Take up your pen... AND WRITE!

Lord, all that we have accomplished You have done for us. Isaiah 26:12

Life had been on the downward slope for many years, going from bad to worse, when I collapsed. For me, it was the end of a long battle, a battle I'd fought from my teens, that I was fine, just fine!

Now, here I was, closer to 50 than 40, and still looking for the Promised Land. But all that seemed to happen were troubles and heartache. Now I could hardly walk, do little for myself and felt useless. I turned bitter, hated life - hated even those who loved me... I'd had so many plans, so many hopes, so many dreams, and now they lay, crushed and ground into the dirt.

My beloved husband and children (long grown-up) did not know what had come over me. But a dear friend from a local church went on reaching out to me - even when I was not good company. One day Pat told me about a place out in the heart of the Sussex countryside, spoke of its peace, the beauty of the gardens and how she had come to see it as a special place. Pat called it simply ‘Crowhurst’ - The Old Rectory, Crowhurst, Battle, East Sussex, TN33 9AD - and I began to feel interested.

A week's stay

Suddenly I found myself booked in for a week's stay and then I found fear clutching at my heart, for this was a Christian place, a place for Christians to go and be still and step aside for a while.

And that was not my plan - or cup of tea. I could not see anything 'restful' in being in the company of a lot of happy-clappy, Bible- bashing, God-squad Christians! But there was no way to wriggle out: I tried, it didn't work.

To my joy, the grand old house was all I could have wished for and more, as were the gardens and grounds. I was taken up to a beautiful room - and crashed out on the bed: getting there had cost a lot in battery power and all I wanted to do was sleep. I had no energy to do anything, so decided I would keep clear of the 'Christians' and just enjoy the beauty of the countryside. I fell asleep.

Later, I came to, to hear a male voice singing. His voice seemed to drift up around me, “Be still, for the power of the Lord is moving in this place”, he sang. “He comes to cleanse and heal, to minister His Grace. No work too hard for Him...” I listened. Did that mean me? “Be still, for the power of the Lord is moving in this place”. Then it all went silent. Had I dreamed it, or did it happen? I wasn't sure.

The days went swiftly. The countryside was breathtaking, the food excellent and the people kind and caring, but I kept myself to myself. It was Sunday and only 3 days to go and I'd be home. I gave myself a pat on the back: so far so good... at this rate I'd be home and dry - lovely holiday, no strings attached!

Sunday, I went out into the garden and lay on a garden seat that backed onto the chapel. It was a wonderful place to rest, quiet and peaceful. As I lay there I watched a Green Woodpecker, with its brilliant plumage, walk among the grass.

Then a Voice said, “Where have you been? I've been looking for you...” I looked up, but could see no one. Again, those words rang out and into my mind came the Christmas Eve many years before when I thought I'd lost our older son, but he had just moved out of view and was there all the time. However, I don't think my words to Malcolm at the time had been as kindly as those words that I heard again now. “Where have you been? I've been looking for you...”

Something snapped and I thought, That’s it, now you really have cracked up! Hearing voices! I tried to get away but I could barely move. I shuffled towards the house. What happened next I cannot now recall, but a tearful me ended up in the Chaplain's room. A lovely man, but he gave me the creeps! Was he some sort of mind reader? How did he know so much about me? WHO told him?

I was ready to give ’whoever’ a piece of my mind when this kindly Chaplain spoke of things only I knew. We talked; he told me about Jesus and His gift of the Holy Spirit (a bit spooky, I thought – funny people, Christians!) Then he said, “Shall we pray?” I froze. Pray? What, me? I laughed it off, which is rather hard with tears running like rivers down your cheeks. The Chaplain, Brian, said, “Just say what I say”, so he started and I copied. Then I could not stop: soon I was pouring out my heart to Jesus and saying things I never knew were in there. I never knew I had such longing.

And there and then I asked Him into my life and gave Him my all. The Peace that came over me was delightful and I knew I'd found what I'd been looking for. Like a caterpillar who'd turned into a butterfly, I'd been given New Life.

The next day, sitting in one of the beautiful rooms, I was shocked to hear, Take up your pen and write. “But Lord”, said this day-old Christian, “I'm dyslexic and my hand can hardly hold a pen.”

“Write of My Love, My child. You are Mine, created in a secret place, before you came to be, I Loved you.” All your days are ordained by Me. ( Ps 139 ) Write of My Love.

Painfully and messily I tried... and started to pen to four people. Each letter took ages and it was frustrating to seek words in a dictionary, when I did not have a clue how to spell them in the first place.

It was about a month or so later, as I lay in bed awaking after a fitful sleep, that fear and great joy mixed together ran through me and I knew I was not alone in that room. I could not open my eyes and just lay there unknowing, when a Voice said, “Stretch out your hand!” I lay there thinking of the man with the shrivelled hand in Matthew 12 : 9 -13, wondering, “did he think, will it hurt?” Again the Voice came, again I lay, my mind abuzz. Then, again, those words, “Stretch out your hand.“

“Trust Me!” I pulled, pushed and dragged my arm from under the covers and held it out! And as I did so, I felt the fingers on my hand begin to straighten and grow strong. Soon my hand was just as sound as the other one! Tears ran down my face as I thanked Jesus for such a gift. Now I knew I was to write and write of His Love.

continued [page 2]
Go to Jacob's story