Naomi Reed's Blog

Today, I’m reading Psalm 143. It reminds me that many days are hard. The Psalmist himself is being pursued and crushed. He feels like he’s dwelling in the darkness and going down to the pit. And some days we relate to that.

This week has been hard. One of our lovely deacons at church, June Glanville, passed away on Saturday. She was so loved. And it happened so suddenly. One minute she was sitting next to us in church, singing with us, and praying with us, and the next minute she was in ICU, intubated and ventilated. Her family and friends are numb with the loss. They know that they’ll see her again, and that she’s rejoicing with her saviour, but they have to live without her, for ages. And so do we all. We’ll miss her hugs and her kind words and the things she would have said to us about Jesus. She was so good at that. We had a special time at church on Sunday, remembering her. We made cards, and hearts, out of pebbles, and we had a communal prayer time for her family and loved ones. Tomorrow there’s a thanksgiving service.

But if there’s one thing that grief does, it puts other things back in perspective. It draws us back to the love of God and the hope we have in him. Like the Psalmist, we cry out for mercy, and plead, and thirst, and admit our aching need. And within all of that, there’s a stillness. God is faithful and righteous. His hands made everything. He has redeemed us through his son, the Lord Jesus. And he has promised us a place with him, where he will wipe away every tear.

And so we also pray, like the Psalmist. “Let the morning bring me word of your unfailing love, for I have put my trust in you. Show me the way I should go, for to you I entrust my life. Rescue me from my enemies, Lord, for I hide myself in you. Teach me to do your will, for you are my God; may your Good Spirit lead me on level ground.” (Psalm 143:8-10)

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We have three dogs at the moment. That’s one more than normal. Our mad Beagle and our Maltese X puppy have been joined by ‘Poppy’, who’s an exceptionally well-behaved chocolate Labrador. She’s staying with us for a fortnight while her owners (our friends from church) are away. We’re enjoying her! But before Poppy arrived, our friends gave us a few tips on getting along with her. They said, amongst other things, “Be careful of food envy. She’s a Labrador. Labradors are notorious for food envy.”

We’re being careful of food envy. We’re feeding them all separately, at separate times, and generally, it’s going well… except that we didn’t take ‘affection envy’ into account. Whenever any of us appear, all three of them jostle for our affection. They bury their noses into our hands and laps – wanting to be the first to get a pat, or to have their ears rubbed, or be shown love. If I tell Poppy she’s a good girl, the others gather around, wanting to be good girls also. If I sit down at my desk to work, they all want to sleep on my feet. If I pick up the puppy, the other two want to leap into my arms as well. Usually, that’s slightly too far to leap!

But it’s made me think about our wiring. Am I like that? Do I want to be the most-loved friend, or the most-cherished family member? Do I fear that I’m missing out? Do I want to receive the most praise, or the most back rubs? Do I wangle my way around until I do? Maybe.

At church this month, we’ve been reading Ephesians and it’s been helpful. In chapter three, the apostle Paul prays for all the believers. He prays that Christ might dwell in our hearts – that we might know how wide and long and high and deep is the love of Christ… and in knowing that love, that we might be filled to the measure of all the fullness of God. It’s an incredible prayer! If only we could know that love! And Paul prays it because he knows how desperately we need to know and receive God’s love. He also knows that in receiving God’s love, we will be able to somehow love the people around us, even on the days when we’re feeling needy, or tempted to envy their dinner bowls, or their back scratches. Even on those days, we can live kind, generous, compassionate lives… because we know we’ve been utterly loved by God – generously, undeservedly, eternally.

“And I pray that you, being rooted and established in love, may have power, together with all the Lord’s holy people, to grasp how wide and long and high and deep is the love of Christ, and to know this love that surpasses knowledge—that you may be filled to the measure of all the fullness of God.” (Eph 3:17-19)

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We’ve been studying Hosea at church this month, and it’s not a book that I read very often. Actually, it’s not familiar at all, so on re-reading, I was struck by almost everything. This is how God feels towards his people. He pursues them passionately. He longs for them. He knows them. And he is utterly holy, so he will call his (desperately hopeless) people to account, somehow. In fact, God feels so strongly towards his people, that he tells his prophet, Hosea, to embody the parable, and to marry an unfaithful woman, in order to show the people how much he loves them, and pursues them, in the face of utter unfaithfulness. Amazingly, the prophet does what he’s told and he even calls his children ‘not-loved’, ‘not-my-people’, and ‘massacre’ (in effect). What? Would God really do that – ask a prophet to embody a parable? I find it disturbing, at times, in its word pictures.

But the other thing that happened this month was that I turned 49. That was not disturbing! We celebrated. The boys put up purple streamers in the hallway. Darren and I went for a long walk beneath the waterfalls, and at one point, beneath the waterfalls, I stopped and felt so thankful to God for the year that’s been – the things we’ve learnt, the people we’ve been encouraged by, the conversations we’ve had, and the times we’ve spent with our boys. But then I wondered about the year ahead. What will it hold? And… if the struggles are heavy this year, how will I choose to respond to God – in this year that hasn’t been yet – the last one in my forties?

Re-reading Hosea reminded me of what God wants, more than anything. There’s one verse, in particular. “Let us press on to know him more” (Hosea 6:3). How will I do that this year? How will I genuinely press on to know him more this year, compared to the one that’s been? And will I really know him (rather than just talk about knowing him) – this God whose love churns inside him (Hosea 11:8), whose compassions are aroused, who will come to us like the spring rains (Hosea 6:3), and whose fierce anger will not be carried out (Hosea 11:9)?

It was that last phrase that did it. In the New Testament, there is a word picture that is actually far more disturbing than Hosea marrying an unfaithful woman. Seven hundred years after the life of Hosea, God came himself. The Lord Jesus Christ, God incarnate. Jesus lived and loved and healed and showed the people what God was like, and then he took upon himself the sins of the whole world, every burden and pain and every impossible question that I have, and you have… and he hung on a cross, and he died a painful death, and rose again, so that I might be forgiven, and so that you might be forgiven, and so that we might know God, more and more.

If it wasn’t so familiar, I’d find it incredibly disturbing. And I should.

Perhaps today, and this year, I will.

“I will heal their waywardness and love them freely, for my anger has turned away from them.” (Hosea 6:3)

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This week I’ve been re-reading ‘God’s Smuggler,’ by Brother Andrew. Has anyone else read it? I’m enjoying it, and remembering the first time I read it, back in the early 1980’s. I was about 13 at the time, and I’d heard about Jesus at the Christian group at high school. I was completely astounded by the love of God for each of us, and I wanted to find out more. So I sat down on my bed and I read through the New Testament, and then I read every Christian biography I could find at the time, including ‘God’s Smuggler’, ‘The Hiding Place’, ‘Chasing the Dragon’, ‘Run Baby Run’, and ‘Joni’. It was a great selection of books! And I came to see that following Jesus might mean laying down my life, or my next brilliant plan, out of love for God, and his world, and it might mean sacrifice and cost, and it might even mean frightening border crossings in a blue Volkswagen full of Bibles. It could mean all of that, and more, out of obedience and love for God, because that’s how much we’ve been loved.

Reading ‘God’s Smuggler’ again at almost 49, was equally as inspiring. Partly, it reminding me of our years in India and Nepal – that heightened awareness of what God was doing around us, and in us – his leading, his provision, his opportunities, his trustworthiness, in everything.

But more than that, it made me think about my days here now, in Australia. I wonder why I read ‘God’s Smuggler’ and think mostly about our years in Nepal, rather than our years in Australia? Why do I notice what God is doing around me, more in Nepal than in Australia? Why does it feel like I don’t depend on God as much in Australia, as I did in Nepal? Brother Andrew began his work in the 1950’s, smuggling a few, and then hundreds, and then thousands of Bibles across borders into Communist Eastern Europe…. and God kept providing, amazingly, and Brother Andrew kept doing the next obvious thing to love the neediest Christians in the world. The book almost reads like a thriller – there were so many opportunities for Brother Andrew to trust God and to notice what God was doing. And it makes me wonder… what if I lived like that in Australia? Towards the end of the book, Brother Andrew wrote this, “Persecution is an enemy the church has met and mastered many times. Indifference could prove to be a far more dangerous foe.”

I agree with him. I think I need to stop and notice indifference here, in myself, and around me, and I need to do everything I can to stop falling asleep. Sixty years after Brother Andrew’s first trip to Poland, ‘Open Doors’ (the organisation that developed from his vision) is serving millions of persecuted Christians around the world, in more than 50 different countries, in the places where having faith in Jesus costs the most. And I think that for me, and for all of us, one way to stay awake is to partner with the persecuted church. Not only does it help to strengthen and enable them, the most persecuted Christians in the world, but it also, daily, widens our perspective to what God is doing through the Lord Jesus, in the costliest places… and as we reflect on that, it (hopefully) keeps us wide awake to the real and ongoing needs in our own street.

“Then Jesus returned to his disciples and found them sleeping… He said, ‘Watch and pray so that you will not fall into temptation.’” (Mark 14:37,38)

I’m praying for us all this week, wherever we are, that we stay awake.

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We’ve just returned from two and a half weeks in Nepal. It was wonderful. We had 27 dal bhats in a row, with our Nepali friends in Pokhara, Dhulikhel and Kathmandu. Amazing! Many of them were our original friends back in the nineties, so back then, we were having our first children together… and now those same children are getting married. It was so lovely to catch up with their latest news and to laugh and cry together again. As well as that, Darren presented his shoulder research at the Nepal Physio Association Conference in Kathmandu, and he travelled to the east of the country for a friend’s wedding, and he was involved in lots of meetings regarding setting up a Masters of Physiotherapy course. It’s amazing to think that 23 years ago, when we first arrived in Nepal, there were only two Nepali bachelor-level physios for the population of 20 million. And now there are hundreds working across the country and they’re all part of the World Congress of Physios.

The best thing for me was looking back and seeing glimpses of the way God has worked over time – the things we could never see at the time. The physio course in Dhulikhel is still going strong. Our church in Pokhara has grown to 1000 members and they have planted ten daughter churches. My friend Srijana has been able to educate her children and the eldest is now studying nursing. Another friend remembers reading the Bible with us in Pokhara, 20 years ago. He says it meant such a lot to him then because he’d only recently come to faith in Jesus. Other friends have been able to buy land and build small houses. But the stories are not all easy or happy. A few friends lost their family homes in the earthquake last year. My friend Lalu is still struggling with the loss of her daughter some years back. She remembers praying and crying with me after it happened. Over decades, life is really hard, for all of us. Within that though, I’m so thankful for their honesty and their vulnerability in sharing their pain and hope with us. Even now, they say, God is still present and he’s still at work, all of the time, in everything, to grow our faith in Jesus.

‘And Jesus said, “This is what the kingdom of God is like. A man scatters seed on the ground. Night and day, whether he sleeps of gets up, the seed sprouts and grows, though he does not know how. All by itself, the soil produces corn – first the stalk, then the ear, then the full grain in the ear. As soon as the corn is ripe, he puts the sickle to it, because the harvest is come.”’ (Mark 4:26-29)

May our lives bear fruit for the Gospel, in small, unseen ways, in whichever country God allows us to be, today.

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We released ‘The Zookeeper’ children’s chapter book in October! I’m so excited. It feels like it’s been a long time coming. In early 2013, Scripture Union emailed me and asked me whether I’d like to write and perform a Gospel show for children and their families in the north-west of NSW. I said yes, I’d love to… and I wrote ‘The Zookeeper’ as a performance piece, telling the whole Biblical message through allegory. We then formed a team, and the four of us developed the work and performed ‘The Zookeeper’ 22 times at schools and churches, with music, songs, puppets and backdrops. The audience loved it and they kept requesting a take-home version… so I turned the idea into a book. But it took a really long time to get it published! There were so many moments when I prayed about it and wondered why it was taking so long. But during those four years that I worked on it, our eldest son Stephen finished high school and went off to art school and became an illustrator. This year, he created 27 illustrations for ‘The Zookeeper’ – capturing the darkness and the message and the hope in a way I would never have imagined, for the print medium. I find it amazing (especially given that Darren and I can’t even draw stick figures)! I’m so thankful for him and the way God works over time, always knowing what is ahead, and giving us what we need, when we need it, even when I’m at my most impatient!

I hope you really enjoy this book. It’s especially designed to read to children from 4-7 years old, and as a read-alone book for 7-11 year olds. You might also notice and enjoy the parallels with the Garden of Eden, the slavery in Egypt, the sending of Moses, the return to the land, the promise of the One to come, the surprise of the answer, and the beautiful ending.

As well as that, I’m in the middle of producing a ten-part Zookeeper lesson plan, with craft and activities and Bible references, to be used in schools in the New Year. I’ll let you know when that appears. AND I took copies of ‘The Zookeeper’ with me back to Nepal recently and it was so amazing watching the children read it out loud to each other in English and really understand it. They even explained it to each other in Nepali. And then they told everyone that the illustrator (Stephen) was born in Nepal (which is true!)! Of course, in Nepal, there are very few Christian children’s books available in either English or Nepali, so we’re actually in the process of translating The Zookeeper into Nepali, which we hope will be another opportunity to share the Gospel message in a culturally appropriate way. If you would like to pray for our translator, Sima, as she finds the right words and phrases, that would be really appreciated. Or if you would like to contribute financially to the printing of the Nepali version, please let me know!

With thanks again for your ongoing support and encouragement!

“But God demonstrates his own love for us in this: While we were still sinners, Christ died for us.” (Romans 5:8)

 

 

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We attended INF’s ‘Experience Nepal’ event on Saturday night. It was lovely. Our old friends were there and we sang Nepali worship songs and we heard stories from the field and we ate lots of dal bhat. At some point in the evening, we realised we’d been attending INF events in Sydney for 24 years.

The first time we attended one, it was 1992 and we were young and keen and newly married… and excited about serving in Nepal with INF. We couldn’t wait to get there. Even the plane journey was too slow! We spent six months in India and then three years in Nepal (working and loving and learning and giving birth to our first son), and then we returned to Australia and attended the next INF event in Sydney.

But by then, we weren’t overly keen or excited. We’d loved our time in Nepal, but since returning to Australia, we’d struggled through five miscarriages and the doctors advised us to stay in Australia. It was so hard. We’d left our belongings and work and life in Nepal. At the INF event, we spent time with Jean Raddon and told her our struggles. Jean had served in Nepal for many years and she was the wisest person we knew. After a while, she said, “You know, there may be a longer perspective here. God may be doing something that you can’t see. He may have a time for you to return to in Nepal, in the future, which is good, but for now, it might be right to stay in Australia and finish your family… because none of us know what’s coming.” We listened to Jean and we breathed out and we stayed in Australia for seven years. It was the right decision at the time, although it didn’t get easier straight away. In 1999, Darren was diagnosed with a life-threatening heart condition and he needed three major heart operations and while he was in hospital having one of them, my dad broke his back in a rock climbing accident. Jean was right… None of us know what’s coming.

But then, over the next few years, we were able to have two more sons and we returned to Nepal in 2003, for another three years, living in Dhulikhel and training Nepali physios and home schooling our three boys. In 2006, we returned to Australia again and we began attending INF events again, and we spent time speaking about Nepal, and writing about Nepal, and we took short trips back to Nepal, and we even took on postgrad Nepali physio students (that’s Darren, not me!)… and it goes on. It’s been amazing, looking back.

But in the middle of it, we couldn’t see anything at all… which is why it was so hard.

On Saturday night, I happened to spend time talking with a younger couple who had returned temporarily to Australia after ten months in Nepal with INF. Their return wasn’t planned. It wasn’t what they wanted. They’ve had visa problems and family illness and grief. It feels hard to understand.

I listened to their story and I understood them, more than they knew. I said yes. And I wanted to say to them (and me) that there may be a longer perspective.

“All the days ordained for me were written in your book before one of them came to be.” (Psalm 139:16)

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It’s been exactly ten years since we lived in the middle hills of the Himalayas. We still miss it. So, to mark the occasion last night, we ate dal bhat together and read chapters 16 and 17 from ‘No Ordinary View’ – reminiscing about our old life on the Dhulikhel ridge, riding around on the motorbike, and doing home-school, and singing in Nepali church, and teaching physio at DMI.

In chapters 16 and 17, we also lived through the revolution, and three weeks of daytime curfew, stuck in Kathmandu, away from our home and belongings and friends in Dhulikhel. The embassies were evacuating all their ‘non-essential’ staff and two million people were about to storm the palace, so we got up at 3.30am and raced the curfew, in order to retrieve our belongings from Dhulikhel. We drove through pitch blackness, and piles of burning rubble and debris and broken glass and soldiers trying to enforce the night time curfew. Then we arrived at our home and packed it up in half an hour, between 5.15am and 5.45am, racing around the rooms with pillowcases and shouting goodbye to our terraced back yard… and then we leapt back in the van to be back in Kathmandu before 7.00am, when the riot to end all riots would begin. But we reached the Ring Road and it was quiet. Where were all the people? Then we read the news. Overnight the king had given in, and restored power to the people. The ten year civil war was over. So we ate democracy momos on the roof of the INF flat and celebrated.

Last night, after reading chapter 17, I put the book down and we all said, “Wow”. And then we said, “I wish we could do it again.”

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We spend a lot of time waiting – for the bus, for the phone call, the tickets, the bathroom, the bell, the lights, the dinner, the news that might change everything. Right now I’m waiting for two emails. They’re both in relation to two of my creative projects… and I wish they would come. I’m trying not to check the emails every ten seconds. So instead of checking the emails every ten seconds, I’m going to write out my 15 top tips for waiting, in no particular order.

Always have another creative project on the go. I call this my ‘Thing-I’m-writing-when-I’m-not-writing-anything-else’ Project. At the moment, it’s the devotions I started in Israel three years ago. I pull them out whenever I’m not writing anything else, or whenever my other projects are on hold… and they haven’t complained once, so that’s nice. One day I might even finish them, especially if this waiting carries on much longer.
Alternatively, find a blank piece of paper and go and sit under a gorgeous, shady tree in your back yard and write anything at all. The good news is that no one is going to see what you write, and no one is going to publish it, and no one is going to talk about filming it. That’s good!
Then go back inside and re-read a book that you loved when you were 12 years old. The chances are that you will still love it, and you will find your younger, dreamier, hopeful self in between the pages.
After you finish reading your favourite book, and just as the sun is going down, head out on to the back deck and lean over the railing as far as you can, and watch the sun actually set. The colours will still be glorious, even if the thing you were waiting for didn’t happen today.
The next day, when you still haven’t received your email, rearrange the furniture. You could start with the living room, because that’s probably the easiest and it includes your writing desk. Enjoy your new view!
Then go back outside and watch the dog. Notice how she finds the sunniest spot in the garden and simply lies down.
While you’re outside, weed the garden. The best thing about gardens is that they grow weeds all of the time. So begin weeding the tiniest section near the front door and then, before you know it (or before the email arrives), you will probably have weeded half an acre.
When you’ve finished weeding, re-read your old journals. In particular, read the ones where you learnt all about patience last time. Remember?
Then go outside and puff yourself out completely. Jump on the trampoline for half an hour, or chase the dog around the yard, or run up the back stairs, as if there’s something unbelievably surprising at the top. Maybe there is?
Afterwards, stretch your calves and your quads. You really don’t want to tear anything. At the same time, you could call a friend, or talk to your neighbour, or do something really helpful for someone else, who doesn’t know anything at all about your email.
Alternatively, pirouette across the room. It’s really fun… but harder to do, if you’re standing in a queue.
Then write out a list, just like this, and make it rhyme, on every line.
For something completely different, and harder to rhyme, paint your toenails purple.
Then teach your teenagers to cook. I know you’ve tried this before, but they’re much older now, and they’re much hungrier, so it may even work.
In the evening, sit down on the back deck with your gorgeous husband and watch him read the Psalms in Nepali. Notice how incredibly, painstakingly patient he is with every single word. Ask him how long it’s taken him to read Psalm 119 in Nepali. Listen to his reply. A week. Try and absorb some of his patience.
Then, while you’re sitting there with him, re-read Psalm 130 for yourself, in English. Notice verse 5. “I wait for the LORD, my soul waits, and in his word I put my hope. My soul waits for the Lord more than watchmen wait for the morning, more than watchmen wait for the morning.” Close your eyes and remember that you’re not actually waiting for the email, at all. You’re waiting for the Lord, for his timing, for his plans, for his word, for his strength to do the next thing, whatever it is. Smile. Give thanks. Then go back to number 1.

 

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On International Women’s Day, I’m thankful for all the women I’ve met, and cried with, and lived with, during our years in Nepal and India… and then while gathering stories for ‘The Plum Tree in the Desert.’ I could tell you about all of them… but here’s Iris. She’s a Chennai raised Indian who has spent 40 years doing medical and gospel work in the jungle of Malkangiri. For the first 15 years, Iris and her husband Paul lived in the village, with limited water and electricity, and they spent all day treating patients and sharing their faith. It was hard. For the first 15 years, they made good friends and shared stories, but nobody from the local tribal people came to faith in Jesus or asked to be baptised. Iris and Paul felt like giving up. They had used up all their money and sold all of Iris’ jewellery. Then Paul became very sick. The family went south to Vellore Hospital. Paul had an operation and died in the middle of it. Iris was 42 and they had four children. The youngest was nine months old. Friends said to her, ‘Don’t go back to Malkangiri. Stay here in Chennai. Set up a medical practice’. But nine days later, Iris and the children got in a jeep and returned to the village and the people in Malkangiri. Iris went back to seeing patients from sunrise till sunset.

The local people noticed and said to each other, “You see, she loves us. She came back. The God she loves must be real.” Within six months, 36 people came to Iris and asked to be baptised. Now there are 5,000 believers in Malkangiri. Rates of vaccination and literacy and crop production have all increased. Violent crime and alcoholism has greatly reduced. And Iris said to me, “It doesn’t feel like 40 years. I wish I could do it again,”

Lord, today, in the place where you have us… teach us to love.