Angel in Disguise?

Not the best of days, health-wise, but who's counting?


Still very weak, feverish, sick, sore and with added palpitations since the massive hypoglycemic episode I reported  a few weeks ago, plus my immune system going  ape after the flu jab. Bad news everywhere, politicians carving up our lives, press gloomily gloating, crises and uncertainties in research have got the worldwide M.E. community punch-drunk this week.


Angels have the habit of slipping in when you're looking the other way, though, don't they? Had a visit, very rare and very welcome, from my Methodist superintendent minister, my colleague when I was still able to work full time. Since my collapse six years ago, I've been a junior supernumerary minister, an uncomfortable anomaly for those not yet retirement age, too ill to work as a full-time itinerant minister working 24/7, or to work reliably at all.
He had come with no agenda. Just a pastoral visit to a colleague as he is now beginning his time as head of the circuit ministerial team. I had no expectations but a chat with an old friend. He listened and learned about M.E. like very few do. We laughed together, as always. He was patient with my brain fog and spoke clearly and slowly enough for my addled M.E. brain to take in. Almost - some names and proper nouns still elude me!

Then he talked about the new more flexible working patterns and new emphases in ministry that the church is being challenged to embrace. Much has changed in the years I have been forced out of the calling I so love. He talked of how many missed my ministry.

He spoke of lakes and rivers. Deep still places and streams that flow faster between them, sharing the same water, functioning differently, yet as one. He gave me hope that, even so limited as my strength, energy and cognitive function is, there may in future be a place for me to offer more than the occasional service. 

He knows all my limitations. He knows I will never be fit to drive with my lack of hypo awareness and frequent blood glucose dips. He knows I can't do things to a deadline any more. He knows he may possibly lose me from the working sphere for days, weeks or months at a stretch. He knows work needs to be something I can do at my own pace and completed when I am well enough.

 He talked of things that could be done over the internet, using all my skills. Things that could happen from home, or within a very short distance in supportive surroundings. He talked of one to one jobs where I could sit or lie, not needing more than a whisper, just using the pastoral, people and teaching skills I was born with and trained for. 

 He helped me glimpse places my ministry could slot in again within new and established outreaches and communities. He saw me as I really am, who I need to be. Ministry isn't a job or a 9-5 profession. It's open ended and often all-consuming. It's a calling and a longing and your whole identity that can't be put on a shelf somewhere when your body gets in the way. With all these frustrations, limitations and agonies of M.E., he could still see where I could be me, with much to offer.


It won't be easy. It might not happen quickly. There are no guarantees. God never called me to being sure, only to being faithful and open. There are still many obstacles to overcome. Things to think through, pray through. People who also need to be brought into the circle of understanding so we can all support each other with our own unique strengths. This may be the beginning of a journey with precious few signposts or maps.

I can't tell you how good this feels. After so long in the nightmare wilderness, in the church's vision I glimpsed a possible model for how other jobs and businesses could try to make this support, adaptation and flexibility work for all those with severe life-limiting illnesses and very special challenges to tackle.

What I've gone through healthwise all my adult life, and even before that in my father's stroke at 45, places me in a uniquly blessed position to be part of the solution for others, or at least compassionate to hear what they are saying, or not able easily to express.

Only time will tell, but that my "company" is beginning  to even contemplate what it means to enable its broken children to ease into making their unique contribution again, while remaining less than wholly able, is a miracle almost too amazing and beautiful to take in.


Half way through his visit, my toilet cistern outlet exploded noisily, drowning our conversation, pouring a flood of water onto the tiles. It had been overflowing in drips for some weeks, but today it came to a head. And he fixed it! Right place, right time, or the whisper of a loving provision?

My colleague knows he can't "fix" me. But he is open to finding the round hole instead of the square one, into which this round peg can somehow, day by fluctuating day, gradually fit herself again.


Till then, my body is sick, my head is throbbing, but my heart and my spirit is singing!