The Potter's Hands - Gina

Gap year series HERE WE GO!

So this is a series to give everyone a little glimpse into what we've each individually been doing on out gap years. It's called The Potters Hands (Not because of Harry Potter as I originally thought) but because we've each given this year to God and we now want to share what he's done with it so far...One of the reasons we created this blog was to keep each other updated as we each ventured out on our individual gap years, so here's the first installment!

I was wracking my brains as to a cool and quirky way which I could show this, and I realised that my gap year coincides with my instagram pictures! I'm going to write too, and I'll try and be concise!

 



Sarah's send off to Falmouth . beauty whilst bike riding . a stay in Swindon with Eve .



So far it's been a year full of hardship. I think I wandered into it with a little naievety, expecting to 'get a job', 'earn money', go away to Africa and come back with life-changing experiences! In a sense that's still going to happen, but God's had a LOT to teach me about it and myself in the process.

I didn't just 'get a job' as I expected, there was many weeks of trailing round town with CV's, hopefuls and then dissapointments, hurts and tears as I was rejected. I found the odd one day job, and eventually settled into part time shifts with the school kitchens. This is excruciating as it means being around the school I have supposedly just left. To start with it brought back a lot of memories, and it felt like I was drowning in the old ones while I was supposed to be making new ones.

 

Not being around my friends every day was painful, I felt so lonely suddenly and so miserable knowing that it wasn't going to change. But God has taught me that I don't need to find my happiness in earthly things - I thought that was just money and clothes and all the rest, but I think it means things like friendship too - and that true happiness resides in HIM. So that brought me up short, and meant that I began to tenativlely seek God more and more.



toasties with Eve . Transform interview travel with Abbie and Milla and Kate . Milla 'performing' at Reading train station .

 

The dissapointment didn't stop there though...God still had more to teach! So I expected to go with SMILE  a crosslinks organisation to Uganda. I went to the interview. Got a place on the third team. But ended up not being able to go as they couldn't find the leaders. Crap. This threw me into a whirl of 'what am I going to do?? What if I never go away? aaaaahhhh'. BUT, God is soverign and it all worked out for the best.

 

I've currently got a place on a transform team to go to Tanzania with Tearfund. This is clearly where God wants me to be. It has such a better feel to it than the SMILE one ever did, the interview was soooo relaxed and I met some really nice, notatall intimmidating people there! I think what God was trying to teach me was that, in the words of C.S.Lewis 'not to put your heart in the future.' (Screwtape Letters) The bible says that where your heart is your treasure is also. And what C.S.Lewis was getting at was that you shouldn't put your heart in things that could change so easily and dissapoint you. You should put your heart in the present and praise God for the things that he's given you now. It's changed my whole outlook on life and I love it!

 

Mentioning 'Screwtape Letters' I've been trying to read some Christian books to become a lot wiser and more knowledgable about God and the bible, and to get my head around some issues. I would seriously recommend the 'Screwtape Letters' - I know that Kate would too. It is so amazing and it's written from the devil's perspective so you have to constantly be reversing it in your mind, reverse psychology works!! It's taught me so many things that I can't go into, but go and find out for yourself!

 

Another book (I don't want to turn this into a book-review post but I have to mention it) is 'Desiring God' by John Piper. I know Abbie would also recommend it. It's amazing. Give it a read. It has some amazing views on joy i.e. our purpose is to glorify God by enjoying Him.

 

bike ride with milla . monopoly with Kate, Milla and Abbie .

So I'm currently spending my days in the paradox of dreading and yet needing the call from Julie to tell me there's work in the kitchens. I find it so difficult as it's so hard to get on with the people there, and I find it quite lonely. But I try and use the time to myself to pray for all of them - it is my mission to pray for them constantly so that at least one of them starts to question God and look at Christianity. I'm trying to be a light for God there, his ambassador in that place. I have had one conversation with someone, but I desperately want more. And all for His glory!!

To sum up: The gap year so far has been hard and will probably be harder but it's brought me closer to God! And I have had some fantastic times with friends aswell. There should be another post, post-Tanzania with tons of pictures and stories, so keep reading! I will be so impressed if you read this, hopefully there will be more stories from the others to come.

Never forget that

In a few weeks' time everything I know will simply be a memory. The place that I've called 'home' and  the people that I've called 'family' are going to violently ripped away from me. Put slightly less dramatically, School will be finishing... Forever. And ever. And. Ever. (I lied about the 'less dramatic' part!)

I don't know about you guys, but I love my school. I love the 'quintessential' grounds, the teachers who feel like friends, the atmosphere that just screams 'God is present', but most of all the people who I have gradually come to know as a part of me.

I can't walk around school without remembering a thousand different memories.

This is the library where we decided to smuggle in a picnic one day and where have got to a stage of having 'our' seats. This is the classroom that holds so many memories of GCSE English and too many laughs to count. These are the toilets where we locked all the doors and I fell in the toilet after breaking the lid that I was standing on. This is the dining room where we have sat for hours eating, laughing, praying, foot stomping, shouting, and frequently getting told off for doing so. This is the stage where I met a person I shouldn't have, as well as having an oodle of laughs with the 'Hot Box girls'. This is the art block where 'under pressure' was sung in the last 5 minutes of an exam, we have been a bit 'in the dark', we never get a computer, we didn't get a cookie, but we have done some pretty ridiculous stuff for our grades. This is the Hockey block where we were threatened with a 'sitting plan' every week and crawled on the floor doing gun drills (for CCF, I hasten to add!). This is the bridge we hid under during a 'latin treasure hunt'. These are our 'preferred' toilets which we daily frequent, even when half of us are actually only keeping the other half 'company', which sertinly amuses some people. This is the room where I'm never lonely, we stay up until the wee hours of the morning, we watch endless movies, we strum guitars, we write songs, we occasionally do some work, and we get to share each other's company. This is the house that always has an open door, always warms our hearts, lights our smiles, calms our troubled minds, provides props for our photography, quenches our thirst with endless cups of tea, and can be called none other than 'The Tea House'.

For anyone who thinks several of those memories were ridiculously weird, then you would be excused for thinking so, but I think we've all got to a stage now where we can embrace our insanity. It stems from being in the company of good friends, and my friends are simply wonderful.

As we come to the end of our time together, I want us to remember the laughs, but also the tears. We have all faced troubles in one way or another but with amazingly comforting friends and a glorious God, these times have shaped us to become the (Dare I say?) 'women' of God that we are today.

The constant in our relationships has always been God and although the rest of our lives look utterly terrifying, as long as we have Him, then we will always hold a tiny piece of each other.

Right now, I want to look at these few short weeks ahead and cherish the present. It truly is a gift.

Whatever the future brings I want you all to know that in this moment, I love you. Please never forget that.

For God has not given us a spirit of fear and timidity, but of power, love and self-discipline ~ 2 Timothy 1:7

The Easter Thief

So, I begin: dust blown, pages turned, pen in hand, eyes squinting.

Time ticks, its toll brutally ripping away that first surge of incentive, then the motivation

Then there’s the sigh, the flipping of the pen, the doodling, the eyes straying.

Time tocks, its toll stealing the pen from my hand, the concentration from my head

I’m deceived by smooth thinking, beckoning guitar, open window, sun melting, head aching...

Time ticks, its toll swallowing a good intention, a promise of five minutes, five turns into sixty

Or more.

So here’s the end: book abandoned, pen lying destitute, revision cards vacant, timetable grieving. Gratification short. Remorse long. Self-punishment vicious. Work zero. Guilt 100%.

Fresh incentive: dust blown, pages turned, pen in hand, eyes squinting.

Time ticks...

Can you guess what this thief is called?

(Let me just clarify this was written in a break… a short, well-timed break between English lit and RS revision!)

Gina x

How To Learn a Quote

This may not seem like the most interesting blog post ever, but hopefully- in the season of exams and past-papers and revision- it may be a helpful one! At least to any English Lit students out there...

1) Make a list of the ones you want to learn. Start with the first one and repeat it over and over. Then say it, add the second one and repeat the second over and over (make sure you say the first from memory.) Then say the first and second once, add a third, and repeat the third over and over. Then say the first and second and third once, and from memory, add a fourth, and repeat the fourth over and over. Guess what comes next... :)

2) How to get them to stick whilst repeating them:
A- Set a rhythm to the quote, and make sure you stick to the beat.
B- Say it and stress a different word each time
C- Make actions up to it
D- Associate an object with it, then when you look at that object, you'll always remember it. In theory...
E- Put it on a Post-it note and stick it up in prominent places in your house
F- Blur some of the words together into a new, more interesting word, that'll stick into your memory!
    Here's a few my sister and I had (I reccomend doing this with someone! It's funny, and humour makes it stick!) If anyone can guess them I'll be impressed...
> Yoothsumalov
> Ajwintersgell
> Medicinufahouse

Hahaha.

And G) Go into town, grab the nearest stranger and shout it in their face.

That last one was a joke. I find B, C, F particularly helpful. Others... not so much.
Happy working!

A Dog's tale...

THEN

Lots of people. Big. Scared. New smells. TONS of them. What do I do? Scared. Strange room. Bright lights. Cage. Newspaper. Sick. LOTS of it. Whimper. Water. Food. Don't want it. Scared. More sick. More newspaper. Drink a little. Scared.

Howl. Howl. Howl. Person. Newspaper changed. Bed taken. Lots of hands. Eyes. Smiles. Curious. Food. Outside. Grass. New smells. Scared. Poo. Picked up. Back in cage. Bed. Tired. Sleep. Newspaper changed.

Lots of legs. Table. Loud noise. Scared. Toy. Chew toy. No. Shoe. Yum. Other dog. Play! Owch. Scared. Grass. Post. Wee. Ground. Ball. People. Hands. Pick up. Warm arms. Finger. Nibble. Person. Jump on. Yawn. Inside. Cage. Drink. Sleep.

It was comfortable...

Wasn't I ADORABLE??

.

NOW

Inside. People. Lean on. Shoe. Chew on. Human food! Big eyes. Stroked. No food. Aww. Outside. Hear a noise. Bark! Bark! Bark! No threat. Relax. Other dog. Take toy. No fun. Bored. Bug. Pounce. Eat. Sunshine. Lie down. Sleep. Sleep. Loud noise. Jump.

Person. Ball. Pick up. Run and get. Pick up. Run and get. Pick up. Run and get. Lead. WALK! Muzzle. Aww. Road. Smell. Mark territory. New scents. Grass. River. Water. Stick. Puppy. Growl. Whistle. Whistle. Whistle. Whistle. Run. Treat. Pat. Stick. Chew.

Home. Hose. Water. Urgh. Shake. Person. Lean on. Door. Lean on. Lie down. Tired. Sleep. Rattle. Food! Sit. Wait. Come. Yum.

Don't I have such gorgeous brown eyes?

Zzzzzz

 

 An insight into the life of Alfie. Do you have a dog as sweet as this one?

Gina x

Unforgettable Memories ~ A Series

So although I’ve been silent for a few days up until today (two in one day... Radical, right?!), I have been thinking a lot about what I want to write on here. I thought it might be nice to start a little feature for a week or two. I haven’t run this by the others, but I just thought it might be nice to write down some of our memories from the last 18 (or so) years…

I’d also like to take the bold step of opening this up for reader submissions. If you’re reading this and have a memory you’d like to share then leave a comment and we’ll be in contact ASAP!

I’ll start…

On Wednesday the 7^th of June 1994, Edward Lincoln Balshaw landed on the shores of Normandy. As a terrified, homesick and very wet (he was lowered over the side of the boat to test the depth of the water… he couldn’t swim!) 19-year-old boy, nothing could have prepared him for what he was about to see. Yesterday had been D-day, and today, I imagine, was something like stepping into hell.

60 years later, my Grandad returned to Normandy for D-day Anniversary celebrations. For some very different reasons, he was also unprepared for what he would experience.

On one of the afternoons, they had decided to present all the veterans with a special memorial medal/badge, my Grandad included. Grandad appeared in the morning wearing a light summer shirt, perfect for the blazing French sun, but rather unsuitable to hold the medals that he had pinned to the front breast pocket. Having never worn his medals since being given them at the end of the war, Dad handed over his own suit jacket, and Grandad was made a tad more presentable for the occasion.

We drove as close as we could, but the crowds prohibited much proximity to the main event, so we travelled the rest of the way on foot. As a young girl holding Grandad’s hand, I was relatively unaware of what was going on around me, and in the busyness and heat of the day, so was Grandad. Grandma, Jonathan, Mum and Dad were following us and we soon found ourselves walking down a blocked off road, with people lining both sides. As we walked down the middle we began to hear the pitter-patter of claps. And more. And more. All around us, applause was breaking out. (I’m starting to cry as I write this now!) Grandad looks up and sees crowds of faces smiling back at him and clapping and cheering. It dawns on him… They were applauding HIM. They were thanking him for the sacrifice he made, and the battle he fought for THEIR freedom. Slowly he pulls back his gently sloping shoulders, straightens his back, with his head held high, and grips my hand, walking on with an overwhelming sense of pride.

Suddenly everything that he had gone through was starting to make sense. The horrors of his time in that place 60 years ago had really counted for something. Without him, these people would not have the freedom to stand in the streets and salute the men who had given their all.

This is probably one of the clearest memories I have of my Grandad. Seeing the releasing of pain and fear that he had held up for so long is something I hope never to forget.

A picture of my Grandad and Brother taken a few months ago on my phone when we went to stay with Grandad for what ended up being his last Christmas.

How about you?

mmmm....

The enchantment of outfit possibilities...

The therapeutic aroma of a flickering yankee candle...

The rich comfort of a fresh cup of tea...

The luxury of a lazy morning...

The blessing of clean laundry...

The settling smell of home-cooking...

The gentleness of an empty mind...

The peace of knowing the when's and where's, and the how's and the why's...

The overwhelming sense of 'belonging'...

Home.

Giving in.

The frustration inside him built up. It built up like a gradual crescendo of loud and discordant music, scrunching and screaming until it hit it's peak and trembled on the verge of explosion. He could not stand it any longer. He picked himself up and ran, as fast and as far as his shaky legs would carry him, stumbling the last stretch down the road to his house in a blind and teary panic. He wanted to scream. He wanted to shriek into the open, slightly dank, evening air. Let his cries carry over the village. Let them hear his suffering.

But there was silence.

No one could hear his pain, because no one was listening for it.

It had been six months since the passing of Thomas Long's little sister. The medics hadn't seen it coming, the doctors hadn't seen it coming, her family hadn't seen it coming and Tom hadn't seen it coming. No one saw it, because it wasn't foreseeable. Cars don't hit girls of nine years old. And they certainly don't kill them.

It's unbearable the way life goes on once yours stops. Maybe it's a lesson in humility, that the world doesn't centre on you, maybe it’s a lesson of our sin, that we've ruined this world- but that wasn't important. The only thing that seemed to count to Tom, or to mean anything, was the dark ache that waited in his lungs. It crouched in his stomach and it lurked in the back of his throat. It was this darkness that haunted Tom as he attempted, like a watch with failing batteries, to carry on, like moving underwater, like walking through fog.

No, no one was listening out for Tom because they'd all moved on- the card-senders, the church-goers, the well-wishers; they'd all packed up and taken their condolences with them. The Long family was left slightly more dazed than before but just as bereft and Tom couldn't stand it. No one wanted to remember her because it caused them pain- well, he would remember her even if he lived in agony for the rest of his life.

This was the determination that circled his head as he strode through his front door and climbed the stairs to his room. The door swung open and he turned on the light in the hands of monotonous, gloomy-routine. Inexplicably, the roving feeling of dark nausea swelled in Tom's stomach. It surged again, with increasing momentum. The sight of his room was becoming repulsive- it was the feeding-ground of tears and anger and unexplainable pain and bereft longing and missing and curses and hate and jealousy and depression and all the things that erupt from the hole death tears within you. Tom stood there for a few motionless minutes, dust floating in the air around his head, caught in the evening sunlight.

"God." He whispered.

He didn't really know what he was saying. Only that words were ebbing from a place without a shore- a terrifying ocean of endless pain that he knew waited at the edge of his subconscious. He knew it would consume him. He wasn't sure if he cared. He wasn't sure about anything. He only knew that this wasn't fair. And if this wasn't fair- someone was responsible. And if someone was responsible- they had to be brought to justice.

"God, was this you?" He whispered. Was it God? Wasn't God meant to be loving and all powerful? Wasn't God good? Wasn't He in control?

Tom had thought he'd known God. He thought he'd understood...didn't God understand? He'd prayed to God constantly, he'd accepted Jesus, he'd loved Jesus... he knew God had cared for him then... but now. Now everything was shaking. Everything that he thought had been as firm as rock was cracking, crumbling like the tower of Babel. The only thing that remained constant enough to latch onto was rage, a throbbing red haze that seemed somehow tangible when all else shivered in and out, halfway between something that made sense and nothing at all. The anger. It made him want to scream at God. To accuse God. To fight back.

But somehow...

He knew he couldn't.

A groan rumbled from the back of his throat and in despair, he sank to his knees and felt the short bristles of the carpet acutely as they rubbed against his skin. There lingered a smell of dust and the familiar feeling of tears in the back of his throat. He moaned. The pain. The constant, wearying affliction of pain that just wouldn't abate. He couldn't stand it. He missed her. The frustration boiled over in his stomach and he doubled over under the pressure, placing his head on the carpet and digging his nails into his arms with intense ferocity, the tethers end dangerously close...

"God?!" He was calling out. He knew he needed help. He knew he couldn't cope on his own. Everything was wrong. He was wrong. He could see that. He couldn't shout at God because deep within himself, deep between the needles of remembering and forgetting was the knowledge that he was wrong and God was right. God knew his pain. God felt his pain and God was in control. He knew it.

"God!" He cried. He cried into the carpet. Tears and more tears mingled down his cheeks.

"God! Where are you?" He needed God. The strain on his voice cracked-

"God, are you here?!"

I Am.

The answer rang like a clear bell into the mist. It peeled off, but Tom still felt the echoes run down his spine. He shivered, his eyes wide in astounded silence. Nothing happened for a moment, and he lifted his head slowly from where he lay. Seconds turned into minutes. He felt each breath like it was a disturbance. Then, gently, words began to float into his head, a whispered sentence that came back to him. They felt familiar, like an old friend, like something he'd lost and found again, something he'd wanted returned but had given up searching for...

"For God so loved the world he gave his only begotten son, so that whoever believes in him shall not perish, but have eternal life."

John 3:16

It was a verse his sister had sung months ago. The sing song voice still lingered against the verse, her small, slightly tuneless tones fluttering against the words. She'd believed it. He could still picture her steady, level gaze as he'd teased her singing for being whiny, shaky. Listen to the words Tom.

Tom did now. He let them lie. He let the verse sink in and soak up the rotten emotion pooling inside of him. It worked like a sponge. There began to be something unintelligibly different. There, amongst the foaming dark, was the tension of relief. A spot of white in the black. It was like suddenly gulping in air when you hadn't even realised you'd been taking such small, suffocating breaths. God knew. God had taken this pain, absorbed it, when he'd died on the cross. Of course God knew what it was like to lose someone you loved, his own son died. He died for Tom. He died for her.

She knew that.

She was there.

She was safe.

Tom lay on the carpet and abandoned all sense, abandoned all anger, and abandoned all grief. Six months on and finally he was giving up. Not on life. But on death. He surrendered himself to God who lifted the pain of his shoulders and held it himself. Then he picked Tom back up, brushed him down, and put him back on his feet.