This morning Liam was on a zoom spin session on the driveway with friends. I can’t really get my head around any of that. Zoom is bad enough, zoom whilst on a spin bike seems crazy. And zoom whilst on a spin bike in the open air where neighbours may see you seems all shades of foolish. Which is why I sat in the bedroom and watched the kids empty all the happyland out again. This picture sums it all up nicely – Maddie and Theo having an animated conversation about Santa and fairies, and in the background, Micah climbing all around, up, over, and down the bunk bed.

We’ve developed a sort of system with online church now, we watch the introduction and worship from church, then have other worship via YouTube which normally involves lots of the kids favourites and I stick some of mine in too. Then we watch the Sunday school story and do the craft, and at some point later in the day – often over the washing up – Liam and I catch up on the message.

Today’s accompaniment included a xylophone, maracas, Liam on the cajon, and Maddie dancing with ribbons. Unfortunately Theo decided he wanted a song which absolutely none of us could work out what it was. And the more we tried and got it wrong, the more stressed he got. So it made for a somewhat more disjointed morning, involving various attempts to try and help soothe him whilst keeping everything going for everyone else. Thankfully, he loves baking, so the video of a family baking bread on the Sunday school lesson went down a treat.

And then the big people helped the small people make baskets to hold the five loaves and two fish, baskets which they were very proud of.

After lunch my head was aching and my back was aching and I felt really tired. But I knew it was probably more a case of lethargy and being in the house too much, than anything else. So we eventually persuaded everyone to get out for a walk.

It was Bluebell heaven for me. I have a soft spot for bluebells, probably going back to my vague childhood memories of when my Grandpa died on May 2nd, when I was six years old. In the week following his funeral, we filled jamjars full of bluebells and placed them on his grave, making beautiful memories of a poignant time for a small child.

3 years ago after the sudden arrival of Micah we moved into a street named after bluebells, and in May of that year, after we were approved to adopt, we had our first family photo session with all six children in amongst bluebells in the woods. So I guess in a lot of ways, for me they symbolise hope, quiet beauty in the midst of challenge, and family. And I hope that when my children are older, they’ll look back at this time and remember the Bluebell walks more than the lockdown disappointments.

Of course despite the idyllic photos every family adventure comes with its fair share of arguments, falls, and frustrations. For some reason every child has felt the need to hang off me or at the very least be within six inches of my face for the majority of the day. But there were logs to climb and horses to watch in the field, and we breathed fresh air and saw reminders that the seasons are still changing and the world is still turning, even 48 days into being isolated together.

The benefits of a good walk are the much needed cup of tea for the grown ups and telly time for the kids on the return home. After a family zoom for me in which we discussed hair cuts and dye, dinner plans and the mass May birthdays, I cooked a hugely indulgent plateful of Churros for pudding. Which has no doubt undone any good the walk did, but was delicious and comforting. And there are leftovers.

When we walked today Maddie and I were chatting about the sheep. And why Jesus describes people as sheep. And it reminded me of a time many years ago, when life went out of my control and I felt like I was falling apart. We were fostering a little one we’d had since a tiny baby, and over a year into the placement, the plans that were being made for that child took U-turn and it was very very hard. And I fought it and prayed and questioned and struggled. Because I loved that baby like my own.

Around that time I went on a retreat day, and the lady running it prayed with me. And as she prayed, she described a sheep, stuck on a rock face, clambering and scrambling to try and get to safety. But that whilst the sheep was struggling, it was putting itself in danger, and what it most needed to do was to stop. To stand still, and wait for the shepherd to come and carry it to safety.

That situation didn’t go my way, but God used it to teach me a lot about my desire for control and trust, and resting in His faithfulness and His timing. And that He loves each person and each child better than I ever can, and His care for them goes beyond what I am capable of. And when I look at our family now, the family He’s picked for us, I know His ways are better than mine.

In these tricky days, we’re being forced to stop, and rest, and wait for someone else to make a decision. And I still want to fight that. To try and plan how we’ll manage the days. What we’ll do if the job doesn’t work out. And I come out of this overweight and unkempt with a messy house. How we’ll transition anxious children back into school – and into school for the first time. What if people forget about me? Often my anxiety comes from a place of feeling out of control. But when I was watching the sheep, and remembering that hard but precious part of my story, I also remembered a verse from Exodus, when the Israelites are leaving Egypt, but Pharaoh has a change of heart and gathers an army to chase them to the Red Sea. And the Israelites panic. And Moses says to them:

“Do not be afraid. Stand firm and you will see the deliverance the Lord will bring you today. The Egyptians you see today you will never see again. The Lord will fight for you; you need only to be still.””
‭‭Exodus‬ ‭14:13-14‬ ‭

To be still. Maybe the best thing I can do is to rest. To wait. To trust that God hasn’t stopped loving His people and rescuing His people. His timing is perfect. I can stop wrestling and stressing and fighting the challenges and fears, and just be still. The Shepherd will come. The God who parted the Red Sea for the Israelites to free them will come to us in our time of need and rescue us. We only need to be still.