The Hidden

In October, I was getting lots of emails from a well-known homeware shop, suggesting ways they could take my money. I do like their stuff. I’m propped up against one of their cushions as I write, and a pair of their blackout curtains frame my view out over the hedge to the fields beyond. They were offering me different items to make my Christmas perfect. I went through them all looking for even the tiniest allusion to Jesus, or the Virgin Birth, or the Son of God and there was nothing. Not a sausage.

There were wood effect stags’ heads and a 10cm hanging hedgehog decoration. There were a variety of Wicker Tree Skirts (don’t ask me) and a standing fox with telescopic legs. Someone had gone to a lot of trouble to think of nearly all the different ways a person could celebrate Christmas. I could “shop Crafted Christmas” or go back to my Essex roots with “Sparkle and Shine.” They told me that I could do Christmas my way (well, thanks very much) and that it was a one-of-a-kind celebration. I agreed with the second statement but not the first. I started writing a funny piece about what this meant, but stopped at paragraph three. Because I don’t think it is funny, actually.

Somewhere along the line, the world has forgotten about Jesus. Advent is an excuse to eat chocolate. Christmas is cartoon carrots and conspicuous consumption and buying loads of food you’re going to throw away. Easter is about rabbits and chocolate. I know you know this. I know it. But this year, it’s hurting me. It’s pricking at my heart like tiny needles dipped in ice.

In fact, lots is hurting me, just lately. Over the last year, I’ve read some blogs on here about lament and they woke something up in me. I suppose you could say I’m a lifelong Anti-Lamenter. My childhood had things missing from it that children are supposed to have to turn into well-balanced adults. My teenage years were one long lament, and all that crying never changed anything, so I decided not to do it anymore. I was probably a natural optimist and I worked hard on being happy, on helping others, on making life better, on doing good things. I left lamenting behind me.



I became a Christian aged twenty-six, making my own decision after being taken to church every Sunday and having pretty much my whole social life revolve around it until the age of fourteen. My church was a kind, safe place, full of people who were nice to me. I still know them now and they are good, compassionate followers of Jesus. My next church, in Exeter, had good people in it too but the preaching majored on sin and backsliding and stuff I was afraid of. The next one, back in Essex after I got married was the place that taught me everything I really needed to know about faith. I did Alpha, I was baptised, I became a youth leader. I loved it. I really did. Writing this, I’m crying which must mean that I still miss it.

Moving up to Suffolk in 2006, the most important thing to me was to find the right church. I prayed and prayed, did my research and waited for God to send me to the Gospel Hall at the bottom of the High Street, which was the nearest thing to a Baptist church the village had. Instead, He made it very clear I was to attend the Anglican church on the Hill. I was surprised and double-checked with Him on a number of occasions to make sure He hadn’t got his places of worship mixed up. He sent me a number of signs which were impossible to miss, so I went there for nearly fourteen years. There were good times, I met some wonderful friends and God spoke to me. However, the sad times were pretty hard going. One of my closest friends died and it broke my heart. The same mistakes kept being made and there was a distinct lack of love and compassion. I kept going and kept trying because I had been sent, but it got harder and harder.

Along the way, I started writing professionally for several Christian charities. God taught me so much through the people I worked with, interviewed and wrote up. Slowly, my writing improved and my confidence grew. God was in it all. One day, a year ago, I was driving through the beautiful Suffolk countryside and I realised that God had given me my heart’s desire. All I’d ever wanted was to be a writer and now I was. That made me cry too.

Through the pain and the struggles and the disappointment, I kept trying to be cheerful, because I thought that giving in to sadness was wrong. This year, quite a number of the MTW blogs have spoken directly to me, especially the ones about lament and disappointment. People I respected were telling me that it’s OK to lament, even that it’s part of life. I didn’t know that. So, thank you, to all of you.

At the beginning of the month, Wendy wrote a very honest blog about how she was feeling and that was the confirmation I needed to go ahead with this one. I felt that God was saying it was OK to lament and OK to share that you are doing so with people you trust, people on the same long and rocky road as you. 

I’ve found a new church. I know it’s the right one because God has sent me so many signs. The people are kind and compassionate and welcoming and it feels like home. But I’m still lamenting. Every week, online, they play a video they’ve made of a little girl walking through autumn leaves. She’s stumping along in a little pair of boots with her back to the camera and every time I watch it, it makes me sad and makes me ask why. Why didn’t you support me? Why didn’t you give the teaching my children needed? Why didn’t you listen when you were told by so many, again and again? I lament. I don’t know how long it will last and I don’t know what God’s plan is. But I still know, as I always have, that He loves me and He cares and that there are better things coming. “Hear my prayer, Lord; let my cry for help come to you. Do not hide your face from me when I am in distress. Turn your ear to me; when I call, answer me quickly.” Psalm 102: 1-2.

Images by Pixaby.

Ruth is a freelance writer and novelist. She is married with three children, one husband, four budgies, six quail, eight chickens and a kitten. Her first novel, “The Diary of Isabella M Smugge”, published by Instant Apostle, comes out in February 2021. She writes for a number of small businesses and charities and blogs at Big Words and Made Up Stories. Ruth is a recovering over-achiever who is now able to do the school run in her onesie most days. She has abnormally narrow sinuses and a morbid fear of raw tomatoes, but has decided not to let this get in the way of a meaningful life. You can find her on Instagram and Twitter at ruththewriter1.