Category Archives: Reflections

“I shall be seventy on Friday!” whispered my friend during worship on Sunday morning. Last time I had seen her, eighteen months ago, she was slowly recovering from major illness, and had been pale and weak. Now, looking at her radiant, happy face, I thought I had never seen her look more beautiful.  As long as I have known her, Patty has always been attractive, vivacious, and a woman of faith. She has had many trials and difficulties but has prayed and praised her way through them. Now, she rose from her seat, took the microphone  and testified to the goodness and faithfulness of God, exhorting us to keep abiding in the vine so we could continue to bear fruit. It was powerful, because she exemplifies her own words.

It took me back to Mrs Bendall.  I met her when Anna, my daughter, had just been born. The elderly lady was a visitor in church that morning. She was quiet, a bit shy, but something about her made me want to get to know her. So during the week, I  went to see her, wheeling the pram with Anna lying in it, and 2 yrs old Ben perched on top. (Those were the days when we had prams built like coaches, high, with large wheels and sprung so that the baby swayed gently, comfortably cocooned in its inner depths: not stuck in a bucket on wheels like they are now.)

I loved her from that moment. She adored Anna, being very fond of babies, and often had her on her lap in church. Somehow, in her gentle unassuming way, she became vital to our lives. She actually moved to live across the street so that she could be near us. She would pop in for coffee, babysit, and simply love us. Looking back, I can’t think of any particularly wise and wonderful things she said: she just smoothed our way by lovingly serving.

She seemed to be able to communicate easily with anyone. She was very fond of cricket and always knew the latest test scores. I remember giving her a lift once, and  also in the car was an inarticulate, awkward teenager. In no time this little old lady had charmed him into chatting away about cricket as if he had known her forever.

One day, she told me that she had not married until well into her forties. She was idyllically happy. Then three months later, her husband dropped dead from a heart attack. I wept as she spoke with a gentle sadness, but no bitterness or anger. I remember the soft look on her face as she talked of the love of her life.

I wonder what fierce struggles she had fought and won? Now there was simply a beautiful dependence on God, a deep trust, and a growing hunger for his presence. Always eager for more, at the age of 76 she  received the baptism in the Holy Spirit, spoke in tongues, and was coveting to prophesy.

One morning, we had an anxious phone call from her sister. Could we go and check on her? She wasn’t answering the phone. We ran over and found her body lying on her bedroom floor; only she wasn’t there, she had gone to Glory in the night.

We felt her loss keenly. I will always associate her with Psalm 92 v 12 “The righteous flourish like the palm tree, planted in the house of the Lord. They will still bear fruit in old age, and stay fresh and green.”

Liz Holden’s mother, Margaret Etherton, was like that too. Always hospitable, she was a pastor’s dream. She would stand near Terry at the end of Sunday morning, and say, “Just send any people who need lunch down to me.” We used to joke that her round table was elastic, as it seemed to stretch! She once made a chicken provide a meal for 15 people. When we exclaimed, “How did you do it?” she just said vaguely, “It must have been the Lord…” It probably was. After all, if he could do it with loaves and fishes, why not a chicken?   She was a woman of faith and prayer.

Recently, I had a letter from my aunt. She was 102 in August.  She was widowed about 60 years ago, and had to bring up 6 children on her own. Now a great, great grandmother, she is constantly praising God and looking forward to meeting loved ones  in heaven.

I haven’t even mentioned my own mother, who at the age of 82 came to live near us. She had some cards printed inviting all the people in her block of flats to come to coffee, and then gave her testimony, and invited them to church. All her life she was motivated to bring people to Jesus, and prayed through every crisis.

I could go on, giving many examples of faith-filled elderly women. The thing is, now I am 65, I am on the edge being old myself! It is so strange, because I don’t feel old. (I remember my grandmother referring to “those dear old ladies” who were in their 70’s and 80’s. She was 98 at the time!) People without God are terrified of old age because they know life is rushing to its end, and they don’t know what to expect. So they try to perpetuate youth in an effort to postpone the inevitable.

Of course there are unwelcome aspects to aging: less energy, increased aches, droopy skin, wrinkles. I’m a sucker for face creams that promise miracles.(If you know of one that delivers the goods, let me know…) But the old ladies who walk with God have given me hope! You can be fruitful, happy  and serene, enjoying the advantages of growing old. Yep: you have to be old(ish) to have grandkids, and they are amazing! You don’t have to prove anything any more, because you’ve been there and done that (whatever “that” is). And if you don’t feel like rushing about no one is surprised! (Although I still mostly do rush about). You have lots of good memories; you have lots to thank God for, and I do, all the time.

And you know what? We know where we are going…when the old bod drops off, we shall be young again, or better, recreated. I shall join the old ladies’ tea party in Heaven, except we won’t be old any more. “Our youth will be renewed as the eagles…”

Yes, it was absolutely crazy to go to Paris for the weekend when we are trying to sort out our furniture and pack up 30 years of memories prior to moving house; and we are going away for nine weeks on Friday to the USA and Mexico. I feel permanently out of breath and my brains are scrambled. But this date has been on our calendar for months, and hey, it’s Paris! No-one passes up an opportunity to visit this most beautiful and romantic of cities. Do they? Moi, je t’aime Paris!

So on Thursday, we left Brighton by train and embarked upon the Eurostar at St Pancras, the high speed train which goes through the channel tunnel straight to the Gare du Nord in 2 and a half hours.

What a fabulous, civilised, uncomplicated way to travel! Beats the crowds and indignities of airports, the frustration of congested roads, and the seasickness of ferries hands down.

We were met at the terminus by our friend Gordon Neal who drove us along by the Seine, past the Louvre, Pont Neuf and Notre Dame, and a fine view of the Eiffel Tower to his home in Issy.  Gordon is fluent in French and formerly lived in France. In 2007 while at the Brighton conference, he had a vision one night in which he knew God was calling him back to Paris to church plant. The next day, as he was translating for a prophetic seminar, he was called forward and three notable prophets powerfully prophesied over him, repeating, confirming and enlarging upon what God had already told him.

When Gordon finally hauled himself off the floor he knew without a shadow of a doubt that he had to go. He was a business man living in beautiful Montreux, Switzerland, at the time. To relocate to Paris has been an enormously time consuming, energy sapping, finance swallowing operation. But he and his wife Kerry have accomplished it, and others have joined them, such as George and Gill Tee from Coventry. Currently, around 90 people now meet regularly. The main reason Terry and I went to Paris was so that Terry could preach to this embryonic church the foundational doctrines of grace and the baptism in the Holy Spirit.

But before the church gathered on the Saturday and Sunday, we had Friday to soak up the ambience! So the four of us took the metro to Montmartre and had a happy time wandering through the steep cobbled streets, relishing the sights: typically Parisian tall apartment buildings with their shuttered windows and attics in the roofs, the café tables  on the sidewalks, and the square where passers-by were having their portraits painted. We poked around in the artists’ shops and ate a leisurely lunch (Terry ate snails) at the Auberge de la Bonne Franquette, the very tavern where such luminaries as Degas, Renoir, Matisse, Monet, Sisley and Toulouse Lautrec enjoyed convivial meals and conversations.

The autumnal sun had now broken through as we approached Sacre Coeur and the view from this high spot over Paris was breathtaking. The organ was rolling out sonorous notes as we made a brief visit inside the majestic basilica. Feeling somewhat subdued by its massiveness, we emerged and took the funicular down to the Pigalle and the Moulin Rouge.

Ah, Paris! Wonderful in the spring, as we know, but sweet also in the falling autumn leaves.

But more exciting is the vision of a vigorous community of believers, so pulsating with life that it overflows into multiple churches which will affect the culture of this great city. On Sunday morning, about 10 responded to the teaching and received the baptism in the Holy Spirit, and others were healed of various painful conditions. From small springs flow mighty rivers; from acorns grow huge oak trees.

We believe in a God who has told us to dream big dreams and to have faith that moves mountains. I can believe in a big vision for Paris. I can pray for that.

Will you pray for Paris too?

Do mud and glory go together? Well, there is a case to be made for it. Last weekend, Terry and I were at a camp in Yorkshire. It was August, but it might as well have been November. It was freezing cold, and it rained a lot. Consequently, as happens when 2,500 people with cars and trailers are moving around a flat grassy field in torrential rain, the ground got very churned up. The mud was truly spectacular: brownish-grey, slippery, with pools of water lying in the furrows, deep and a bit smelly. It got on everything: clothes, bags, bibles, kids….

It hadn’t occurred to us to bring wellies, but I was thankful to borrow a tasteful pair in green, decorated with daisies. Nice. So a nod in the direction of femininity and style then.

There were all sorts of people camping: young and old, families with babies, teenagers.  I am ashamed to say we stayed off site. No I’m lying, I was deeply grateful! But I was totally in awe of mothers who were carting their kids around in the rain, cheerfully sporting muddy jeans, wet jackets and plastic bags on their heads in the absence of suitable headgear.

I only once over heard an exasperated mum venting her wrath on an urchin who had presumably been wallowing  a bit too enthusiastically and had got his last pair of dry jeans wet and filthy….actually, I thought her response was fairly mild, considering. It reminded me of a Bible week many moons ago when Anna and Joel stomped around deliberately in a mud puddle and then came into the caravan…you just had to take wooden spoons with you everywhere in those days.

The surprising thing was that complaining was so rare  at North that it was practically non-existent. Maybe those Northerners are made of tougher stuff! They live there after all, under constantly grey, lowering skies I believe, and just get on with life. But they didn’t just not complain, they worshipped God wholeheartedly in every session; they served one another diligently; they listened to the preaching attentively, and they gave spectacularly! In fact, they gave over £130,000, and Westpoint also gave £101,000 to church-planting and outreach programmes. So nearly a quarter of a million given for further apostolic advance from these 2 camps.

What is it that makes people spend their bank holiday weekend camping in such extremely unpleasant conditions, trying to sleep  shivering in damp sleeping bags, splashing through thick mud to go anywhere,  queuing for loos and showers, and living on sausages in baps? This is not the famous British stiff upper lip: there were people there from Canada, Scandinavia, and Ireland. At Westpoint they also came from India, Spain and Portugal.

They were like the early Christians: sharing their lives together, worshipping, praying and learning from the apostles’ doctrine, having all things in common…even wellington boots. People were healed of  back problems and other painful conditions; many were filled with the Holy Spirit;  and some responded to God’s call on their lives to take the Gospel to another location, even overseas.

There was a great sense of identity and momentum.

They are together on a mission, not just for last weekend, but in everyday life. Yes, there was something glorious about it.

A Winchester Break
It sounds like the advertisement for Kitkat, but everyone needs a break! Strolling hand in hand by the river Itchen last weekend with my husband, I was so glad that he had arranged one for us. Terry is not famous for being spontaneous, but a few weeks earlier when the card advertising the half price break at a hotel near Winchester dropped on our doormat, he surprised me by saying, “Let’s do that!”

The last Together on a Mission week had been wonderful but surprisingly demanding, emotionally and physically (there is a lot of walking and standing about, not to mention many conversations, and the actual speaking that we both did). Added to that, we had many house guests, and the continual roller-coaster of trying to sell our house. (We have a buyer…but there are complications, lots of phone calls with agents and solicitors….keep praying…). So we were ready for a break!

It was great to head off west and take the pretty route, stopping when we felt like it. Saturday morning came with the promise of a beautiful day! Invigorated by an early morning swim (yes, Terry as well) we found our way to the beautiful historic centre of Winchester. A great statue of King Alfred stands at the foot of the main street which is lined with ancient buildings, and the massive cathedral looms nearby surrounded by colourful gardens. Incidentally, Jane Austen is buried there; and currently there is an exhibition celebrating 400 years of the King James Bible.
We wandered happily in the sunshine through the many market stalls along with crowds of shoppers buying cheeses, pies and vegetables…and other slightly odd things like pillows and duvets.

We found a nice pub for lunch slightly out of town. The girl who took our order said, “I’ll bring it out to you in the garden. I know who you are!” It turned out she belongs to the Newfrontiers church there. (This happens to us quite often.) She suggested a walk by the river, so in the afternoon we found the water meadows through which runs the river Itchen. By now the sun was hot and it was very refreshing to watch the cool clear water rushing by, and ducks floating along with their young ones paddling madly to keep up. There is a lovely, gentle feel about an English historic town in summer, the cathedral tower not far off, grey stone city walls that have stood for centuries, and the sound of bells floating across the water meadows, as people stroll about in shorts and summer dresses with icecreams, and kids in sunhats. I like it.

We were a tad late for church the next day, not having appreciated that the car park would be used by a street market. But we parked in a multi storey under a mall, and made it in, only to be placed by a friendly steward right next to John Groves the (former) pastor, and his wife Marion. No hiding then! We felt instantly at home and enjoyed the worship and John’s excellent preach.

After another lovely sunny afternoon mostly by the water’s edge, I remarked to Terry that perhaps we had better be moving as it was 5 o’clock and we didn’t know when the car park closed. It was quite a long way back and took nearly half an hour at a fairly quick pace. Panting, we arrived at the car park which was ominously quiet, and down the end of the ramp I could see a metal gate barring the entrance. Slightly panicking, we rushed to the mall entrance, relieved that it was open. We ran in and found the stairs down to the car park. An attendant swinging a bunch of keys was also going down so I asked him when the car park closed. “At 5.30”, he said. I looked at my watch. 5.25 Phew! That could have been very awkward indeed!

Congratulating ourselves on a timely escape we drove to Stockbridge, a spectacularly pretty village with a trout stream running through it, and plenty of pubs to choose from for a good meal. This is beginning to sound far too much like a travel brochure; I am not being paid by Hampshire county council. But I just want to express how pleasing it is when a few comparatively simple things come together to produce such an enjoyable and enriching experience: warm sunny weather, an old city full of ancient beauty, the bustle and colour of market stalls, clear running water, worshipping with the family of God, appetising meals in pub gardens, and enjoying it all with the one I most love.
I am a happy woman.

Last week was amazing. Historic; the end of an era; inspirational; exciting; moving!

It was the last of the conferences that Newfrontiers as we know it will hold in Brighton. Newfrontiers seems to proceed though the decades with fresh developments. The first decade of our existence was the “Downs” era. This was when the churches we worked with at the time camped together at Plumpton racecourse at the foot of the Sussex Downs. At the beginning, there were about 2,000 of us, and we thought it was huge! But one year, I remember walking on the hills with my son Joel who was 9 years old at the time, and feeling a bit deflated as we peered down the slopes trying to locate the camp. When we did at last identify it, it seemed disappointingly small!

I think 1988 was the last Downs Bible week as we called it and about 8,000 were then attending over 2 consecutive weeks. In 1991 we started again at the agricultural showground near Coventry next to a village called Stoneleigh. It was always known as Stoneleigh Bible week. By 1995 we had to hold 2 events back to back to accommodate the numbers pressing in, and when we closed in 2001, 28,000 came over the 2 weeks.

I loved the Stoneleigh decade, the 90’s. I loved the excitement as we arrived, the buzz of people putting up their tents, the sound of the band coming from the main auditorium, the smell of grass(and sheep and cows), and people arriving from all over the UK and increasingly from other nations as well. Incidentally the smell in the great cattle shed which was the main venue for many of the years was incredibly pungent, but it was interesting how quickly one became acclimatised to it! It didn’t seem to interfere with the fervour of the worship or the power of the preaching!

I was gutted when we decided to end Stoneleigh… even though I delivered one of the prophecies which was a factor in making the decision. God was telling us to move on; it seems in his economy success is not necessarily a reason for staying with a thing. In fact success can become an enemy of progress: it can lead to complacency, stagnation, and then decline. A major factor in the decision making process was another prophecy (from Guy Miller) in which he saw a field of golden dandelions. People were gathering to admire this field and exclaim over its colour and beauty. Then the field turned to grey as the flower heads became seed balls. A strong wind blew and scattered the seeds far and wide around the`world.

So the first decade of the new millennium saw us launching into a number of new initiatives. Different regions set up Bible weekends; Newday took off, the hugely exciting youth event which takes place in August; and of course our leaders’ conference in Brighton.

Some years ago, Keith Hazel who is known for his prophetic gifting prophesied exponential increase. Growth has certainly been spectacular as many church plants have been established in UK and many other countries. Then in 2008 Mark Driscoll came and publicly spoke of our need prepare for a successor to Terry.

Over the next three years, Terry and his team met regularly, and systematically discussed, thought and prayed about the next step. A strategy gradually took shape. No one leader would take Terry’s place, but emerging men with recognisable apostolic ministries would be released to develop their own spheres. Everyone is very happy about this; we feel that the Lord has led us in this to bring about further growth and possibilities, built upon the values of our love and adherence to the Bible, our love and dependence upon the Holy Spirit, and loving relationships between each other.

And so we have come to the end of another era. Yes, we were a bit emotional last week as we looked around at the huge auditorium full of praising people from all around the world. This would be the last time we would meet here in this way. But nostalgic? Not really. We are people of the future.

As an old hymn says:

“It’s Jesus the first and the last,

Whose Spirit will guide us safe home;

We’ll praise him for all that has passed,

And trust him for all that’s to come.”