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Interview with Liz Carter #CatchingContentment

‘God is a God who inverts the impossible, who turns things upside down.                                                                                                   God longs to draw us into contentment within our circumstances, not despite our circumstances.’ (Liz Carter)

On 5th October 2018, my book release day, Liz Carter interviewed me on her blog.  You can read that interview here.

Today, a month later, I’m turning the tables. Liz’s book, Catching Contentment, is released in a couple of weeks – on 15th November 2018 – and I’m glad to welcome her to my blog. I’ve not read the book yet, but I plan on joining the pre-order queue (link below). You’re welcome to join me!

I asked Liz some questions:

Tell me three things about yourself…

1. I’m married to a vicar, and we have two wonderful and crazy teens.
2. I exist because of Cadbury’s chocolate. My grandparents met while working there, and it’s always been a huge part of our family history and life. My grandad invented the mechanism for creating Crème Eggs, which is the greatest claim to fame ever 🙂
3. I once met Prince Charles and the Queen Mother while walking through Sandringham woods, and their corgi tried to get friendly with our golden retriever. Prince Charles reprimanded him and said ‘Get down. You’re too old for that.’

Tell me a bit about your new book, ‘Catching Contentment’.

I’ve lived with a progressive lung disease since I was tiny. It’s narrowed my life in so many ways, leaving me caged in at home for weeks at a time, sometimes months. ‘Contentment’ was once a word I couldn’t imagine resonating in my own life, because I bought the story sold in society about contentment coming to those whose lives are all rosy, who achieve great things and live with good health and happiness. Yet the apostle Paul talked about how he’d learned the secret to being content in every situation, and he lived in hardship and misery for much of the time, often imprisoned, often under the threat of execution. Living as a Christian in the first century was nothing like living in the kind of perfection we might apply contentment to, so I decided to explore Paul’s meaning and what ‘contentment’ could be for those living in any kind of pain and darkness.

What is contentment?

I think that we are sold versions of contentment. Everywhere we look, we see images of perfection; on our TV screens and social media feeds. We’re drawn into a deception about how our lives must be unbroken and undamaged in order for us to achieve contentment, that we should always be pursuing happiness and purchasing the latest thing that will improve our lives, and bring us peace at last. We even hear shadows of this story in some of our churches and Christian gatherings; that we will find peace with God when we become whole, when our lives are straightened out, when we are healed. These two stories fit into a great need we all experience, that of knowing that there is something deep inside us, a void which cries out to be filled, an ache which longs to be alleviated. What if contentment as Paul describes it isn’t to do with our situations changing for the better, but instead comes from pursuing Christ more closely and more fiercely? And what if reaching out for contentment draws us to fullness of life in Jesus, a fullness which soothes our agony and abides with us within our sorrows?

Tell me about a time you ‘caught contentment’.

I think that catching contentment is an ongoing, daily decision we can make. When Paul talked about contentment, he said he’d ‘learned’ the secret, so he’d put energy into taking hold of it – it wasn’t just something that happened to him. When we catch a ball, we don’t stand in the field with our hands out, waiting for the ball to fall into them. Instead, we measure the distance, we move our bodies in accordance with what our eyes are telling us, we reach our hands out, sometimes we make great strides or leaps to the side in order to catch it. If we simply stand there, the ball will miss us and we’ll be left there, slightly bewildered, wondering what we did wrong. So catching something is a dynamic movement, a series of decisions, a choice to be made about where we position ourselves. Catching contentment is the same: we become intentional about pursuing God in our lives, we adjust our position if we are not in the right place, we reach out for what God longs to pour over us. We extend ourselves, because we know that God is faithful and just and always loving, and we can find great riches in his presence.

There are definitely days I feel I have caught hold of this treasure, and others where I haven’t, and everything feels flatter, I am more apathetic, I have no energy to even bother. And yet when I decide to praise God anyway, despite my own feelings, I am carried into this place of peace which isn’t anything I can comprehend. I’m sinking into the depths of God’s love, and I’m given perspective about what I am facing.

What would you say to someone who finds contentment elusive?

I think that for many of us, the idea of contentment can seem impossible, especially when our lives feel so broken. The very word seems unreachable. Yet God is a God who inverts the impossible, who turns things upside down. God longs to draw us into contentment within our circumstances, not despite our circumstances. Ephesians 3:17-19 says this:
“And I pray that you, being rooted and established in love, may have power, together with all the Lord’s holy people, to grasp how wide and long and high and deep is the love of Christ, and to know this love that surpasses knowledge – that you may be filled to the measure of all the fullness of God.”
So if contentment seems elusive, remember that God’s love is far bigger, far wider than we can know, and that God’s story of contentment is far different to that of the world. It’s a story of utter satisfaction, a story with a glorious finale, a tale of triumph amidst tragedy. God calls to your soul, his alluring voice so much more powerful than all the other voices which would make you lesser or cage you in.
May you know this love that surpasses knowledge, and be filled to the measure of all the fullness of God, today.

Thank you, Liz, for thoughtful and helpful answers. It’s encouraging to be reminded that true contentment is nearer than we might think. And, of course, I’m delighted to know who brought us Crème Eggs!

If you’d like to read Liz’s book, which I’m sure is about a far greater contentment than that found through eating Crème Eggs, you can pre-order a copy here: buy now.

To watch a video clip of Liz talking about the book, here’s the link: Catching Contentment.

Liz is the author of Catching Contentment: How to be Holy Satisfied, which will be published by IVP in November. This book digs into the lived experience of a life in pain, and what contentment could possibly mean in difficult circumstances.

0 In Blog/ Writing

The Advent of Emazon

A portmanteau, in linguistics, is the merging of two words.

Today, I felt the need to coin a portmanteau. I took ‘Emily’ and ‘Amazon’ and made ‘Emazon’.

Emazon.

Probably not the best portmanteau ever, but very possibly the most important for me.

Today, I received four Emazon reviews for The Power of Seven.  Four people have, independently, told me what they think of the book.  So, for the first time ever, I bring you Emazon reviews:

‘To say I enjoy this book would be an understatement’

‘Your new book is amazing, and really touched my heart’

‘I think this is your best book yet’

‘I love it’

I received an email the other day that shows Emazon still needs Amazon;

‘I have just ordered The Power of Seven from Amazon. It will be lovely to be immersed in your warm, approachable and welcoming writing style once again.’

I said at the launch event for Power of Seven; “If you’d like to leave a review on Amazon, please do.  If you wouldn’t, then don’t.” No pressure.

I can now say the same about Emazon reviews.

Reviews are lovely to receive, whatever feedback they give.  Emazon or Amazon.

In fact, they’re Brilltastic! 

Thank you.

0 In #everydayrainbows/ Blog/ Writing

T(h)eresa and Me

As I looked around the Hall, I saw the people behind the doors. The people who read the words I’d once pushed through their letterboxes. This was my seventh book, but the first time I’d held the book celebration close to my home. I’ve lived in this neighbourhood a long time, I used to deliver newspapers here. Pushing other peoples’ words through doors for people to read. And now people had walked through the door of the community hall, to celebrate with me over words I’d written.

It was no coincidence that they were there. They’d chosen to come. Neighbours and friends from near and far.
The coincidence of the day was reserved for something else.

On October 3rd 2018, the Prime Minister, Theresa May, gave a conference speech. In it, she mentioned her goddaughter, who struggled with cancer and lost her fight last year.
Teresa.
On October 3rd 2018, I said a few words at The Power of Seven book celebration. In doing so, I mentioned my friend, who struggled with cancer and lost her fight last year.
Teresa.

I dedicated The Power of Seven to her:
For Teresa
Remember how you despaired of my ineptitude with anything scientific or mathematical?
You’d have been amused to see a book of mine with ‘seven’ in the title.
But you won’t see it.
Because you’re seeing far, far better things.
As you said, you’re ‘partying in heaven before me’.
Don’t forget to save me a quiet corner.

Teresa was spoken of twice in one day.
Once in a broadcast to millions, and once in a hall not far from where I live.
Once by the Prime Minister of the United Kingdom, and once by me.
Once in relation to her earthly legacy; Theresa May’s extra incentive regarding cancer treatment.
Giving human hope.
Once in relation to her spiritual legacy; the encouragement to remember that heaven is ahead.
Giving spiritual hope.

‘I’ll be partying in heaven before you.’

Teresa never doubted. Through it all, she trusted God.

Containing stories from my life, human stories, and weaving them together with verses and meditations on the bible, spiritual truths, it is a privilege to dedicate The Power of Seven to Teresa.
Beginning at creation, just as Teresa’s life began when God created her, working through ups and downs, challenges and less difficult times, the book ends with the hope of heaven. A hope Teresa never lost sight of. A hope now realised.

‘I’ll be partying in heaven before you.’

I heard a loud shout from the throne, saying, “Look, God’s home is now among his people! He will live with them, and they will be his people. God himself will be with them. He will wipe every tear from their eyes, and there will be no more death or sorrow or crying or pain. All these things are gone forever.” (Revelation 21: 3&4)

Buy The Power of Seven here.

0 In Blog/ Writing

Tableu-ing Together

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Stratford-upon-Avon is a favourite place of mine.

It was there, back in 2001, at the Royal Shakespeare Theatre (RST) – another favourite place of mine – that I nearly missed checking one off one of the items on my bucket-list-before-I-go-deaf.

If you’d like to know why I said ‘nearly missed’, see Still Emily.

Recently, I was at the RST again, to see a performance of Antony & Cleopatra (I recommend it).

I took my seat and was pleased to note that the screen displaying captions (text of speech) was directly opposite me on the other side of the stage.

I’d have a perfect view of the captions and the actors.

And so I did.

Until scenery rose up from the stage and blocked my view of the screen.

Well, half my view of it.

I could see half the words, but playing ‘fill in the blank’ when it comes to Shakespeare is a bit beyond me…

Thankfully, there was another screen.  It was behind and to one side of me, so involved me craning my neck to see;

but I could see.

During the interval, I mentioned to one of the ushers that in future perhaps they should not allocate my seat to people who need to see the captions.

She decided that ‘in future’ should be now and set about finding alternative seating for the second half.

This seat was in a much better location and the screen was only occasionally (and fleetingly) obliterated by scenery or actors.

Overall it was fine and I was able to enjoy the performance.

The RST ‘fixed’ what they could – moving seats – but, when they couldn’t fix it (the fact that I’d had to crane my neck to see the screen couldn’t be changed), they still stayed around.

They discussed it with me.

Despite the fact that they couldn’t change what had happened.

Maybe next time I go and see a play, I’ll be able to see it all easily.

I think so, because people took time to stop.

Took time to try and understand.

 

Another theatre trip springs to mind:

It was years ago and I was not planning to attend the performance.

I was planning to stay home alone, nursing my pain-filled and (at the time) sight-less eyes.

But, at the last minute, I felt the sofa move as my Mum sat down beside me….

‘What are you doing?’ I asked. ‘You’ll be late.’

‘I’m not going,’ she spelled on to my hand.

’What?! Why not?’

‘Because I want to stay here with you.’

’But why? There’s no point.  I’m just going to be sitting here.  You might as well go.  There’s nothing you can do to sort this.  You can’t help me.’

‘Well,’ she said. ‘I am staying anyway.’

And she did.

She didn’t change anything.

She didn’t fix anything.

She just stayed.

As she sat beside me, I realised that I had spoken the truth when I said that she couldn’t sort my eyes out.

They remained sore and unseeing.

I also realised that nothing could have been further from the truth than my words,

‘There’s nothing you can do to help me’.

(Taken from Still Emily)

A moment of pausing,

a time of just being there,

a ‘tableau-ing together’ in the midst of life

speaks volumes…

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