Yesterday the invitation to the BUGB Women in Ministry day arrived, and it's title is "Made in God's Image."  Nuking side-effects permitting, I am intending to attend the day when it takes place in May, and am looking forward to catching up with colleagues and friends 'south of the border' and in what is, arguably, a slightly more enlightened union. :-)

At various times I have pondered what it means to be made in God's image, beyond gender, beyond race, beyond status, and yet, mysteriously and particularly, as we are.  I am very fond of the line from the Brian Wren hymn that says God's 'living likeness still we bear, though marred, dishonoured, disobeyed.'

Lots of work has been done - and rightly - to affirm that people with physical or developmental disabilities bear God's image.  Lots of work has been done - and rightly - to affirm that people with physical or mental illness or injury bear God's image.  Some work has been done - and rightly - to affirm that older people whose bodies and minds may be worn or frail bear God's image.

I think I am fortunate that I never really equated my worth with my physical appearance, but seeing the title of the day did give me pause for thought.  Each morning as I look in the mirror I see the scars from my surgery.  If it is cold or damp my scars ache.  When I reach out my 'affected' arm the muscles 'tug' a little.  Even now as my hair regrows, eyelashes and eyebrows begin to reappear, they are no longer the 'givens' they once were.  I swallow the pills that will minimise the risk of recurrence but can no longer simply assume an 'average' life expectancy...  This body, now scarred, now sore, now vulnerable, now obviously damaged... this body bears the image of God.

For a long time I was fascinated by the idea of Jesus' post resurrection hands - scarred hands, hands riven with holes, hands that reach out to touch and heal 'this side' of Calvary.  If it is good enough for God to have scars, aches, wounds, damage, then how much more so we, God's creatures?

I am made in the image and likeness of God - scars 'n' all.  And so are you.

(This photo is about 2 weeks old - I have more hair now!)

Last night we used the scripture reading set by CTBI as part of their Lent 2011 series, which was Psalm 32.  It is a well-loved and lovely psalm, very honest about the writer's experiences and need for reconciliation with God.  Just that verse 6 is a tad unfortunate just at the moment...

"Therefore let all who are faithful offer prayer to you; at a time of distress, the rush of mighty waters will not reach them."

I know this is the language of metaphor, and I am certainly not blaming anyone for using this set passage to guide our thoughts, just that we can be pretty confident that among those swept away in recent events, literally or metaphorically, are faithful people of prayer.

Of course, taking a verse from here or there is a dangerous practice, and the psalm continues to speak of God as a 'hiding place', a refuge not from but within the storm.

As the news continues to unfold, and as events are New Zealand, let alone the so-called 'third world' are almost forgotten inthe wake of those in Japan, we need to beware glib answers to complex questions as we continue to pray for those directly affected.

Lord, have mercy,

Chirst have mercy,

Lord have mercy

Over the last week or so I have begun to do certain things for the first time since my surgery; things I used to take for granted, and ay do again; things that are usually must a chore but brought a sense of achievement...

Just over a week ago I went a on a train on my own to town - this brought with it that strange blend of excitement and fear that a child has the first time they are allowed to go to town alone, in my case aged eleven on a bus.  The fear of being knocked and hurt, the concerns about the weight of shop doors (hurrah for automatic ones!) and the realisation that self-service restaurants are still 'off limits' when I'm alone as I can't (yet) carry the trays.  But it was good to be out on my own again - it's been a long time.

Last week I drove for the first time, after someone very kindly recharged the battery on my car.  I find car travel very uncomfortable at the moment, even if I am riding in a big flash car with comfy seats, so my little Saxo is not exactly super comfy.  Surprisingly the only bit that caused me 'bother' was reverse parking as twisting round to look over my left shoulder whilst steering pulled at the (pirate sized) scar on my back.

On Saturday I dusted my house and even cleaned my 'little' shower-room.  I hate housework but it was a real pleasure to be able to do these tasks again.  Still at least a couple of months before I'm allowed to hoover, sweep or mop, so I'm very grateful to my 'Mrs Mop'.

Yesterday I made it to church twice.  This isn't a measure of physical strength or flexibility, rather it is about energy levels and stamina.  To have enough brain power to concentrate through two acts of worship was great; to be able to hold conversations and not wilt totally was a bonus.

Funny how the little things can be the ones that end up mattering.

Still a long way to go to restored fitness - and this with a detour via the River of Radiation still to be crossed - but it is good to record the little firsts that mark my recovery.