Belated Monday Morning Blog- Surviving an international worryfest in the middle of nowhere

(WARNING – this blog is filled with pics that may or may not have anything to do with anything…except I WAS THERE. Hope you enjoy.)

It’s been a tough week for blogging. This is mainly because I left my home and native land without my computer and

  • Flew nine hours
  • Drove down harrowing roads while an inner voice screamed “wrong side of the road”

Until we reached Homestead Manor just outside of Cuckfield village, West Sussex.

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I know, tough break.

My son, who lives and works at the manor, took me for a walk the day we arrived. Image

It was kind of like the English countryside’s version of cruising the hood. Serious stuff if you count the walls of stinging nettle we encountered in the forest. The trees formed a dense tunnel. On the other side, fields lay like emerald speed bumps as far as the eye could see.

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To make a long story short, that walk helped me beat jet lag. About 10 pm Brit time I crashed. Maybe it was the spicy chicken I had for supper at the Victory pub or maybe it was just using “jet” and “crash” in the same sentence.

Not sure.

All I know is that something woke me up early in the morning. I began to mull over the idea that I would be meeting my soon-to-be daughter-in-law’s parents for the first time in just a few hours. That led to wondering about the wedding, reception and a life time to follow of sharing our son with another family.

I started to sweat.

What if this family didn’t like us? We were not exactly upper crust Canadians. No way would we impress members of the British common wealth.  I suddenly wished I’d had time and money to buy nicer clothes. I wanted to stop the turning of the clock and lose a few pounds and somehow enhance my reclusive personality.

It was a full blown I’ve-got-to-quickly-become-something-I’m-not-in-order-to-survive panic attack.

Yes, I know it’s the same sad song I’ve sung before.

But, I still struggle. Every day. I struggle to see myself the way God sees me. I struggle to understand how He could love me when it’s hard to love myself. It’s hard to try and change myself to be what I think everyone else want’s me to be instead of what God has created me to be and do. Sometimes it’s near about impossible to believe that God delights to use someone like me to make a difference in this world. It’s hard to believe that His goodness is not held back by my middle-of-the-night worryfests.

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It takes faith to embrace that God is good, that there are endless possibilities and moments of wonder in the midst of the most confusing and imperfect of days.

Even in England.

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