Freedom within the boundaries – an amazing thought. I never dreamed my home would be England for this many years, but here we are coming up to two decades and it is home.
Where are your boundary lines? Where is home?
I address these paradoxes in Finding Myself in Britain: Our Search for Faith, Home & True Identity (Authentic Media, 2015). You can buy it from Christian bookshops, from me, or online at Eden,Amazon UK or Amazon US.
When I met up for a coffee with Shaneen Clarke recently, we marveled about how as sisters in Christ we can go deep immediately even though we are new friends. That’s such a gift that God gives, and one I don’t take for granted. I love her passion and her faith, and the way she travels around the world sharing the news of God’s love and life. Here she adds a London-centric addition to our “There’s No Place Like Home” series, which of course I love as an adopted Londoner. And her poem rocks.
London has a resident population of 9 million and an annual tourist population of 19 million. Its history spans Anno Domini an embanks itself on the River Thames. London boasts as the financial centre of the world as its clock at Greenwich allows simultaneous trading from Tokyo, Beijing and New York.
London has four airports, one helipad at Wandsworth and the rich can land their private jets within 40 minutes of the city centre. The centre of Government at Westminster houses the rulers of the nation with its buildings of Government huddled within walking distance. From Dick Whittington to Boris Johnson it has a Lord and London Mayor, from ceremonial to legal. This capital city houses two of the oldest professions and the one so respectfully guarded is the world centre of justice where anyone can come at fine price to seek and find justice. Its legal system designed by kings, founded by Romans has sufficient flex to allow Islamic ruling.
It is the world centre for any religion; its willingness to allow freedom of speech and demonstration caters for all. Its two cathedrals house the ranks of Christianity and its abbey at Westminster marries and buries monarchs. Its Royal Family is the oldest and has survived and thrived as ultimate ruler with little power to rule.
Its underground tube rail system along with its Victorian sewer systems creak at every edge crying for renewal as they wash through the masses and their waste daily. The ever increasing density and pressure of commerce attracts the rodents, rats and foxes of all shapes and sizes. The opportunities to house, feed and attract the people compound every business opportunity and its streets are paved with gold. Yet its homeless lie there and beggars are allowed to beg on streets, trains and buses occasionally moved on by its Community Police force. From Robert Peel its Peelers, Coppers and Bobbies have maintained order with the City and Metropolitan Forces.
London with its streets designed for horse and cart is the busiest traffic grid in the world served by two circular roads north and south with one single circular motorway which from air looks more like a car park. Its famous black cab has been allowed to be usurped and attacked by mini cabs, Addison Lee and Uber bring clamour and chaos to private transport whilst its daily congestion charge and road camera fines line the coffers of its government.
Its incredible labyrinth of museums, art galleries and concert halls wrapped in the bow of history is the envy of the planet. The old Tower of London as the seat of original government no longer executes people but stands as an attraction to many a ghoul, whilst the location of those hung drawn and quartered at Smithfield and Marble Arch are still proudly spoken of. Its London prisons built in Victorian times remain as torrid reminders to the populous and the scales above the Old Bailey a reminder of how ones life can so easily tip the wrong way.
London boasts the tallest building in Europe built on the wrong side of the Thames yet like cancer continues to feed all tributaries of life. Its main line railway stations connecting the masses via tunnel to Europe breaks with our island status yet the 2000 year debate to be joined with our continent continues. Its London buses driven no longer by the Jamaican but by Somalians and Ethiopians no longer know where Trafalgar Square is; the 87 languages heard create the buses of Babel daily.
It’s a city that somehow works, it’s a city of constant change; yet the longer one lives in it the more stranger one becomes. Squeezed like toothpaste, one can see one’s personal end and as we long for London of old we reminisce and are saddened at its plight not might. It’s the centre of all yet we know there is a better life beyond but we are glued to its connectivity, vibrancy and opportunity.
Shaneen and her family – true Londoners.
Shaneen Clarke is an author, speaker and evangelist who speaks and ministers internationally and has written Dare to be Great. She has been responsible for many educational and women’s initiatives and instigated the Ritz Tea in London where famous leaders address faith issues. She is a fluent Punjabi and Mandarin speaker in addition to her native English, and is married with two grown children.
What a great pleasure it is for me to welcome Steve Mitchell to my blog today. He’s a visionary, mentor, and encourager, and has probably the strongest and deepest understanding of the UK Christian retail market out there. I owe him a deep debt, for without him, my book would never have been published.
So you have a couple decades of experience with retail, and specially Christian bookshops. How did you get into bookselling? What do you love about the business?
I have always loved books. I grew up as one of those kids who used to read under the covers with a torch – books were always going to be an important part of my life. I fell into retailing as a career, and following a conversation about life with a friend of the family whilst on holiday, we ended up opening a Christian bookshop in Kingston-upon-Thames. I spent 15 years in retail and was inextricably drawn into publishing a few years ago.
My passion in life is to help people go deeper. I love it when we learn new things about God, life and ourselves and become better for it, and books are an amazing tool for deep change. Whether it’s teaching, or an amazing novel that pulls you into another world, a turn of phrase that you can’t let go, a piece of poetry that expresses a feeling that we can’t put words to, all of these are found in text. I love the tactile pleasure of the container of all these words…“a book”. Yep, I’m self-confessed book geek.
A look into Steve’s retail store, back in the day.
How does your history and experience inform your publishing?
Having spent so many hours behind the counter in a bookshop, my approach to publishing starts with thinking, “What should I recommend to my next customer? What is her outlook on life, her mind-set, hopes and dreams? What is the story she is telling herself about her life, and what can I offer her in a book that resonates enough with her to lead her to change that mind-set and her life?” So for me it starts with the reader but ends with the writer. Understanding the interplay between the two creates the dynamic of a deeply engaging book. I hope that my publishing is shaped by the knowledge, intuition, stories and lives of the writer and the hopes, dreams and needs of the readers.
An early example of Chapter and Verse being an internet bookstore. Hmmm…. perhaps they should have stuck with that!
When I came to you as a potential author, you could tell that I was muddled in what project I should pursue (having been turned down through my agent by 15 publishers). Tell us about our meeting in Birmingham and how you approached advising me on what would be the best first book for me to write. What sorts of things sparked your thinking and ideas?
Ok, are you prepared to be brave Amy? This is your blog! My initial response to your first autobiographical proposal was that it was interesting but wasn’t going to give readers enough value to stick with it all the way through. I could see immediately that you wrote beautifully, you had some amazing stories, some engaging and original ideas, but also that there wasn’t a strong enough hook. I also warmed to the way that you were very open to input, used your own editorial experience to be objective but held your author passion closely. So that gave me plenty of depth to work with.
I can’t put my finger on exactly what prompted the ideas, but have learnt over time to fall back on my character type which is introverted intuition, in Myers-Briggs typology, INTJ. This means if I give myself enough time and space to reflect on the questions in your writing, I can connect up enough parts to make a better whole.
As you had lots of great chapters, the challenge was to find a structure for the book that was fun and engaging. That creativity continued through each edit, even towards the end when you suggested adding the recipes, which was a fantastic addition for the reader. [Amy adds – actually, that was a recommendation of Michele Guinness.]
So for you, I never had the question of whether or not you could write a book, but finding the book that reflected what God had uniquely shaped you to write.Finding Myself in Britain was that book.
How did you come up with the “Michele Guinness meets Bill Bryson” in a through-the-year approach?
I’m not sure that I did, it may well have been you! The dialogue between an author and publisher should be open, honest and creative, so in our conversations I can’t remember who articulated what but I know it was the creativity of the process that drew out the best we both could offer. The hook of MG meets BB was a line that we could offer to booksellers to help them share the style, genre and heart of the book.
I believe all authors should drill down the concept of their books into a memorable phrase that is sticky and shareable. It also means that as the author writes and re-writes, that they keep the main thrust of the book front of mind. Too many books try to do too much and the connection with the reader is lost.
My advice to writers is to write for a person that you know, and that you think needs to hear what you have to say or will enjoy the subject that you are writing on. If you try to please everyone then you’ll fail and disappoint most readers.
So in the editing process as we talked about your life, stories and your hopes for how you wanted your readers lives to be impacted, it seemed to me that your journey from your beloved homeland into a strange different world offered unique insights into life faith and culture. If we could capture those insights in an interesting and inspiring framework which guided the reader to greater confidence in God rather than where they live and their home culture, then we would have a book that was unique, fun to read, and yet get gave the reader some meaning and value to their life.
As I laid down my first draft, I sent you chapters to read and give feedback on. What surprised you by this process?
I think it was how much of me that I had to put into the process. I had to walk the journey with you, feel what you were feeling, connect with the why as well of the what of the stories.
Then later on, after I’d written my manuscript several times, we had a discussion about spelling and punctuation that resulted me in floods of tears. Did you ever think someone would take these matters so deeply to heart?
I knew you would be passionate about the words, a pain about grammar and language, stubborn about certain sections … yes I’m talking about the chapter on plumbing here. And oh yes … the discussion about spelling and punctuation, which was of course, not about spelling and punctuation at all. You had been so vulnerable about relocating from the US to the UK, and in that moment popped up the thought, “Hey what if this move is permanent? So how do I hang onto part of my old life … I know, words. Right, Mr Publisher, I want American spellings!”
At that point in the writing you allowed yourself to think and react to the deepest of questions. The spellings were just the outward reflection of this. This was you going first on the journey that you were taking your readers through. To your great credit, you allowed yourself as an author and person to take the harder route.
Best book tower ever! #FindingMyselfInBritain
You’re brilliant at advising and envisioning authors/content creators. In closing, what advice do you have for them in an age where discoverability is such a challenge?
Well, thank you. With all my Britishness it doesn’t feel like that. I’m just muddling through.
For our writer friends, the world of writing is more open, exciting, scary and challenging than ever before. It is so easy to put your writing out into the world, but so difficult for those words to be found or to stand out. Writers, I believe, need to think first about their readers, and to consider the impact that they want their words to have. Then they need to structure their writing and profile to their audience. Ask yourself, what value will my book add to my reader? Why should they choose to invest their time in my words?
Be clear about the response you want from your book. Think deeply about your ideas and concept – make them as original and unique as you can. Improve your skill and craft as a writer, read lots of good literature, take your time to write the best that you can.
Get objective outside help: Send your writing to ten friends, and if they then pass it on to ten of their friends then you know that you’ve got something. If they don’t, then go back and work harder at it.
Be realistic about your reach. If you want your writing to go further than friends and family, then you need to build a platform for you and your message. If you want to be a voice of influence then you have to show up thoughtfully, respectfully, engagingly and, I strongly believe, consistently in their lives. Only then will you be given the permission by readers to allow your words into their life.
Above all, keep writing. The world will be a better place with great books and there is no reason why that can’t be your writing. Keep writing, growing personally and developing your craft – and even if it doesn’t result a large number of readers, you’ll still have added value to the world and helped some people.
Steve Mitchell is a lover of books and music, preferably served with great coffee. He is on a mission to help people live a deep and fulfilled life. To that end, he publishes books for IVP and loves coaching and mentoring. To relax he’ll pick up his beloved bass and jam along to some blues. He’s a Londoner living in Cumbria with no plans to return. The older he gets the more he enjoys learning, and having completed a Master’s degree, he is now working on persuading his family to let him to a PhD.
To read other posts in the Behind the Publishing Scenes series, click here.
To buy the fruit of our labo(u)rs,Finding Myself in Britain, you can find it at Christian bookshops, from me, or online at Eden or Amazon. If you’ve read it, please I beg you, write a review online. Word of mouth matters. Thank you!
What strikes you about the vision process in producing a book?
We can be at home with members of the family of God, wherever in the world we find ourselves. What an amazing truth and gift, as Sharon Brown so movingly writes this week in our home series. I rave about her novels in the Sensible Shoes series, in which her characters live out the spiritual disciplines in a rich and layered way. I never thought fiction could be such a wonderful vehicle for bringing the spiritual disciplines to life. Read them! And please join me in reading her story about a speaking engagement where it all went seemingly wrong.
Recently I found myself far away from our home in West Michigan in order to speak at a conference in Edmonton, Alberta. My first morning there I was introduced to Sue, my volunteer guide for the weekend. “It’s my job to make sure you’re taken care of,” she said. “Each of us makes sure our presenters get where they need to be.” So we talked that morning in the hotel lobby about shuttles and meal times, workshop locations and other logistics. The conference was a well-oiled operation, and the first day of leading my intensive six-hour workshop on responding to the love of God through the practice of spiritual disciplines went off without a hitch.
Until.
Until I ate something for dinner that did not agree with me. And my reaction to that something was so violent that I ended up flat on a couch in the presenters’ “green room” with a conference center medic trying to get my blood pressure to register.
Far away from home.
With my husband Jack and our son David.
Because the medic could not get my blood pressure stabilized, the paramedics were called at 9pm, and I was transported by ambulance to an Edmonton hospital, with Sue sitting in the front seat, holding my purse. “I’m not leaving you,” she insisted whenever I (rather incoherently) suggested that she should go home to get some rest. “This is what I signed up for.”
This was SO not what either one of us had signed up for. But she never complained. At 2am she and her husband, Howard, were still sitting beside me in an Emergency Room waiting area, me slumped over in a wheelchair, an IV port still in my hand, and Sue with her hand on my shoulder, gently rubbing my back and saying periodically, “The Lord is here. Jesus is with you.”
Yes. He was.
The hospital staff asked if Sue and Howard were “family.” Yes. They were. They are. Far away from home I was reminded of what it means to be at home in the body of Christ, to be loved by brothers and sisters who have only just learned your name.
Sue and her husband Howard, celebrating their 40th wedding anniversary. This sweet picture captures their spirit.
“As the Father has loved me,” Jesus said, “so I have loved you. Now abide in my love.”
I love Eugene Peterson’s rendering of that verse: Make yourselves at home in my love.
This is the theme I write about, the theme I speak about, how God invites us to know ourselves as he names us: beloved children who have been called to make ourselves at home in his love. And when our hearts need to be assured and reassured of that love, what a gift to have brothers and sisters embody it, reminding us that wherever we are, we are at home in him.
In Edmonton I was thrilled to meet a “member of the family” who has long been a mentor and inspiration for me: Philip Yancey and his lovely wife, Janet.
By the grace of God (and through his power being perfected in my weakness), I was able to lead two more workshops just hours after being released from the hospital. Food poisoning, the doctor declared, after investigating a myriad of possibilities.
What a terrible experience, those who heard the story through the grapevine declared.
But I had a different testimony. I got to see the glory of God. I got to see the love of God made incarnate through his people. I was given an experience that brought to life for me (again) the words I long for all of us to embrace in ever deepening ways. “I’ve loved you the way the Father has loved me. Make yourselves at home in my love.”
Even—and especially—when we’re “far away from home.”
Sharon Garlough Brown is an author, retreat speaker, and spiritual director. A graduate of Princeton Theological Seminary, Sharon has served on the pastoral staff of congregations in Scotland, Oklahoma, England, and most recently in West Michigan, where she co-pastored Redeemer Covenant Church with her husband, Jack, for many years. Her spiritual formation novels, Sensible Shoes and Two Steps Forward, follow the journey of characters who are learning to rest in the love of God. Her third novel in the Sensible Shoes series, Barefoot, will be released by InterVarsity Press this November.
Ouch, I commented, when a friend shared a poem by the British poet Brian Bilston, “America is a Gun.” (It’s posted on his public Facebook page here.) My reaction was visceral, for guns bring forth so many emotions from Americans. I’ve shot a gun before – at a target, mind – but that fact might shock some of my British friends. Yet having lived away from the States for so many years, hearing the news reports of shooting after shooting, I now wonder why we can’t get some laws passed to stop the senseless deaths. And I know that some of my American gun-supporting friends and relatives won’t agree with that statement.
But when I read Brian’s poem yesterday morning, I didn’t know the background about Jeb Bush’s tweet, showing his monogrammed gun with the statement, “America.” That’s what’s behind the poem, and as Brian said on his Facebook page:
I LOVE America – and all the Americans I’ve met. This was written in response to Jeb Bush’s gun tweet… These are crass symbols, many of which were posted on Twitter last night – in humour – by nationals from those countries in response to Jed Bush’s America tweet. I can understand how this might be misinterpreted without that background.
A writer and poet heard my Ouch and it niggled her all day. She wrote this lovely poem in response, for which I’m profoundly grateful:
What is America to you? And/or, what is your home country?
Keren Dibbens-Wyatt is a Christian mystic, writer and contemplative-creative with a passion for prayer and the edification of women. She longs to draw others into deeper relationships with the Lord through all she does. Keren suffers with M.E. and struggle with much of life, due to very limited energy and mobility – but God is always in this with her. Keren lives in Tunbridge Wells, Kent, in the U.K. You can connect with Keren at her website: http://www.kerendibbenswyatt.com.
I’m delighted to welcome Penelope Swithinbank to the “There’s No Place Like Home” series. I knew of Penelope before I knew her, for she and her husband arrived at my former home church in Virginia shortly after I moved to her native England. They now run a gorgeous-looking retreat centre that I long to visit in the beautiful English countryside. We most often “see” each other online now, and I so appreciate Penelope’s wise and gracious insights. Her post had me smiling and tearing up.
“Shrimp for supper,” I announced to my hungry husband. “Same recipe as that one I tried in the States last week.” I think he started salivating. We had visited our American grandsons in America, and I’d found a new recipe which we’d loved: skewered shrimp. Now I wanted to recreate it in Wiltshire, and had eagerly pounced on a packet of shrimp I’d spotted when shopping.
Time to cook; I’d soaked the bamboo skewers in preparation and slit open the defrosted packet. Out tumbled tiny, tiny pathetic pink things. Not the large succulence I was expecting; these were miniscule. Lots of them to be sure, but far too small to be threaded on to skewers.
And then I remembered – we are two nations divided by a common language. What England calls prawns are what America calls shrimp, and they are huge in the States and tiny in the UK. I should have looked for ‘jumbo prawns’ or ‘tiger prawns’ in England. At least I had remembered that zucchini are courgettes and summer squash merely the yellow ones.
We ate shrimp and courgette risotto for supper. It was edible (just) but not what was expected, and a poor substitute.
Same word but different meanings. And I had forgotten my translation skills. The years we spent living in the States should have reminded me of the need for interpretation. I used to dread using some word in a sermon that might be perfectly normal and acceptable in English, but have an entirely different and unsuitable meaning for my American congregation.
“Let’s make a list of differences,” Patti exclaimed enthusiastically, as we told each other about trunks and boots, pavements and sidewalks, bonnets and hoods. A gloriously correct Southern Lady, Patti found paper and pen and drew a line down the centre (center!) of the page. She wrote at the top of the left hand column: “English” and listed trunk and sidewalk and hood. Her pen hesitated at the top of the righthand column and she turned back to me. “So what do YOU speak?” she asked, bewildered.
Two nations divided by a common language, said George Bernard Shaw.
And then there’s “home.” Where is it? What is it?
American granny.
When we lived in Virginia, despite the fact that we were ‘having a blast,’ and following the Lord’s calling to minister there, I often had moments of overwhelming grief. I would wander into my elder daughter’s bedroom and stand there sobbing, knowing that she was thousands of miles away in the UK at university and that my son, also in England, was now married and would never join us to live in the States.
It wasn’t place I was missing, but people, family. When we were all together, whether in England or Virginia, that was ‘home.’ Eating together, laughing, sharing memories, sharing griefs and joys. Enjoying one another’s company.
And now, with family both sides of the Atlantic (the younger daughter married a Virginian!) I have one foot each side of the Pond. Where is ‘home?’ And whichever side of the Pond I find myself, half of me is missing what, or rather who, is on the other side. I miss the company of my family.
English granny.
Cue a sermon illustration, of course. My preacherly mind wonders which one to pursue – the language of heaven, the homeliness of heaven (oops, homey-ness for American readers) …
But it’s people, family, relationship, which impacts most, I think. Home, for me, is both America and England. I want to live in both, at the same time, holding all those I love around me forever. I could happily live in either – or both. Wherever my family is. I long for their company. But two-thirds live in London and a third in Virginia. When I’m in one place, I long for the other.
And what about heaven? Do I long to live there too? With my church family, with the communion of saints, with the Lord forever. Do I long for the company of heaven? Com pane: with bread, eating and sharing in the feast that will be ours in heaven.
“And then there will be one huge family reunion with the Master. So reassure one another with these words.” (1 Thessalonians 4:17–18. The Message)
Bet the prawns – or shrimp – are larger there, as well.
Penelope Swithinbank is the Director of Ministry for Ministries by Design. She is an ordained Anglican priest and a trained Spiritual Director. She is married to Kim and they run the Vine at Mays Farm, a Christian retreat centre in Wiltshire. Penelope and Kim have 3 grown and married children and 6 grandchildren. She loves reading, the theatre, walking the dog and looking after her grandchildren on both sides of the Atlantic.
I met the engaging and encouraging Bev Murrill when I was a commissioning editor for Authentic Media. Although I didn’t end up getting to work with her on publishing her next book, I’m delighted that a friendship was born. She’s speaks life and love whether online or in person. I remember our first lunch, how she got me to stop questioning her in my usual habit of not only getting to know others but deflecting the attention off of me, when she exclaimed, “You must be an introvert!” I hadn’t before connected my personality preference to this practice. I love her blog on home, and especially how her obedience to God shines through.
Until I turned 44, I spent my entire life in Australia. I never went to another country, so I had no need of a passport. I was happy that way. I never wanted to travel. I loved Australia and being an Aussie, and the idea of living anywhere else appalled me. This was even truer when I thought of England, the place where my husband was born and grew through a childhood of desperate poverty among an abusive and dysfunctional family. I thought of England with horror. It seemed tiny, cramped and filled with people who used humour to ridicule each other. I didn’t want to live in Coronation Street.
So much for the plans we have for our lives.
Whatever your plan, God always has a better one and your mission, should you choose to accept it, is to embrace His plans with all your heart. If you do, I promise you, you will never be sorry.
Rick and Bev on their 44th wedding anniversary, out at the Hilton.
So, one day in 1996, we packed our bags and headed halfway around the world, obeying the call of God to England. We went to pastor a church in Essex, and thus began some of the most beautiful and challenging years of my life.
My relationship with God means that I know I will fare far better if I give myself to His plans rather than try to hide from them. It’s a mindset shift, but once you make it, it transforms your capacity to love what you have, rather than pine for what is no longer yours.
View from Merewether Heights Lookout, Newcastle, Australia. Photo: Roanish, flickrThe greens of England. The River Wye from Symonds Yat Rock. Photo: Anguskirk, flickr
What do I love about Britain? Have you got a month for me to tell you about the people, the places, the history and heritage, the idiosyncrasies, the beauty, and the banal? About the two beautiful English girls my youngest sons married, and my ten grandchildren who were born there, as my two other children and their spouses came to join us there.
I will tell you that I have truly never seen such green greens in my life. England’s ‘green and pleasant land’ is an understatement. In spring and summer, the greens are sensually intoxicating. Sometimes I would just sit and stare around me, marvelling at how varied and vivid green could be. There is really, really nothing like the beauty of Britain in summer. I love the fact that you can sit and drink coffee in a place that was open for business 10 or 15 centuries ago. I love the clear cold, and being rugged up against the harshness, and the fact that the homes are centrally heated and getting up on a winter’s morning is just as warm as if it was summer. I love that you can visit the rest of the beautiful British Isles and most of Europe and still have a large part of the day left to spend sightseeing.
Our street in the UK one winter!
Most of all though, I love the people: Funny, quirky, kind, sometimes prim, and polite to a fault. I chuckle at the righteous indignation of a British person you got off on the wrong foot with. It is not so of all Britain’s residents, but the place I called home was peopled with those who would turn linguistical somersaults in a bid to refuse a request without having to actually use the word NO. They had no intention of doing what you were asking but it appears there is something intrinsically vulgar about actually saying NO. For the life of me, I’ve never been able to work that one out but I did learn to work around it.
I deeply value the friends I made during my time in UK. They are full of grace and humour and love and compassion. Prayerful people, their caring hearts have shown me such love and they will never shirk from fighting for what is right regardless of how unpleasant that may be. They’ve been loyal to this uncultured Aussie, giving me a place in their hearts that is beyond my ability to comprehend. I love and appreciate them dearly and miss them greatly. The British have changed me forever. My thinking has stretched and developed and will never now return to its original shape, for which I am heartily grateful.
But I love Australia too. I love the browns of the land in summer. I love the barren, harsh beauty of ragged hills. I love the magnificent blue of the mountains and the glorious smell of the bush. I love the turquoise and azure blue waters that throw themselves wilfully onto the fine, cream sands. I love the 360º stretch of the blue, cloudless sky above me and I love the cities with their soaring skyscrapers and manically busy coffee shops. And I love the wild and reckless thunderstorms that stir your heart and make you want to rush outside and dance.
The Australian bush. Photo: Dushan Hanuska, flickr
But most of all, I love the people. I love the way Aussies say it as it is. They, too, are caring, but see no point in prevaricating, believing that breakthrough comes with understanding, rather than large hints and beating around the bush. I love that their dress is casual and their laughter is loud, and that they aren’t worried about what other people think of them. I love their can-do attitude; if something needs doing, they don’t spend months planning in committees, they just get in and start, and work it out as they go along.
My Aussie friends are awesome. I’m blessed by their strengths and their determination to make a stand for what they believe in. I love that they care passionately about issues that should matter to all of us. I love their truthfulness spoken in love to me, their passionate capacity to inspire others to make a difference. I love that they don’t care where you come from or how much money you have or what university you went to. The old friends and the new ones are a gift to me, in that they accept me for who I am.
The poet Dorothea MacKellar so beautifully describes the differences in the two nations I love. She calls Australia an ‘opal-hearted country’ and those words make my heart sing. I’d love to reproduce it here, but for copyright purposes I’ll point you to her official website.
Her poem makes a choice between the two nations and that is something I cannot do. Honestly, I have come to love Britain passionately for all the reasons I’ve described and a myriad more. If the Lord had not called us back to Australia two years ago, I would have happily lived there for the rest of my days.
Our daughter Skye, Rick and Bev on the Newcastle Foreshore on Australia Day.
But I love Australia too. I’m glad I’m here. I revel in being able to go swimming in the ocean baths in the early morning before the day begins. I love that I can drive around so many corners and be greeted with lakes and oceans and mountains right there in front of me.
I have two homes and they are 12,000 miles from each other. I wish it were not so but I wouldn’t change it for anything. I thank God He took me there. I could never have known how amazing the Brits are, had I not had the opportunity to see them up close and personal. But I could never have known how much more was in me than I knew, had I not had to take courage and expand my heart to grapple with greater issues than I ever would have had I stayed put.
Rick had a serious health scare in 2015 and one our ‘fight back’ strategies was to reinforce our intention to be together a lot longer. My first tattoo!
I thank God that His plan for my life has had so much more capacity for joy, fulfilment, grace, challenge, love, beauty, freedom, empowerment, and change, than my plan ever did. What a little life I would have lived had I never got that passport.
Never say no to God. He’s got so many great surprises up His sleeve.
Bev has been in senior ministry in Australia and UK for over 30 years. No longer leading Christian Growth International, the network of churches she and Rick planted in the UK, Bev continues to speak internationally, especially to leaders, churches and at women’s events. A mentor to many other leaders, Bev writes a regular blog at www.bevmurrill.com. She is the author of Speak Life and Shut the Hell Up, and Catalysts: You Can Be God’s Agent For Change. A pioneer and innovator, she has founded several organisations including Cherish Uganda, a village for HIV+ children, Liberti magazine – a contemporary Christian women’s magazine, and Kyria Network which supports, mentors and equips UK Christian women leaders. She has a masters degree in Global Leadership and is passionate about the issues women in the world currently face. Married to Rick for 45 years in September, she has 4 married children and 10 fantastic grandchildren.
I first met Tania Vaughan online in the Woman Alive book club, and then I got to meet her in person when we both traveled to Surrey to hear the wonderful Liz Curtis Higgs speak. After our meeting I reflected on how wonderful the online community can be – here was a new friend who was just the same in person as she was online. In her post on finding her home, she opens her heart and shares deeply – I trust her vulnerability will touch and move you, as it did me.
Thinking about ‘Home’ has been an interesting experience. As I thought about how that word often relates to safety, security, stability and love, I realised that’s not what it meant to me.
At the impressionable age of 7 I watched as my home was torn apart first by divorce and then a custody battle. My safe, secure, stable and loving home changed dynamics and then location completely.
Little did I know that it is around the age of 7 when our script for life is written. My script said that nothing is safe, nowhere is secure, there is no stability and you will be abandoned. This insight came 30 years later as I dealt with my abandonment issues in therapy.
It was only then that I could see how that script had impacted my life and how I felt about home. I never settled. I could live anywhere because nowhere held any meaning. I always said “a house is just bricks and mortar, it means nothing”. Moving on didn’t leave me with regret or sadness and I never held tight enough to anything to want to stay.
With my mum and step-father.
A lot of people feel like that about places; many would say that home is the people you’re with. This was the bigger problem for me. Not holding on to bricks and mortar was one thing but I realised I’d done the same with people. That first feeling of abandonment carried with me into every connection and relationship. I moved from one relationship to another without a backward glance. Friendships were shallow and meaningless, discarded and easily forgotten. There were no people I could call home; I believed they’d all abandon me in the end.
If they didn’t seem to be making moves to abandon me I would systematically destroy the relationship so that what I believed would bear out – people leave. I even left myself! As the destructive behaviour spiralled, self-harm and suicide attempts earned me a stay in a mental health hospital. It was there, as I faced myself, that I decided this was not where I wanted to make my home.
A few short years later, Jesus grabbed hold of me. Through the example of his love, God’s reassurance, “I will never leave you nor forsake you” (Deuteronomy 31:6), penetrated my defenses. It took my God-given husband another five years of battling my need to push him away before I realised he will never leave me either.
Without the fear of abandonment I have found stability and safety, a place and people to call home. It is only very recently as we have contemplated future plans that even the thought of leaving the house, the home we have built together, tugs at my heart strings. There are memories here and love has poured into the paintwork as we made it our own. The home I craved for so long has now rooted in the bricks and mortar around me.
To be homeless means to have nowhere to live, but it is so much more than just bricks and mortar. I always had a roof over my head but my heart was homeless. Now, through the transforming love of Jesus, this transient heart has found a home.
With my lovely husband.My little office, a place set apart for me to think and write.A fire makes everything so cosy.
Recently I came across a poem I wrote nearly 18 years ago to the day, just 10 days after I had moved to the UK. Part of me was sad I hadn’t found it when I was writing Finding Myself in Britain! But mostly I experienced a rush of poignancy, feeling for that person I was, so new to the UK and feeling stunned with the massive pruning I was undergoing. Everything seemed so strange and hard and different, and knowing that I was here to stay made me aware that I was going to have to send down roots and make this my home.
The poem is based on olive tree – mind you, I’d probably never yet even seen an olive tree – from Psalm 52:8–9: “But I am like an olive tree flourishing in the house of God; I trust in God’s unfailing love for ever and ever. I will praise you for ever for what you have done.”
I got to know Ben Irwin when we both worked for Zondervan – but in different countries. He and I had the privilege of launching Rob Lacey’s amazing The Word on the Street, the Bible in street language. We both loved Rob, and hated seeing him battling cancer, but I think we’d both say that working with him on such a creative project has been a highlight of our editing careers. We’ve both moved into writing, which as you’ll see in Ben’s piece has been a process and something to be embraced (which is true for me too). I love his thoughts on home. Enjoy!
Somewhere in Wyoming on one of our cross-country moving adventures.
Finding your home can be tough when you’re always on the move.
I was born on the East Coast of the United States but spent my formative years in the Deep South, where the minute someone heard my accent for the first time, they would invariably say, “You’re from the North, aren’t you?” It was more accusation than inquiry.
There was a time (before kids) when it seemed like my wife and I were always packing, moving, unpacking—only to repeat the cycle soon after. Five times in four years we moved. Michigan to Seattle. Seattle to England. England back to Seattle. Seattle to Tacoma (a cheaper, more laid back version of Seattle about 30 miles south). Tacoma to Michigan.
With every move, we looked back longingly on the last place we had lived. I found it hard to feel at home anywhere. When you’re constantly looking over your shoulder, you forget to be fully present where you are now.
It took me a long time to learn the art of being content where I am, instead of always wondering where we’ll go next or wishing we were back in the last place we lived. In some ways, I’m still learning.
Here’s one thing that has helped me: realizing that I have more than one “home,” and that’s OK.
Seattle, 2007.Seattle, 2007.Amanda working at one of Seattle’s iconic coffee shops, 2007.
Each of the places we’ve lived has shaped us in some way—sometimes simple, sometimes profound. These places have become, in a sense, a part of who we are—each one a part of our idea of “home.”
When we moved from Michigan to Seattle, we learned the value of living with less—less home, less stuff, one less car. The values of simplicity and sustainability took up residence in our hearts.
Although we spent just seven months in England, it was long enough for us to find a new spiritual “home.” Someone invited us to the parish church in our village for Easter Sunday, and we’ve been Anglicans ever since. We’ve been soaked in the liturgies, prayers, and practices of a tradition that was new and strange to us at the time—yet now feels more like home than any other church we’ve been part of.
It’s because of one of those five moves that I am a writer today. We traversed the country so I could start a new job. It was the first time anyone ever paid me to write, and I’ve been writing ever since. It’s become my vocational “home.” Those who took a chance on an untested writer and helped me nurture my craft have since become part of our extended family.
England, 2008.Tacoma, 2010, just before our daughter was born.Tacoma, 2010Introducing our daughter to one of our past homes—England, 2012.
Today, it’s in the company of friends around the globe that we feel most at home. Some of our children’s godparents are those we met in the UK. Even though we go months and sometimes years without seeing each other face to face, when we’re together—whether it’s on our side of the ocean or theirs—it feels like we’re home.
The idea of having more than one home—or that our sense of “home” need not be bound by geography—should not seem strange to those of us who are Christians. As followers of Jesus, we live in one kingdom while our citizenship belongs to another.
This is not to say that “this world is not my home / I’m just a-passing through,” to quote the American Southern Gospel number.
