Honeybees waggle while birds’ lyrical squawks and chirps mingle across the summer airwaves. Rabbits pop out of their holes as buds swell and burst with flower, leaf and fruit. Layer upon layer, one intricacy after another of this landscape unfolds. I am overwhelmed by this world that brims with extravagant abundance. Meticulously created by God, who seems to have set no limits to the wonder and originality of this living world, I marvel at His magnitude.

Although it’s just a glimpse, like the lifting of the corner of a veil, it is a declaration of earth’s wonders, the miracles of the heavens, a luminous acclamation of God’s glory. Elephant and mouse, milky way and the deep blue sea, are all a public, visible ovation to the presence of God. He has no rivals; no man can attain to His splendour.

Yet sometimes, my head full of life and its woes, observes nature’s beauty without seeing God’s greatness. Not because He isn’t there; He is, but, distracted, I seize on nature as a way to renew and restore my heart’s equilibrium rather than allow it to refocus my attention on Him. It is a subtle shift, a sidestep where I’m in danger of letting something good and wholesome come before Him.

In His grace, God stirs and challenges me, reminding me of the many things which can claim my attention, appreciation and care. Of course, it is right and wise to admire and treasure our world, but there must be balance. I must not let the world itself shape me or conform my mind to its image. Only one, the Creator of heaven and earth, can truly shape us aright.

How essential that I retain a posture that centres my heart and mind on Him and not my perceived needs. With Him as my focus, He can draw me closer until, flooded with His mercy, I realise that I am always and entirely reliant on Jesus. Only He can truly renew and restore me. Only He can meet the real needs of my heart.

The realities of needs truly met shifts my thinking away from self and protects me against idol attachment. Dwelling in the depths of my being, God’s Spirit reshapes and continues to reframe the way I live.

Salvation belongs to the Lord. He is amongst us, leading us heavenward, enabling us to grow. Every day His presence is manifest on the earth and in our small place on this planet, we have a measure of influence. We cannot add to His divine glory or increase the inherent glory of His being, but in our daily witness we can live and speak what we have experienced, what we have seen and tasted.

The stars illuminate the darkness. River and oceans show forth His power and every creature that covers this earth declares the omnipotence of the Creator. And we too, small and insignificant as we are, can also spread something of His glory and greatness as we let His Word have dominion in our lives.

© copyright Gillian Newham 2024

They had given up. The realisation dawned slowly and sadly. Our friends had not seen God answer their prayers in the way they expected, in fact, he hadn’t answered their requests at all. All they’d experienced was silence and, discouraged, they lost hope in Him.

              Our friends’ experience isn’t unusual. I’ve lost count of the number of times when, overwhelmed with helplessness, I’ve started shouting, ‘How long oh God?’ and asked the unanswerable why questions. Silences with God, seem to be a common and repeated feature of the Christian life.

Despite those moments when God appears not to answer, something in me keeps on praying. I may have little to show for my prayers, but giving up is not an option because, essential as breathing is to life, so prayer is a fundamental necessity that permeates every area of my life. The only danger which confronts me is my own inchoate thoughts which can wrongly interpret God’s silences. Is He uninterested in my request? Or do my shortcomings disqualify my prayers? Neither of these nor any other reasons which question God’s lack of interest in us or our inadequacies count when we try to reason why God hasn’t answered.

Set in our everyday lives of locale and circumstance, peace and trauma, ordinary or unusual, prayer is always personal, taking place as we reach out and connect with God. In our personal relationship with Him, He seems eager to teach us to wait and listen to Him. Although, I admit that I am less eager to wait. Yet He desires that we know Him better, understand His character more deeply, and, hopefully, surrender more of ourselves to Him.

              Through the muddle and mire of life when I feel like I have reached the end of my endurance, God does come. And faith, that tenacious, persistent belief in Him which will not let go, rises. Faith enables me to acknowledge and embrace the truth of His presence. He is with me right now and that changes my perspective.

              Walking forward, I take the next step, encouraged by His word, by friends and by His grace. He is faithful, steadfast in love, forgiving and kind. Inextricably linked, the practice of faith and prayer root us in God and enable us to entrust our petitions to Him knowing that He will arrange their answers and give us more than we requested.

              But there is a mystery here too. His silences are a part of our lives, intertwined into our stories in ways that we can neither easily explain nor understand. Confused and weak, I ask God to empower me to continue with bold perseverance. The choice to rehearse what I believe and know of Him declutters my thoughts and once more exposes the foundation of my hope. Despite ongoing challenges and a lack of clarity, I will hope in Him.

He helps me to think differently. I start to understand that, rather than diminishing my faith, His silences extend the margins of what I can grasp of Him. They deepen my appreciation of His character and His ways. I pray that those friends who find themselves discouraged by His seeming lack of answers, may, as I continue to do, encounter fresh new depths of His love.

© copyright Gillian Newham 2024

Standing cheek by jowl in the small Cotswold town of old millworkers’ cottages, our house is what you might call cosy and compact. We are thankful for a place to live, glad that we can unpack our twenty or so boxes that we sent from Mongolia, although we’ve yet to find space for everything.

We are also thankful for this next stage in ministry opening before us, but we are also eager to recover a sense of equilibrium. Foolishly, we thought that once we found a place to live, peace would return. But it hasn’t. Instead, there has been more turbulence as we navigate the quotidian tasks required to settle into a new location. All of which simply serve to remind me that organising a daily routine doesn’t necessarily bring peace and stability to my heart.

Perhaps I focused my eye on the wrong things. Impatient to attain what I considered some semblance of normality, my trust moved to functional and created things. It was a subtle shift caused by my longing for peace and security. But it didn’t work and revealed the ongoing sorrow that clouds my view of Jesus.

I’ve looked to things that are neither my heart’s desire, nor my life. What we really want is know God more deeply, to serve Him and please Him. Yet, instead I’ve tried to hold on to what’s already gone, trying to recreate those times when I felt His peace and presence close by. But the days of walking the ridges close to our home in Ulaanbaatar have passed; I cannot hold onto them.

I am slow to learn that finding contentment in God doesn’t depend on whether life’s circumstances are stable or not. God’s peace is above and beyond all of that, although I can’t just ask Him to ‘send it now’ and expect it to arrive. No, I have an active role to play in this relationship. I need to share my struggles with Him, seek His help and then recommit myself to what He has and is doing in my life, even when the grief that continues is far from tame.

By faith, I choose to look up and into His presence and, relying on the Holy Spirit’s power, ask Him to reign in me. My prayer draws me back, reorients my fitful gaze onto Him until I know that He is with me, bringing rest to my heart. His rest gives me peace which pronounces, from the inside out, that all may still feel strange and stability may not come in a moment, but His will and way are right and, in His good time, life will recover its equilibrium. And for now, that is more than enough.

© copyright Gillian Newham 2024

Driving down a narrow Cornish lane, we passed a small disused building. Its grey frame stood stoic and sober, a mass of ivy clinging to its walls. In places the vines had withered, leaving evidence of their pathways, like faded scars. Windows, gloomy and dark, no longer let in light. The tired roof sagged. Blocked guttering flowed with verdant waves of moss and the door, once cherry red, was sunbaked and peeling in shades of pink. The gate creaked on its hinges with the weariness of old age and on the side was a small sign that read ‘Bible Christian Chapel’.

We didn’t know who the Bible Christians were and asked some Cornish friends, who explained a little of their history. Back in October 1815, William O’Bryan, a local Methodist preacher in North Devon, had a growing desire to call sinners to repentance and see them live holy lives. Frustrated with the indifference in the church, O’Bryan began preaching in farm kitchens, on village greens and along roadsides. People became Christians and God transformed many people’s lives. However, many also encountered hardships and persecution, although it did nothing to diminish their zeal for God. Overriding joy remained the characteristic that defined them.

The work spread from Devon and into Cornwall, where one Billy Bray, a miner and drunkard, wonderfully came to know God. Small in stature, Bray was a dynamo of joy who indefatigably shared all that the Lord had done for him and the realities of what God could do for his listeners. Unorthodox in his preaching, Bray was known to spontaneously break into song or dance during a sermon. He famously said, ‘If they were to put me in a barrel, I would shout glory through the bunghole!’

Bible Christians were a small denomination that grew quickly. Missionaries spread across England and even travelled as far as North America and Australia. By the beginning of the twentieth century growth had slowed, and in 1907, Bible Christians merged with Methodist making their history harder to trace, although some still hold to the tenets of O’Bryan’s teaching.

Learning a little about the zeal of the Bible Christians reminded me of God’s pattern in establishing the early church. The Holy Spirit came and God’s Word went forth. People came to know Him; disciples grew and the gospel spread. Yet many of those New Testament churches had periods of decline and periods when God scattered their members.

We drove past the old chapel yesterday, sad that the building is no longer a place of worship for locals. So many chapels across Cornwall have closed. Passing the side door, we noticed a new broom and spade standing on the step. Is someone caring for that place? Will its ancient stones once again resound with joyous praises to God?

In the nearby town two old chapels have been recommissioned. Purchased by those who love God and desire to follow Him wholeheartedly, Christians enter to worship and pray, to proclaim God’s Word and invite others in. Was, or is, God still at work even in the decline and scattering of His church? I’m not sure, but I know that He is sovereign and continues to draw people to Himself, filling them with His Spirit, empowering them to shout glory through their bunghole, because the movement He started continues beyond Treveighan and Newlyn, even beyond our Land’s End.

© copyright Gillian Newham 2024

Returning to Britain with the plan of living in this country again is a huge adjustment. After thirty years in Asia, everything here feels unfamiliar and strange. Not that we haven’t visited many times before, but finding our own place in this land presents quite a different perspective to a visit.

Life has moved forward and changed. Things do not and should not remain static, although some changes we observe leave us uneasy. Maybe they were in society before we left and we simply weren’t conscious of them. Now, they appear before us in sharp relief; signs and words that indicate people hold to fewer absolutes. Knowledge, morality and even truth in general seem to exist in relation to a changing culture, redefined historical contexts and fluid values.

There are plenty of interesting things going on in society and plenty knocking at the church’s door, seeking to undermine and dislodge it from its foundation. But the attacks that come from within the church seem the most insidious. Sometimes the attack is a slow, subtle erosion and dilution of the truth in our lives. Sometimes, in our efforts to connect with and embrace non-believers, we can compromise. Kind and lovely people, not standing fully on the word of God, can open their hearts and lives to imbibe different views, which sometimes can cause them to lose a sense of God’s truth and the authority of His word.

But these temptations never come linearly. They come to each of us from many and varied directions. Reorienting my own life to God in a different landscape, I recognise the importance of keeping my eye fixed on Him. Times do come when I long for what was, or I want to do something that runs contrary to His will. In those moments I have a choice: to bring my life into line with the teaching of God’s word. or let my ego reign as I seek to justify an unwise choice by manipulating the Bible to fit my behaviour.

I am sure God understands my predicament. After all, He is full of grace and is merciful. He does accept me as I am, but this self-willed hankering that presumes on His kindness brings me perilously close to denying His grace and mercy. God’s call to come to Him is a call to allow Him to change and transform me, not an excuse to remain as I am and let His word weaken in me.

It is a tussle; I cannot sit back and take my ease. Challenges and threats that compromise my faith come from without and within. In recognising them, God exhorts each of us to hold fast to His word, to contend for the truth. This contention is not passive. Like wrestlers sparring against their opponents, it requires focused strength and commitment to oppose the shoving and pulling that life brings; courage to hold on when deep, internal hardships hint at derailment.

These are no blithe skirmishes, but battles that crave determination and strenuous action to grapple, resist and stand. Thankfully, we do not fight alone. God is with us, and as we remain true to Him, this grappling strengthens and grows the muscle of our faith. We get to know God better too, understanding more deeply that He is the way, truth and the life. He is Anchor that holds us firm in all of life’s challenges.

© copyright Gillian Newham 2024

This sudden parting and distance that lies between the place we called home and the people we love feels like a harsh separation. At times, it even feels like a banishment. I wonder what God’s doing. Turning towards Him, I abandon all common politeness or pretence and, in misery, rail against Him. My words run their course, ending as abruptly as they began and bring me to the realisation that this separation is no rebuke or punishment but a gentle discipline.

              Acknowledgement of the reality of this situation moves me forward. God is ordering my steps. Eyes opened, I accept the truth that uncertainties pressurise me, bringing with them a rush of panic that simply reveals the contents of my heart. It is not attractive. Distress, doubt and sin spill out, shaking my trust in our ever-faithful God. This is a humbling experience.

              Yet, beneath the pain, an inkling grows. God knows what He is doing. He knows me to the very core of my being and beyond. He knows all my secret thoughts. Nothing escapes His eye. He also knows how to stretch and mature my indigent faith.

              This dislocation and rootlessness steers me to prayer. ‘Lord. . . help!’ Simple heart-felt words, heard and answered by God with comfort and the gentle reassurance that I belong to Him. I adjust my thinking, committing my ways to Him again and placing my trust in Him, confident that He will answer my cry for help.

              He alone is my Saviour and my salvation. I will pursue His way. As I step forward, a quiet thought, unbidden, enters my mind, reminding me that God will not come in the way I imagine or want. Rather He will gently bring my desire into line with His will and what He is going to do.

              Vision reorientated, I glimpse exotic new buds amongst the dereliction of this world. God’s sovereignty and power are at work in the unexpected places of pain and destruction. His greatness and glory rise above the dust and rubble of war, disaster and the devastation of sin. My breath catches in my throat. This is beautiful. He is breathing new life into the shattered lives of those who call upon Him.

              God is reminding me that my distress is temporary and that it is an opportunity. I have a choice, to draw closer to Him or to pull away. By His grace, I draw closer. Again, He quietly reiterates His point, I must not try and manipulate circumstances to fit my longings, but rather allow Him to mould me further to His best and graceful way and will.

‘May His kingdom come; May His will be done; on earth as it is in heaven.’

© copyright Gillian Newham 2023

              Whoops of delight follow the Mongolian village children sliding along the frozen river. Their laughter is as bright as the sun glowing on the white landscape. Gathering handfuls of snow to rub on their cheeks, they shriek and scream. Despite the knifing cold and their apple red faces, the children revel in simple freedoms in this vast landscape.

              Of course, they have jobs to accomplish. They tend cattle, collect and prepare firewood and must carry water from the quiet springs that remain unfrozen. Their boots get wet, their toes and fingers freeze, but nothing seems to dampen their rapture and sense of fun. This is their home, their entire universe, where they have all they need.

Yet, one day they will leave and travel far away. They are nomads with naturally restless souls. Souls that desire to extend their horizons beyond the next hill, that want to see bigger, more sophisticated places. They dream of experiencing city life, of a better life, education and a good job.

But Ulaanbaatar doesn’t always fulfil its promises. New buildings crowd the skyline, casting long chilly shadows over icy pavements. Shopping malls bustle with world brands, luring innocent buyers towards expensive purchases while, outside, heaving traffic fills the streets with toxic fumes.

Behind towering glass facades, tension and anxiety lurk. There is disillusionment and instability here. Many struggle to provide for their families and care for them well. City life seems more complex and less community minded. Even family life is starting to look different. Many are weary, tired of the empty promises and the soaring ambitions of the elite, the lack of transparency and the way they see the country’s resources plundered in spurious schemes.

With longing, countryside folk remember the tranquillity of living close to nature and the feel of the land under their fingers and feet. They remember the breeze on their faces, the bleat of the sheep and the nicker of horses, even the fact that they are known by their neighbours and there are no secrets. But it seems like there is no going back. City life has turned their thinking. By emphasising the harshness of countryside life, it leaves few with the desire actually return. When they knew no other life, countryside folk were content, but ‘knowledge’ has opened their eyes, promising happiness if they pursue dreams which take them far away.

But the city is fickle, dashing people’s hopes and pushing them towards the next step, as they seek new opportunities aboard. Even Christians, focusing their eye on the world rather than God, can get sucked in. However, some Christians, thinking more deeply, speak words of encouragement to one another: God is steady and reliable, steadfast and unchanging, an immovable anchor, our strong refuge. If we put our hope in Him, then He will not cause us to enter despair or lose our confidence. Neither will He allow the world to crush us.

In the rapidly changing world of Mongolia, Christians realise the importance of articulating the truth that God does not change, that His promises endure forever and His purposes last for eternity. There is a swell of prayer rising, a recognition that the church must intercede for the people of the nation, to stand together and let the gospel do its work of bringing God’s true, steadfast, living hope to a people whose fragile hopes lay shattered on the ground.

© copyright Gillian Newham 2023

Ripping away at my stomach, the shockwaves of loss come unexpectedly. We have left Mongolia and will not live in that land again. It’s thirty years since we first moved to Asia and it has been an amazing journey. Living with the Mongolians has brought us much joy as we’ve seen God work, although there have been many heartaches along the way too. Often, the Mongolians challenged us to the very core of our beings as God used them to broaden our perspective, deepen our love for Him and them, and shape us into the people we are today.

              God understands our grief and kindly gifted us space to slow down, rest and reflect before we move back to Britain. Staying in a granny flat belonging to some friends of ours, we have loved walking the coast. Most of all we have enjoyed been a part of the church community here.

The church is not large but it has a huge heart for global mission. Diverse with nationalities from many corners of the world, it is rich with language and custom, overflowing with stories that thrill our hearts and lift our heads. God is using them to remind us that there are no restrictions on the gospel. It has no native land, people or continent; His word crosses all borders.

Mongolian Christians understand this. They love their country but at heart, they are nomads, eager to travel, cross boundaries and expand their horizons. I get it too, but… would God mind if I sat quietly for a while, found my feet in a new place and, well, settled for a world that is less tangled and complex? Just now it feels too costly to be a part of His mission in this world.

No sooner are the words spoken than the answer comes. ‘God so loved the world...’ His heart is to reach every place on the face of this globe, to extend His mercy to all the corners of the world. Whether that involves me in remaining at home or Him sending us to new places, it doesn’t matter, He has called me to wrestle in intercession for the world and He will not let my vision become myopic.

Praying for the world and reaching out with the good news connects me with those who are different. Those who may or may not know God, may or may not speak my language or even look like me. It feels risky; scary too, sometimes. This life of faith, that God calls us to live, forces me out of my supposedly safe world, making me brave when I feel shy or misunderstood. Participating with God enlarges my heart, enabling me to grow and mature in Him. It also fills me with stories that testify to this: the life of faith can be lived in every place, among every people.

© copyright Gillian Newham 2023

The scripture on the calendar where we are staying reads, ‘Surely, I know the plans I have for you’ says the Lord. Plans to prosper you and give you hope’. The verse is not only on the calendar but on a wall hanging too. Coincidence? Hardly! As we make the transition from living in Mongolia to Britain, it’s a scripture people have shared with us. Of course it is true, but the context in which it is set is challenging.

              Israel was in exile in Babylon. Uprooted from home and temple, they were in a foreign land. A land of strange faces, incomprehensible language, perplexing customs and an unfamiliar landscape. A place, in short, where they would rather not be.

Dislocated and unsettled by their fierce exit, the Jews felt lost. They naturally longed for the place they called home. I can relate to their feelings. It is far easier to remain in a setting where we are comfortable, where we fit in and others understand us; staying safe in the place where we feel all the facets of our lives combine to create that sense of ‘this is my home’.

But sometimes God chooses to uproot us, or withdraw something or someone from our lives that holds us secure. Whether it’s our home, job, family or friends it doesn’t really matter, the pain of separation still leaves us smarting as we ask, ‘What is the way forward and where do I fit in now?’

              In Jeremiah chapter 29, the prophet sends a letter to the Jewish exiles, instructing them to settle in this foreign, unfamiliar land of Babylon. ‘Build houses and live,’ he says, ‘Plant gardens and eat the fruit of your labours. Take wives, have children and, seeking the welfare of the place you live, pray for it.’

Despite the loss and grief of their exile, God instructs His children to live beyond their current circumstances and find comfort and strength in Him. But change is hard and uncomfortable. In telling the Jews to build homes and follow the seasons of that place, God is asking His children to live well as members of a new country. This requires time and patience; time to build new friendships and adjust to a new environment without constantly longing for what was.

Not only that, but God loving process of transforming us involves many steps of faith and growth in our hearts. When loss overwhelms me and I can articulate my groans in some sort of prayer, ‘God, I’m trying to seek you with all my heart’, then I catch a fleeting glimpse of something more. Pushed to edge of what I think I can endure, I sense His presence, lifting me and giving me hope, faith and His Spirit to walk in His way. This aching dislocation unlocks reality to me; He does know the way. He does have a plan.

© copyright Gillian Newham 2023

Mongolians love horses and they love horse racing. July is one of the busiest months, with every city, town and village holding its own annual Naadam sporting festival. The Men of the horses who, tradition says, ride before they can walk, eagerly work to ensure that their animals are in tiptop condition.

Jockey and horse train together. The jockeys are boys and girls aged between seven and thirteen. Until recently they rode bareback with no protective clothing, but newly introduced regulations require the rider to use a saddle and wear protective clothing.

Races are long; beating a straight path across the open steppe, they test the stamina, strength and endurance of horse and rider. Training is meticulous and starts with tethering the horse and letting it graze the richest pastureland, although the animal must not gain weight. On the third day, when the sun is warmest, the trainer covers the horse with a felt blanket and leads it up a slope to sweat out all the body’s impurities.

Each day horse and jockey run. At first, they run just a kilometre at a gentle speed. Later, as the horse settles to a regular comfortable rhythm, distance and speed are steadily increased until the horse, lean and fast, strides long, stretching every muscle in his body towards the finish line.

Mongolians love fast horses. Five-year-olds, known as Soyolon, are the fastest, so some regard them as the most heavenly creatures. But every horse, irrespective of age or the race that they compete in, must be a Mongolian thoroughbred.

Manes flowing, tapered heads strain forward as the horses run with the wind. Riders’ cries mingle with hoof-fall that, like giant timpani, shakes the very ground beneath my feet. Goaded and guided, they give their all, reminding me of God’s word to Jeremiah: ‘If you have run with men and they have wearied you, how will you compete with the horses?’

Running in a race is not easy, running with excellence even tougher. The race of life can be difficult, with moments when it feels too hard, and we succumb to the temptation to give up!

Not all of us are fast runners. But each of us is called to run the course marked out for us. To live at our best, relinquishing that which trips us up. Even when the way is hard, we must learn to cast aside our struggles and apprehension, and strain forward to God with a longing for wholeness and hunger for righteousness. ‘Your will, not mine,’ we cry as we allow Him to guide us. His purposes are far more than we think ourselves capable of living.

We toss and turn, even hesitate. Counting the cost, we get into training, knowing that there are no shortcuts to staying the course. We participate in what God has initiated, feeling every fibre of our being tauten. In the noise, mayhem and confusion of the race, we are neither skittish nor cautious, but we run with courage, looking to God, the author and perfector our faith, pursuing Him with a desire for excellence. We run with the horses.

© copyright Gillian Newham 2023