THE COURAGE OF CALEB

Switching to Facebook, I was surprised to find my profile picture filling the page,  congratulations abounding.

It was taken on the occasion of my eightieth birthday, but how it got onto my page at this time I have no idea. Sometimes I think my computer has a mind of its own, while at other times I know that God is in charge, yes, even of computers.

But this reminder of a big ‘O’ that was almost five years ago, brings me to my hero, Caleb, who said, ‘I am eighty five years old, yet……… my natural health has not abated.’ I was always hoping to be like him. He was begging Joshua to let him be involved in the fight against their enemies. ‘Give me this mountain,’ he cried, and Joshua did give it to him, but he had to wage war against their enemies and claim it.

Some people, turning eighty, or even seventy, think it is time to give up, or at least retire and enjoy a leisurely life, and I’ve had loving friends who told me I am doing too much, but thank God, he doesn’t tell me this but reminds me of his calling and assures me of his strength and blessing. But sadly, with a ‘shooggily’ shoulder and a rickety knee, in these nearly five years since my ‘big O’, my natural health seems to have been abating. Caleb, are you letting me down?

Gently, the Lord reminds me that I have never had too much natural health. A bonny baby until, at two years old I only just survived whooping cough, after that I  was a concern to my mother. ’Pauline, you are not strong enough to be a missionary,’ I was told, while when I arrived in New Guinea some of my colleagues  gave me a year at the most to last the rigorous conditions.

Before I went overseas, I was struggling against the wind and the rain to get to a convention service, and asked, ‘Lord, why do you give me so little strength?’ I did not have to wait for his answer. ‘I am sending you to a task that is beyond your strength and I want you to learn to rely on me.’

So today, when I set out for one of our local schools to take an assembly or teach Bible Explorer, wondering how I can find the strength, God reminds me of these words and I claim his promise, ‘The Lord is my strength and my song.’ Yes, he gives, not only strength, but joy too.

Still my hero, Caleb has inspired me, not just for his courage in old age, or his strategic skills in warfare, but by his endurance in hard times.

Remember – they were just ten days out of Egypt; the Promised Land within sight. Young and fit, he and Joshua knew they were well able to possess it, but because the rest of the spies refused to trust God and to lead the people in they too were condemned to wander for forty years in the wilderness.   

God had said, ‘Except for Joshua and Caleb, none of you will enter in. You will all die in the wilderness. But your children –‘

Imagine living with a people without hope. And yet, a generation did arise at Joshua’s call and  went in and possessed the land. Yes, it was the children who had grown up with a different spirit. I’m sure it was the teaching and example of Joshua and Caleb which had made the difference.  

We know Caleb had a special portion of health and strength. When all around him found old age to be ‘labour and sorrow,’ God made it up to him, and in his old age gave him strength to claim that mountain.

But we don’t read that he went on to fight another  battle.

No, he had set the example, but now he challenged the young men, maybe bribing them with the promise of marrying his daughter. ( I guess he had a good idea who would accept the challenge, and we read how it was Othniel who married Achsah and together they  went on to possess their possessions.)

Maybe this is why Caleb is still my hero. He helped me to hold on and trust God when our fellowship seemed to be at a low ebb. Now, widowed and in my eighties, when I am feeling weary and think  maybe it would be good  if God called me home, he reminds me of the ministry he has given me over the years and which still burns brightly in my heart. And he reminds me too of how he taught me to climb mountains when I was in New Guinea. Feeling I could go no further, he asked me, ‘Can you take one step?’ I can always take one step, and that one leads on to another.

So today, with the spirit of Caleb, may we Senior Citizens  ask him for strength to take one step. And if our natural strength is abating, we can still reach out to the younger ones who have so many burdens to bear, and take what we can off their loads and, like Caleb, help to raise a generation who will shake off the unbelief and rejection of their fathers and arise and do exploits for God.

P.S. I have just realised: Caleb had been robbed of forty of the best years of his life while they marched round and round in the wilderness. Now God was restoring the years the locusts had eaten. Yes, we can emulate, but not envy. God will give each one of us his best, if we will trust him.

CHRISTMAS SHOPPING

I may not have had a bath in years, though yes, I do shower, but now I enjoyed telling my friends that I was going to Bath.

My legs are not up to much shopping these days, but when you live alone it is good to seize any opportunity for fun and fellowship. With my dear mate Kitty beside me, we were on our way.

Meanwhile a prayer partner, my blind friend who lives in Spain had been given a picture of an old fashioned bath. What could it mean? Then she remembered Pauline was on her way to Bath. Could there be some special need? She was praying for me throughout the day. And God was answering.

By the time we had walked  into the town my legs had had enough, but a handy coffee shop was a refuge. Everywhere was full, but someone moved so there were two seats for us together. We were refreshed. Next stop a toilet. Go to M & S we were told. A feast for the eyes, though we didn’t buy anything before we queued for this facility. Ready then for directions to the Abbey. Like a great mother ship surrounded by people bobbing about on a stormy  sea,or maybe a mother hen, ready to gather her chicks, but  we found the doors shut. We must wait for the Carol service for shoppers which would be on the hour, and sadly no cafeteria.

But all we wanted was a place to sit. We went into the Abbey bookshop, and here was an open door into the Abbey, where we were able to rest, basking in the beauty and blessing of God’s house.

 A stewardess greeted us as she passed and we invited her to sit with us. How wonderful to share the various ways God has led us, and we felt the Lord’s touch in a special way as we joined hands and prayed together.

Not only had this gracious lady blessed us, but she directed us to St. Michael’s for a simple lunch. No, not far. Soup and bread and butter for me. Just right. Then another  struggle through the surging crowds  and by now the doors of the Abbey were wide open and a wonderful welcome for all the happy, but weary shoppers, until every seat was filled.

Just a twenty minute service and how blessed we were by the simple message and participation in the carols and prayers.  We went on our way with the gift of a Jesus booklet and offer of prayer or ministry. They were doing this every hour and each time that great abbey was packed. What a wonderful bir

thday gift for the Christ child, our Saviour.

We decided to have a cup of tea in the café in M & S, but a fruitless search for two seats led us directly to the expected queue for the toilets. As I came out, two seats were vacated - just for us. My dear Kitty then queued for refreshment while I sat and enjoyed ‘people watching’. Everyone seemed so happy, as if they had all been as blessed as we had been.

Time  to make our way back for the bus. The lights were on, making the city a fairy land. It was only  then that the heaven’s open, though it had been raining in Porthcawl all day long. How grateful we were to find the bus waiting for us, and to step out of our dripping coats. And though it was a very windy day, somehow it had always been behind our backs, blowing us along.

Yes, we were worn out. I could hardly move the next day, but our trip to Bath had been a blessing I will long remember, and remember, too, the gift of friendship and fellowship. Especially I thank God for those who,  no longer able to share such blessings, claim God’s guidance and protection for us through their prayers.

A PEARL ANNIVERSARY

No,  not a wedding anniversary, but very special nevertheless. The first of our Ladies Weekends was held  at Bryntirion Bible College, Bridgend, but of later years we have been meeting at Hebron Hall, Dinas Powys and  are now named our ‘Well-being conference.’  It is thirty years since it began and we thought it worthy of a special celebration.

I am privileged to have been one of the ‘old originals’, but sadly missed a few through the years. Bryntirion was on our doorstep, so Joel could bring me, then pick me up in time for us to make the evening service. He was not keen to take me all the way to Dinas Powys, and yes, I confess, I thought I was getting too old.

Then they booked an additional weekend for Eunice to lead a prayer seminar. Asked to pray for good attendance, I became part of the answer. Promised a lift, yes, and a room to myself, it was a mountain top experience, and I knew now that I must be share in this special ministry among the ladies.

This weekend it  was wonderful to be reminded of those beginnings; especially for me  to hear Mair recount how God’s hand had been heavy upon her, and how she and Miriam had stepped out in faith to launch this ministry. As she shared of Pastor Ian MacPherson’s reaction when she dared to ask him to be our speaker, I realised how indebted I am to his ministry, for he had carried this message for women in his heart for over twenty years before being given this opportunity to share it, and it is a word I have treasured and seen outworked in my life; to know that, as Mary carried the Word of God in her womb, so to us it is given to carry within us the living Word, and we too can know a quickening and nurturing until the right time comes for it to be brought forth. I often say to people, I may not have given birth to children, but God does give me books and poems, as well as other ministries.

There must be so many more testimonies of how God has spoken to us through the years.

Usually we’ve had  women bringing the word to us through the years, but for this special anniversary, we were back to a man, our dear Pastor Warren Jones, with his wife Anne. His theme was Treasure Seekers, and the treasure, of course, the Pearl of great price, our Wonderful Saviour..

We are always sent home with a gift. Last year we had a little box but - no portion of cake inside. It was empty! We were sent home to fill it with prayers of thanksgiving. Mine soon became full. I am a writer after all. So now I have a  book in which I write these  special prayers of thanksgiving. But this year, can you guess? We had already had a piece of our Pearl anniversary cake at our surprise Saturday afternoon party, with jelly and ice cream, games and all. But now we each had a pearl in a little presentation box to bring home to remind us, not just of a very special weekend, but of Jesus, our Pearl of greatest price.

We had special times of praise and worship; special testimonies, and special times of fun and games, and fellowship, but for me the most special time was when we gathered around the Lord’s table for communion. It was  the beginning of the day, before breakfast. I felt overcome with emotion. What is this? I asked. Then the Lord told us, it was a very special time, but it is because we are all so special to him that he wants us to be able to experience this communion with him at any and every time.

So, to all those wonderful ladies who work so hard to make this weekend so very special, and who let us know we are never too old to come and bless as well as be blessed, and to our wonderful Heavenly Father, who gave his precious Son to be our Treasure, and who meets with us year by year at our Well-Being conference at Hebron Hall, a big big thank you

Disguise

Do you enjoy fancy-dress or, for some reason, taking on a disguise? There is a story in the Old Testament about a queen who is told to put on a disguise, but sadly it was not for any party. It was her husband the king’s idea that she should go to the prophet, but -   in disguise.  Did she, or her husband, King Jereboam,  really think she could deceive a prophet? In any case, by now was blind. But if you read the story, (you can read it in as it in the book of Kings), perhaps you will agree with me that both of them were already  living in disguise.

Perhaps all she needed to do was to take off her tiara, her jewelled sandals and the paint from her face - as well as her fingers and toes? Maybe it would have been enough to go and borrow the worn and scuffed sandals of a servant, and wrap the old shawl around her that was usually used to cover the woman’s straggly hair. It would have been no problem to disguise her voice, for it was usually brittle as glass, when she commanded her unfortunate servants, and of course, she would have had to bend her proud head.

But are not many of us, like King Jereboam’s wife,  already in disguise? I used to laugh at my mother when she used her special telephone voice, but some of us renounce the dialects or even cockney accents of our childhood, and some would-be preachers have  even be known to adopt a slightly American accent, hoping to be another great evangelist.

Some of us ‘oldies’ would not dream of going to the cinema, yet do not discriminate over what we have ‘on the box’ at home. And we all know what it means to ‘put on a face.’ How often does beautifully applied make-up and a confident poise hide a broken heart or a painful addiction?

Jereboam’s wife was sent to visit the prophet in disguise, hoping she might hear some good news concerning their son, who was so desperately ill. I suppose visiting the prophet was the nearest they felt they could get to God? But did they really think they could fool God with a disguise?

The prophet might be blind, but God was not. She has not yet reached the door when the old man calls out, ‘Come in, Wife of Jereboam,’ and before she can utter a sound he is speaking out the word she dreaded, that their child would die. But there is more.   He continues, and now  he  speaks those words that should encourage all of us who teach God’s word to the children: that their child would be the only one in all of their family who would have a decent burial, because he had lived to please the Lord.

We do not have to go to a prophet to hear God speak. Through the death of Jesus, God’s own Son, on the cross, we are able to go to the great Creator God himself and call him our Father.   We can come to him with open face. No need of a posh voice, or of putting on a face. He sees us as beautiful, even if our hair is a mess. And he knows just what we have been watching, or thinking or saying.

We can pray with the Psalmist, ‘Search me oh God, and see if there be any wicked way in me..’

Oh yes, we all have need of some beauty treatment, but we must go to our Father. It is he who is already at work in our lives, changing us; transforming us into the likeness of his Son, and he loves to hear and answer our prayers. So – be glad. We can take off our masks.       (You will find this story in 1 Kings 14)

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!