Living Sacrifices

About fifteen years ago, my husband and I moved from the busy south of England and all the busy stuff we were involved in – in city, church, work, friends.  And we moved to a tiny village about five miles from our nearest market town, in the most sparsely populated county of England: Northumberland.

Soon, as befits all good Christians, we found a busy, active church – in the town, five miles away from us. And there we became busy and active in our church on Sundays and with house groups and this and that, until God began to speak to us about worshipping with the believers where we live … in our village.

After quite a while of hesitation, we did. The village church has services twice a month on a Sunday. And that’s it. Prayer book services. Old hymn books. And an organ to accompany.

Is there evangelism? Outreach? Church programme?

Whoever would have thought that on a Sunday morning, when there’s no service, my husband and I can often be found digging away in our little village Primary School garden: weeding, planting, pruning, sweeping … sweeping up piles of leaves. And as we work, people stop to talk with us as they walk past - going to the village shop for their newspapers or walking their dogs out to the fields.

I don’t know how our gardening fits into all this. But I do know this: giving of our time and (sometimes hard) work is a part, for us, of offering our physical bodies to God, in His service.  It’s funny how many people stop to talk with us. They`re all relaxed on a Sunday morning, not in any hurry. And we’re just amazed at how many school parents and villagers recognise us and talk about our gardening, and then their gardens and themselves, as they go past.