Tag Archives: disability

“It’s Not Church Without The Singing”

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This is meant to be an encouraging post for all those who are worried about worship without no singing, or feel that it just is not church without some element of singing. After all, Methodists especially are known to be ‘Born in Song‘. As churches start to go back to the buildings, at least in part, but without being able to sing – how can that be worship?

Music, and particularly singing, have always been a big part of my life. Indeed my mum’s pearl of wisdom to my husband when we got married was, “If she’s not singing within a couple of seconds of putting her feet on the floor in a morning, you are in trouble! She’s either grumpy or ill”.

Music has always been a major element I used in leading worship. So often a song can say what you have been struggling to. Picking hymns/songs always took the longest part of preparing a service, to ensure that they carried and enhanced what was being said and offered to God.

So, I can understand the feeling of people who cannot comprehend worship without music, and cannot imagine what it will be like, and how it can be true worship at all. But, we are having to find new, meaningful ways of doing so many things – and different does not always mean worse, we can find a new worth and value.

When my illness first took hold fifteen years ago, and probably the thing that initially immediately stopped my ministry of preaching and leading worship, I lost all power to my voice. As anyone who has heard me speak will know, my voice goes hoarse very quickly when I start talking, especially at any volume, and my struggle with breathing makes it very difficult to regulate even talking. If I need to talk for any length of time, even in conversation, my throat aches so much for days afterwards. Pre-recording at my pace, with lots of gaps no one else sees has become an opportunity for me to do some small parts of worship again, but it is not something I could do live, or frequently. Singing therefore is impossible.

Hence why this is, I hope, encouragement to those who are struggling with worship with no singing. At first I hated not being able to sing. It wasn’t me. Singing was how I expressed everything in my life (if we could have Pamsperambulation – the Musical, we would!), including my worship of God, and I was bereft without it. But I am here to tell you that it is possible, you can get used to it, we can find other ways to share our worship with God. It may take time and effort, but the new ways that we discover may offer a different slant to our worship, a new facet to our relationship to God.

One of the things I have found is that the less noise I can make, the more I can listen and hear God. God get’s a chance to speak, because I am quiet!

I am certain there are other people for whom singing is difficult, or uncomfortable for varying reasons, or actually it is just not their thing.

So, please don’t despair, don’t think this is the end of worship – we may yet discover a richer seam and a new encounter with God – because after all, worship is about God and not the method.

Basically, what Matt Redman says:

Unlocking – The Realities

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Covid-19: The UK Government's Communications Own Goal

I am continuing to reflect on why I am finding coming out of lockdown and shielding much harder that I found being in it.

When we were all locked down, there was a huge element of ‘all being in it together’. No one could go anywhere (that was not medical or food shopping), because there was nowhere else to go. That fact that my illness and disability means that I could not go out made little difference, because no one could. I was no longer ‘missing out’ on anything, because everyone was. There was nothing really to miss out on. Though I realise it must have been far more frustrating for the able bodied with energy to burn and social contacts and hobbies to maintain.

(I am acutely aware that many people did have to continue going to work to keep what was needed in society going, who could not choose, or be instructed to stay at home. They had to go out, risked their lives doing so – and I am incredibly grateful to them.)

There was much talk at the time among the chronically ill community about how now everyone knew what it was like for us being stuck at home pretty much all day every day, relying only on the internet for social interaction. Hopefully that part of the experience that will be remembered.

Then as lockdown began to ease, places began to open, possibilities were there again. And along with the dilemmas coming out of shielding brought, were the knock backs.

As other people begin to return to A Normal, came the whole new realisation that I was left out again, remembering how isolated life with chronic illness can be. Things are happening that I cannot go to, however much I want to. In the online support that had grown, even if just in text messages or social media posts, people are missing because they have gone to find their new normal. I absolutely do not begrudge them that, they have lives to be getting on with and I would be if I could, society has to get back to some way of functioning – but it is beginning to make a massive difference to those of us ‘left behind’.

It is a reminder, if I needed it, of what I am excluded from, what I miss, what I can no longer do. None of this is helped by the fact that my health has deteriorated, unrelated to lockdown, but concurrent with it. I cannot even begin to return to my normal, because my normal is a different, lower, level now. But even if I could, the risks of coronavirus feels too risky for some of what I might have been able to enjoy before, like a trip to a coffee shop, unless I can sit outside away from a crowd.

So, all power to those who are finding a way to get back to some kind of life. I genuinely am delighted, but please don’t forget those of us whose lifestyle and restrictions you had a glimpse of for a few months. We are not your responsibility, and you should not feel bad for living what life you can again.

But perhaps there are some lessons that have been learned that can be carried onwards:

  • remember something of what it was like to be stuck at home with nowhere to go
  • remember the connections you made and don’t leave them behind,
  • remember all those useful tools you have discovered that enable people to connect with what is happening from wherever they are and continue to use them with those still locked at home.

Meanwhile, I have to find again, the value and worth of my restricted life, outside of what everyone else is, or is not, doing. And I am very grateful to all those who are a part of my world and the life that they can get on and live.

Unlocking – The Dilemmas

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Stay home, stay safe and stay well

Lock down and shielding made life very simple, if lonely. It was quite clear, I could go nowhere and see no one. All contact had to be virtual, which was tough at times, but a lovely new way of connecting.

Then lock down began to be eased, and shielding “paused” three weeks ago. Now life has become much more complicated, because I have to be the one to make decisions and try and manage other people’s expectations of me. Service things are very easy, the internet will provide most things I might need to buy or the lovely Mr W gets the food. I have had several medical appointments over the phone quite effectively, and when I have had to go in, they are entirely geared up for safety. I do not, it turns out, need to go to the pub or restaurants. I have not been able to go to a cinema or theatre for a long time, I have no need of a casino, bowling would be a disaster and church comes to me via zoom. We will even survive without a holiday.

The difficult decisions are about people – people that I love. Who and where. I have to decide that for myself, what I think is safe and what level of risk I am willing to take. With lungs like mine, people are very dangerous at any time. I do not really need a cold, never mind Coronavirus. They have take a major setback from the pneumonia I had earlier in the year and I am still struggling with that. But no person is an island. Seeing people is good for anyone’s mental health. However physically exhausting that is, it is always one of the trade offs I am willing to make.

I am having to do all the decision making on who I am willing to see, who I heartbreakingly have to say no to, when it is only sensible to see people outside (and I find sitting outside really difficult because I don’t have my specific, comfortable seating) and who it might be safe to let inside. That is before I even start to wonder if it is safe or advisable for me to visit anyone else. Is it sensible for me to go and sit in a park? Can I trust others to keep two meters away, or wear a mask correctly? I am being forced into choices I would rather not have to make about who I see.

I am finding the decisions totally emotionally exhausting. Finding the balance is hard work, and continually needs reassessing. I feel guilty about some of the decisions I feel I have had to make, and wish they could be other, however much they are made in love and with the best of intentions. It turns out coming out of shielding is far harder for me than shielding ever was.

I suspect I am not the only one.