God in the Ordinary by Georgie Tennant
Launch at the new year! Find your best self! Renew your writing vigour! Write a best seller! And while you’re at it, lose weight, get fit and start a new hobby to keep your brain alive (oh and try to kick the exclamation mark habit while you’re at it).
My heaviness of heart has been relieved somewhat as I have begun to research a topic for future sermon-writing – God in the Ordinary. It has long been a concern of mine that, even as Christians, we are encouraged to buy into a “theology of permanent excitement and quick results,” whipping ourselves up into a permanent frenzy, rather than developing skills of resilience, patience and “long obedience,” (Nietzsche) that would stand us in better stead for the realities of ordinary, day to day life.
Andrew Wilson in a very-much-worth-listening-to-sermon echoed much of what I had been pondering. Do have a listen to the whole thing if you have an opportunity. One point that struck me was that we all become addicted to the “next big thing,” so easily. We start something with such enthusiasm, expecting immediate, visible results – he calls this the microwave model, when we should be at peace with the mustard seed model. (Matthew 13v31-2 NLT: “The Kingdom of Heaven is like a mustard seed planted in a field. It is the smallest of all seeds, but it becomes the largest of garden plants; it grows into a tree, and birds come and make nests in its branches”).
It is so easy to read this parable of miniscule proportions and assume this all happens within a couple of days. We need to rethink and reimagine. I blame the Sunday school cress experiment for the origins of our lack of patience and abundance of discontent. Every Sunday school teacher in history uses cress-growing as an illustration of what happens when God sows seed in our lives. Days later, excitement peaks as the cress shoots become visible. Perhaps it would be better to grow parsnips or turnips. At least this way, our younger selves might have learnt that it takes a lot of boring, ordinary days, of watering and seeing no results, of having to keep trusting that that which we planted deep in the soil is still there, before expecting any remotely visible results.
The same can be true of our writing. We see the resounding success of other writers and want the same. We embark on a new project, a fresh idea with gusto, only to leave it languishing on the laptop, when the enthusiasm we started out with fizzles. We so easily forget that those whose books have made it into the world have had myriad ordinary, dull, un-Facebook (Twitter/Instagram)-worthy moments in their paths to publication too. No-one would want to read a daily diet of Twitter posts about how much hoovering, cleaning, chocolate-eating happens in a writer’s life, how often family or church life means no writing is even attempted and how much more often they press the delete button, rather than tap with divine inspiration on the keyboard.
If we think of our lives as a graph (if I was vaguely mathematical I would have worked out how to draw one for you as an illustration. Sorry. I’m not), we will have highs at the top of the curves when things are going brilliantly and we are soaring in the heights, and lows, when life crushes us and the valleys feel unending. But much of life, in truth – daily life and our writing lives – are lived along the line in the middle; the mundane, the ordinary.
If we can dwell there, faithfully, not rushing our own work or the work of God in our lives, we can be sure that many mustard seeds will be planted – and the fruit, from those, is unquantifiable for us, but counted and seen by our Father who nurtures them.
Let’s be people who find God in the Ordinary and point others to Him, through our lives and our writing.
I finish with a haiku I wrote in lockdown last year:
Georgie Tennant is a secondary school English teacher in a Norfolk Comprehensive. She is married, with two sons, aged 13 and 10 who keep her exceptionally busy. She writes for the ACW ‘Christian Writer’ magazine occasionally, and is a contributor to the ACW-Published ‘New Life: Reflections for Lent,’ and ‘Merry Christmas, Everyone,’ and, more recently, has written 8 books in a phonics series, published by BookLife. She writes the ‘Thought for the Week’ for the local newspaper from time to time and also muses about life and loss on her blog: www.somepoemsbygeorgie.blogspot.co.uk
If just reading this opening paragraph makes you feel exhausted, you’re among like-minded company.
For me, the Christmas period contains some tough dates – the anniversary of the loss of my stillborn baby; the would-have-been birthday of my late sister. Immediately after these, I am catapulted into the new year at school, dealing with the exuberance of teenagers who have forgotten how to sit still and listen in a classroom for a few weeks. So, starting the new year for me, is more a recovery and reset than an enthusiastic, energetic reaching for the stars.
For me, the Christmas period contains some tough dates – the anniversary of the loss of my stillborn baby; the would-have-been birthday of my late sister. Immediately after these, I am catapulted into the new year at school, dealing with the exuberance of teenagers who have forgotten how to sit still and listen in a classroom for a few weeks. So, starting the new year for me, is more a recovery and reset than an enthusiastic, energetic reaching for the stars.
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| How we think we should feel in the new year... |
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| The reality! |
My heaviness of heart has been relieved somewhat as I have begun to research a topic for future sermon-writing – God in the Ordinary. It has long been a concern of mine that, even as Christians, we are encouraged to buy into a “theology of permanent excitement and quick results,” whipping ourselves up into a permanent frenzy, rather than developing skills of resilience, patience and “long obedience,” (Nietzsche) that would stand us in better stead for the realities of ordinary, day to day life.
Andrew Wilson in a very-much-worth-listening-to-sermon echoed much of what I had been pondering. Do have a listen to the whole thing if you have an opportunity. One point that struck me was that we all become addicted to the “next big thing,” so easily. We start something with such enthusiasm, expecting immediate, visible results – he calls this the microwave model, when we should be at peace with the mustard seed model. (Matthew 13v31-2 NLT: “The Kingdom of Heaven is like a mustard seed planted in a field. It is the smallest of all seeds, but it becomes the largest of garden plants; it grows into a tree, and birds come and make nests in its branches”).
It is so easy to read this parable of miniscule proportions and assume this all happens within a couple of days. We need to rethink and reimagine. I blame the Sunday school cress experiment for the origins of our lack of patience and abundance of discontent. Every Sunday school teacher in history uses cress-growing as an illustration of what happens when God sows seed in our lives. Days later, excitement peaks as the cress shoots become visible. Perhaps it would be better to grow parsnips or turnips. At least this way, our younger selves might have learnt that it takes a lot of boring, ordinary days, of watering and seeing no results, of having to keep trusting that that which we planted deep in the soil is still there, before expecting any remotely visible results.
The same can be true of our writing. We see the resounding success of other writers and want the same. We embark on a new project, a fresh idea with gusto, only to leave it languishing on the laptop, when the enthusiasm we started out with fizzles. We so easily forget that those whose books have made it into the world have had myriad ordinary, dull, un-Facebook (Twitter/Instagram)-worthy moments in their paths to publication too. No-one would want to read a daily diet of Twitter posts about how much hoovering, cleaning, chocolate-eating happens in a writer’s life, how often family or church life means no writing is even attempted and how much more often they press the delete button, rather than tap with divine inspiration on the keyboard.
If we think of our lives as a graph (if I was vaguely mathematical I would have worked out how to draw one for you as an illustration. Sorry. I’m not), we will have highs at the top of the curves when things are going brilliantly and we are soaring in the heights, and lows, when life crushes us and the valleys feel unending. But much of life, in truth – daily life and our writing lives – are lived along the line in the middle; the mundane, the ordinary.
If we can dwell there, faithfully, not rushing our own work or the work of God in our lives, we can be sure that many mustard seeds will be planted – and the fruit, from those, is unquantifiable for us, but counted and seen by our Father who nurtures them.
Let’s be people who find God in the Ordinary and point others to Him, through our lives and our writing.
I finish with a haiku I wrote in lockdown last year:
Devastating lows,
Hope-fuelled highs. The mundane
Middle: God in all.
Very true, Georgie, and thank you. I'll plod on, then, in the faith and hope that underneath the 76,000 words of my new novel there might just be a parsnip or a turnip. ;-)
ReplyDeleteThis is brilliant, Georgie. I'm not starting the year with a bang either. I'm having to rescind my second book, Waireka, from the publishers and my oldest son and partner have decided to get married without anyone there, including us. However, they have promised a celebration the following weekend but it all seems difficult. Writing seems hard too. Maybe we do look for the next big happening and maybe sometimes it just isn't...
ReplyDeleteI'm sorry, Shelia. I hope you'll see glimmers of goodness soon x
DeleteMe too, Sheila That's a tough one
DeleteThat's going to be a humdinger of a sermon! This is such a good message, Georgie. I kept thinking of the hare and the tortoise - another great illustration of the power of 'the wait'.
ReplyDeleteLove what you say about God in the ordinary. It's so important to remind ourselves of that still small voice of God in the humdrum of life. Andrew Wilson's book Lord of All Things is an excellent reminder of that too.
ReplyDeleteThanks for this blog. God in the ordinary can be a lifter of spirits when the going gets tough.
ReplyDeleteGod often brings me back to the verse in Psalm 1 about us being like trees that yield their fruit in due season - but that's really hard to focus on when I want results now! Thanks for this gentle encouragement.
ReplyDeleteI love the humour and honesty in this piece. This parsnip and turnip line really made me chuckle. This - developing skills of resilience, patience and “long obedience,” - has been the story of my life over the past year and a half. I hope and pray that your sermon will be what many people need to hear.
ReplyDeleteThis was a fabulous way to start the day, even though it's now evening. I loved it!! (need to kick my exclamation mark habit too). The turnip made me laugh a lot. This blog is so full of wisdom - I need to read it more than once.
ReplyDeleteThank you very much, Georgie. I needed to hear this today, so I will certainly listen to Andrew Wilson's sermon too. I think as you say, we associate the word 'ordinary' with boring and dull and maybe ordinary could be redefined as 'as it is meant to be today' - the routines, securities and good structures we have built in our families and lives to maximise our potential.
ReplyDeleteAnd if God is there, in the ordinary, as I believe He is, for He never leaves us, then it becomes extra-ordinary and miraculous.
I want to be content with the ordinary being a day serving God, 'as it is meant to be today'.
Mmm - Good points here...writing a book, especially a fiction book, is quite an academic feat - compare the project (which will be at least 60,000 words if not more) to working for a doctorate, and you've not even got hard research facts to answer the question - you have to imagine them, plot them, make them real... even if it's 'only' a blogpost, it's teasing the words out to formulate the argument, or the idea: so true, just like growing turnips, a slow time of process when nobody even we ourselves can't see quick results to get excited about! Am quite glad I only learned to watch cress seeds grow at home or school - so daily rather than weekly observations... Sunday School we did songs, stories, and drawing!
ReplyDeleteWhat a great post Georgie and so true. Thank you.
ReplyDeleteLovely post, Georgie. You are a strong woman. It is not easy to be a secondary teacher and have responsibility of your sons as well! Your cup is full and we bless God for grace to thrive in all this. I love the analogy of the graph with our lives. Thanks also for the advice on taking our writing life as a seed sown in the ground with days of no result, days of watering, etc Beautiful encouragement!
ReplyDeleteGreat post Georgie and entirely true. I think, at the end, it will be the ordinary days we will look back on with the most longing and affection.
ReplyDeleteSo true! Mind you, it's probably why I am hopeless at gardening... It's staying with a book till it's done, rather than work on loads of new ideas!
ReplyDelete