, long days of living on death row, but this little poem written some years ago, tells how God has so often come to me in answer to my cry for his joy.

 

JOY

Joy is a fountain, springing, though the land is parched and dry,

 

When heat as blanket presses, gentle breezes from on high.

Joy is a lighted window for the child who’s far from home,

A hand upon your shoulder when you think you’re left alone.

Joy is a skylark thrilling, rainbow’s circle in a storm, 

The promise of God’s presence and his strength for each new morn.

Joy is the tug of anchor when storms sweep you from the shore,

A voice from deep within that speaks of life for evermore.

Joy is the sight of heaven given the Saviour on the cross

The certainty that Jesus will bring blessing out of loss.

Joy!

Joy is!

Joy is Jesus!

Live Long

I have a star on my fridge, awarded me by one of our Kids Club. It has a prayer on it – ‘Pauline, live long.’

Strangely, I wouldn’t always have been happy to receive such a prayer, for I had a fear of living too long. I felt God had honoured my husband by taking him when he did. Though Joel was eighty one he was still young at heart. He did not suffer and he did not see old age. Almost his last words before he died were, ‘I believe God is going to do great things.’ And God is.

I guess I dreaded living with no quality of life. But when someone spoke into my life that I would still be ministering at a hundred, someone, I may say, whose words I have proved in the past, I remembered  a special holiday we had in Laugharn. Walking on a coastal path, I turned up a couple of steps, as we were not sure of the way. No, it was not the path, but I had been meant to step aside, for God had been there in a special way. ‘Lord, I don’t mind living to be a hundred now.’ His presence had been so awesome. How could I fear the gift of life if he was with me?

Now in my eighties, I’m glad they don’t think I am too old to still go into the schools. While teaching ‘Bible Explorer’ God is continually telling me not to give up, but always to embrace life as his gift, his ‘present.’  Terah kept the family in Haran waiting for him to die before they could continue to the Promised Land. I tell the children, if only he had been willing to take one more step, he could have got there too.

Then there is Isaac. He gave up much too soon, living  for many years after Jacob tricked his brother out of his birth-right. We can have a quality of life, even with little or no eyesight.

But best I love the story of Moses. He didn’t begin his ministry until he was eighty and when he came to die at 120, his eye was not dim not his natural strength abated. I heard of a lady who, aged 70, was healed of heart disease. Her daughter told her, ‘Remember, you don’t have to be ill to die.’ She wasn’t. Helping her with the chores, enjoying her dinner and cup of tea, she leaned back and was home with Jesus.

I have never had good health, and they told me I was not strong enough to be a missionary, but God has taught me to lean hard on him, and though some may think it is now time for me to give up, he is asking me to take life, a day at a time, as his gift to me, and to prove him still to be my strength and my song.

When a beloved partner dies it is easy to long to be in heaven with them. But the Lord reminds me that if he had taken me to heaven when I asked, and there I realised how many more children I could have led to him, I would  have been deeply ashamed. How thankful I am that a little child has prayed for Pauline to live long.

‘Children obey your parents and you will live long in  the land.’ Life is his gift, and it is up to us to enjoy it. We can still claim the Lord as our healer, whatever our age, and we can trust God for whatever task he places in our hands. So now, when I am weary and feel like giving up, I ask the Lord to anoint me afresh with his oil of gladness.

So do I expect to live to a hundred? I thank God that he has made me willing to trust him if it should be so, but I am content to know that he has numbered my days.

I believe it was George Muller who said we should live each day as if Jesus were coming today, but plan as if he may not come for a hundred years. So, whether he comes or calls, may we all take a day at a time as God’s gift, and a step at a time in his strength.

Journey into Easter

High days and holidays. It used to be holy days, but for those of us from unchurched background, it is the holidays that are important. We celebrate Easter with hot cross buns, chocolate eggs and Easter bunnies.

 

As children we loved pancake day, but pitied those who had to give up chocolate for Lent. But recently Laura spoke to the children about giving up for Lent, but suggested an alternative might be to give something to the Lord in these days leading up to the celebration of the death, and of course, the resurrection of Jesus at Easter.

 

I was blessed this year to be able to give some special time to attend a retreat from Monday, leading up to Good Friday, ‘Journey into Easter.’ As always, I received far  more than I gave.

 

Our venue was Nicholaston House. Gower has been described as one of Britain’s best kept secrets, but Nicholaston House, overlooking Oxwich Bay is one of God’s beautiful open secrets, a place of refreshing, healing and Christian fellowship. Less than an hour’s drive from Porthcawl, it  has proved a haven for me since I have been widowed.

 

‘In this place I will give peace,’ is God’s promise as we enter in through the door, and we are soon at home with spirit, soul and body well cared for.  

 

Stuart Bell, with his wife Pru, late from St.Michael’s, Aberystwyth, led our meditations. He prayed over us Paul’s prayer in Eph. 3:16, that we too might know the width and  length and depth and height of God’s love.

 

After beautiful times of worship, where Anne with her violin and Diane on the piano, led us so beautifully, Stuart based his meditations on Jesus’ life in this last week of his life before he died on Good Friday, as God’s Passover Lamb.

 

Monday, he emphasised the height of his love; his tough love as he confronted those in power by cleansing the temple. 

 

Tuesday we considered the breadth of his love; his expectant love as he cursed the fig tree because it did not meet his rightful expectation of fruit.

 

Wednesday our meditation was the length of his love, love which loved and gave, yes, even Judas, every opportunity to repent, as Jesus knelt to wash the feet of his  disciples, - yes, even his: love which was enough to save the thief on the cross: his jealous love, which looks for our worship and was so blessed by those who anointed his feet with their fragrant offerings.

 

Thursday, Maundy Thursday we thought of the depth of God’s love as we came to the Passover meal which has become a memorial meal of such significance for us; God’s deep, mysterious love.

 

And so we came to Friday, yes, Good Friday, but bloody Friday.

 

Through the week our meditations had been interspersed with other activities. There was no view of the bay as we arrived, for the clouds were covering us. Tuesday morning, and still no sign of the sun so Sylvia was hoping for plenty of volunteers to help with banner making in the afternoon, but the sun came out, the beauty of the country side called and she was left with just two whose legs seemed no longer made for walking. (I must confess one of her elderly volunteers was not much help (me of course) but with Pam’s faithful help they produced a meaningful banner by the end of the week, of a cross, adorned by a crown of thorns and the letters L O V E added, representing the length, breadth, depth, and height of God’s amazing love.

 

Tuesday evening Stuart had a night off when his wife Pru showed us  an old black tin box which had held the archives of her great grandparents who had died as martyrs in the terrible Boxer rebellion. She held us enrapt as she told how the story of her ancestors had come alive to her; of how eventually she and Stuart had been able to visit the very village where this tragedy had occurred.

 

Pru refrained to tell us of the miracles that were part of their story as she wanted to whet our appetites to buy her book, ‘Lives from a Black Tin Box.’ I recommend it, but it is not for the  faint hearted.

 

Wednesday was a very special evening as we had a Seder meal together, complete with wonderful Jewish cooking, where we were instructed not only in the Jewish traditions in which Jesus would have shared, but all that evening must have meant to him and now to us.

 

Thursday evening we followed the Stations of the Cross. Modern portrayals had been placed around the house and we walked from room to room, reading the appropriate scriptures and pausing for prayer and meditations. We ended in the Celtic chapel for our final mediation, and after reaching the climax when Jesus cried, ‘It is finished,’   we all remained in silent worship, but then one and another struck up meaningful hymns and we knew our songs were giving joy to our Father in heaven.

 

Good Friday morning we had a wonderful time of worship, and sitting silently in God’s presence was a special blessing. Stuart gave his final ministry before we blessed each other by sharing these special symbols of the bread and the wine.

 

Paul tells us that we are not to judge those who keep special days as holy, or those who know that every day is holy to the Lord, but Easter is still a holiday that is recognised in our secular society, and for me it was a wonderful opportunity to leave my phone, computer and television behind and seek the Lord in a special way, so I felt I should share this special blessing. I am hoping to book in for next Easter, and if the trumpet has not yet sounded, maybe we who live in South Wales  could meet there?

ANYONE FOR CAMPING

CHURCH AWAY WEEKEND, February  2015

What is it that makes us do it? To leave our comfy beds and home comforts; loading the car with sleeping bags, boots, and clothing for all weathers, while our wonderful leaders had been shopping and planning, working out rotas, for the feeding of the five (well, fifty something, if not the five) thousand.

Yes, once again, ‘Grace Community Church Porthcawl’ set out for our annual ‘Away Weekend.’ Using the same venue as last year, Barton Camp in North Somerset, we were better prepared to transform it from a rather Spartan facility to something nearer to home comfort. We had a row of comfy garden chairs at the back of the meeting room for a lounge area, while Ross’s curry this year, instead of ‘dragon’s breath’ was just right, and each team produced excellent meals.

Those of us who did not have to wait for school to close were fortunate enough to have been able to leave early and so avoid the heavy motor way traffic, but we all arrived safely, all the hassle of packing and travelling forgotten in the joy of being together.

You see, we are a family. We see each other most Sundays, but sometimes not in between, and families need to have special times of being together. It was such a joy to see so many young families playing happily together, and an even greater joy that some of our now college students had joined us and had prepared lessons and activities for our children so that the parents would relax, knowing they were well cared for.  

After the journey and unpacking, Friday evening was not the time for teaching ministry. We gathered for worship and then Tom read of Moses’ desire and delight in God’s presence, giving us the theme for the weekend.

After breakfast and a prayer time, for those without commitments, Saturday morning was a very special time  of worship and teaching. After Tom had spoken, first of Moses, and then  of our need to seek God’s glory and know him coming in power among us, as he has done in our nation in years gone by, we were released in worship.

Since my husband died I have had very little voice and usually sing ‘in my boots,’ but I found my voice soaring as I joined in a wonderful choir of praise. We were on the Mount of God, as Moses had been and God was among us, touching afresh, and speaking to us through his gifts. Oh, what a comfort to know that we don’t need a veil (tea-cloth someone said) as Moses did, because the glory must fade.

Some of us set out to explore the lovely country side in the afternoon, returning with an appetite for Ross’s homemade scones for a Somerset cream tea, while other relaxed or played games. There was no ‘Grace has Talent’, since most of our talent, sadly, had been unable to make it this year, but a wonderfully competitive and varied games evening, great fun for young and old alike, ensured most of us had a much better night’s sleep.

Sunday. Again, great praise and fervent prayers in our prayer meeting, and then sadly packing up before we gathered for our last time of ministry. Perhaps I was looking forward to a time of praise and release such as we had had the day before, but God always has fresh bread, and always something more. His challenge that we should be the people of God, his light in a world of darkness led us in humility to his table where we broke the bread and drank the wine together, as a family.

Then we listened to a testimony. It was a story of terrible suffering and there were not many dry eyes, but we were also awed at the wonderful deliverance God had brought about, through the invitation of a young mother to come to an Alpha evening. Though she only went three times, this one who had seemed to be so hopelessly ensnared had met with Jesus. He heard her cry and eventually brought her out of this horrible pit. Her feet set on the Rock, she was now able to bring her children up to love and serve the Lord.

Sunday morning; was this the right time to listen to such a harrowing story? The Communion should be a reminder of an even more harrowing story of how God gave his Son to save us. And yes, this story too brought great glory to God, for through hearing it we realised that here is someone who is now a servant of the church, always available to work, and to reach out to others who may be entrapped by the enemy. How we praise God for counting this ‘Trophy of Grace’ as our sister and friend, she and her family wonderful members of the family of Grace.

 

A final meal, scrumptious as always, the big Grace photo, and off to our own homes, and yes, our comfy beds.

As with every family gathering, there is great joy in being together – some of us, especially the younger element, wished we could have stayed there – but with the joy is an inevitable sadness when the circle is not complete, for whatever reason. We are so very thankful for this special family time together, but pray that maybe next year we may have less of us left at home, and more with us for this mountain top experience.

Giants in the Land

Selwyn Hughes had a series about bringing down giants. That got me thinking about Jack the Giant Killer. What do you know of him? There is one Jack, of pantomime fame, but I think it was a beanstalk he had to tackle, which, when he had chopped it down, caused the ogre to fall to his death. But Jack the Giant Killer was, I believe, a brave Cornish lad who refused to be intimidated by these great bullies who were robbing the people of their crops and making their lives a misery. Armed only with his club he took them on, one by one, until the people had courage to go on with their daily lives.

The Israelites had to go in and claim the Promised land, even though there were giants there, and if we are standing in the name of Jesus, then we too have battles to fight, and we have armour too that we must never take off. So, what are the giants that come against us?

We may know about Goliath, a huge monster of a man, out to intimidate so that the Israelites did not dare even face him. But we know about David too, who did not need any man-made armour but went against him with just his sling and stones, and his confidence in the Lord his God. Goliath fell to the ground and David cut off his head with the giant’s own sword. But did you know that wasn’t the end of the fight?

 

Later on in his life we hear of other battles against giants. Maybe they were baby giants when David fought his first battle, but babies grow up. And because we have had past victories over some of our ‘giants’ does not mean we can let down our guard.

So what are our giants? Somebody was sharing his need to guard against ‘pride.’

Well, that is something I don’t have to fight, was my first reaction. What was that if not pride? As one preacher, hopefully tongue in cheek, remarked, ‘You should have heard my sermon on humility.’

But – are we Giant Killers? I doubt it. I know that though I may have had victories in the past, I always have to be on my guard. As a young woman I  struggled with jealousy and a sense of inferiority. I was sorry for myself because, there I was in the middle of the family, not pretty or clever like my older sister, not the baby, who everyone knows is special, and not the eldest and a boy at that.

Wonderfully, Jesus came to my rescue. He showed me that all this jealousy and sense of inferiority was because self was on the throne instead of Him; that God had raised him up, a Prince and Saviour, to give repentance and remission of sins.* All I had to do when these negative thoughts arose was to cry out to Jesus to save me. I still sing that wonderful hymn, ‘Jesus saves me now,’ when the giant of jealousy or depression rears its ugly head.

Once I had cried to God for deliverance, it was as though he took away every cause I could have for jealousy or self pity. But those giants are not dead. I still have to be on my guard. When bereavement strikes, in whatever form, I believe we have to purpose in our hearts to praise and trust our God, believing that he won’t allow anything to happen to us unless it is for our good. As David says in Psalm 59 (GNB) ‘My refuge is God, the God who loves me.’

But remember, if we are doing well at school, we get put into a higher class, and the lessons get harder.

Maybe the giant you are facing now is different from mine, but we are likely to come up against them all at different times.

Selwyn Hughes names a few. The giant of Fear? I still have to speak out God’s word to send him packing. ‘God has not given me the spirit of fear, but of power and love and of a sound mind.’ 
 

Lust? We are true to our partners, not because we do not find others attractive, but because we love our husbands/wives too much to ever think of stealing from them. How much more must we determine not to hurt our Saviour, who loves us so much, by desiring lesser things.

Do we struggle with Shame; the shame of past memories perhaps? Is not this a form of pride? We don’t want others to think we are capable of having stooped so low. But we are all sinners, and whenever we hear of someone committing what we may consider a terrible sin, we need to remind ourselves, ‘There go I, but for the grace of God.’

Then there is Giant Despair. Do you remember how, in Pilgrims Progress, Pilgrim and his companion had wandered into Bypass Meadow and were taken captive by this giant, and locked up in Doubting Castle. In this hopeless situation, Faithful realises that he has a key, the key of faith that will unlock every door. They speak out the word of God and are released from their captivity.

Thank God, however deep our depression, we all have this key, which is also our sword; the Bible, the Word of God. I trust we will all remember to use it so that, like Jack, we can become Giant Killers, or at least Giant chasers.     

*Acts 5:31