Lent 2025: If in doubt, give it a clout!

When I finished work today, I got in my car to drive home and found my seatbelt was stuck. No matter how hard or softly I pulled, it wouldn’t budge. This was slightly alarming – I can’t drive the car without a seatbelt, and I need to drop it to the garage tomorrow for a check-up!

The more I dwelt on it, the more I panicked. And the more I panicked, the more desperately I pulled on that seatbelt. Still nothing.

I have to admit, in that moment, praying wasn’t the first thing on my mind. Instead, I called my parents. I explained I’d tried everything; fast and slow, key in the ignition, key out, locked and unlocked the car. Nothing worked.

My lovely dad reminded me that the seatbelt mechanism isn’t electronic, it’s simple, mechanical. Then he said something very him: “If in doubt, give it a clout!” I have to admit, it was quite satisfying to thump the wall of my car trying to knock the seatbelt loose! Even more satisfying: it worked. I had to be ever so gentle to reel just enough to fasten myself in and drive away, but it worked!

So what does this have to do with God?

Two things came to mind:

First, God’s provision often shows up in the people around us.
Although I didn’t consciously pray, the people I called were exactly the right ones. One calmed me down. The other explained and offered a solution. I could have sat in my frustration, or reached out to someone who made me feel worse. But I didn’t. Maybe that was an answer to an unconscious prayer. I’ve been trying to bring God into every part of my day, and maybe, just maybe, God met me in that phone call.

Second, I looked everywhere else before I looked at what was right in front of me.
I couldn’t see the seatbelt mechanism, so I fiddled with everything else: ignition, clutch, door, seat… all the visible bits. But the issue was just below the surface, and the solution was surprisingly simple. Isn’t that so often the way? We look everywhere but God when we feel stuck. We overcomplicate things. We try to fix things from the outside when what’s needed is a bit of honesty, a little courage, and a direct route to the root of the problem.

So today reminded me: don’t overlook the simple solution. Don’t be afraid to reach out to the people God’s placed in your life. And don’t forget, even a small clout can be holy if it helps you move forward.

Lent 2025: Because God Loves

Today was an opportunity for a midweek walk with reflection. The weather was glorious – sunny and breezy – and the passage is one I come back to time and again. Romans 8: 38-39: For I am convinced that neither death nor life, neither angels or demons, neither the present, not the future, nor any powers, neither height nor depth, not anything else in all of creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God that is in Christ Jesus our Lord.

As I was walking today with this words in mind, I was also reminded of a song called, ‘The God Who Stays’ by Matthew West. The song is about how God never gives up on us, never walks away, even if the people around us or even ourselves would be tempted to label us a list cause. The bridge section says,
‘my shame can’t separate,
my guilt can’t separate,
my past can’t separate,
I’m yours forever
my sin can’t separate
my scars can’t separate
my failures can’t separate
I’m yours forever
No enemy can separate
Now power of hell can take away
Your love for me will never change
I’m yours forever.’

The passage from Romans is quite extensive – with the handy phrase ‘not anything else in all creation’ mopping up what is missed in the rest of the list – but I also found it helpful to play that song through in my mind too. There’s things in Matthew West’s list that are implied in Paul’s, but somehow it was good to actually name them. How often have we counted ourselves out because we’ve done things that are too bad, or we’ve messed up too much? Have you ever labelled yourself as broken or beyond repair?

Here’s the thing the Paul (and Matthew West) remind us: there is nowhere you can go that God won’t love you, there is nothing you can do to make God love you less, and there is nothing supernatural that can get in the way of God’s love for you. Because God loves. As we approach Easter and see pictures of Jesus on a cross – it’s because God loves.

Maybe take a moment today to sit with that truth: you are deeply, unfailingly loved. Not because of what you’ve done or haven’t done. Not because you’ve earned it. Simply because God loves you — and nothing can ever change that.

Lent 2025: Walking with Wounds

For today’s post, I’m jumping ahead a little in the story.

Can you picture the scene? You are a follower of Jesus. You’ve just watched from a distance as he was crucified. You saw him die. Then came the confusion – his body disappeared, and you don’t know what to believe anymore. What you do know is that Jerusalem isn’t safe for you, so you’re locked away with others who are just as scared and heartbroken.

And then, suddenly… there he is.

The man you saw die, the one whose lifeless body was laid in a tomb, is standing in the room with you. Is it a dream? A ghost? A cruel trick of your mind?

No. Because you see the holes in his hands. The scars where the nails went in. The wound in his side. The marks of suffering are still there, and they are the very thing that convinces you: this is real.

Jesus bears the scars of the cross not in shame, but in glory. He doesn’t hide them. He shows them , as proof of who he is, and of what he has conquered. Proof not only of his death, but of God’s power over death. I often wonder: why didn’t he rise with an unmarked body? Surely, he could have. But maybe the scars are the point. The wounds that once meant death now proclaim life.

And if Jesus – both God and man – carries his scars into resurrection, maybe we don’t need to hide ours either.

At church, we have several people preparing for baptism. Part of that journey is preparing a testimony – sharing a personal story of faith. Last Sunday, I chatted with a couple of them. One was asking others for advice. Another was putting it off altogether. I understood both reactions.

So I shared my own story to encourage them.

Well, a version of it. A polished version. I skimmed over my worst mistakes. I didn’t mention the particularly dark period a few years ago when I felt completely lost, and yet discovered how deeply I could rely on God. And truthfully, since stepping into more visible leadership at church, I’ve felt the pressure to hide those struggles. To be the strong one. The steady one. The one with it all together.

But here’s what I’m learning: the church is not a place for perfect people. It’s a place for wounded ones.

When we share our struggles honestly, we give others permission to do the same. When we talk about what God has done in the midst of our pain, we reveal a God who is still working, still healing, still restoring today. And sometimes, by opening up our journey, God allows others to step more confidently into their own.

There are things from our past that shape who we are, and they don’t have to disqualify us. I’ve come to see how my leadership style – collaborative rather than authoritative – is shaped by my own story. I’m naturally drawn to the ones on the margins: the quiet ones hovering at the edge of the room, the people hiding in the kitchen. I want everyone to feel like they belong, because I know what it feels like to wonder if you do.

I think of someone like Peter, the same disciple who denied Jesus three times, who failed at the crucial moment. And yet, not long after, Jesus meets him on a beach and restores him gently. He doesn’t erase Peter’s past, he reclaims it. “Feed my sheep,” Jesus says. The one who failed becomes the one entrusted with others.

Peter doesn’t lead from a place of perfection. He leads from grace.

We don’t walk alone. And we don’t walk unwounded. But our scars don’t disqualify us, they become signs of resurrection, signs of God’s mercy and strength at work in fragile, ordinary people.

Jesus walked out of the tomb with scars.

So can we.

But – and this matters – we also need to be gentle with ourselves. Some wounds need time to heal before they can be shared. I know I did. There are chapters of my story I still don’t speak about often, and I don’t think we’re meant to shout our biggest mistakes from the street corners. Sometimes, it’s a quiet nudge from God, a sense that a particular moment, or a particular person, might need to hear a part of your story. That kind of sharing can come at a personal cost. It needs wisdom, discernment, and kindness – not just toward others, but toward ourselves too.

Our wounds are personal. They’re sacred ground. And when we do choose to share, may it always be with grace, not pressure, because God’s power is made perfect in weakness, not performance.

“But he said to me, ‘My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.’
Therefore I will boast all the more gladly about my weaknesses, so that Christ’s power may rest on me.”
2 Corinthians 12:9

Lent 2025: Be more donkey

Late-night thoughts after a church meeting…

We spent the evening doing lots of detailed work, planning for the future—which has left my brain slightly spinning. But at the very start, my church leader shared a short reflection on the passage he’s speaking on this Sunday: Luke 19:28–40. It’s the story of Jesus riding into Jerusalem on a donkey.

His takeaway? Be a donkey.

Not in an insulting way (when I was growing up, my siblings only called me a donkey when I’d done something daft), but in a holy way.

In this passage, the donkey carries Christ himself. And we’re called to do the same—we carry Christ into the world when we share the gospel, when we love others, when we live lives marked by grace.

This particular donkey was a colt, one that had never been ridden. It had to be untied and led to Jesus. That struck me.

Most of us wouldn’t consider ourselves “pure.” We know our flaws, our failings, the things we wish we’d done differently. But that’s where grace changes everything. Through Jesus, we are made pure. The things that bind us are undone. Our sins are forgiven. We are made new. And we are chosen—yes, even us!—to carry Christ to others.

So tonight, inspired by my church leader, here’s my simple encouragement to you:

Be more donkey.

Lent 2025: Daring to Believe

Another shorter post at the end of a weekend taking it easy. Because I spent so much time on the Crucifixion passage from Luke’s gospel this weekend, I wanted to share a second post. Yesterday, I shared an observation about the women. Today, I want to look at what we can learn from another figure.

It’s one thing to believe in grace for others. For the people we admire, or those who seem to carry their faith with ease.

It’s another thing entirely to believe that grace could reach into our messy, doubting, inconsistent lives.

But that’s the quiet, radical truth of the cross:
Grace isn’t reserved for the deserving.
It’s offered to the desperate, the hurting, the ones who barely dare to hope.

Like the criminal beside Jesus who simply said, “Remember me.”
And was met with a promise of paradise.

Sometimes faith begins with that single, fragile step, daring to believe there may be grace for us too.

Lent 2025: Remaining Present

A shorter post today. I have been writing a sermon for tomorrow based on Luke’s account of the Crucifixion. I was struck by the women who watched and waited, powerless but present.

There are moments when we don’t have the words, the strength, or the certainty. Moments when all we can do is stay.

Stay with the pain.
Stay with the questions.
Stay with the story, even when it’s hard to bear.

In the shadow of the cross, the women stood near. They couldn’t change what was happening, couldn’t stop the suffering—but they didn’t run. They remained present.

And maybe that’s grace, too. Not the kind that fixes things, but the kind that holds space. That invites us not to do, but simply to be—faithful, heartbroken, attentive. Still there.

Something to remember, something to hold onto.

Lent 2025: Like a small wave

Tonight I was sitting with my dad having a drink when he picked up his mug and let out a small gasp. He’d spilt some coffee on himself. “It made a little wave and flopped over the side,” he said. “Like a mini tsunami in my mug!”

That made me laugh – he’s got a good turn of phrase, my dad. And honestly, who’s ever heard of coffee flopping?!

But it also brought to mind a story I once heard. A man was walking with a cup of coffee when someone bumped into him, and the coffee spilled everywhere.

“Why did you spill the coffee?” the second man asked.
“Because you bumped into me!” the first replied.
“No,” came the response. “You spilled coffee because there was coffee in your cup. If it had been tea, you would have spilled tea. Whatever is in your cup is what spills out.”

That stuck with me.

Because it’s true, isn’t it? Life will knock us. We all get bumped – by stress, disappointment, conflict, grief. And when that happens, whatever we’ve been carrying inside spills out. It might look like frustration, anger, or bitterness. Or it might be grace, patience, or peace.

We can fake it for a while, smile through the day, offer polite kindness, but when pressure hits, the truth of what’s inside us comes rushing out.
So the question is: What’s really in my cup?
Is it joy? Gratitude? Humility? Or is it weariness, resentment, or a quick temper?

This Sunday, I’m preaching on the moment in Luke’s Gospel where Jesus, nailed to the cross and mocked by soldiers, cries out:
“Father, forgive them, for they don’t know what they are doing.”
Even in the most brutal moment of pain and injustice, what spills out of Jesus is grace.

That kind of response doesn’t come from nowhere.

Paul writes in Galatians about the fruit of the Spirit: love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, gentleness, and self-control. These aren’t things we can force. They grow in us over time as we walk with God, spend time in prayer, and open ourselves to the Spirit’s work.

I want that kind of cup. I want to be someone who spills over with grace, not just when life is easy, but when it’s hard.

I’m not there yet. When I get knocked, frustration often comes out. But there’s hope, because the Spirit is still growing fruit in me. Slowly. Quietly. Faithfully.

So if you, like me, want to have something better in your cup, don’t give up.
Keep going. Keep praying. God is still at work.


—

Prayer

Lord,
You know what’s in my cup — the good, the messy, and everything in between.
Grow in me the fruit of your Spirit.
Help me to respond with grace when life bumps into me.
Fill me with your love, your peace, your kindness.
And when I fall short, remind me that you are still at work in me.
Amen.

Lent 2025: My Faith Soundtrack

I’ve written about it before on this blog: music has always been part of my life. Long before my faith was fully formed, songs were shaping my soul, carrying messages of truth even when I didn’t recognize them. Today, singing in my car on my way back from choir, I thought again of the impact of music. Looking back, I can see how different pieces of music have accompanied me on my journey -through childhood, doubt, growth, and deepening trust in God. This is the soundtrack of my faith – no limits, just songs that have influenced and shaped my journey.

Choral Beginnings: Hymns and Anthems

I grew up singing in a church choir, and my earliest musical memories are choral ones. The hymns and anthems I sang then still hold a special place in my heart. One hymn that has always stood out to me is Thou Didst Leave Thy Throne. Despite its traditional language, its simple chorus – “Oh come to my heart, Lord Jesus, there is room in my heart for Thee” – spoke to me even as a child. As a teenager, my faith wavered, but I still loved those words.

Another hymn I return to often is Lord, When I Turn My Back on You. It’s not widely known, but it has been a prayer for me in difficult times: “Lord, when I turn my back on You, the fears and darkness grow. I need You, oh, I need You, Lord, to show me where to go.” Sometimes, music can articulate what we struggle to put into words.

Certain anthems bring back powerful memories. Praise the Lord, O Jerusalem (I believe by Maunder) was a joyful summer sing with fellow choristers – I can still picture us trying not to bob up and down with the rhythm! Stainer’s Crucifixion is another piece that shaped me, long before I fully understood its depth. The Appeal of the Crucified is still one of the most moving pieces of music I know; beyond any words, its dynamics, phrasing, and harmonies capture the weight of Good Friday.

And then there’s the Vesper Hymn. I don’t even know who composed the version we used to sing, but it’s a piece I have carried with me. A sung prayer I return to, time and time again.

Contemporary Christian Music: New Sounds, Familiar Truths

As my faith grew, I discovered more contemporary Christian music. One songwriter who has resonated with me is Matthew West. His song Imperfections speaks of how we list our failures, but God still chooses to use us, flaws and all.

Certain worship songs have also been pivotal. Reckless Love was a lifeline at one point in my journey; I listened to it daily, trying to absorb the truth that God pursues us with relentless love. Nothing I Hold Onto reminds me of a time of breakthrough, a moment of realizing just how close God was (and is) and how I can trust Him completely. More recently, Gratitude by Brandon Lake has been on repeat. It captures a truth I hold dear: that no words or actions can fully express my gratitude to God, so all I can do is praise.

Another song that speaks to me is Vagabonds by Stuart Townend. Its invitation – one of radical welcome – resonates deeply: everyone is welcome, across all divides, because God’s mercy draws us near.

Secular Songs with Sacred Meaning

Some songs, though not explicitly Christian, have carried deep spiritual significance for me. Cliff Richard’s Reunion of the Heart feels like it tells my story; the wandering, the calling, the returning. And You’ll Be in My Heart from Tarzan beautifully reflects the constancy and unconditional love of God. Whether Phil Collins intended it or not, it speaks of divine love that never lets go.

The Power of Music in Faith

Music is more than just melody and lyrics – it’s a way God speaks to me. Sometimes, it’s been a way back when I’ve strayed. Other times, it has strengthened my faith when words alone weren’t enough. These songs, whether ancient hymns or contemporary worship, explicitly Christian or not, are part of my spiritual journey.

I’d love to hear from others – what songs have shaped your faith? What pieces of music do you return to again and again? The soundtrack of faith is deeply personal, but it’s also something we can share.

Lent 2025: What’s in your hand?

Today, I read a passage from Exodus that got me thinking about how God equips us for the tasks He sets before us.

The story begins with the Israelites enslaved in Egypt. A baby boy, Moses, is placed in a basket on the Nile and found by Pharaoh’s daughter. He grows up in the palace but, as an adult, witnesses an Egyptian beating an Israelite. In a fit of anger, he kills the Egyptian and flees into the desert, living in exile, marrying, and raising a family.

One day, while tending sheep, Moses encounters a bush that is on fire but not burning up. From the flames, God speaks to him, instructing him to remove his shoes because he is standing on holy ground. Then comes the command: Moses is to return to Egypt and free the Israelites. Unsurprisingly, Moses hesitates. I think most of us would! After all, he had run away for a reason. Facing Pharaoh would be daunting, and Moses knew his own limitations.

But God asks him a simple question: “What is that in your hand?”

Moses is holding his shepherd’s staff, just a simple tool for guiding sheep. Yet, in God’s hands, it becomes a powerful instrument, turning into a snake and back again. It is with this same staff that Moses will perform miracles, confront Pharaoh, and lead the Israelites out of Egypt.

Sometimes, we feel called to something beyond our abilities – something too big, too difficult, too far outside our comfort zone. We hesitate, just as Moses did. But God never sends us alone. He asks us to look at what we already have, however ordinary it may seem, and trust Him to use it in extraordinary ways.

So next time you feel overwhelmed by a task or uncertain about your abilities, pause and ask yourself: What’s in my hand? You might just find that God has already given you exactly what you need.

Lent 2025: Pressing on – leaving the past behind

The mind is an interesting thing. When I woke up this morning, I was reminded of something that happened when I was a child. There was no obvious trigger, the event itself wasn’t particularly momentous, but still my brain decided to replay it for me. If it had been a happy memory, that would have been a great way to start the day. But no, my mind decided to remind me of something I did wrong over 20 years ago, and it made my insides squirm with shame.

My mind is like that. I do have plenty of happy memories, but I also hold on to those things I’ve done wrong. I won’t post them all here (that wouldn’t help anyone), but one I remember clearly: my mum had bought tea cakes as a treat for herself. I offered to toast them for her while she was on the phone. We had a grill to toast them (rather than a toaster), and I did everything as I would with bread. Then I took my eye off them for a second. With bread, that’s fine. Grilling bread takes a few minutes to become toast, and it’s fairly forgiving before it becomes too toasted to eat. Tea cakes, however, are sweet buns with dried fruit. They are not so forgiving. There were flickering lights in the grill, and I pulled the pan out to find the tea cakes smouldering.

I did not burn the house down (thankful for small mercies), but those tea cakes were not consumable! Why does that stick in my mind? Maybe because I shouldn’t have let myself get distracted. Maybe because I felt I let my mum down by ruining her treat. If I asked my mum about it now, she probably wouldn’t even remember it. See? Not significant, and yet it still rattles around in my brain, dredging up old emotions.

That’s a slightly flippant example for the sake of this blog (although the squirmy insides are very real!). There are plenty more – times I acted without thinking, people I let down, sharp words and bad behaviours. I won’t say they all live in my mind, but I do seem to remember a lot of them, and those squirmy insides, where guilt and shame at my actions (or inactions) rise to the surface, are sometimes overwhelming. It can be so easy to let those occasions eat away at me.

In the Bible, there are a few key verses that link to this. One of my favourites (and a verse with particular significance to me) is Philippians 3:13-14: Forgetting what is behind and straining towards what is ahead, I press on towards the goal. This needs careful balancing; we can’t just forget everything from the past. For one, our experiences shape us. We are formed as much by our mistakes as by our successes. For another, if we just forget, we do a disservice to the other people involved. There is something to be said for seeking forgiveness when we have behaved badly or made a mistake that has affected another. However, we cannot move forward if we are constantly living in the past, regretting our actions or feeling guilty over mistakes. To press forward into the future God has for us, we sometimes need to take the advice of a surprisingly wise warthog and ‘leave our behind in the past’!

Sometimes, this can feel impossible. Sometimes, mistakes can feel so huge that we can’t come back from them. I’ve had a couple of those in my time. Even now, if I’m not careful, those memories threaten to drag me back to a state of mind where I mentally beat myself up. But we don’t have to do it alone. Yes, we make mistakes and behave badly. But God doesn’t hold them against us. Lamentations 3:22-23 says: Because of God’s great love we are not consumed, for his compassions never fail. They are new every morning; great is your faithfulness.

Maybe you are like me, holding your past against yourself. But God isn’t like that. His grace means He forgives us and gives us a fresh start. Each day is a chance to start over, to do better.

Easier said than done, I know. I didn’t just get over my whoppers in a day. Or even a week! But I did work through the feelings, I have made amends where I could, and I have learnt from them. One time in my life, I had a plan. It was an excellent plan with a secure future, and I had my heart and mind set on it. Advice from people around suggested maybe I wasn’t quite ready, maybe this was not the right path, but I ignored them, so sure of myself.

I was wrong, and I watched the future I had planned crumble in front of me. It took me a year to let go of the ruins. But I did, and I learnt a few things. In that period, I learnt to believe in myself, even love myself (in a healthy way, not an arrogant way). I also learnt to enjoy the journey, to make the most out of every experience. It’s not an experience I am eager to repeat, and yet, with God’s help, it has shaped me positively.

The mind is an interesting thing. I’m not sure why it decided to remind me about burnt tea cakes this morning! But if you are dwelling on a mistake, if something in your past is holding you back, if yesterday was an awful day and you don’t know how to face tomorrow, remember: every day is a chance to try again. God hasn’t turned His face away. He is ready to help you move forward, one step at a time.