I feel like I live in two places. One, I spend my days in city of Ulaanbaatar walking with friends, listening to their stories and seeking to recognise God at in work their lives. I love it, but there are moments when the city-life consumes my attention, running like an unending montage of scenes before my eyes. The rush of people, the throb of traffic-jammed streets and burgeoning high rises that bind the city, enclosing the skyscape, make it hard to still my mind and discern God’s workings.

              The other place I live, our home, is on the edge of the city in a rural district. There’s a small river close by, where we often walk. It is neither wide nor deep but the water is clear and glows silver under the sun’s sharp rays. The river flows into the city where sadly, it will become a turbid brown soup filled with rubbish.

              Two crows follow the water, flying parallel like a pair of skaters, until one nips the other. We watch the wind rise. Yowling, its voice grows louder and higher. It turns and twists, gathering sand in its grasp and flinging it on all in its path.

We retreat to the forest, walk amongst giant anthills, observe the pines and silver birch standing side by side. Our feet crunch on a floor littered with cones and needles. The warmth of the sun releases the fragrance of the earth. Green shoots push through the dryness and a tiny head furtively appears in the mouth of a hole. His nose twitches as he checks whether it’s safe to venture out after a long hibernation. The forest is reawakening.

We walk this place. Trying to understand it, we observe movement and growth, the path of the wind and the feel of the sun on our faces. We come to the realisation that all we discover is complex, detailed and bears God’s fingerprints. From the root threads that feed the intricate network of under and overground life to the bushes that burst with flaming red leaves, from the dots in the night sky to the rivers, lakes and seas; all flow at His command. He is here, impressing His creation onto our hearts and minds, speaking His presence into our lives and letting us know that we are never alone.

Though His once perfect creation is flawed, bound by a curse, yet in imperfection, it is still glorious, exacting praise from our lips.

City life is also imperfect, full of frenzy and noise. Buildings under construction squeeze cheek by jowl. Drivers, with hands on horns, force four lanes of traffic into two and people still manage to hurry from one place to another.

But I let my attention return to the friends beside me. A smile breaks across their faces, their eyes are alight with joy and excitement. As they begin to speak, my own eyes narrow. With deliberate care, I quieten my heart, listen and look beyond the feverish pace of life to understand the Spirit at work in His creation.

They share their experiences and, together, we call attention to Christ’s presence amongst us, and His work in our lives. Lightened by truth newly told, I get to know them and they me, until in turn we understand Him more deeply. In one sense, there is nothing remarkable about us, but on the other hand we voice the reality, that we too bear God’s imprint: He made us in His own image.

© copyright Gillian Newham 2022

It’s strange how images imprint themselves on our minds. I remember gazing horrified from an apartment window while two boys fought. I don’t know how it started or which of the two boys threw the first punch, but the cries of the smaller boy, curled ball-like on the ground, summoned my attention. Unabated, the larger boy viciously kicked the smaller and, unabated, the smaller one bawled. Powerless I had watched the scene, longing to see the beating end, when a woman arrived and stood between the bully and the small boy until the kicking ceased.

In a city north of Ulaanbaatar, where we were attending a conference, our hotel room gave us a different image. The windows in our room were huge, floor to ceiling, and from the twelfth floor, we saw people peacefully going about their business in the early morning chill. Watching the city come alive, we marvelled at the things the Lord has done amongst these people, but we also felt the weight of petition that longs to see true unity amongst the Christians.

Even though Mongolians usually avoid open clashes, conflict still thrives. Naturally, adult disagreements tend to be more subtle than a big boy kicking a smaller one, although there are moments, when anger roused, fistfights happen. Conflicts here commonly centre around petty differences, unresolved suspicions, long-held resentments, differing doctrinal positions, controversy, greed, dishonest and deceit. Oh, the list seems endless, but each, as it derails agreement, devours unity.

Our conference began with a young man calling the church to godly unity and praying that God would enable Mongolian Christians to dwell as one body. An audacious prayer perhaps, but the loud chorus of ‘Amens’ showed leaders recognise the strength in unity. I continued praying, asking the Lord to enable us to understand more deeply the reality that, through no effort of our own, He has reconciled us to Himself. The reality of that truth enables us to dwell, tranquil and secure, in Him and with one another.

Some people do breathe grace into situations. Drawing on God’s power, they bring His love and mercy, His strength and wisdom to the daily conflicts. By His grace, anger dissipates and repentance flows, strengthens us to forgive one another’s offences and honestly admit our own faults.

It’s not easy. Too often we dig our heels in and become mulishly stubborn. However, we cannot truly love and worship God if we carry the debris of conflict in our lives. Making peace with those who have wronged us, or we have wronged, not only blesses us, but it blesses others too, especially those who realise that God Himself is at work in and through us.

To live in peace, loving one another, celebrating diversity, aware that we are always dependent on God takes courage to lay down our personal, perceived rights and submit ourselves to God and one another. In doing so, we display something of the gospel; and the world certainly needs to see that there is a place on earth where true peace dwells….

© copyright Gillian Newham 2022

I’ve seen it before: the trembling lips, ashen face, wringing of hands and the visible pulse throbbing in their necks. People are afraid, and to be honest, there’s plenty to be afraid of. Businesses are going bankrupt, people have lost their jobs and prices are soaring. Families in debt find the debt collectors knocking at their doors and, worst of all, illness seems just a heartbeat away.

Fear is everywhere, I know because I’ve felt it too. Not the sort which demands instant action to save, then calms returns when the danger passes, but that non-specific, undefined kind that diffuses greyness across my being. It is like the cold unending drizzle on an English winter’s day; drab, persistent and keeping me locked up inside. I can’t always put my finger on what causes it, but I recognise it goes down to the roots of my being, making me feel like my soul is being eaten away, leaving me agitated, restless and scared.

Have I again put my security in temporal things, built my identity on a flimsy foundation that is liable to collapse at any moment? Or have I sought approval from man, serving people rather than serving God. How many times do I have to learn that I am not the one called to control my life or its circumstances? Countless times it seems. Oh, just let me slink away and hide in a dark corner where I can let my doubts that God will not rescue me fester and grow.

But God is having none of my stubborn disobedience. He speaks gently to my soul, reminding me that He is the lifter of my head, the one in whom my confidence must be. There is love in His voice, but there is firmness too. He will not permit me to hide away. He calls me to face my fears, doubts and dangers, along with all life’s uncertainties and ambiguities, and simply walk with Him.

I take one step and then another. Seeking to obey His word, I do the next thing that is at hand and then the next. Circumstances don’t change; confusion and doubts remain, but something else is happening. My head held high; I see the needs of others. Fear had kept my head down, kept my eye on myself, keeping me in the dark where I processed my negatives.

I can’t deal with my fears alone, I need God and I need other people too. Loving them takes my mind away from self. I walk with questions unanswered, aware that there is still room for fear but knowing that God covers my heart, mind and soul with His protection. He gives me quiet confidence in Him and His word. But that sense of wellbeing only comes as I walk with Him in community with others and upon reflection, realise that He has removed and healed me of those fears.

© copyright Gillian Newham 2022

Returning to Mongolia just over a week ago, we spent three nights quarantining in a hotel. From the thirteenth-floor, we observed life on the streets below. Cars nosed in front of one another, jumping into gaps and overtaking on bends, while others screeched to a halt as pedestrians stepped off the pavement. ‘Metallic horse’: that’s what some of our friends call their cars. As we heard the roar of engines of young night drivers racing around the inner ring road, it seemed an apt description.

              Ulaanbaatar is a changing city. Some changes are obvious, others more subtle. This city is expanding. Blocks of flats and offices rise across the skyline and work to finish projects continues. It used to be that Mongolians didn’t do outside building work during the winter but that’s changing too. On the unfinished building opposite our hotel, wielders work long days fixing a metal framework ready for cladding.

              People on foot, wrapped in thick winter coats, hats and gloves, trudge the streets. Starting early and working late, they pass hoardings advertising the latest smart phone and must-have trainers. Large billboards offer loans to secure your happiness, while private education institutes promise a good education will guarantee your future success.

              Education is good and there is nothing wrong with enjoying the nice things in life. The danger comes when the supposed good chips away at something more precious.

Mongolian society has been, and still is, communal. Families are close, not necessarily because people think about it, but because it was the way things were and still are. But a new model is emerging alongside the traditional one that keeps on saying ‘Me first.’ Perhaps it’s not so new, just that age old selfish impulse becoming more dominant as it seeks to permeate everything.

              It’s even filtering into the church, as people comment, ‘this church has nothing for me.’ That is not so surprising, since our biggest problems often centre around grabbing what we can for ourselves. I am ashamed of my self-centredness and acknowledge my need to repent. Thankfully, Jesus, through His Father’s salvation, took the curse for all my me first-ness.

The gospel really changes everything, although it’s not over the minute I become a Christian. It’s constantly allowing God’s salvation to work in my heart. Thankfully, I am not alone. The gospel creates a new community of believers which the Bible calls a city; a city set upon a hill whose ancient torches, lamps and fires lighten the darkness. The light is attractive, drawing, but also, sometimes, repelling as it exposes the hidden things.

Living in a city, or in a community, isn’t easy either. It can be uncomfortable, irritating and, at times, feel impossible. However, the basis of God’s community is different. Everyone in it has experienced His forgiveness and desires to give, not just receive. And no matter how painful the reality is, we cannot be a city by ourselves.

Neither can we be that community, the church, without His help. By looking to Him and allowing Him to direct us, we can choose to live generously and well. As we do that, something of the unity we experience in the church touches those outside. And hopefully, they gain a desire to know who we know. Because that One came and redefined true life, success and contentment and the only requirement to participating in this fulfilment is to keep on putting Him first.

© copyright Gillian Newham 2022

Glistening lights fill the softening twilight. Trinkets and baubles deck trees in shop windows. Santa, his sleigh overflowing with presents, waves to passers-by while enraptured children, counting the number of sleeps to Christmas Day, hope Santa will deliver those longed-for gifts.

Greetings have been written and sent, presents bought and wrapped. The fruit cake steeped in rum and spice quietly ferments and the turkey awaits the oven.

There is a determination in us this year: we will enjoy this Christmas season. Yet in all the plans, parties and celebrations, the merriment and fun, notes of caution sound, ‘Will seeming unstoppable circumstances dampen our festivities?’

Disappointment is simmering, frustration and even fear at the impact of possible restrictions. It is understandable, but let’s not forget what our celebrations are all about. Admittedly, some think it an affront to introduce Jesus and ‘religion’ into Christmas. They believe the church is outdated and morality is specific to a person and not mandated by a religious institution. Others focus on the wrongs of the church and its members. Certainly, Christians do sin and the church is not perfect. But we cannot let another’s sin keep us from seeking the reality of God.

Carols, played and sung each year, remind us of the Nativity. Mary, Joseph and baby Jesus in the manager. Shepherds visiting and wise men, led by a star, come bearing gifts.

Ancient travellers once used the stars as a map for guidance. In the velvet blackness of the winter skies, I recognise the plough, the Gemini twins and the bright north star. But I don’t imagine I could use the studded diamonds and twist of the pale milkiness that spirals beyond my eyes like a map.

Each morning the darkness fades to steely monochrome as the sun begins to rise. The light dispels the night. The Bible says Jesus is the light of the world, the one who came to the darkened world of our hearts and minds to give us His light and hope. Born a man, yet divine, begotten not made, the one in whom is the source of all life. The world saw the man Jesus but many did not understand, did not believe. Perhaps because Jesus was like no other king we’d ever seen before.

He was lowly, spending his time with sinners and prostitutes, a strange occupation for a king. Yet He did something incredible. He stood in the gap, the gap which exists in our lives, between earth and heaven, light and darkness and between God and man. The gap, which in our own way, we try to bridge but cannot.

Tearing the paper open early on Christmas morning, children shout with glee. The gift they longed for is finally theirs. God’s gift to us, the very gift we long for is ours to hold too. Purchased at great expense and given in love, Jesus is God’s gift to the world. Removing the gap that exists between man and God, Jesus comes to fill us with His presence. Not dulled by disappointment or restrictions but received by us with open hands today and for all our tomorrows, this gift will always satisfy us to the very depths of our beings.

© copyright Gillian Newham 2022

Maybe I’m mistaken, but it seems like many people in Britain are less than happy. Undoubtedly life is tough and many do face challenging situations, but it’s the general discontent and long faces that disturbs me; also, the impolite language that accompanies people’s disappointment and the sadness and depression that leaves some living without hope.

              I do not wish to diminish the struggles people have. Neither do I want to deny that we live in days with grave issues. Just last week the COP26 conference ended in Scotland at which delegates from across the world sought to stem the tide of certain destructive practices that harm our planet. Many left disappointed, feeling that the conference was not radical enough in its decisions or commitments. Hopes dashed, some despair, as they acknowledge that delayed action will incur further damage on our planet’s delicate ecosystem.

              Of course, it is right we act responsibly because God has called us to care for the earth. We are His stewards and we must use our intelligence wisely and altruistically, although we can’t do that without His help and wisdom. I wonder how many of the delegates at COP26 referred to or consulted God on how best to care for His wonderful creation.

              Our world is indeed beautiful. Every day it seems the heavens declare God’s glory. The big sky of the Scottish Highlands, where we find ourselves today, overwhelms us. Its changing mood is a riot of colour, dispersing light far and near; blue, often grey and red with fire that’s tinged with green. It is an incredible phenomenon. Each day the light fades and, like the drawing of a curtain, the darkness on a cloudless night displays a sky scattered with twisted bands of diamonds.

Lochs and inlets, smooth and glassy, mirror autumnal colour. Silky grey dolphins chirp and whistle as they playfully surf waves off Chanonry Point while black and white oystercatchers, searching for molluscs, strut the beach piping loudly. And so it goes on – this world alive with God’s glory.

But how do we hold the balance? How do we live rightly, active in our care, doing our part while holding onto the truth that God is sovereign? I don’t always get it right until God shows me again that obedience to Him rightly orders my love for people and His world. Plus: I am not the one who is going to save the planet. Its ultimate survival lies in God’s domain, not mine.

And, even if the earth were complete and whole, it could not be the source of my happiness or even my peace. Yet our hankering for peace and that elusive sense of wellbeing can sometimes take us in the wrong direction. For a moment we throw all our energies towards a worthy cause and then life shakes us. Circumstances change, or discord comes, leaving us floundering, disappointed and sometimes cynical, until we understand that perhaps something has become god-like to me. I love God but maybe my love for Him has grown small in comparison with my love for other things.

Knowing that the only way to gain true peace and that sense of wellbeing is to love God supremely, I pray, ‘Lord, order my loves.’ God with us, is the only unchangeable thing in this world that cannot be lost unless we choose to withhold ourselves from it.  And why would I do that?

Tricky conversations, challenging situations, friends who are sick, family members who are struggling, not to mention the uncertainties and doubts that plague my own mind, leave me, time without number, overtaken with worries. Like a huge weight that appears on my doorstep, larger than life, worry consumes my view, diminishing my world to a narrow, cramped corridor.

Of course, I come to God full of need, crying out for help, begging Him for wisdom and He is ever faithful in answering my prayers. But in the all the wrestling I sometimes forget to lift my eyes and focus on the vastness of the horizon, the loftiness of His heavens and the huge expanse of the oceans.

Feelings and emotions side-track me. I let busy days, talking with friends, Zoom meetings, writing, cooking meals and doing the laundry, keep me on the run. There is nothing wrong with being busy, but sometimes the busyness conceals my desire to control, to understand God, to explain who He is and what He’s doing when I don’t really know.

I need God, certainly in the big things of life, but there are some things, let’s be honest, I can practically manage by myself: I can do God’s work for Him. But, before I know it, the day has gone, the sun set and the moon risen, and I’ve forgotten that the God who fills the skies and illuminates the earth, is the one in whom everything begins and ends.

Doubts, uncertainties and unanswered questions remain but, before I let my mind spiral out of control as I try and fix my world, I must stop and worship Him; worship Him for who He is.

Shifting my focus changes my perspective, reminding me that I belong to Him, He has chosen me and He has not set me free to find my own way. This simple, yet profound truth revives my flagging soul. God has adopted me into His family, and in every detail, I am to live a life purposed by Him. He alone provides me with the boundaries that lead to my destination.

I must accept that I live with uncertainties, that I live in a mystery that is huge. God is above and below, before and after all, the beginning and the end. Realising this humbles me. I know so little of Him and His workings. Words of protest, disagreement and worldly wisdom fade, I can only come before Him with open hands and worship. In worship I receive what I could never have imagined, God simply delights in me.

He is lavish with His grace and blessing and, through my relationship with Christ, God leads me in His light. As He gathers the fragmented, dismembered parts of my life into His Son, I begin to assimilate and digest truth. My relationship with Christ brings me into the mystery of God and I am content not to have answers to all my questions. Little by little I am learning – truly knowing a thing comes only as I am in relationship with a person.

My eyes rise to the grandeur of the Creator in His creation, my lips sing of His bright glory. Keeping my sights fixed on Him and not the obstacles that seek to block my view, He enables me to live the resurrection life in His body.

© copyright Gillian Newham 2021

‘Thank you,’ said Joshua, ‘is the most powerful word we can say to God.’

In a country where the word power conjures up distinct images, not least of all images connected to the unseen spiritual realm, Joshua’s words stopped me in my tracks. Here, many people believe in powers that have potentially hostile intent to dominate ordinary men and women’s lives and that those powers need appeasing.

We ourselves, along with other Christians, have strongly opposed these hostile powers and undoubtedly there are times when it is right and proper to vanquish the unseen evil influences in our lives. But I began to wonder; are there times when words of thanksgiving to God hold a greater power than the fear of evil, or a rebuke of the devil? Does genuine gratitude to God have the power to keep us safe and anchored in God?

I’m not sure I have it worked out yet. Events at home and events in the world that threaten life and freedom, can prevent me from keeping my thoughts tidy and ordered. My spirit groans and I can’t always find my way to thankfulness, can’t see the power in a simple ‘thank you.’ Yet Joshua’s words set me thinking.

Genuine gratitude to God and others for everything: joy, triumphs, sadness and sorrow, reminds me how much I have received. Not least of all, that I have been saved from ruin, redeemed and am sustained by God alone and that, despite my shortcomings, still receive grace every moment of every day.

But what stumbles me? The terrors of the world or the subtle voice whispering, ‘Independence,’ suggesting that I might be lord of my own life? It is the latter, tempting me to exert my own authority. Fooling me and keeping me from God as I hand control of my life to another and the world, through whom that other works, and seeks to crush me.

But Jesus came proclaiming the Kingdom of God. Through his bleeding hands on the Cross He defeated the powers, inviting me to follow Him as He continues to rescue and restore me. Grasping the reality of what He has done gives me the desire to let gratitude to Him stand as the bed rock of my life.

But it is not easy. There is cruelty and suffering in this world; God is mocked and man exalted which reminds me thanksgiving is not a task to undertake flippantly or causally. Left to my own devices I would soon tire of trying to be grateful.

Rather, I want to discipline myself to allow God’s Spirit to work in me, keeping my heart open, my eye focused and paying attention to His life made manifest in the ordinary – Christ at work in people in our world. From that arise words of thanks for His faithful provision, the beauty of creation, the healing of illness and the precious memory of friends already departed. All allow God to grow in me the discipline of maintaining a thankful heart that resonates with my life. And in declaring our thanks to God in the hearing of the world; we are declaring that God truly is God.

The car stopped as it came to the end of the rough track near the summit of the hill. From a nearby rocky outcrop, we watched an old man leave the vehicle and slowly climb the last few metres to the sacred spot. Taking a stone, he threw it onto the mound that topped the hill and circled the pile: once for the past, once for the present and once for the future. His Buddhist animistic beliefs, rooted in Shamanism, revere the creation, respect the spirits of the mountains, sky, soil and rivers causing him to pray for peace, good fortune and blessing for him and his family, and that life’s problems might be small.

Many of our Christian friends share that old man’s desire, particularly after they’ve experienced the initial joy and peace of the gospel. Finding all their questions answered and problems solved, they often unwittingly imagine that this is the Christian life.

But, not long into this new Christian journey of faith, our friends hit some obstruction that smashes them against reality’s harsh surface, leaving them questioning what is wrong with God, and why He’s allowed this to happen. Unfulfilled promises leave unspoken expectations scattered and broken. Who is this God to let us fall? Joy eludes them, along with their mountain-top experience of peace. And new faith, so recently celebrated, comes tumbling to the ground. Like un-weaned infants, they, and we too, squirm and squeal. Why have our desires not been satisfied?

Mongolians, many of whom have a background of animistic beliefs, look to nature for protection and promises of the eternal. While the mountains we seek to scale can be much more subversive: the perplexity of ambition, of worldly pride and security for example. But none of these can save a man. Despite the solid appearance of the mountains and their seeming immoveable strength, our help does not come from the spirits of the natural world; it comes from the Creator of that natural world.

Although He has not promised to exempt us from difficulties or to keep us from all dangers, He has promised that He will keep us during our trials. And that those trials will never separate us from Him and His purposes for us.

Of course, when our faith falters under the weight of pain and suffering we want Him to do something and to do that something now. Even though we might have fits of pique and the sulks, there are times when the desired help does not come, because God does not exist solely to satisfy our own desires. No, He is seeking to teach us to love Him for who He is, not what we can get from Him. Letting that truth transform our thinking is significant, but it does not bring instant change, rather it requires a daily commitment to surrender our selfish desires to Him, alongside a willingness that entrusts ourselves into His care, no longer clinging to our precarious selves that succumb to every attack, we stand calm and confidence in God.

The mountains stand sentry like, a testimony to our Creator God and a reminder of Him on whom our faith and peace rests.

The Covid-19 virus seems to continue unabated here. Dominating the daily news, people feel like there is no escape from its power. Many are tired, weary of having to be careful and of having to follow restrictions. The vulnerable fear that vaccinations will not fully protect them.

With focused unblinking eyes, friends ask us why God hasn’t answered our prayers to take the virus from this land and why He allows such suffering? We cannot answer their why questions. All we know is disappointments come and, sadly, tragedies happen.

It is challenging to keep our eyes fixed on God when the media constantly publishes pessimistic accounts of national and world events. Negative reports can trip us up and can fuel doubts as to God’s sovereignty over our lives and His world. Such doubts insidiously fester beneath the surface, infecting our faith, draining the lifeblood from our hope and leaving our love for God weakened.

We do not preach ‘life gets better with God,’ although something in us longs for that better life, a life free of pain and suffering. We believe that God is for us, that He is our help. However, life circumstances don’t always mirror that truth. Problems can dominate our thoughts, becoming the stage on which our fears play out.

There’s only one way forward. We must learn to fling our doubts and unanswered questions at God, honestly and with open heart, expecting Him to show us the way through. Rarely does He give us specific answers, but He does stay at our side, walking with us. Taking our scepticism, disillusionment, wretchedness and despair, He shows us the way through, small step by small step. He doesn’t abandon us or let the pain crush us. Instead, He takes it and integrates it into our relationship with Him.

Praise rises as we recognise God bringing peace and a greater understanding of our security in Him. Confidence quietly grows stronger until we can announce ‘He is our help.’ Our witness touches other believers and they too join in, sharing their own experiences of God’s help.

But living a life of faith in a world that seeks to weigh, explain and even apportion blame for pain and tragedy means that we must focus on God and persistently choose to keep Him at the centre of our lives. We don’t know what’s lies ahead but we do trust that He will accomplish His will. We have not seen God but turning to Him in difficulties deepens our faith. The world scarcely understands or encourages us. But we are to live out the richness of our witness, displaying that Christ, not the world, defines our lives and that His help shapes our days and can shape theirs too.

© copyright Gillian Newham 2021