Lent 2025: A Cry of the Heart – Finding Hope in Blues and the Psalms

This evening, I treated myself to going to watch a friend’s blues duo. It was a fantastic evening with brilliant music. I’ve seen these musicians before, so I have some favourites they play a lot. Tonight, as I was listening, the words of one of them struck me.

“I don’t want to know about evil, I only want to know about love.”

Those words from John Martyn’s Don’t Want to Know have been sitting with me. They feel like a modern-day psalm: raw, honest, wrestling with the state of the world. Because the truth is, you don’t have to look hard to find pain. It’s everywhere. Wars, injustice, suffering. Some days, it feels too much to bear. And like the song says, “Sometimes it gets so hard to listen, hard for me to use my eyes.”

That line struck me. The struggle to see hope. To believe in goodness when darkness seems overwhelming. It reminded me of the psalmist’s cry:

“How long, Lord? Will you forget me forever?
How long will you hide your face from me?
How long must I wrestle with my thoughts
and day after day have sorrow in my heart?” (Psalm 13:1-2)

The Psalms give us permission to be honest. David didn’t hold back,he poured out his fears, his doubts, his frustrations to God. He didn’t pretend everything was fine. And that’s crucial. Because false positivity – forcing ourselves to say “everything happens for a reason” or “just look on the bright side” – can be dangerous. It doesn’t sustain us when life is hard. What does sustain us is a faith that allows honesty. A faith where we can bring our real, unfiltered emotions before God, knowing that He hears.

David’s psalms often start in despair but don’t end there. Even in the darkest moments, there’s a turning point, a choice to keep trusting. Psalm 13 continues:

“But I trust in your unfailing love;
my heart rejoices in your salvation.
I will sing the Lord’s praise,
for he has been good to me.” (Psalm 13:5-6)

That doesn’t mean the pain is gone. But it means David refuses to let darkness have the final word. He holds onto love. Just like in Don’t Want to Know, where the longing is clear, amidst all the evil in the world, we ache to fix our eyes on love.

So maybe that’s our challenge. Not to ignore suffering, but to let ourselves be honest about it. To bring our raw, unfiltered hearts before God. And, in doing so, to hold onto hope.  Not a naïve hope that denies reality, but a hope that, even in the darkness, trusts in a love greater than the pain.

Lent 2025: Air Traffic Control

My social battery is running low at the moment. This evening, I was at a gathering and found myself slightly overwhelmed. Mingling isn’t my favourite activity at the best of times, but tonight, with four or five conversations happening around me, my brain struggled to latch onto just one. As I stepped aside for a moment of quiet, the host checked in with me. He understood my struggle but then shared something intriguing—he knew someone who had worked in air traffic control and could listen to multiple conversations at once, process them, and give relevant input to each one!

I’m a long way from being able to do that, but it struck me as a great picture of God. Imagine if He were like me—overwhelmed by too many voices! Prayers would go unheard, answers would be missed, and we’d be left circling, waiting for direction. But God isn’t limited like I am. He hears every prayer, responds to each of us personally, and guides us exactly where we need to be—even if His answers don’t always align with our expectations.

Sometimes, I hesitate to ‘bother’ God with my small or selfish prayers, thinking others need Him more. But God isn’t like a human overwhelmed at a social gathering or even an air traffic controller juggling multiple planes. He doesn’t need to prioritize, take a break, or focus on just one person at a time. He listens. Always. And He responds in ways that, in His wisdom, are best for us.

So maybe I don’t need to hold back. Maybe none of us do.

Lent 2025: A God’s Eye View

Have you ever looked back at your journey and marveled at how far you’ve come? Recently, I found myself reflecting on past versions of me – the me who didn’t value myself very highly, who could be grumpy and defensive, and who wasn’t always the easiest person to be around.

And yet, that was the version of me that rediscovered God. Or, more accurately, that was the version of me God met with. Not the best version of me, far from it. But God didn’t wait for me to improve before stepping in. He met me as I was, in a dimly lit church one night, when I least expected it and least deserved it.

It’s hard to explain that moment. The closest I can come is this: it felt like God lit a flame in my heart. A gentle yet unshakable flame, unlike anything I’d ever known. A flame unmistakably fueled by love.

Around that same time, I found myself surrounded by a group of Christians, people I am now blessed to call friends. What began that night turned into a journey of growth. These friends loved me even when I didn’t love myself, and slowly, I began to change.

I knew my grumpiness and defensiveness weren’t great, but I also realised they weren’t random. They came from not valuing myself. With God’s whisper of love and the voices of my friends echoing His truth, I began to learn what the Bible says about me, what God says about me. And little by little, my opinion of myself began to shift. I began to love myself. (Which, let’s be real, took about ten years of intentional work, but I’ll summarize it in three sentences!)

So why all this reminiscing? Today’s reflection was Ephesians 2:8-9:

“For it is by grace you have been saved, through faith – and this is not from yourselves, it is the gift of God – not by works, so that no one can boast.”

These verses remind me that faith itself is a gift, and through faith, we receive grace. Grace: God’s undeserved, unearned love and kindness. I didn’t earn that initial love. I just finally opened my heart enough to hear the whisper of it.

And with time, with God’s whispers and my friends’ voices, I learned to see myself through God’s eyes.

Now, I’m still not perfect. I still make plenty of mistakes. But I am more at peace with who I am. I recognise the gifts and skills I bring into the world and the positive footprint I leave behind.

Of course, sometimes I forget. Doubt creeps in. But every time, God nudges me, gently, persistently, and reminds me to see things not from my flawed human perspective, but from a God’s eye view.

Lent 2025: Held in Love

I don’t have a long, profound post this evening. Today has been long—full, tiring, and by the end, a little overwhelming. But in the midst of it, God showed up in the kindness of friends. One gave me an amazing hug—the kind where you feel truly held and supported. Another reminded me that I’m stronger than I think and so deeply loved. In that moment, I was reminded that God draws people into our lives to lift us up, and I am so blessed by the friendships He has placed around me. Even on the hardest days, His love is there, woven through the people who care.

Lent 2025: No Easy Answers

Yesterday, I was reflecting on a passage from Matthew’s Gospel—Matthew 6:25-34, where Jesus tells His disciples not to worry. He points to the birds of the air, reminding them that sparrows don’t stress about food because God provides for them. He speaks of the flowers in the fields, clothed in vibrant colors, even though they are here one day and gone the next. Then He says, do not worry about what you will eat, drink, or wear, because your Heavenly Father knows what you need.

I found this passage a real challenge to read. I am painfully aware that much of the world’s population lives in poverty. Starvation and dehydration are daily realities for many. So how is this passage still relevant?

I wrestled with how to reconcile what I was reading with what I see in the world. The question of suffering has troubled theologians and believers for centuries—I don’t claim to have an easy answer! But here’s where my wrestling has led me, in case it is of use to others.

My first thought was that, in theory, there is enough to go around. The problem is not scarcity but inequality—human greed hoards resources so that a global minority live in luxury while the majority struggle. But then comes the deeper question: If God provides, why doesn’t He intervene? Does He not care?

I know in my heart that God does care. So then—why suffering?

When God created humans, He gave us free will—the ability to make choices. God is not a dictator ruling with an iron fist but a loving Father who desires a real relationship with us. And because love cannot be forced, He does not impose Himself on us. We are free to believe or not, free to choose justice and mercy or greed and selfishness.

This can be hugely frustrating—especially when it seems like evil is rewarded. But at the heart of the Bible is a two-way relationship between God and humankind, and that relationship comes with responsibility. Every day, we are faced with choices. Followers of Jesus are called to be different—to speak out against injustice, to amplify the voices of the marginalized, to care for God’s creation. But let’s be honest: that feels like too big a job. And sometimes, it’s easier to look away.

Yet I believe it grieves God to see suffering in the world. Jesus’ words and actions show His deep compassion for people. And as we look ahead to Holy Week and Easter, we remember that Jesus came to earth to die—because God’s love for us was so great that He needed to mend the relationship broken all the way back in Genesis. Jesus restored that relationship, making a way for us to be with God for eternity.

This is the part where my brain fails me. That’s a truth too vast for me to fully grasp. And maybe that’s why I don’t have an easy answer to the suffering in the world. But I understand this much: Jesus died out of love for me (and for you!). And because of that, I want to do my part.

Yes, the task feels enormous. Challenging injustice, caring for creation, and looking out for the vulnerable is too much for one person to carry alone. But Jesus never asked us to do it alone. Even when He sent out His disciples, He sent them in pairs. Each pair had a few villages to visit—not the whole world! We, too, are called into community—with each other in the Church and with God. It’s from that place of togetherness that we can shoulder our part of the great mission.

We don’t have to do everything. We just have to do our part.

So this Lent, I want to let the suffering of the world change me. I want to seek out my part in God’s work. And I want the strength and courage to do it.

What about you?

Lent 2025: Praying for the best, preparing for the worst.

I’m a chronic over-thinker. I often find myself imagining every possible scenario, especially the worst ones, and then mentally preparing for how to handle them. Before conversations, I rehearse responses, trying to be ready for anything. Before events, I anticipate everything that could go wrong. My mind is constantly split, half in the present, half bracing for the future.

Of course, I bring these worries to God in prayer, asking for His help with a situation out of my control, an event I’m dreading, or an experience where fear is getting the better of me. But if I’m honest, I struggle to leave it with Him. I pray for the best, yet I still prepare for the worst.

Today’s reflective walk was centered on Matthew 6:25-34. In this passage, Jesus tells His disciples not to worry about material things – what they will eat or wear – because God provides for His creation. If He cares for the birds of the air and the flowers of the field, how much more will He care for us? Jesus urges them to seek first the Kingdom of God and not to be consumed by worry about tomorrow.

It’s a beautiful teaching, but not an easy one to live out. Some things in life do require preparation – you can’t ignore an exam until the day of the test and expect it to go well! But I think Jesus is speaking to something deeper: a matter of perspective. If we let future worries take all our focus, we risk missing the beauty of the present moment. We overlook God’s grace in the world around us. We miss opportunities to be His voice, His hands, His presence to others.

But when we first tune our hearts to the Kingdom, to the unshakable reality of God’s love and provision, it reshapes how we approach uncertainty. It doesn’t mean pretending challenges don’t exist, but it does mean seeing them in light of a bigger truth. And perhaps, when we trust that we are fully known and fully loved by the God who holds all things together, we won’t always assume the worst.

So today, I’m choosing to hand over my worries again. Not because I have to force myself to stop thinking, but because I want to remind myself who God is, and who I am in Him. And maybe, just maybe, from that place of security, I can live with a little less fear and a little more faith.

Lent 2025: Waiting and Preparing

Lent is often described as a season of waiting—a journey towards Easter, filled with reflection, repentance, and preparation. Sometimes, that preparation is deeply spiritual: time spent in prayer, wrestling with faith, or seeking God’s guidance. Other times, it’s practical—getting things ready for what’s to come.

Today has been a day of preparation. A quiet one, but no less important. I’ve been finalizing everything for tomorrow’s café church service: refining my talk, ensuring the table leaflets are ready, and making sure the space is set for people to engage with the theme. It’s not dramatic work, but it’s essential. Without preparation, the experience of gathering, reflecting, and worshipping together wouldn’t unfold as smoothly.

It makes me think about the woman in Luke 13:10-17. For eighteen years, she lived with pain and limitation, not knowing if things would ever change. And yet, she still came to the synagogue. She still placed herself in a space where she could encounter God. She didn’t know she was waiting for healing that day, but when Jesus called her forward, she responded.

We don’t always know what we are waiting for or how long the waiting will last. But like her, we keep showing up. We keep preparing, keep trusting, keep making space for God to move. And when the moment comes—whether quietly or in ways we never expected—grace breaks in.

Lent 2025: What really matters

Have you ever been on your way to something really important, only to be held up by someone asking for help? Or maybe you’ve had a looming deadline, but a friend suddenly needs advice? Or perhaps you’ve carefully planned out your day, only for something unexpected to come up, forcing you to shift your priorities?

Once a week, I drive into work from a neighbouring town. I like to leave plenty of time in case of traffic, especially if I have a lot to do, because arriving early gives me a chance to catch up on tasks before my colleagues arrive with their questions (freeing me up to help them later).

This morning, a friend needed a bit of support. I had two options: stick to my routine and leave on time, or pause to be present for my friend and risk being a little late. I chose the latter. For me, this was an easy choice – people are the most important thing, after all.

But what if it had been a stranger on the side of the road? Would I still have made time? It’s a tough question. We live in a society that often prioritises productivity over people. Sometimes that’s not through choice; many workplaces wouldn’t accept “I helped a stranger” as a valid reason for lateness or a missed deadline. Other times, it is a choice, and we decide to prioritise ourselves or our reputations.

Now, I’m not saying there’s never a time for boundaries. Even Jesus stepped away from people when he needed time to rest and pray. But he also responded to immediate needs, making sure his actions came from compassion, not convenience.

One powerful example is when Jesus meets a religious leader named Jairus. Jairus’ daughter is gravely ill, the doctors can’t help, and he’s desperate. So, he throws himself at Jesus’ feet and pleads for him to come and heal her. Jesus agrees, and they set off, pushing through the crowds, knowing every second counts.

Suddenly, a woman who has been ostracised for 12 years due to an ailment that made her “unclean” reaches out and touches Jesus’ cloak, believing it will heal her. It works – her body is healed instantly – but Jesus notices and stops. He searches for the person who touched him, and the woman comes forward, trembling. She tells her story, and Jesus listens. He doesn’t rush her. Instead, he calls her daughter – the only time he uses this word in the Gospels – restoring not just her health, but her identity.

Imagine the tension. Jairus must have been panicking; his daughter was dying, after all. And sure enough, while Jesus is speaking to the woman, messengers arrive to say the girl has died. But Jesus doesn’t turn back. He continues to Jairus’ house, goes inside with his closest disciples, and tells the little girl to get up. In an astonishing second miracle, she rises from her bed, alive and well.

Jesus values both the ostracised woman and Jairus’ family, he makes time for both.

The situations we face day to day may not be as dramatic, but the challenge remains. Maybe sometimes we need to pause and re-evaluate our priorities. What is really important?

What do you think? When have you had to choose between your plans and someone else’s needs? I’d love to hear your thoughts.

Lent 2025: The ‘Peeking Duck’

I run a Community Choir, and it’s one of the highlights of my week. There’s almost as much laughter as music, and no matter what kind of day I’ve had, I always leave with a full heart. We’re a mix of people with different jobs and backgrounds, but we come together to sing, create something beautiful, and share a lot of joy.

I do love the choir, but there are times I get in from work and just want to collapse and not go back out again. Leading a choir isn’t as simple as just showing up. There’s choosing and arranging songs, planning performances, and keeping rehearsals flowing so the music doesn’t get lost in the banter.

Even on days when I’m tired and tempted to stay home, I show up — because I love these people and the music we make together.
Still, there are times when it feels like all the unseen work goes unnoticed

Tonight I found a card in my bag. One of my choir members had spotted it and thought of me. (For context: I love ducks.) On the front was a ‘peeking duck’ — which made me laugh — and inside was a heartfelt message thanking me for everything I do. I don’t lead the choir for the thanks, but moments like that remind me that what I give makes a difference..

What does this have to do with God? There’s a story in the bible. Jesus is on a hillside preaching to thousands and evening comes. They don’t have any food, I guess time flew by, so the disciples worry what they will do. They encourage Jesus to send the crowd to away to feed themselves, but Jesus says, ‘you feed them.’ I’m not sure about you, but I suspect if I had been in the position I might have either laughed incredulously or had a minor panic attack. Instead the disciples find a boy who has 5 loaves and 2 fishes with him, and Jesus performs a miracle and that little amount of food multiplies and feeds thousands with baskets to spare.
What has occured to me recently in that story is the faith of that boy. There are thousands needing food, what good will his small offering have? But in the hands of Jesus, giving what we have is enough.

This is a lesson I am learning. It’s not always grand gestures or riches that are needed. Just giving what I have is enough – my time, my energy, my talents and my heart.

I have that ‘peeking duck’ next to my bed so I can look at it and smile. And yes, the duck makes me smile. But more than that, it reminds me that the little I do — even when it feels small — is enough. In God’s hands, my time, energy, talents, and heart can be multiplied in ways I may not always see, but that make a difference. And that’s enough

Lent 2025: Ordinary joys

This morning, it snowed. Not enough to settle, just a gentle flurry — but enough to make me smile. Snow always feels special, maybe because we don’t see it very often here. It reminds me of childhood winters, of visiting my grandparents in the north and waking up to a world transformed overnight.

There’s something about snow that feels like a gift. It falls silently, covering everything in a layer of white and muffling all sounds, as if nature itself is encouraging stillness. And yet it also encourages childlike joy with snowmen, snowball fights, and snow angels. “For to the snow he says, ‘Fall on the earth,’ likewise to the downpour, his mighty downpour” (Job 37:6). It’s a reminder that even the smallest moments in nature are part of God’s design, a gentle whisper of His presence.

Today wasn’t filled with grand events, but it was rich with ordinary joys. I met wonderful new people and felt the warmth of human connection. Those encounters, however simple, felt like blessings. “Do not neglect to show hospitality to strangers, for by doing that some have entertained angels without knowing it” (Hebrews 13:2). I wonder how often God’s grace reaches us through others, in the kindness of a conversation or the shared laughter of a first meeting.

It’s easy to overlook days like this, to think that gratitude is only for the big things. But maybe part of living with a thankful heart is noticing the divine fingerprints on the small, quiet moments too. The snow that made me smile. The strangers who felt like friends. The reminder that God’s love is woven through even the most ordinary of days.

“This is the day that the Lord has made; let us rejoice and be glad in it” (Psalm 118:24).

Today, I’m grateful for the little things, and for the gentle nudge to notice God in all of them.